My Dearest Warlock

Merging of...

"Hey, what's up with you... and all the eyes?" Crowley asked gently, stepping forward.

Aziraphale was sitting on their bed, staring at Crowley with a look he hadn't seen before. Crowley took another tentative step forward, wiggling his hips as he did such. His breathing was slow but steady- it was the intimacy of Aziraphale showing Crowley a part of his true form, even if it wasn't intentional. He knew that he should run and take Warlock with him, as seeing any part of a true form of angel was said to be a bad thing. The true form bared responsibility and power, and Crowley found that it usually wasn't good for him or his kin.

But... this was Aziraphale. Aziraphale, who could have killed Crowley long before that. Aziraphale, who lied to God over and over like it was some sort of game. Aziraphale, who risked his life to help Crowley in a plan that was practically destined to fail. Aziraphale, who was kind and sweet and threatened to kill people when they touched his books. Aziraphale, who would never hurt Crowley intentionally.

Perhaps that was why he still wandered towards Aziraphale like he was Crowley's lifeline. It was like Crowley was in a permanent trance- he couldn't stop himself if he tried. Perhaps Crowley was like a whipped puppy, but Crowley liked to believe that he had more power over himself than that- he wasn't that desperate and clingy... exactly. Not exactly. He liked to be close and near to Aziraphale, but there had been periods where the two hadn't crossed paths in what felt like forever (Crowley got extremely bored during those times. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't bother any other angel without getting killed. He just sat around and waited, even if he didn't know what for).

"My dear, I think we should talk." Several of Aziraphale's eyes vanished. "Truthfully, I should add. This time, I should be honest about everything."

Aziraphale was so pretty, and he knew it. He was dressed in light colored clothing, looked at Crowley with at least thirty eyes. His wings were spread wide, the gentle white color reminding Crowley of Aziraphale's hair color and of Heaven. None of the minor imperfections mattered to Crowley, as he loved each and every part of Aziraphale. Each part of Aziraphale, whether whole or broken or somewhere in between, could- and would, Crowley was determined- be loved by Crowley. It would be a love that would be strange and filled with quirks, but damn it'd be worth it.

"Okay," said Crowley, his voice soft. It was like he almost knew what was coming.

"Crowley... are you... you know?" Aziraphale looked at him, his lips parted slightly. His tongue gently rubbed against his lip, and Crowley wished he knew what Aziraphale was talking about.

There was so much that Aziraphale could be talking about. He could be talking about the gentle way that Crowley smiled when he saw Aziraphale or Warlock or anyone else that Crowley loved. He could be talking about the way that Crowley avoided talking about Heaven, perhaps wondering what question had finally caused God to cast Crowley aside. Maybe he was wondering about the soft way that Crowley gave Aziraphale when it was just the two of them, like the look that Hades was said to give Persephone when she returned to him at the right season. It could have been about the way that Crowley relaxed around Aziraphale- the way that Crowley seemed to melt right into his side. Or, perhaps, it might have something to do with the fact Crowley loved Aziraphale.

"What? What are you trying to ask?"

Aziraphale wasn't sure how to take Crowley's tone. It was soft and gentle, almost like Crowley was debating asking at all. It was wavering between a whisper and the silence that had enveloped them for far too long. It was peaceful enough that a couple more eyes disappeared, and Aziraphale felt his breath begin to quicken. Now Aziraphale would have to ask and hope he was right.

Love story had always been complicated. They either ended with the perfect ending, or the stories ended in tragedy and pain. There was so much heartbreak and trust put out in a relationship, and the thought of being with someone until either death or the end of time was a truly terrifying commitment. Relationships involving romance included giving the most vulnerable side of yourself to someone and hoping that they not only liked it, but treated it well. It was just so much for someone who had never tried. Love ended like a perfect fairytale, or it ended like Romeo and Juliet. There was no in between for Aziraphale, no blurry grey area where the lines blurred.

"Do you love me?"

A sharp and heavy breath answered Aziraphale at first. Crowley's eyes were widened, and the golden yellow of Crowley's eyes appeared to be larger. Crowley's pupils were larger, which Aziraphale thought had more to do with stress than the lust that enlarged pupils were supposed to represent. Crowley stepped closer to Aziraphale, and he gently cupped Aziraphale's face.

Aziraphale was made aware, rather quickly, of all that was Crowley. There was the darkened red hair that was neatly curly and growing rather quickly. There was the tightness of Crowley's skinny jeans, hugging his hips and other things that Aziraphale wished- and pretended- he didn't notice. He pretended not to notice the color of Crowley's lips, nor the way that he rubbed his tongue over his bottom lip. Aziraphale noticed the rough leather jacket Crowley was wearing, and he began to wonder about what it would be like to take it off of him and see Crowley without all the layers. Oh hell, he was so screwed.

"Aziraphale..." Crowley said his name breathlessly, like he'd been running for miles. The noise wasn't exactly attractive, but Aziraphale liked it. "... I thought it was obvious. I've always loved you. And I still do."

"Why?"

Crowley wished he could paint Aziraphale a beautiful picture of exactly why he did. Unfortunately for Crowley, he was a bad artist, and he couldn't express himself very good in words. How could Crowley possibly express the pure beauty and wholeness of all that Aziraphale is and all was? How could he explain the gentleness of Aziraphale and the way of comfort that surrounded Crowley whenever he was in Aziraphale's presence? How could he explain that Aziraphale was the only other being that understood him, that cared for him despite knowing he wasn't good? How could he explain that Aziraphale was beautiful and pure and wonderful?

Aziraphale was practically a part of Crowley, and he couldn't explain that. There was no light without darkness; there was no good without bad. Aziraphale completed the broken parts of Crowley; Crowley completed the broken parts of Aziraphale. It was like they were soulmates- they were both almost complete alone, but they were more whole and powerful together. The two of them were meant to be, almost like they had been created for each other. The Yin to the other's Yang [1]. They contrasted sharply against each other just enough to bring out the best in themselves- and each other.

"I... I can't possibly explain it. I, uhh, love you. You're like the... uhh... food to my ducks. Like the Antichrist to the Apocalypse. I think I'm meant to... ngk... be with you. I'm... you just make me a mess." Crowley stopped, blushing. "I just love you because you're you."

"Oh, that was so beautiful."

The only person who found the speech beautiful was Aziraphale. Other people may have found the speech cute, but they typically wouldn't, considering it was ten minutes long. It was awkward and long, and Crowley sounded out of breath for most of it. It was disastrous, but Aziraphale didn't really care.

"Do you love me?"

Aziraphale grabbed a stick of chapstick out of his pocket, and gently opened it. After applying a generous amount to his lips, he beckoned Crowley closer, putting the chapstick back in his pocket. "Why don't you come here and find out."

Crowley would never admit it, but he had never kissed another person like this. It was gentle, almost like they were checking that neither would be hurt by this action. In the moment, it was just the two of them, kissing gently on a bed. It was just the smearing of chapstick and hugging, which was interesting for both of them. It wasn't rough and passionate; it was gentle and filled with emotions. Neither of them were particularly good at kissing.

None of it mattered at the moment. It didn't matter that Warlock was away with Adam at school. It dudn't matter that Heaven and Hell were plotting the second coming of a failed Apocalypse. It didn't matter that Newt was probably not prepared to be a dad. All that mattered at the moment was that Aziraphale was kissing Crowley, and Crowley was kissing Aziraphale. That was all that mattered.

It's all that would matter for a while.

~

[1] I wasn't sure if Yin and Yang were supposed to be capitalized, but I thought they probably should be.