Context: This one-shot takes place immediately after THAT phone call from the Good Omens 30th anniversary video.
Word Count: 4,000
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Aziraphale's POV:
The angel of The Eastern Gate stared at the telephone, his bunt cake laid next to it in an ornate little plate, ignored.
Foolish principality. Here you are again, pushing him away, when you were the one who called him in hopes that he'd invite himself over. But no, you still let fear govern you when it comes to him. Even when you know how he feels about you... Stupid, stupid angel...!
He was frustrated, no doubt about it. His eyes traced the table, the mess of sweets on it taking up far too much space for his current mood. A flick of the wrist was all it took for the cakes to teleport to the kitchen in the upstairs flat.
Should I call him back? Would he accept? Oh, he's probably fast asleep already, he does have a terrible talent for relaxing...
The angel picked up the nearest book, in hope that he'd be distracted for a bit. As he opened it, a black feather dropped from the aged pages onto his lap. With that, he unceremoniously closed the book, placed it aside and took the plume in his hand. Aziraphale's mouth twitched into a pout as he looked at the onyx feather.
He's had it since that day at the airbase. It had grazed Aziraphale's cheek, making him think Crowley's whole wing was centimeters away from smacking him in the face. In reality, the demon was too far from him for that to be the case. A feather had simply come loose as he stretched his wings and made its way over to the angel. Aziraphale had tucked it up his sleeve as Crowley put on his sunglasses and addressed Adam. He had been using it as a bookmark ever since.
Aziraphale sighed deeply and did another gesture. The letter he had started to write earlier (which he abandoned in favor of making the phone call) was now in front of him, ink-well, quill and all. He let go of Crowley's feather, placing it near two familiar portraits.
Go on, before you lose your nerve... He thought to himself as he gripped the quill-pen.
Anthony J. Crowley
How are you? I do hope your months-long-slumber has left you feeling rejuvenated. Or, at the very least, not as bored. Lord knows I could never do anything like that, I lack the proper discipline for it. Although, sloth has always been your area of expertise, after all.
As I am writing this letter, it is still early May. I am not sure what I will have gotten up to by the time you wake, but I imagine I will be missing you just the same. And that's just it, dear boy, it was a mistake letting you hang up. The reason why I called you in the first place was because I missed you. I should have accepted your offer, instead, I pushed you away again...
Crowley, I haven't been entirely truthful with you. You don't go too fast for me. I was simply too afraid of what they would do to you if I allowed myself to get closer. Even now, after being free for so many months, I let fear control me when it comes to you. And what makes it worse is, I know how you feel about me, how you've always felt about me...
I don't deserve you, I know this. You've been so good to me over the years, so patient. I'll understand if you have grown tired of waiting for me. But know that if you give me the chance, if you still want me in any capacity, I will do better. And I promise I will never deny you again.
'Are you two friends?' Yes.
'Are you together?' Yes.
'Do you love him?' Yes.
Whichever you want, I will say 'yes'. I will say 'yes' and mean it because I love you and I am done treating you so poorly. I just hope you can accept my apology. Even if you don't, please tell me... I hope to hear from you again soon.
Yours, as ever,
Aziraphale.
The angel was on autopilot, his hand shaking as he moved the quill-pen away from the paper. After making sure the ink dried properly, he folded it neatly and placed it in an envelope. He melted some wax, let it drip over the flap, then pressed his stamp onto it, sealing it.
The blond let out a shuttering breath before he placed the written confession against his lips. Doubts quickly filled his mind and anxiety had a stranglehold on him now. Before letting fear win yet again, he snapped his fingers and the letter disappeared from his hands. His equivalent to hitting 'send' on a risky text message and running away from the phone.
Aziraphale leaned back against his chair, a sigh of relief left his lips as he glanced at their portraits atop the table. July cannot come fast enough...
~~~~~
Crowley's POV:
"Goodnight, angel." The demon said before he hung up.
So much for that. The one person who I thought would make this a bit more tolerable doesn't even want me around. I shouldn't be surprised, 'slither over and watch you eat cake'? What the fuck was I thinking? Ugh, and that was my tongue sober! Had I started drinking like I planned, Satan only knows what would've come out of my mouth!
He decided to go torment the flora for a bit before his nap. If he was going to be unconscious for two whole months, he needed his plants to behave in his absence. Or, at the very least, come up with a way for them to not die until he woke up. He briefly considered tempting a neighbor into doing it. After all, it wouldn't be to look after the whole flat, they would only have to go into the indoor garden and the kitchen. His bedroom door would be locked and, as far as his past roommates and sleeping companions had told him, he didn't snore, which would make it easier for remaining undisturbed.
The demon sauntered into the kitchen to fetch himself something drinkable. He had originally planned on getting a glass but changed his mind, opting to drink straight from the bottle while sitting (if his chosen position could even be considered sitting) on his throne and going through social media.
It was ten minutes into this, and halfway through the bottle of wine, that he felt his skin pepper with goosebumps. A chill went down his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood with a warm rush. It was a familiar sensation, one he had grown used to over millennia: Aziraphale's miracles. Once he looked up from the phone's screen, his eyes found the source.
A letter lay in the middle of his desk, pristine white envelope, the wax seal being the only color on it. Crowley's eyes focused on it, quickly noting the stamp's design: a flaming sword etched onto the dark wax. As he moved it, a very obvious scent emitted from it. Well, obvious to him and his heightened senses.
Yup, definitely from Aziraphale. Green wax, not red, so it isn't anything official he needs to corroborate with me before sending it to Head Office...
As part of The Arrangement, this had been something very common between them, to avoid getting caught. Of course, this no longer applied, but the alcohol hadn't let him think straight for a moment. He slipped out the letter to see why the angel felt the need to write instead of calling him again. The scent became stronger once it was out of the envelope.
Powdered sugar and old books. He really wasn't lying about the cakes.
He read it, re-read it, and sobered up to read it a third time. His plans to sleep until July went straight out the window. The demon didn't know what to do with himself, pacing all over the flat while muttering incoherent babbles. Literally all over the flat, since he was also walking on the walls and ceiling, even the doors which lead into the plant room. This time, the foliage's quivering was not because the demon was upset with them, but because he looked like he had gone insane.
Eventually, he came back to the desk and grabbed the letter. He gave it one last look before making it disappear. He grabbed his landline, dialed the angel's number and held his breath as the tone rang against his ear.
He heard as the receiver was picked up and the silence on both sides was deafening for what felt like hours, but were only several seconds. Crowley finally forced himself to snap out of it and speak.
"Don't hang up." He demanded quickly.
The demon could feel the anxiety in the angel's voice as he replied with a barely audible "Alright..."
The redhead hadn't gone to sleep like Aziraphale had thought. He wondered if his calling back was out of boredom or because he had already read his letter. Before he could ask, he heard static-like noises coming from the other end.
"Crowley? Crowley, are you there?" He asked, gripping the phone even tighter. "Crowley?"
"I'm here, angel." The voice came gently, not from the phone, but from behind Aziraphale.
The blond turned to find his favorite demon in his shop, just as few feet away from him. He had shrunk and come through the phone-lines, presumably to avoid a rant about rule-breaking from the angel. Right now, that was the last thing on Aziraphale's mind.
The fallen angel inhaled deeply, most likely to calm himself down, not because of necessity. "We need to talk." He said.
Aziraphale's heart dropped to his stomach thanks to his tone but he nodded. And so, he hung up the phone for good to give Crowley his full attention.
"Where do we begin?" Asked the principality, hopeful eyes staring at the demon.
Crowley leaned his right hip against the nearby table but he wasn't looking at Aziraphale anymore. "You can start by telling me when this... suddenly became mutual."
When exactly did you start loving me?
The angel began to fidget with his hands, trying to get his thoughts in order. "That, um, that's hard to say. I believe it had built up over millennia, but I suppose the final nail in the coffin was when you asked for holy water... I couldn't stand the idea of you being destroyed and I realized it was because I love you..."
Is that why you gave it to me? "1862... When did you start... sensing me?" He asked, still staring at the floorboards.
"Rome, 41 A.D., Petronius' place. The wine was flowing, we were laughing, and then I felt a fairly big flash of love. Of course, there were many other patrons in the restaurant, but we were in a very secluded corner of the establishment. There was no way it could've been from anyone else at that very moment." Admitted the blond. His demeanor seemed quite guilty about it.
So you've been sensing me every time I got drunk and let my guard down? Or am I just that awful at hiding it? Oh, for fuck's sake!
Crowley wanted to cave into himself, out of embarrassment, frustration and a bit of comedic disbelief. He covered his mouth with one hand, while the other had made its way into his hair. His gaze landed on the table and his eyes noticed several things.
Is that one of mine? He wondered as he looked at the black feather. He reached for it and, as soon as he touched it, he confirmed that it was in fact, one of his own. His demonic aura was unmistakable. However, he decided not to comment on it, instead focusing on what laid next to said discarded feather. A little smirk tugged at his lips.
"Seems like Leonardo was trying to tell us something all those years ago... Did you know he did both of them like this?" Asked the Serpent Of Eden, referring to how well the two pieces fit together.
He was aware that they had both commissioned the artist at relatively the same time, but that was the extent of his knowledge back then. The same could be said about Aziraphale.
The angel shook his head. "Not until he sent it along with mine. Since there was no letter accompanying them I had assumed, with him knowing we were acquaintances, that he wanted me to give it to you. That is, until your next letter a few days afterward. You spoke of your portrait in detail, how he used the same background as he had for La Gioconda because you loved his sketch of it so much."
This was true. Crowley had even bought the original sketch off him, stating that Da Vinci had captured her expression much better in his first attempt.
Crowley focused on the book within the images. "Bit on the nose, don't you think? 'Ombra E Luce'... He may as well gone with 'Demone E Angelo'..."
"Had it been one of his public pieces, perhaps he would have. It could have even been seen as blasphemous." Aziraphale's tone had changed a bit since they started talking about the portraits. He was calmer, like they had fallen into their usual habit of discussing the past and how they were involved in it.
"Ah yes, the same atheist man who painted The Last Supper, countless other religiously-related pieces, and was suspected of being a homosexual, also painting two men in a couples' portrait? How scandalous." He said flatly. The angel just knew he was rolling his eyes behind those damned sunglasses.
Aziraphale shot him a glare. "Point taken. Still, the fact that he sent both to me, but you had also received yours, it made me wonder... Did he give you my portrait as well?" And there were the nerves again, making his voice sound unsteady.
The demon nodded. "He did. But he told me you had mine. Said he was 'doing me a favor by doing so'... I'd always wondered what you did with it..." Crowley admitted, examining the intricate sketch even more. Careful hands picked up the work as if it were the most delicate thing in the world.
He even laminated them. That explains why they're out on the table with nothing protective in sight. Not even his gloves!
Aziraphale had started fidgeting with his hands again, specifically with his ring, as soon as Crowley had touched the art piece. "Do you still have mine?" He asked softly.
The ginger gave him a nod before putting it down to ease his nerves. "It's in the safe, next to mine, as well as your letter... Although, I altered them a bit."
The principality's eyes got wide, not only because he just heard Crowley admit that he had put away his confession in the safe next to his portrait, but because he couldn't believe Crowley would intentionally do anything to change something done by a close friend like Leonardo.
Considering what the letter which brought him here said, the demon didn't doubt his next action would be accepted by the blond. Crowley snapped his fingers and the two portraits merged. A slight gesture from the wrist, and the whole piece changed coloring, looking a bit less aged and the details more defined.
This was when Crowley finally faced him. "Looks much better now, don't you think?"
Aziraphale beamed brightly at him. Whether it was because of the eye contact, what he had done to the piece, or both, was anyone's guess. All Crowley knew was that he never wanted to see that smile fade away.
"It is quite the improvement. Although, something is still missing." Said the angel as his fingers traced the edges of the drawing. A snap of his own produced a lovely mahogany picture frame, the perfect size for Da Vinci's masterpiece. He took it, placing it snugly in between the glass and cardboard back of the frame.
He then turned toward the demon again, chair and all, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. When those shiny blue orbs met his, now bare, eyes he felt a sense of urgency rise within his being.
Ask him. I need to hear him say it. Ask him. He swallowed, took a deep breath and shut his eyes as he leaned down closer to the angel.
"Did you really mean it? That you would never deny me again?" He whispered. When his eyes opened, his scleras were nonexistent, proof of how much stress he felt thanks to the inquiry.
Aziraphale's heart hurt after hearing the question, but he couldn't blame the demon. After so many years of rejection, he needed to make sure he could tear down those inner walls and accept his new reality. Because that's what this was. It was no longer going to be a fantasy he begged and yearned for, it was going to be real. It already was real.
The angel placed his left hand on Crowley's right cheek, his index and middle fingers gently caressing his snake mark. The demon leaned into the touch as if his life depended on it.
Aziraphale nodded. "Never again, darling. I intend to keep that promise and I hope to earn back your trust as well."
Angel...
"You've never lost it..." He struggled to say, as if something was caught in his throat. Tears had even started to form in his eyes but he was ignoring them.
The principality gave him a weak smile. "I know I've had your trust as a friend from the moment we met, dear. It is your heart's trust that I need to rebuild... Will you let me in?"
Yes.
Crowley couldn't voice it, he simply fell forward, landing on his knees, his face buried in the angel's soft belly while his arms wrapped and clung to his sides. For their first hug, it was quite strange, but Aziraphale wasn't about to point that out. Instead, he let his hand rub circles around the demon's back. The motion became slower and slower as he felt Crowley's love coming out of him in waves. It was overwhelming, more than he could have ever imagined.
"I love you..." Crowley said suddenly into the blond's abdomen.
The words ricocheted within the chest and ribcage of the Guardian Of The Eastern Gate. "I know, dearest. I love you too." He said softly, before grabbing one of his beloved's hands and bringing it to his lips.
The demon nodded into his torso. "It was my turn to say it." He breathed, almost frantically.
"I can feel it, my dear. You don't have to say it if you don't want to." He reminded him. Since Aziraphale didn't know if it was hard for demons to say that or not, he didn't want Crowley doing it for his benefit.
I want to. I've always wanted to. Gotta make up for lost time now. You'll probably get sick of hearing me say it.
"I want to, angel."
Aziraphale placed another chaste kiss on Crowley's palm. "Then by all means, don't let me stop you." He felt the demon smile into his midsection before hearing the statement again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.
~~~~~
It was hard to say how long they had stayed like that, but the demon was sure it must've been about two hours or so, thanks to the ache he felt on his knees when he shifted backward to sit on his heels. When he looked up at Aziraphale, he saw fresh tear tracks on the angel's face, noticed the wet patch he had left on the principality's waistcoat and started apologizing. Aziraphale merely shook his head and shushed him, not wanting to hear it.
They finally made their way over to the couch. The angel hoped that some cake and wine would help the two of them calm down a bit, or at the very least, give Crowley some of his energy back after that emotional ordeal. It was only when he went to stand up that he realized how drained he was.
As usual, Crowley did more drinking than eating but that was normal in him, which was a good sign. Another good sign was that he had remembered the lone feather atop the table and was teasing the angel about it. To which the bookshop owner replied to with an amused tone.
"You're one to talk. I distinctly recall you going back to a destroyed church for a 'souvenir'. As well as taking something from here while it was ablaze, and I am willing to bet you still have my thermos. If you can do that, I can keep one of your feathers as a bookmark." Said the angel smugly.
Bastard, calling me out on my softness. I thought we'd had enough of that for tonight. And Crowley may as well have heart-shaped eyes as he thought this from across the sofa. Maybe 'across' is a bit generous, in reality, there was barely a foot of space between their thighs.
He took another sip from his glass and tried to keep himself from yawning. It didn't work in the slightest. Aziraphale, who had noticed Crowley's eyes kept drooping closed but he was fighting off the urge to keep them shut, addressed it.
"I have no issue with you sleeping here, my love. I know how exhausted you are. Though, I must ask that you please wake up before July. I'd hate to have you here but be just as lonely." Said the angel as he held his free hand.
Good thing I got a reason to wake up regularly now, isn't it?
The demon smiled. "Don't worry, angel. I'm sure I'll wake up frequently to make sure this isn't all a dream."
And if it is, I hope I'm in a bloody coma.
"I'll be sure to pinch you to reassure you, dear..." He replied as he took the glass out of the hellion's hand and placed it on the nearby table. He then patted his lap, inviting the serpent to use him like a pillow.
And so he did, but not before crawling over to steal a sickeningly-sweet kiss. With that, he laid his head on Aziraphale's thigh and wrapped his arms around it.
"Goodnight, angel..." This time, Aziraphale didn't hear any disappointment in the demon's voice, only peace.
"Goodnight, darling." He said softly as he miracle'd a blanket for his beloved and a book for himself. Silence took over the bookshop once more until morning, when the demon rose to greet the his favorite ethereal being.
~~~~~
Their daily routine quickly morphed into: discussing plot-holes in each other's favorite stories (to keep up with their old bickering habits), trying to make a sizable dent in Aziraphale's mountain of cake (which only grew more because he wanted to teach Crowley how to bake and the snake complied), cleaning around the shop the human way just to kill time, among other things. Not to mention Crowley was traveling back and forth through phone-lines to take care of his greenery. Just because he had essentially moved in with the angel didn't mean the plants were free of him.
Eventually things calmed down, the world started going back to normal and almost everything was as it was before Pestilence had decided to come out of retirement for one more run. What didn't revert back, however, was Aziraphale's personal space. The clingy serpent was always on him in some way, shape or form and he loved it. Yes, there was no doubt in his mind, the phone call and letter had been worth it.