The Angel's Curse

Bookshop: Part One

"One sugar or two, dear?" Aziraphale asked.

"Two, if you please," Crowley called back from where his lanky form was draped over a faded armchair in the front of Aziraphale's bookshop. He held a potted plant above his head, inches from his face, inspecting it with a critical eye. His startlingly intense golden eyes were squinted with suspicion, scrutinizing every last aspect of the thing. (His sunglasses lay on the counter where Aziraphale bustled about, making tea.) The demon was deciding whether or not the green-leaved shrub would make the cut.

The plant in question, a lily shoot, was green-leaved and proudly erect, but had yet to produce any blooms.

After a few more moments of careful deliberation, Crowley decided to allow the lilies to live--for now. Perhaps he had developed a warmth for it, seeing as its vivid green presence considerably brightened up the dull and murky bookshop. Which was oddly reversed, when Crowley thought about it.

The dank, if cozy, little bookshop belonged to the angel, and angels were supposed to represent light, purity, warmth. All the nice things, such as cake and kindness and compassion and Freddie Mercury. Good things.

Meanwhile, the shop was poorly lit, dusty, quite dirty, and smelt vaguely of old mothballs. Crowley knew that it was--pardon the term--heaven to some, but to him it was simply boring, bordering on depressing. Also, rather asthma-attack inducing.

Then there was the plant, being all bright and lively and happy, which belonged to Crowley.

Crowley, the demon from Perdition.

Crowley, who was supposed to represent the evil and the hatred and the all the horrible nasties of the world, things like murderers and monsters and people who put pineapple on pizza. Bad things.

That seemed a bit backwards to him, but perhaps he was thinking too much. Besides, there was no good or bad, right? Just two sides to the same war.

That's what he told himself, anyway.

He turned the pot slowly in his hands, admiring the glossy sheen of the lily's leaves in the muddled candlelight.

Not to say that Aziraphale, as an angel, didn't successfully represent the light, the purity, and the warmth. In fact, Crowley thought of his holier counterpart as the very personification of light, purity, and warmth.

Hell, whatever room that Aziraphale walked into would brighten a little bit upon the angel's arrival. The temperature would seem to rise a few degrees, but just so that it felt like a warm blanket or a cup of cocoa. Additionally, the air would thin to where Crowley would become overly aware of his own breathing and attempt to quiet it for fear that Aziraphale would hear.

In many ways, he's like the lily, isn't he? Crowley thought, smiling gently to himself. Guess that makes me the wretched old bookshop. On my own, i'm a dark and broody thing, but with a lily, i can be absolutely—

"Radiant," said Aziraphale, startling the demon out of his thoughts.

Crowley started guiltily and nearly dropped the lilies onto his own face as he saw the angel watching him from behind the counter, two steaming cups of tea on a tray beside his hand and a gleam of amusement twinkling in his eye.

"Wha-huh?" Crowley said, flustered, as he attempted to regain his composure.

Aziraphale smiled pleasantly at the blushing demon, who manoeuvered himself into a proper sitting position in the armchair. He crossed his legs self-consciously and tried to look cool, hyper-aware of the angel's gaze.

"Radiant," Azi repeated, "that little grin of yours that plays across your face when you think no one's looking."

Crowley blushed harder.

"Iyyyyyuh i don't know what you, erm, what you're talking about..." he said half heartedly, rubbing the back of his neck. With a quick, discreet gesture he conjured a new pair of sunglasses to hide behind.

He heard Aziraphale chuckle lightly as the angel approached carrying the tea tray.

He offered Crowley one of the cups.

As the demon reached up, Aziraphale extended his own hand towards Crowley's face.

"What are you..." His voice trailed off as the sunglasses were removed, gently, from his eyes. Suddenly it was very hard to breathe.

"You know, dear," Aziraphale began quietly, examining the sunglasses, "I do wish you wouldn't wear these so often."

His soft blue gaze caught Crowley's, and pinned it not unlike how a hawk would a struggling rabbit.

Only, this rabbit had no desire to escape.

"Why?" asked the demon as he returned the stare, mesmerized.

"Because i never get to see your eyes." Aziraphale reached down once more, and with a perfectly manicured hand tilted Crowley's chin upwards, so that the candlelight caught in those fiery yellow-gold eyes.

"You've always had such beautiful eyes," continued Aziraphale. "Even before your Fall."

Crowley winced. He didn't like to talk about his demotion from angel to demon. He'd thought Aziraphale had known that.

Something was wrong.

"Aziraphale, are you drunk?" he asked.

The angel smiled. "Only on you, love."

Crowley opened his mouth again, to ask something along the lines of "Are you mad?"

The angel struck like a snake, quickly and without warning, leaving no time for his prey to react.

He leaned forward, lifting the demon's face even further upwards and drawing him in. Aziraphale bent his head and placed his lips on Crowley's, which were already slightly parted in preparation to question Aziraphale's sanity.

Aziraphale felt Crowley's intake of breath and watched as his golden eyes fell closed, one of very few times he had ever seen them do so. Crowley didn't blink much.

There was a fahwhooshing sound as powerful black-feathered wings exploded out of the demon's trim black suit and beat the air a single time. Then they lowered slowly, curling gently to cuff the angel's shoulder.

He closed his own eyes and allowed his pristine white wings to break free of the restricting coat, extending around the two of them to form a cocoon of sleek feathers. One pair of wings was neatly groomed and preened while the other had seen better days, but both were stunningly beautiful in themselves.

Crowley had been taken by surprise, obviously. But he wasn't complaining.