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Chapter Text

4004 B.C, West of Eden

Aziraphale whispered a name.

It wasn't the creature's name. It still made him turn.

"It's Crawly now, angel," he said, voice gentle, laughter even more so. 

"Yes, of course. Crawly. My apologies, my dear. Shall we?"

Crawly nodded before offering him his hand. An action born out of instinct more than anything, one that spoke of millennia of habit.

Aziraphale still stared at it. The hand, well, it wasn't an angel's hand. It wasn't even a human's hand.

Crawly had not yet mastered his corporation the same way Aziraphale had, it seemed. There were scales around his wrist, bright-red and enchanting, a warning of his venomous nature. The fingers were elongated, sharper at the tips. 
 
It took but a moment of hesitation and Crawly was snatching his hand back, shaking his head with a laugh. This one was not as gentle.

"Sorry, angel, forgot myself there for a bit, didn't I?" the precious creature said, avoiding his eyes. 

That wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all. Aziraphale reached forward, gathered the creature's hand into his own and pressed it to his chest. There were no words that he saw fit to say, nothing that felt big enough to house all the feelings vibrating in his chest. 

He didn't need to. It was enough. It had always been, with the one before him.

Crawly smiled, a gentle thing that had always suited him so well. Let himself be guided further into the desert. 

They had been following Adam and Eve for a while now. After the whole apple business. Aziraphale was starting to suspect that maybe giving them his flaming sword hadn't been the right thing to do he had previously believed it to be.

With bright yellow eyes boring into him and a talon-tipped hand into his own, it didn't bother him as much as it should have.

"What are they doing, do you think?" he asked, voice low, even though there was no way for the humans to spot them.

Sitting under the shade of a tree, wrapped tightly around each other, as if at that moment nothing else mattered. Nothing, but the person in their arms. 

Aziraphale was quite familiar with the feeling. 

Crawly shrugged. He hadn't spent as much time with the humans as Aziraphale had.

"A human bonding ritual, of sorts," he said simply, the only sign he wasn't as sure of his words as he portrayed, the rustling feathers behind him.

They both turned to the humans before them. Adam, gentle fingers cradling Eve's face, was whispering something to her. She was smiling, body tipped into his, arms wrapped around her stomach and the little bundle of shared joy it held. The scene intimate and private, and yet Crawly tilted his head, listened in. He had always been the curious sort.

After a moment of hesitation, Aziraphale followed suit.

"I will love you until my dying breath," Adam vowed, something warm and shining in his eyes. 

"I will cherish and protect you, forever," Eve echoed, one hand reaching up to wrap around his on her face. Held it there just as gently as she held their unborn child.

"You are my Eden," they said together, one breath, one soul. And Aziraphale had to wonder again, whether he had done the right thing. This time he didn't mean the humans.

He turned to the lovely creature beside him. No. To the demon beside him.

His eyes were poison yellow and the scales had climbed up to his elbows now. His hair, the same hair Aziraphale remembered shaking stardust out of, was swaying gently in the wind. 

He was beautiful. Had always been so beautiful.

And Aziraphale loved him. Had always loved him. Would always love him.

It had never even been a question.

He gathered Crawly's hands into his own. The demon didn't flinch back, but his body was tense with the need to. Aziraphale's moment of indecision earlier seemed to hang above them, ready to sever the connection they had built, slowly, carefully, back when time hadn't been created as a concept yet. Following a single wrong word from Aziraphale.

Lucky for him, he knew exactly what he wanted to say. He would not hesitate this time.

"I will love you, with each unneeded breath," he vowed, voice as soft as the first time he had told Crawly he loved him. A little tense around the edges, a little shivery. Full of hope, still. 

Golden eyes widened, twinkled like stars. The way Aziraphale was used to seeing them. He smiled, encouraged by the quiver he felt overtake the familiar shape before him. Brought the hands in his grasp to his lips, laid a kiss on each knuckle.

"I will cherish and protect you, until the heat death of the universe." 

He waited for that smile to make its appearance, sharp teeth, sharper now but still the same, bared at the idea that entropy would be enough to destroy what She had created. No. What he had created, with the same hands Aziraphale now cradled into his own.

The same universe Aziraphale had watched him create, had sat there, perched on the edge of an asteroid belt and had talked and talked about the humans, and the weird ways their bodies worked and the weird ways their world would work. And the other angel had hummed happily, had listened and had asked questions. As if it was important. As if he wasn't doing something infinitely more significant than what Aziraphale had been tasked with. 

As if he couldn't think of anything better to do than have Aziraphale chatter in his ear while long, beautiful fingers wrapped around newborn stars.

Goodness, but he loved him. Had loved him for so long and had never hesitated to tell him, back when they had both been angels.

Nothing had changed.

"You are my Eden," he said, finally, the words no longer hesitant. Tinged with the same sort of love that he had discovered so very long ago, back when the universe had been nothing but stardust and hope.

Crawly shook his head. It would have made Aziraphale's newly formed heart stutter in his chest, except he was also smiling. A gentle smile, one the angel had seen so many times, reflected in the light of a newly formed star.

"I will be your Earth," Crawly said, inching forward. With each passing moment, his features were turning sharper, more serpentine. Aziraphale tried to bridge the gap between them, lay a kiss on each iridescent scale on that beloved throat but the demon twisted away. Subtly, a jerk of the chin more than anything else and yet Aziraphale understood. Waited patiently.

"The place where the Fallen meets the Angel. As equals."

Crawly held his gaze. The meaning of his words was clear. They had spent so long learning how to communicate with just a glance, with a mere gesture. 

He was still cautious, still felt like it might somehow be a trick. Aziraphale hurried to nod. Hurried to smile and offer his heart and his soul and his love.

"My Earth," Aziraphale said, and felt it tighten around his ribs like a blood oath. And then he added, because he could and because it was the truth, "My everything." 

Crawly waited a moment, a beat of a heart that might change. And then he nodded, when nothing of that sort followed. When Aziraphale did nothing more than look at him, as besotted as he had been that first time he had seen an angel create the universe. 

And then he leant forward and kissed him.

It seemed that bonding rituals were not only reserved for humans.  

2350 B.C, Mesopotamia

Aziraphale saw her before she saw him. Of course he did. These days he was always on the lookout for flaming hair and stardusted eyes. 

She had been avoiding him, ever since Job. Something that he had thought would bring them closer together had made her run instead. It stung at his heart and his eyes but he knew she had her reasons. She always did.

"There you are, my dear," he said, one hand sliding down her arm to wrap around her wrist. The feel of her soft skin enough to calm the fluttering of his heart.

Crawly didn't recoil, but it was a very near thing. He wondered, once again, what he had done wrong.

"Angel," she tipped her head in his direction but didn't turn away from the little gathering before them. 

Her hair was in a braid and he remembered the last time he had seen it like that. The way it had looked, wisps of fire against the white of his robes as an angel laid in his lap. As they listened to the newly formed stars sing. He wanted to touch it, wanted to burn his fingers on it, like he had done millions of times before.

He didn't. He would never take anything, which wasn't freely given.

"What are they doing?" he asked instead, inching his head towards the humans. More to have something to talk about than because he cared. He didn't. Not truly, not when he could feel her next to him. 

He wanted to shift closer. He didn't. He was afraid she would move away and take his heart with her.

"A bonding ritual. A wedding, they called it. One of mine." 

She finally turned to him, she wasn't wearing her shades. He marvelled at the way her eyes shined in the sunlight, the way the curls framed her face like a hearth in the barren kitchen of his soul. So distracted by the beauty of the demon before him, Aziraphale took longer to hear her words, even longer to understand the meaning behind them.

He tore his eyes away from his demon and blinked at the scene before them. A man and a woman stood, hand in hand, as the heads of their families discussed the arrangement. They both wore flower crowns on their heads and flowing robes on their bodies.

Aziraphale's mind flashed to their own bonding ritual, millennia ago now. How joyous it had been, how lovely. The way his heart had overflown with the same gentle feeling running through his veins now, when Crawly had accepted his love. Had leant forward and had kissed him. Had promised to love and cherish him, just as much. 

He turned to the demon again, just in time to see apprehension bloom in bright chrysanthemum eyes.

"I would think this is more my sort of thing, my dear," he said, quietly, teasingly. Surely, if the humans could feel even a fraction of the joy he had felt on that day, if they shared even a drop of the adoration he felt towards the demon. Then it couldn't be something created by Hell, born out of temptation and sin.

She shook her head. 

"Not born out of love. Not like-" She shook her head again, her eyes flittering to the side, her curls dancing in front of her face. Aziraphale's hand burned to touch. "She was promised to him, to ensure their offspring are his. In exchange for land for her family."

A transaction, it seemed. Still, Aziraphale could feel the tendrils of love curled around them both, could see the way they glanced at each other, when the other one wasn't looking. They would be okay, he thought and he knew and with a flicker of a finger, he ensured.

Crawly could probably sense it, the sickly sweet smell of an angelic miracle in the air. She didn't say anything. But she did sway closer.

Perhaps it was that, which made him bold enough to ask, "Would you do this with me, my dear? Would you wedding me?"

He loved her. Wanted to call her his own, just like he wanted to belong to her, with each atom of his being. 

The sharpness in her eyes retreated to the edges. A shadow, dulling the light of her supernova-bright eyes. 

"You can't ask that of a demon," she said, sharp, but perhaps not as sharp as she had wanted to be. "Careful, angel, or you'll-"

She hesitated, like even saying the word might wish it into existence. Thorn-edged understanding dug into Aziraphale's heart. Was that why she had avoided him for so long? Why she had disappeared after Job, not to be seen for a century and a half? Why he sometimes thought he saw a glimpse of fire-tipped hair, only for it to disappear by the time he reached it?

She had been worried he would- That he would Fall?

Aziraphale turned towards the couple, just in time to see them share a chaste kiss. He thought of their own first kiss, not so chaste. Of Crawly, a different name then but still the same, still gentle and gorgeous and kind, curling long fingers around his jaw and tipping his head back. Of claiming his mouth, soft and curious, until Aziraphale could think of nothing else but the sweet nectar of his lips, the press of his hands all over his body.  

Aziraphale thought of the million times they had kissed after, under stardust and starlight and the dark of creation.

He had already Fallen. Long ago, it seemed. In the most important of ways.

"I have had time to think," he said, slowly, as if the words were building blocks that he was trying hard not to make tumble down. "Ever since Job. Falling isn't so bad, it seems."

He felt her shiver. From shock, or something else, he couldn't quite tell.

"No?" She sounded breathless. She always did, when Aziraphale was brave enough to give voice to his feelings. Rare as it was now, and the guilt of that always gave him pause. 

He wished he could be as brave as she was. He wished he could find all the right words to explain to her how much he loved her. Words that could hold the weight of the reverence, the adoration he had had for her for an eternity now. 

"No." He was breathless too. But he was also brave, if only this time. "Falling has you."

She gasped. He could almost hear the wings of her heart beat against the cage of her ribs.

For a moment, she said nothing. He wondered if he had done the right thing again. 

"The ritual is called a wedding. What you need to ask me is if I will marry you," she explained softly, a slight quiver to her voice. It never ceased to amaze him that for all the centuries he had spent working on the human project, perfecting their bodies and their minds and their souls... She was the one who knew them better. Who fit so very well among them, who understood them and loved them as they were.

She was wonderful. Always had been.

He opened his mouth, ready to phrase the question in as many ways she deemed necessary for her to give him her answer. She was quicker.

"Yes," she said, a smile on her lips and in her eyes. "I will marry you."

The flower crown she made for him was woven from baby's-breath flowers. She told him they symbolised purity and sincerity and it felt like she was teasing him, that playful spark dancing in her eyes as she grinned at him. He still wore it proudly, for it had been created by her and so he loved it and would later freeze it in time and cherish it until the non-heat death of the universe.

He used these gorgeous yellow flowers that he found in a meadow for her flower crown. He didn't know what they were called, just that they bore a striking resemblance to her eyes. And that the red of their tips blended into her hair perfectly, making it look like the flowers were dancing in the flames of it. She told him later he had used dahlia flowers and laughed and laughed and refused to tell him what they meant. At least, until he smiled at her and asked her very politely, while also kissing her neck. She caved, just like she always did. 

Red dahlias meant perseverance, even in the face of adversity, while yellow symbolised joy and happiness. He had chosen well, he thought, as he watched her grin at him in her flower crown and white robes. It was the first time he had seen her wear white, ever since- Ever since. It still suited her.

She looked like an angel.

They had no families to give them away. So they stood, hand in hand, together. 

Just the two of them.

Just like they were always meant to be.

Chapter Text

41A.D, Rome

"Still a demon, then?" Aziraphale had asked, more to erase that frown from beloved features than because he particularly cared.

"Still mine, then?" Crowley now hissed, sharp and teasing, hand sliding over the angel's knee. Very much not in the same way.

They had made their way to the bathhouse, pleasantly full of oysters and shared joy. It hadn't taken long for Aziraphale to convince his demon to enjoy that part of Roman daily life with him. Especially when it became apparent to Crowley it involved a semi-nude angel sitting beside him on a little bench, thighs pressed together. Rosy cheeks and a pink mouth so close to his own.  

The laughter froze on Aziraphale's lips, even if he could still feel it ringing around them. Shifted, turned into something sharp and hungry.

He twitched into the caress. Let his legs fall open, followed a command, a temptation, really, one older than the universe. Couldn't have stopped himself even if he had wanted to, not when clever fingers were playing with the edge of his towel, nails scraping at the soft skin just underneath it.

He also nodded, damp curls dancing in front of his face, appearing blurry in the steam. Or was that just his inability to stop his eyelids from growing heavy with the weight of desire settling upon them.

"Only yours, my dear. Only ever been yours," he whispered, the words as desperate as they were true. "You must know."

It seemed to please Crowley, the corners of his mouth twitching up, revealing the tip of a sharp tooth. The hand inched up again, fingertips leaving indentations into Aziraphale's soft thighs.

Aziraphale had missed him something terrible. The thought, one that had been lingering at the back of his mind ever since they had parted ways last time, was still startling in its intensity. It had only ever been 8 years, a blink of an eye for creatures that had shared their first kiss underneath the newly formed stars. And yet, an eternity, when used to measure the time spent out of the orbit of that supernova of a smile, away from blazing golden eyes.

"I missed you."

And yet, it was Crowley, who said it first. Who leant forward and branded it on his cheeks, on his chin, on his throat. With the heat of his words and his lips.

Aziraphale gasped, pressed closer, couldn't really stay still with it. With the weight of all the adoration he felt for the demon, the desire to be with him and to call him his own. To wrap him close and never let him go, never let him leave.

Not that Crowley ever would. No.

Crowley was his, just as much as Aziraphale was his demon's. It was obvious, in the curl of his lips, the tenderness of his touch. The love in his words and his gaze and all around them.

Aziraphale's fingers curled around cropped short hair, bumped into that ridiculous crown Crowley had insisted on wearing. His hair had been long, the last time they had met. Long and curly and so very lovely. It still was. He didn't mind the change. He loved his demon in all his forms.

He didn't need to tug too hard to get Crowley's lips to fall upon his own. Didn't need to tug at all. The demon knew what he wanted, had always known what he wanted and had always been more than happy to give it to him.

The kiss was soft and gentle, nothing but a tentative slide of lips against lips, as Crowley curled a hand around the back of Aziraphale's neck, thumb nestling easily against the pulse point of his throat. The demon always made it feel so easy, this intimacy between them, the shared breath they didn't need. What else was Aziraphale to do but sink into the embrace, let free all those noises he might have found embarrassing but never would. Not with Crowley. Not when they were for Crowley.

His hands slid over sharp shoulders, over bare chest, before they crept even further down, skirted the edges of Crowley's towel. The effect was immediate. The demon moaned into his mouth, shifted, both a permission and a way to give him easier access.

It was only then that Aziraphale realised. Where they were.

"There are people around us," he hissed into their kiss. Very much did not remove his hands from their coveted place on top of the only thing covering the demon. A fact that didn't escape said demon's notice, judging by the way he laughed, voice sharp with need but in no way cruel.

"And yet, here you are trying to get me indecent, angel. How very naughty of you."

Crowley looked down and so did Aziraphale. And stared at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. As if he wasn't the one who was controlling them, the one who had made them burrow under the towel, seeking warm and perfect and hard. His grasp tightened in realisation and Crowley made a noise. A noise that established in Aziraphale's mind that they would not be able to make it out of the bathhouse before he descended upon that lovely creature.

"Darling, could you please-" His words more a growl than a request, as he tilted his head towards the closest humans. His fingers, only after some persuasion, had finally loosened their hold. But only because he had promised them something even better, were they able to tug that blasted towel off slender hips.

Crowley hissed, then made that same noise again, the one born at the back of his throat that Aziraphale wanted to bite. And then, blessedly, he clicked his fingers, ensuring nobody would bother them. Nobody would even notice they were there. And all the while, he did not stop looking at Aziraphale, golden eyes blazing in hungry delight. Goodness, but he was beautiful. He was precious and lovely and his. And Aziraphale couldn't wait to get his mouth on him.

The towel finally came undone, and who insisted on tying such tight knots, before initiating such a kiss. Especially knowing they would find themselves stark naked within moments of it. Because Crowley knew, there was no way he didn't. He knew what he did to the angel, with his sharp smile and tender touch and clever fingers. He had probably known where this was heading, from the moment he had laid his hand on Aziraphale's knee.

That beloved tempter. Evil incarnate, he was.

A twist of the wrist, the towel sliding to the floor and Crowley was laid bare before him. His skin soft and white and slightly flushed, be it from the steam or the angel's touch, Aziraphale couldn't be sure. At least not completely, not without some extensive research.

Crowley squirmed under his gaze, a sinful wiggle of all his joints that reminded Aziraphale more of his serpentine form than his human one. Even after 4 millennia of shared love, of tender kisses and touch, he still felt anxious, like this, in front of Aziraphale.

He hurried to show his demon there was no reason for it, no need to shy away from his touch. No reason to press that body Aziraphale had gazed upon under the light of creation further into the little bench they were sitting on, and away from Aziraphale. That he loved every inch of him, every star-dusted freckle, every shimmering scale.

It was better now, after 4 millennia spent in a human-like body. The scales but a splatter of colour on ivory skin, the fangs tucked away behind sinful lips. Aziraphale didn't mind it. He wouldn't have minded anything, really, as long as he got to touch him.

His fingers danced over Crowley's stomach, over a sharp hipbone, down a soft thigh.

"Oh, my darling," he gasped, couldn't really help himself. "You are gorgeous, you are. The most beautiful thing ever created."

Crowley made a noise. It had been supposed to be a snort, it had certainly started as one, but had very quickly transformed into something softer and needier, once Aziraphale had let his hand curl over the underside of his knee.

"How do you want me, my love?" Aziraphale asked, a useless question that had always, would always have the same answer. And yet, he asked it, because he couldn't imagine himself not doing so.

And like always, Crowley answered, a little shake of his head, "Don't matter. Just need you, angel. Any way you want."

He would have felt frustration at the answer, but was he not the same? Did he not feel his pleasure secondary to that of the demon before him? Would he not do anything as long as he got to see Crowley smile like this, got to taste that flush on his cheeks?

Ridiculous, they both were. Both caring more for the other's happiness than their own. And yet, Aziraphale wouldn't have changed it for the world.

He let his eyes slide over his beloved demon's body, noted the shivers wrecking his slight frame, the fluttering of his chest. Oh, that lovely creature. Aziraphale needed him, couldn't imagine not having him, forever. Desire blazed like a flame underneath his skin, inside his core.

His fingers tightened around Crowley's knee.

"On my- on my lap, my love. If you are amenable?" he stammered out. There was something else twisting inside him, something primitive and possessive, something that wanted to sink its claim over that gorgeous creature, couldn't imagine anyone else seeing him like this. Vulnerable and lovely and shy, head tilted to the side in curiosity and desire, even as he stood up on shaking legs.

Aziraphale knew nobody would bother them. Nobody would be able to see what had always been meant for his eyes only. But, well. It felt better. Once the demon pooled his limbs over Aziraphale's lap. Once the angel could wrap around him, shield him from unseeing eyes. Could swallow him whole against his ribcage and keep him there, forever.

And then Crowley was wrapping his own arms around the angel's neck, tugging him close until their hearts could beat together. Pushed his fingers into blond curls and claimed his mouth and Aziraphale realised. It wasn't Crowley, the only one being shielded from prying eyes.

"You are the gorgeous one, angel. Always have been," the demon gasped against his lips, before leaning down to run sharp teeth over the column of his throat.

And once again, it had been so quick, so easy, the way Crowley had sunk his talons into his flesh, had anchored himself onto Aziraphale's lap. The hot mouth, kissing every bit of skin it could reach. His chin, his neck, his collarbone. And through it all, Aziraphale could do nothing but moan into the onslaught, press into each caress, sigh into each kiss.

His hips were shuddering underneath Crowley's delicious body, and the towel. Each stuttering thrust against the rough cloth dancing on the edge between pain and pleasure, making him hiss and try to scramble away and yet, giving him no choice but to come back and rut against that heat, chase that same delicious feeling. It was madness, it was beyond madness, and coupled with Crowley's insistent mouth on him, it was driving him wild.

The demon's hands slipped between their burning bodies, graceful fingers running over his chest now, grazing the hard peaks of his nipples. Just once, just enough for Aziraphale to gasp,  try to chase that fleeting touch. And then Crowley was smirking against his mouth, and his fingers were dancing out of reach again, over the swell of his stomach and, oh, Aziraphale was going to make him pay. He was going to make him suffer, just as much. Was going to tease him until his throat was sore from the drag of his moans, until he was nothing but need and desire.

Later. Once he was able to think.

For now, he decided to beg. An equally appealing strategy.

"Please, my love," he rasped out, whole body twitching up, chasing Crowley's touch. The words were sweet on his tongue, felt as natural as any vow would, and he couldn't help but let them flow like nectar. "I need your touch, I need- Oh, darling, please."

Crowley chuckled, which Aziraphale might have scolded him for. He might have if there was any space left in his mind for anything other than warm, and soft, and Crowley. And if not for the fact that immediately after, the demon also snapped his fingers, making the towel around Aziraphale's hips disappear somewhere into the aether. And, oh, had it been any other time, he would have probably worried if Crowley would be able to get it back, if he had remembered where he had put it. It was one of his favourite ones, and it had been a gift from the emp-

Crowley wrapped a hand around him. Around them both. Aziraphale forgot how to think. Forgot how to exist, outside of the embrace of those long limbs, the heavy weight of the demon against him, on top of him, around him.

And then Crowley was curling a finger under his chin, tipping his head back until his lips were just where he wanted them, a sweet offering for the demon. There for him to claim and lick and nibble on, every single sound that managed to escape from them a feast for that beloved creature's hunger.

Aziraphale could do nothing but wrap his hands around a thin waist, hold the demon's body as it twitched and writhed against him. Marvel at the scales all over a firm belly, quivering chest, long throat. Dip and kiss every inch of them, tongue hot and throbbing against their biting cold. Crowley was delicious, every single part of him, every moan, every movement.

He was also close, Aziraphale could tell. The way his mouth fell open around a keening sound, more desperate than biting, high-pitched and needy. The rut of his hips, the way they shuddered against Aziraphale's frame, no longer the measured teasing Crowley always tortured him with.

The angel let his hands wander over that tempting body, over a strong back, the curve of the demon's ass, the back of his thighs. The touch as devastating to him as it was to the one on his lap.

"I love you," he couldn't stop himself from saying. He never could. It was easy, the confession falling out of his lips with the same weight of an absolute truth as it always did. "I love you so much, my darling. Always will."

Crowley nodded wildly, hair a burning halo around his face. Opened his mouth, let out a wanton moan, before spilling all over their slippery bodies. As much of a love confession as Aziraphale's had been.

It didn't take long for the angel to follow him. His beloved's face, flushed cheeks and wide eyes and trembling lips the only thing that he needed to push him over the edge. And for a moment, everything stopped. Everything disappeared but him and his demon, still shuddering lightly in his arms. It was peaceful and lovely and it always reminded him of that quiet content he had felt, back before the Beginning. Standing in the middle of a half-finished galaxy with the only creature he would ever love, wrapped around him. Kissing him and touching him, as if the outside world did not matter at all.

In Crowley's defence, he did give him a few minutes of bone-melted repose, before he was jumping on his feet and pawing at Aziraphale's shoulders. Touch as desperate and hungry as if he had never been touched by the angel.

"Up, up, up. Come on," he whined. A pleading note to his voice that Aziraphale knew his demon would absolutely deny so he didn't even bother bringing it up. "Need to have you. Please, angel?"

Not that he had any desire to do anything but heave himself up, miracle a new towel and follow the demon to the shower area.

He had promised himself to make his beloved pay, after all.

It was long after, with Crowley wrapped around him like the snake that he was, and with the warmth of their love pulsing between them that Aziraphale asked his demon to marry him. It was legal, here, now, for beings of the same gender.

Of course, they were genderless and had no need to have their love validated by human laws.

But it still felt... lovely, having Crowley as his own. Strengthening a bond that had existed for so very long.

It wasn't a traditional wedding.

They both wore a wreath on their heads, a reminder of their last wedding, millennia ago now. Crowley chose to wear the flammeum, a yellow-red veil tucked neatly into the flowers on his head, meant for the bride but one that looked so stunning on him, still. He was also the one who assumed the part of the groom, stealing Aziraphale away from the little inn in which he had taken residence while he was in Rome. More due to his serpentine nature, that innate desire to give chase to a sweet morsel of angelic delight, than anything quite as ridiculous as human gender roles.

Aziraphale didn't cry as he was herded towards the home Crowley had purchased for them both, as was customary. He did not weep and while he might have pleaded with his demon, it was not the way he was expected to, he was sure. Instead he shook with laughter and stole kisses from his future husband. Tried his best to distract him on the way there and get him to press him against those stone walls, as Crowley was always deliciously prone to.

They entered the house together, as equals, hand in hand. Bonded by fire and water.

It wasn't a traditional wedding and thus, illegitimate in the eyes of the law. But as they sunk into each other's arms and shared their first kiss as husbands under Roman tradition.

Well, it was perfect.

Chapter Text

1837, London 

Crowley had a charge.

They had both been living in London for a few decades now, Aziraphale busy with setting up her bookshop and Crowley with whatever demonic business she chose to concern herself with. Mostly making sure the rich lost some of their money in favour of the poor. Not something that was entirely demonic, but Aziraphale knew better than to make that observation.

They hadn't spent more than a few months apart for centuries now. And only when it was entirely unavoidable, like when one of them was sent on business somewhere and the other was unable to accompany them. 

It had been during one of those times, a decade ago, when Crowley had been sent away to Scotland and Aziraphale had been about to receive a shipment that needed to be signed for, that the demon had found her. Grave robbing just so she could feed herself. Tarnishing her mortal soul just so she could suffer a little while longer on this Earth. 

Any other time Crowley might have hesitated, might have considered turning a blind eye. It was another soul, destined for Hell, after all. It was quite literally a demon's job to ensure that. But it wasn't any other time. Millennia spent with Aziraphale had softened Crowley's demonic urges. Oh, she still hissed and growled and threatened to leave her angel to fare for herself but it was all empty now. The bite still there, but a lover's one instead of one caused by a snake's fangs.

It was what had made Crowley drag her out of that cemetery, clean her cheeks with a soft, embroidered cloth and offer her a better deal. A life. A future. 

Crowley had a charge, and by extension, so did Aziraphale.

She liked it. She did. There was love enough in her heart for more than her demon. No, that was a lie. The love in her heart would only ever be destined for the altar of her demon's soul, her smile, her laughter. But Crowley loved her charge and Aziraphale loved her and so she had welcomed the girl into their home and she had resolved herself to make them both as happy as she could possibly manage.

She hadn't regretted it. 

She still didn't, even with Mr. Richardson talking to her in a calm tone of voice as if she was an easily spooked rabbit. And just as smart.

"You must understand, Ms. Fell-" He said the name as if it was an insult. In his world it might as well had been. She was a spinster after all, with nothing to keep her warm but the bookshop her brother had left her, her niece and her sister-in-law. "I cannot possibly be your niece's teacher."

"Well, why the Heavens not?" Aziraphale's voice was getting higher and higher with each passing minute. This human was being ridiculous. As if she needed him, as if she didn't know all the things, insignificant in number as they were, that he did know and all the others that he didn't. 

But Elspeth needed formal training, she reasoned with herself and stayed her hand that crackled with divine judgement. Elspeth needed to have this man sign off on all the knowledge their charge already possessed.

Mr. Richardson made a face. It wasn't a rude face. It was one of pity and discomfort and infinitely more enraging.

"You are aware, of course, of the type of students I usually tutor?" 

It was a question in name only. He wiggled his eyebrows in a way that made clear that unless Aziraphale's charge decided to grow a certain body part, she would not be admitted to his prestigious class. Aziraphale's skin buzzed with the need to divest him of his own particular body part.

She opened her mouth, the part inside her that still remembered being a Soldier of the Lord pulsing and shivering in anticipation and-

"Everything okay, angel?"

A pair of heads turned towards the voice, 2 pairs of eyes widened, lingered. 

Crowley had never much cared for social conventions. It was especially true now, despite the strict rules society put on the way the bodies they were wearing should look. The 'morality' they must uphold, just due to the gender they had chosen. But no, her demon had never much cared for what anyone else thought, what anyone else wanted. With one notable exception, of course. 

Which led to her, making her way to the entrance hall of the house they shared, dressed only in her sheer shift, legs bare, hair beautifully mussed. Aziraphale could make out all those lovely curves she had run her palms over just hours ago, every beautiful spot she had branded with her lips. 

Oh, but her demon was gorgeous. 

Aziraphale felt the anger quieten in her body, her love too heavy, too all-consuming to allow for anything else.

When Mr. Richardson found his voice, it was rough around the edges. "Ms. Crowley. As I was just telling your sister, I am unable to admit your charge into my class."

He was keeping his eyes secured on the round glasses and shock of red hair and for that, Aziraphale had to begrudgingly applaud him. Crowley looked like temptation incarnate, and not only to the only being that had ever known the taste of her mouth, the blaze of her touch.

The demon of a woman sidled closer to her, one arm skirting over Aziraphale's bare forearm before long, beloved fingers were wrapping around her cinched waist. Aziraphale wasn't sure if it was more for her comfort or the demon's.

"Well, why the Hell not?" Crowley's voice was just as high as Aziraphale had been, but it also held a dangerous edge. One that hinted if not outright threatened that something unpleasant might happen if she didn't like the answer to her question.

Aziraphale, who knew exactly what her demon was capable of, shifted closer until she was almost in front of Crowley. To anyone else it might have looked like she was guarding her, protecting her from Mr. Richardson's harsh words and lingering gaze. 
 
Her motive, and the identity of who she was protecting, couldn't have been further from the truth.

The man before them opened his mouth, wide eyes flittering between their faces. He looked bewildered that he even had to explain this to them. Bewildered and exasperated.

"Forgive me, ladies. I must speak freely." His voice was tinged with something faux soothing that made his words sound vile, instead. Aziraphale felt the fingers around her tighten, and she let herself lean back. Her weight, she hoped, grounding her demon, reminding her not to do anything stupid. 

"While your charge is a delightful young woman, I am sure, and she has no doubt inherited most of your better qualities, we cannot forget that she is, above all else, a woman. And I don't believe I have to tell you that women were just not created to work on anything as complex as what my students deal with. Women, after all have smaller br-"

Crowley snapped her fingers. The man before them disappeared.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale tried so very hard to sound admonishing. Perhaps slightly undercut by the smile tugging at the edges of her lips, she was sure. 

Her demon had the cheek to laugh. "It's fine. I will miracle the papers Elspeth needs. Satan knows she is far more capable than this idiot could ever be. Beats me why you keep insisting we do it the human way, angel."

Aziraphale chose to ignore the remark. Their charge was aware of their more otherworldly abilities, but it never hurt to try things the human way first. Well, didn't hurt them. That man on the other hand...

"Thank you, my dear." She nodded towards the spot on the carpet that was beginning to vaguely smoke. "And- And Mr. Richardson?"

"He'll turn up in about a month, safe and sound. Back in his house. Don't worry." 

An exasperated huff tickled the crook of her neck. One that made goosebumps dance all the way down to her collarbone, which her demon was happy to chase with her lips. Had it not been an eternity ever since they had started this dance of theirs, Aziraphale might have let her. 

She knew better now. She knew what her demon was trying to do.

"And whole?" she insisted, turning her head to stare at the vixen wrapped around her.

The huff was real this time, nothing measured about it, nothing designed to tease her attention away from the demon's transgressions. "Mostly whole."

"Oh, you wicked thing." It didn't taste like an insult on her lips. Perhaps because it wasn't.

Crowley knew it too, judging by the smirk that bloomed on her face, the playful stars dancing in her eyes, unguarded by shades anymore. 

"Still a demon, Aziraphale. Even if a tad domesticated, now. Speaking of wicked things-" As if to illustrate her point, Crowley's fingers tightened around her waist again, tugging her even closer to her chest. Her grip strong and familiar but in no way punishing. Causing nothing but desire to dance underneath Aziraphale's skin. "Why do you insist on wearing clothes like these? Fuck, but the way you look, angel, like a frilly cupcake. Downright indecent, it is."

Aziraphale gasped, affronted. Very much did not try to escape her demon's embrace. "A cupcake?"

"The most delicious cupcake." Crowley's words might have sounded teasing but her voice was soft, soothing. "Let me touch you, sweetheart."

One hand slid from Aziraphale's waist, over her stomach, before finally running over her bosom, spilling out over the top of her dress. Clever fingers wormed their way between fabric and flesh and Aziraphale gasped, leant even more into the demon's embrace. Her knees were shaking, body far more interested in becoming a puddle of liquid desire than anything quite as asinine as staying upright. 

Even then, she managed to tease back, voice husky and rough but otherwise perfectly decent, thank you very much, "You are the one who came downstairs in your shift, my darling. I could see your nipples. If you want to talk about decency."

Crowley, it seemed, did not want to talk about decency. Her chuckle was dark and heady, and almost perfectly swallowed by Aziraphale's quivering throat that she was nibbling on. Come to think of it, Aziraphale also didn't feel like talking about decency. Not when sharp teeth were running down the tender of her neck, leaving behind pink welts and pulsing need. Not when a familiar hand cupped her breasts, holding her gently, fingers carefully avoiding her nipples and she wanted to whine. She wanted to beg and to plead, just as long as she could get her demon to touch her properly, to stop teasing and to get on with it. 

"Hush, darling, I'll take care of you," Crowley whispered into her ear, a threat as much as it was a promise and Aziraphale did whine then. A soft keening sound that dragged out of her, unbidden. She could feel her demon smirk against her and she couldn't even bring herself to care. As long as Crowley continued to touch her, to hold her. To love her.

And that's exactly what Crowley did. Of course she did. Her hand finally crept up, wide palm running over her chest, before a thumb was ghosting over the hard of her nipples. And, oh, Aziraphale couldn't have been more grateful that the demon was holding onto her, her body growing too heavy with desire to even hope to stay upright. 

Another chuckle was pressed into her throat, just as sharp as the demon's teeth and as delicious as her lips. But Aziraphale could tell she wasn't the only one being affected by this. Crowley was shaking ever so slightly, body pressing against her back with an almost desperate urgency. The arm around the angel's waist had also tightened, but she couldn't decide whether that was more to hold Aziraphale upright or due to Crowley's snake-like nature. 

The finger grazed at the most tender of her spots again, and she gasped, chest twitching forward, chasing a touch that would never relent, would never leave. Still, she did. And then she moaned, and then, despite the fact she was getting everything she could want, she pleaded. A shiver ran down Crowley's body, merged with her own, so close together they were. 

With delicious desperation that burnt just as bright as the want in Aziraphale's veins, Crowley tugged at the front of the angel's dress. Forcing her breasts to spill before them both, free from their cloth and corset prison and right into the one made by the demon's greedy fingers. 

They both groaned, as one. 

When Crowley returned to ravage her throat, the lust and the love were almost like a tangible cloud that enveloped them both. Aziraphale knew what this meant. She knew what would happen, if she did not stop this now. 

Their bodies might have been immortal but it still hurt, tumbling to the ground in the midst of ecstasy.

"Bed, my darling, we need- Bed," she whispered, voice breathless and pleading. 

Crowley nodded, even though she made no move to stop her sweet torture. Aziraphale could feel the demon's body burning against her back, the weight of her breasts, the desperation in her rolling hips. She knew it wouldn't take long. For her to succumb to the same desire and not care where they ended up, as long as they were tangled together.

"Or the settee," she relented, an urgency to her words that she knew the demon would never ignore. "Please."

That seemed to work and Crowley was letting go of her neck with a nod, a last soft kiss to it, more a promise than a goodbye.

"I'm going to let go of you now, angel. Will you be okay to stand on your own?" 

Despite the teasing edge to her voice, she still sounded gentle. Caring. It didn't stop Aziraphale from rolling her eyes, nor the huff of indignation mixed in with the soft moans falling from her lips. Even when her legs were refusing to support her and it took her more time than she was willing to admit to remind them she was an angel of the Lord. And that they were not supposed to shake quite like that.

Finally, when enough time without Crowley's gorgeous mouth on her had passed and she was finally able to think, she nodded. Her demon nodded too, a last kiss pressed to the round of her shoulder, before the hands were retreating from around her. Slowly, as if to give her time to adjust, the body behind her tense and ready to coil around her again at the slightest hint of a sway.

After so long, the care in everything her demon did with her, to her, for her, never failed to take Aziraphale's breath away.

A soft sigh, once the hands had let go of her completely and then she was twisting around to face Crowley. Beautiful and kind, smiling shyly down at her as if she wasn't the most sinful-looking creature herself. As if Aziraphale couldn't make out every familiar line and curve of her body under the almost sheer shift. The curve of her demon's breasts, the dark of her nipples, the round of her thighs, almost tantalising underneath the white cloth.

The want surged inside her, desperate and warm, and so very familiar and Aziraphale couldn't help but reach forward. Cradle the sharp cheekbones with soft hands, sip at the sweetness of her demon's mouth.

"Oh, but you are breath-taking, my darling," she said and she vowed and she pressed into stardusted skin. 

For all her demon's teasing, she still flushed at the compliment, still tried to bury her head in Aziraphale's shoulder instead of letting her see the devastation these simple, love-worn-out words caused. It was ridiculous, made even more so by just how common they were. Oh, but Aziraphale could hardly stop herself from voicing her love now, from letting it pour out of her as if wine from an overfilled goblet. 

She worried, still, sometimes. About what Heaven and Hell might do to them if they knew. About losing Crowley, about having to spend even a minute without her sharp words and even sharper smile. Without her joy and her warmth. 

But they had been living together for so long now, she reasoned with herself, like she always did. Surely, if they knew, they would have done something about it. They would have snatched her love from her grasp. And yet, here her lovely demon was, in her arms, pressing against her, hungry fingers digging into her sides, mouth ravenous against her own.

"Elspeth?" Aziraphale asked, lips leaving the tasty morsels of skin before her just enough to whisper the name of their charge. Even then, she didn't fight the way her demon dragged her towards the nearby settee.

"Spent the night with a friend. Said she'll be back in the afternoon," Crowley said, casual as she pleased. Aziraphale felt her brain switch to an entirely different frequency.

"A friend or a friend?" she asked sharply. Crowley's smirk against her lips was answer enough.

Oh, but Elspeth was just a child! What business did she have spending almost a full day in some unknown girl's house? What if something had happened to her? What if someone-

The hands around her waist turned gentle, touch reassuring and warm. The kisses too transformed into little pecks all over her face, the corners of her mouth, the turn of her nose, the soft of her cheeks.

"Relax, angel. She is a grown woman, she can take care of herself." The hunger in Crowley's voice had retreated, making way for the soothing balm that always seemed to calm Aziraphale down. "And it's not like she ran away, she told me where she was going. She just- She knows how much you fuss."

Aziraphale's nose scrunched, just for a moment, before another kiss was laid on it, forcing it to relax. She did fuss a bit, she knew. She only worried. Elspeth might have been living with them for a decade now and might have been a grown and learnt adult woman but she was, above all else, their charge. A child for all intents and purposes.

So lost in her musings, she only noticed that Crowley had managed to guide them to the settee when the back of her legs collided with something plush and inviting. 

Crowley caught her gaze and held it, starlight eyes warm and patient. 

"Okay?" she asked, simple but enough. Aziraphale nodded. Let herself be lowered into the settee, gentle fingers guiding her into its waiting embrace. 

For a moment, Crowley just looked at her. Aziraphale could imagine the picture she made, flushed and wanton, hair no longer coiled into controlled ringlets but more resembling cotton fluff from all the times her demon had run her fingers through it. Dress all askew and breasts spilling out in front of her, quivering with each unneeded breath and each surge of desire. Debauched and perfect, judging by the hunger in those beloved eyes, in the way Crowley bit into her own lip, hard enough to draw blood, were she human. 

And then her demon raised a hand to click her fingers and Aziraphale yelped, curled both hands around her dress protectively. Not again.

Crowley growled, because she knew exactly what she had done, the vixen.

"I'll miracle it back," the demon hissed, voice rough around the edges and tinged with desperation. "I always miracle it back. Come on, angel."

Aziraphale's hands tightened around her chest. "Not always. Remember that towel from the bathhouse in Rome. Sometime after Jesus'... whole thing. It was-"

"I said I was sorry," Crowley tried to defend herself, but she did lower her hand. She already knew she had lost.

"-One of my favourite towels, it was. Gifted to me by the emperor himself."

"I miracled you an exact replica of it. The day after, in fact."

Aziraphale stuck her chin out defiantly. "It wasn't the same. Mine had my initials sewn onto it. In golden thread."

It was an argument they had been having for close to two millennia and Crowley had yet to win it. It seemed she held no delusions that this would be the one successful time, judging by the way she rolled her eyes with a sigh.

"Fine, but you'll be responsible for touching these," Crowley growled, fingers dancing over the angel's exposed breasts and making her whimper, even as she lowered herself to the ground. "Once I'm under your million and one layers, I'm not coming out until you can't take it anymore." 

A shiver wrecked Aziraphale's body at the threat, the promise, in those blazing eyes. The sharp of a tooth, poking above a curled lip. 

And, oh, but her demon was beautiful. Kneeling before her, all danger and sin. And yet, so infinitely gentle, with the way she gazed at her, like something precious, something worth worshipping. The way she moved her skirts, frustration tingling at the tips of her fingers and yet so careful. Crowley could have cut her dress to ribbons, she could have torn it off her body, could have even miracled it off her. 

But she would never do that, would she? She would never do something that Aziraphale wouldn't like.

Before she even realised it, Aziraphale was swaying forward, curling a finger underneath her demon's chin. Tipping her head back, just enough to claim these sweet lips, scrunched into a concentrated pout as Crowley tried to figure out the angel's skirts. Adorable. And sweet and gentle. And most importantly, hers.

"Will you marry me, my darling?" she sighed the proposal into her demon's mouth. Even after so many ceremonies, so many times they had joined their bodies and their souls in the traditions of the land, the question never failed to make something warm spill inside her ribcage. Trepidation and anxiety, all of it drowned by the love in Crowley's eyes as she blinked up at her.

"Of course, I'll marry you, angel. I'll marry you as many times as you want." And if her words weren't enough, Crowley also surged forward, her kiss just as desperate as it was lovely. "I'll change later, yeah? Let me have you like this one last time?"

But that wasn't what Aziraphale had meant and she shook her head. 

"No, my love. I want us to get married like this. I want you to call me your wife and it would be my honour to do the same."

Crowley swayed backwards, as if Aziraphale's words held a physical weight to them. She blinked again. When she spoke, her voice was gentle, plaintive. "I don't think we can do that, sweetheart. Not wearing these bodies, at least."

The angel pouted. "You can hypnotise the priest, you've done it before. And we can do it in Scotland, they don't usually have their weddings in a church in Scotland." 

Aziraphale could taste the yearning on her lips, tinging her words. She didn't care. She wanted this and her demon would give it to her. It was a fact of life, indisputable and unchanging. Always had been.

That didn't mean Crowley wouldn't tease her first.

The demon laughed. "Thought about this a lot, have you?"  

Only every day for the past 10 years, Aziraphale thought desperately. Instead, she said, because she would rather resolve this with minimum teasing before Crowley could go back to teasing her, "That wretched man called us sisters."

The way Crowley scrunched her eyebrows made something burn inside Aziraphale. Or maybe that was caused by the hand that had finally found its way underneath her skirt and was running up and down her calf. 

"We are two old maids, who have lived together for seemingly forever, taking care of a child. What else could he call us, sweetheart?"

Friends. Lovers. Wives. The words flashed inside Aziraphale's mind, each one more ridiculous than the last, considering the bodies they had chosen and the way society tended to see them. And yet, Aziraphale wanted. Couldn't imagine not having her demon in this way too, of having her wish denied because of stupid, bigoted humans.

The resolve must have shown on her face, or it might have been Crowley's uncanny ability to read her like the books that she pretended she detested. Her demon nodded, smiled. It wasn't a teasing smile, but it was still sharp, the blade whetted by a different emotion.

The same one that wrapped its burning coils around Aziraphale's ribs as that curious hand danced over her soft thighs towards the centre of her pulsing need.

"I'll be your wife, sweetheart," Crowley promised, something solemn and heavy in her voice. For just a moment, before the fire in her eyes was blazing again, the edges of her lips curving into a grin. "But first, can we go back to me having to dig a tunnel through your clothes just because you don't trust me with your precious dress?"

Aziraphale rolled her eyes. 

But she did also let her thighs fall open, enough to accommodate a dastardly demon, already licking her lips in anticipation.

They did get married in Scotland. The priest didn't find anything strange with them holding the ceremony at night, close to the local graveyard. Especially not when Crowley snapped her fingers and miracled it so. They all wore white dresses, as was tradition. Even Elspeth, who had brought her friend. A lovely girl, really, and Aziraphale truly didn't feel like she fussed quite so much as to force Elspeth to hide their relationship. A belief that persevered even as the angel tried to adjust the coils of her charge's hair and got only a huff for her troubles. 

The ring Crowley slid onto her finger was golden, engraved on it - a pair of wings entwined together. The ring that Aziraphale had chosen was, surprisingly, the same. They grinned at each other, twin smiles blazing in the dark of night as they held hands as wives, for the first time.

It was a lovely night, made only better by the fact Aziraphale had everyone she loved around her, her heart so full she could feel it pounding against the cage of her ribs, trying to soar. 

Elspeth and her friend retired to the inn first, Aziraphale receiving a deadly glare as she told them to be careful walking the streets. She could have saved herself the trouble, after all, especially since she clicked her fingers the moment the girls' backs were turned, ensuring their safety. The priest had also disappeared off somewhere, and she included him in the miracle, almost guilty that she had forgotten about him entirely.

Crowley lifted their joined hands and laid a kiss on each of her fingers, lashes fluttering with each sigh and gasp falling from her wife's lips. She looked delectable, in her white gown, with her fiery hair. But it was the way she was looking at Aziraphale that drew the angel close, that made her lean into Crowley's embrace. Let herself be pulled into the gravity of their shared desire. 

And when Crowley leant into her, when she kissed her back just as sweetly, moaned into each and every caress, she knew. Her demon could see Aziraphale's devotion just as clearly.

"Come, angel." Crowley tugged at their entwined hands. Waited for the slightly dazed nod from an increasingly debauched-looking Aziraphale, before she dragged her wife towards the graveyard. "I want to show you this statue I saw the last time I was here."

There were so many ways one could spend their wedding night and somehow, looking at a weird statue their wife had found a decade ago, had never occurred to Aziraphale. She still followed, of course, happy to indulge her demon. If only to ensure she kept receiving that dazzling smile as her reward.

The moment they stepped into the graveyard, something happened. Something shifted, deep within the Earth, deep within Aziraphale herself. Crowley seemed to realise it first, dropping the angel's hand and leaning forward to lay a kiss on her cheek. She was gone before her lips had touched Aziraphale's ashen skin.

There were so many ways one could spend their wedding night. And yet, on her's, Aziraphale saw the love of her existence get dragged back to Hell. Taking with her Aziraphale's heart.

She didn't see Crowley for 25 long years.

Chapter Text

1862, London

Aziraphale came back. Of course he did. Love like theirs could not shatter under the weight of unusually cruel requests and words like 'fraternising'.

Even if it had been a very near thing.

Crowley snarled at him the moment Aziraphale joined him at the table, lovely lips baring to show off teeth the angel had felt the sting of on so many occasions. But he did also tip into Aziraphale's broad chest, let out only a grumble when his angel's hands wrapped around him and tugged him even closer.

"Marry me, angel?"

The request, just as unusual as the one Crowley had made mere hours ago, but for an entirely different reason, made Aziraphale's heart beat just as fast. The demon had never been the one to propose and for a moment, he let pure joy pulse through his decorative veins.

They could be together, again. They were together. Crowley had come back from Hell, he was here, now, in his arms. Nobody could take him away. Not anymore.

They could have a wedding, flowers in their hair, Elspeth, a little too old to be a flowergirl now, but still, by their side. Crowley dressed in whi-

The image of Crowley, in a white dress, on their last wedding day, flashed before his eyes. A little worn out around the edges from all the times it had haunted his dreams, had plagued his memories, but not any less devastating than it had been, 25 years ago.

He didn't say anything. He didn't even have enough control over his body to make his head shake.

He didn't have to.

Crowley knew. Crowley had always known him. Every one of his tells, every single one of his facial expressions.

A hitch of a breath within a narrow chest was the only sign of the demon's disappointment, before he was nodding slowly. Anchoring himself even deeper into Aziraphale's embrace as if scared he might be asked to move. Scared that he might be taken away, again.

1941, London

"There must be something else I can do for you, in return," Aziraphale said, even if an entirely different set of words were pressing at the seam of his mouth.

'Ask me now,' he wanted to say, wanted to beg. 'Ask me now and I will give it to you. I will give you anything you want. Please. Please, just ask me.'

Crowley sneered. Careful not to meet his eyes. He knew, of course. He could hear the plea behind Aziraphale's hopeful words, could read the desperation in the lines of his face. He had always been able to and it must have hurt, knowing there was something Aziraphale wanted that he wasn't willing to give him. It was certainly a first.

Crowley must not have wanted it like this. Not out of gratitude. Not as a form of thank you. Not when it came to them, this, their love for each other. The only constant in the universe.

Aziraphale didn't blame him. But he also, wretchedly, couldn't force his mouth to form that question instead.

It didn't seem to matter.

"Forget it, will you?"

It should have hurt. It probably did, in some forgotten parts of his brain, too unfamiliar with the concept of his demon refusing him anything. But then Crowley reached across the seat, gathered his hand in his own and brought it to his mouth. A kiss, a simple slide of lips across his knuckles and...

It didn't matter. Not as long as he had Crowley next to him.

1967, London

"I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go."

It was Crowley's turn to sound hopeful, sharp lines melting in the glow of the artificial light around them and something else. Something that made Aziraphale's glass heart rattle on its ribcage shelf.

He knew what would happen, were they to go back to the bookshop. He knew, just like he knew the taste of the demon's lips against his own, his weight, as he pressed him against the sofa and slithered all over him. Constricted around him, a sinful wave of limbs and touch and love, that would never drown him but would always leave him just as breathless.

He knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself. He could feel it, even now, the question heavy on his tongue, clinging to the prison of his mouth. He clenched his teeth, swallowed until it was no longer there. A physical weight that he managed to slide down his throat and to the depths of his stomach instead. Just as heavy but bearable, now that it wasn't pressing against his windpipe.

Not like this, he reminded himself. Not out of gratitude, not out of desperation.

Marriage was supposed to strengthen their bond, not heal it. It wasn't supposed to be what kept them together.

That wasn't what came out of his mouth, though.

No, his words were far worse.

"You go too fast for me, Crowley."

Friday, One Day To The End Of The World, London

"It's a big universe. Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we can go off together."

It occurred to him that Crowley never asked that question again. Neither did Aziraphale. This was the closest they had ever gotten ever since- Ever since the Holy Water incident. And it hurt that even now, desperate and frightened, the most Crowley could think to ask of him. The most he thought he would be allowed, was to run away together.

It hurt even more when he realised he had to say no to that, too.

Crowley didn't wait for an answer. He never did, not when he could see it in the lines of Aziraphale's face, in the pull of his lips as the angel contemplated how to voice a rejection that wasn't a rejection. How to say, 'No, I want you but I want them too.'

Aziraphale had thought he would never need to. Crowley loved humanity, he had loved their quirks and their ways even back when they had been just a story Aziraphale spun for him, while he worked on something far grander. But it seemed, there was something else that the demon loved more than them. Someone he would choose to protect over them, even if it meant burning the whole world down, just to keep them both warm.

The demon turned away, not even a sneer on his face, and it was this that snapped Aziraphale out of his trance. The careful neutrality on those beloved features, the tightness around a slack mouth, blank eyes.

Tightness, just about to snap, he was sure. The moment Crowley was out of his sight.

It wasn't something he could allow.

He snapped his fingers and found himself in front of the demon. So desperate to touch him that he didn't even think about the fact he had just used a miracle to cross what seemed like only a few feet. But what felt like an abyss between them, one that would grow and swallow them both whole, if left unchecked.

"Crowley, wait!" His fingers curled around a thin wrist. Didn't tug, didn't have to. The demon froze the moment their skin touched.

"What else is there to say, Aziraphale?"

His voice was even, words dull and careful. It hurt more than if he had decided to scream at him. Not that he ever would.

"I love you," Aziraphale said, because it was the truth. Because he hadn't said it in decades it seemed. The worry, like barbed wire around his throat, too severe to let them escape. To not tear them into pieces on the way up, until they were nothing but sounds, nothing but smiles and stolen glances and the occasional 'my dear' he treated himself to.

Crowley was staring at him, that same careful blankness hanging by a thread now.

"I love you so much, my darling. I never stopped loving you, not even for a moment. You must know?" The question, one that he had asked so many times before, but now, a real one. One that expected, pleaded for, an answer.

Crowley shook his head and something in Aziraphale's heart broke just a little bit more.

He had done this. With his constant refusals, with his inability to communicate. Crowley had tried so many times. He was trying even now, even when he wasn't expecting him to say 'Yes'. His demon had put his heart on the line, fully knowing it would be shattered.

"I am sorry." There was nothing else to say. He couldn't offer anything else.

At least, not until Crowley turned fully towards him. Let his body tip into Aziraphale's warmth and the fact that he did that, that he trusted the angel to catch him, to hold him. It felt like absolution.

"I am ever so sorry I refused to tell you, my love, to show you how much I adore you. I will. I will tell you everything, I will share with you my heart, just like you have done, time and time again. But I- I can't-"

The lump in his arms shook, ever so slightly. And then Crowley was raising his own hands, fingers burrowing underneath Aziraphale's tan coat, clutching at his sides. Pressed so close, Aziraphale could feel red hair, tickling his neck, could smell the vague scent of burning wood and what had always been Crowley. Even back when his name had been different and divinity-tinged.

The love, just as strong as it had always been, pulsed between them.

"It's fine, sweetheart," Crowley said into his shoulder, before also laying a kiss on it. "I understand."

But he didn't, it felt like. Aziraphale's grip tightened around him, for just a moment, before he was tilting back. Bodies still entwined, he didn't think he could bear for them not to be, he curled a finger underneath the demon's chin and tipped his head back. Back until stormy eyes met dark circles. A single click of Crowley's fingers and his last line of defence had also disappeared into nothing. Golden eyes blinked at him, vulnerable and full of adoration.

"We can't let Earth fall victim to a senseless war, darling. I can't. We have to try, we have to protect what we have. I can't lose you."

Again, he didn't say. There was no point bringing up horrible memories.

Crowley seemed to agree. "'Course we have to protect it. It's where we got married."

There was a smile on his face, a small one, but at this point, Aziraphale was happy to get what he could. He let his thumb trace it, watched as it widened underneath his curious finger, bloom into a full fledged grin.

"The place where the Fallen meets the Angel," Aziraphale repeated the first vows they had exchanged on this plane of existence, 6 millennia ago.

"As equals," Crowley said and kissed him.

It felt fitting. For these to be their last vows as well, if it all failed.

2020, London

"Darling, do you have to?" Aziraphale hissed, patting at her demon's snakeskin boots on the sofa, until that wicked creature removed them.

Why Crowley insisted on wearing shoes was beyond her. They hadn't left the house in weeks it seemed. Nothing to do. Nothing to see.

She couldn't say she minded, especially not when she placed the Victoria Sponge Cake on the coffee table and snuggled next to her demon. There were certain perks to being stuck in one place for an indefinite amount of time. Especially when the creature you were stuck with was the one you loved the most.

"What have you made for me?" Crowley asked, and without waiting for an answer, dipped a finger into the jam spilling from the sides.

"Oh, you terrible thing!"

Aziraphale tried to sound admonishing, she really did. But it was a very hard thing to do, when the love of her existence was presenting her with a long finger, topped with cream and jam. Not that she would have been able to scold her demon, even without that tempting thing before her. And she hardly meant the cake.

"Come on, open up, angel," Crowley drawled, tongue peeking out to lick at her lips. As if she was the one faced with something unfairly delicious.

Aziraphale's mouth fell open, tongue darting out to wrap around a trembling finger, instead of waiting for her demon to feed it to her. No, not when she knew how divine it would be, that delicious skin, the taste of Crowley mixed with the cream and strawberries, and yet, sweeter than them both.

Crowley whined, a desperate sound coming from deep within her soul. Barely waited until all the cake was licked off her, something Aziraphale took great pleasure in. She was becoming quite the baker. And everything tasted better, when eaten off her demon's skin. Sadly, at some point there was no jam left, no sweetness clinging to Crowley's finger, except for the usual one.

And then her demon pounced. Hurled herself into Aziraphale's lap, kissed and licked at her mouth until she had taken back every last drop of sweetness. And long after that.

Aziraphale couldn't help but giggle into the kisses, something warm and bubbly in her chest that she hadn't felt in close to a century. Yes, the world might have been falling apart around them and yet... Having Crowley here, in her arms, kissing and touching her, laughing with her. It couldn't have been more perfect.

Well, there was something that could make this even better. But it was currently hidden safely behind one of her Oscar Wilde books, that she knew the demon would never touch. Out of professional courtesy, she always said and Aziraphale let her believe she had never noticed the jealous looks she had tended to send their way, any time Aziraphale and Oscar talked.

But for now, it was as perfect as it could be. And once the lockdown lifted, Aziraphale would propose to her demon. Become her wife, once again.

???, ???

"Will you marry me?" Supreme Archangel Aziraphale asked, as something on the ceiling drooled viscous material on their suit. Duke of Hell Crowley blinked at them slowly.

'No,' they answered. Their snout didn't move, the fangs still bared in a vicious threat, but the word still echoed in Supreme Archangel Aziraphale's many heads.

Their hundred eyes blinked, trying to chase away Holy Water tears that might have hurt their... Duke of Hell Crowley. Four hands fluttered in the space where their chest might have been, were they back in their human body.

Duke of Hell Crowley moved to slither around them, their massive coils sliding against the grime of Hell with a squelching sound. The light, limited as it was, caught the red of their scales the same way that sunlight had used to. It was beautiful still, and Supreme Archangel Aziraphale couldn't stop their eyes from tracking the movement, almost mesmerised.

They knew what was expected of them. They rushed to tuck their wings closer to their body, press against the wall of the meeting room. Like they always did, right after they had both been left alone in the room and shortly after they had received an answer to their question. Always the same question.

It still hurt. Even after so long. The fact Duke of Hell Crowley wouldn't look at them, wouldn't meet any of their tearful eyes. Would reject their proposal, without even dignifying them with words.

Supreme Archangel Aziraphale couldn't do it anymore. One of their wings fluttered in the air, it was slimy and full of grime. They would meet in Heaven, next, and Supreme Archangel Aziraphale could wait, they supposed. Could do it there, in the oppressing expanse and blinding light. There, where they would be able to see the expression on Duke of Hell Crowley's, on their beloved's face, when they tried once again.

The wing lowered, feathers ruffling as if they didn't agree with their owner's decision. Well. Supreme Archangel Aziraphale didn't agree with their decision either. But that was their life, now, wasn't it?

A series of sacrifices.

It was the life they had chosen. They couldn't expect anything more.

Duke of Hell Crowley stopped, just before they had slithered out of the room and out of Supreme Archangel Aziraphale's presence for another painful few months. Their tail coiled around them, the tip of it fluttering in a way Supreme Archangel Aziraphale could have called anxious but never would. Not to Duke of Hell Crowley's face at least. And certainly not in the confines of their own mind, still screaming at them to grab the creature before them, wrap them in their wings and carry them away. Somewhere no one would ever find them.

Somewhere they could be together again.

But Supreme Archangel Aziraphale did not do that. Their heads bowed, they turned to face Duke of Hell Crowley, ready to accept whatever punishment they deemed necessary. Maybe this was the day Duke of Hell Crowley told them it was over, that they couldn't work together anymore. Maybe that incessant question had finally had an effect, albeit not the one they had hoped for.

Duke of Hell Crowley raised themselves on their tail, up and up and up until they were almost hovering above one of Supreme Archangel Aziraphale's tallest heads. They blinked at them, a slow, serpentine movement. A threat that Supreme Archangel Aziraphale had never thought would be directed at them.

And then they swayed forward. Their mouth opened, hundreds upon hundreds of hungry fangs flashing in the dim light. Sickly green and dangerous and so close to Supreme Archangel Aziraphale's many quivering throats.

They weren't afraid, still. Heads tipping back, as one, they offered themselves to Duke of Hell Crowley, like they had done so many times before. All of their eyes blinking close in surrender and acceptance.

"Fix thisss," Duke of Hell Crowley hissed and it took Supreme Archangel Aziraphale a moment to realise the words had been formed by a mouth, had left a throat and had slid over a forked tongue, instead of being broadcasted directly into their heads. Their eyes opened, slowly, hazily, and met the flashing eyes of Duke of Hell Crowley's, so close to their own. "Fix thisss, angel, and we ssshall sssee."

Supreme Archangel Aziraphale nodded but it was too late. Duke of Hell Crowley had disappeared.

It mattered not. They had work to do.

A Second Coming to stop.

After, South Downs

Aziraphale hummed to himself as he took the cake out of the oven. A tune with no words that he must have heard centuries ago.

Today was the day. One year since they had moved in together. One year of nothing but joy, bubbling in their chest, warming the space between them, scarce as it was now.

It was everything Aziraphale had thought it would be. And more. It was now that he realised he had always been... anxious, of Heaven or Hell taking his demon away. That no matter how much comfort, how much love there was between them, pressed into the very fabric of his soul by sinful lips and spider fingers- That there had always been that worry, gnawing at his bone marrow.

Fear that they'd be forced apart by forces bigger than them. Inescapable and unyielding and cruel.

But as he decorated the cake with fresh-picked strawberries from Crowley's own garden, he could feel it. The absence of fear, that gaping chasm, filled with terror and dread, now soothed over with each smile his demon sent his way. Each kiss, shared in their own home.

He knew it was time. The ring heavy in his pocket and, despite everything, worry tinging the edges of his limbs.

So deep into his own head, he didn't even hear when the object of his thoughts joined him in the kitchen.

"What you got there, angel?" Crowley asked, even as he peered over his shoulder, wrapped tightly around him, solid against Aziraphale's back. His hands anchored themselves on the angel's hips, chin nestling easily on top of the round of his shoulder.

It only served to remind Aziraphale of how much he had missed this, this easy intimacy. The almost innate desire in his beloved demon, in them both, to touch, to share. Everything.

"Made you a cake," Aziraphale answered simply, even though Crowley could see it. Had probably been able to smell it from the garden.

His demon did have a terrible sweet tooth, not that he would ever admit to it.

Crowley hummed happily, nose nudging against the nape of the angel's neck and making him shiver.

"Aren't you spoiling me a bit too much, sweetheart? Careful or I might get used to it."

It was a tease, of course it was, the voice light and airy. Crowley didn't feel like the things Aziraphale did for him were undeserved, something to be taken away if he did not follow an arbitrary set of rules. He never had, no matter how tense things had grown between them in the last century.

It still didn't stop Aziraphale from twisting in his arms until he could face his demon. Hands resting against Crowley's chest, measuring the calm of his heart, steady and strong, underneath his fingertips.

There was a smudge of dirt on his demon's cheek, he must have been digging in the garden, Aziraphale realised. And felt his heart swell by the reminder they had a garden now, something for Crowley to tend to and love, a place for his plants to grow with plenty of sunlight and space and love. And not only his plants.

"I'll spoil you until the end of days, my darling," he whispered into the curve of the demon's smile, before he leant forward to taste it.

Crowley gasped into his mouth, still so surprisingly delighted by Aziraphale's soft words and even softer kisses. Even though he had been on a steady diet of them both for more than a few years now. The surprise didn't last long and soon enough he was shifting, crowding his angel against the counter, one leg making its way between Aziraphale's wantonly opening ones. His grip tightened around the angel's hips, making him moan and press closer, and wrestling a groan from Crowley's own lips.

And then the hands were sliding down, over the curve of Aziraphale's ass, squeezing and kneading at soft flesh, before they were-

Aziraphale jumped out of their embrace, flushed and heaving and so very aroused. Panicked even more.

Crowley blinked at him. His hands tightened around empty air before he brought them closer to his own body, unnaturally stilted.

"You alright?"

That wasn't a tease. There was genuine worry in the demon's words and Aziraphale hurried to nod. Hurried to smile. It wasn't hard. Especially when it was becoming painfully clear to him what he had to do now.

He stepped forward, pressed a kiss against those sinful lips that had just fallen open, ready to argue with him. Cradled long, earth-dusted fingers in his own, pressed them against his chest. Delighted in the thought that Crowley was leaving his marks all over him, in a very visible, heart-thumping way.

"I love you," Aziraphale said, because he could never miss an opportunity to do so. And watched as a bashful smile bloomed on the loveliest face he had ever seen, pink flush climbing high cheekbones, even as Crowley tilted his head as if to hide from view.

But even so, flustered and shy and so very beautiful, his demon didn't fail to answer softly, "Love you too, angel."

And that was the important bit, wasn't it? Their love for each other that had withstood time and distance, all the forces of Heaven and Hell, and even two Great Wars. Although the last one had been more of an office scuffle than anything quite as dramatic.

Love. The rest, the rest was just stardust.

"I have loved you for so very long, my darling. So long I don't even remember what it is like, not loving you. I would never wish to. And these past few years, with you by my side, and the knowledge that you would never be taken away from me again... Well, they have been the best years of my long existence."

Crowley's eyes were sparkling, twin stars blazing with all the love that gorgeous creature held for him.

"Angel-" Crowley managed to say through his grin and Aziraphale leant forward to shush him with his lips. He had slaved over his proposal for the good part of the last month and he was not letting the demon distract him away from showering him with the words of his devotion.

"Every day spent with you, it is a treasure unlike any other. It is Eden, my love, our Earth, and it is nothing short of perfection. I adore you, every part of you. You must know."

Crowley nodded his head, hair wild, eyes wet, but he was smiling. Hadn't stopped smiling and Aziraphale knew him enough to know the reason behind it.

Goodness, but he did adore him. The reverence as if part of every last one of his building blocks, every piece of the cosmos She had used to create him, made to worship the demon before him. He pulled the box out of his pocket and held it open for Crowley's eager eyes.

"You are the love of my existence and I cannot imagine spending even a moment without you again. My darling, please, will you marry me again?"

Aziraphale tried to push away the bitter memory of all those times he had asked the same question, only to receive a heart-shattering answer in response. That didn't matter, he told himself. It had been a different time, a different Aziraphale, a different Crowley. And while the love had been the same, it had also been burdened by so many other things. Bent beyond its breaking point. And yet, still strong, still enduring, pulsing between them both. A warm blanket of adoration.

Crowley tilted his head back, neck bare and just faintly dust-smeared. And then he laughed. A wild, roaring thing that seemed to sprout right out of his soul, flower in his throat. Each giggle a petal rippling in the wind and, oh, Aziraphale wanted to kiss him. Wanted to taste the blossoms of his happiness, wanted to share in his own.

He didn't. It felt rude, considering Crowley hadn't answered the question yet.

And he wasn't planning on answering any time soon, it appeared, as right after he stopped laughing he just... smiled at Aziraphale. The most precious of smiles, gentle and sweet and loving. Aziraphale's most favourite one.

And then, Crowley was waving a hand in the air, an almost absentminded click of the fingers, before a similar box was cradled in his own hand.

Aziraphale understood his desire to laugh, then. A smile spilled over his face, the thorns of anxiety, the ones he hadn't noticed before, loosening their hold around his heart.

Crowley presented him with his own ring, a flush on his cheeks and something shy in his eyes.

"You know I don't do speeches, angel. I can't- Not like you, at least. Pretty, your words are, make me feel all-" The flush darkened, descended upon the tender flesh of his throat and Crowley shook his head. "I love you. For the best part of my existence, I've loved you. I don't see myself ever stopping, not for anything. Satan, I loved you when you were a sanctimonious dick of a Supreme Archangel, I doubt anything could stop me from loving you, really. So if you wan- that is if- Will you marry me?"

Aziraphale opened his mouth to tease, the lightness in his chest making it far too hard not to. Perhaps to point out that he had loved his demon when he had been a demonic snake the size of a bloody skyscraper. Perhaps to point out that for someone who didn't 'do speeches', this was the loveliest thing Aziraphale had ever heard.

He didn't say any of that though. No, what he said, what he had always wanted to say, was, "Yes. Yes, I will marry you."

Aziraphale wanted to get married on that same day, the same hour, if they could. Before Crowley reminded him they had friends now. Creatures that loved them and might want to take part in the joining of the souls they had merged forever ago.

They married each other in their garden, surrounded by their flowers and their friends. They didn't need anything else. They had never needed anybody else either, but it was a nice reminder. Of the life they had built together, the people, angels and demons and humans alike that cared for them.

Even if Crowley was on the verge of throwing Gabriel out at least a dozen times.

They wore the flower crowns they had made millennia ago, for what they would always know was the second wedding in human history. It was Aziraphale who miracled his own from the little pocket of alternate dimension he kept for everything Crowley had ever gifted him, everything that reminded him of the demon. A treasure trove of all the love they had shared over their long existence.

He presented it shyly to his beloved, almost feeling silly for the fact he had kept it. It had served as a reminder of a happier past and now, it was to serve as the beginning of a happier future.

He expected the soft smile on Crowley's face as he took the flower crown from Aziraphale's fingers and placed it gently on top of his curls. Adjusted it with careful fingers and so much reverence.

He didn't expect for Crowley to present him with his own flower crown, kept in stasis at the perfect bloom, yellow-red flowers just as vibrant as the angel remembered them. His demon just as beautiful and shy wearing it as Aziraphale would always remember him.

Their suits were grey, although not the same shade of grey, even if Crowley insisted it very much was. Aziraphale had eyes and could clearly see that his demon's clothes were a good few shades darker than his own. But he was also so madly in love, hadn't stopped being, really, so he felt like indulging that ridiculous creature.

Crowley didn't look like an angel. He didn't look like a demon, either.

But he looked happy and lovely and his. And when Aziraphale looked into his eyes and saw the same devotion that had become a part of his soul an eternity ago, reflected back at him, he knew.

That this perfect life was theirs now.

Would be for a very long time.