As soon as Aziraphale's breath evened out and his muscles relaxed, Crowley bent his head, gently pressed his lips into sweaty blond locks, and murmured. "I love you."
Aziraphale took in a sharp breath and snapped his head up, accidentally hitting Crowley in the chin.
"Ow!" Crowley cried.
"You bastard!" Aziraphale croaked, not sounding like himself at all. "You did it again!"
"Did what?" The demon rubbed at his chin, completely taken aback by the angel's sudden fierceness.
Aziraphale glared down at Crowley and narrowed his eyes. "What did you just say?"
"What?"
"You said something as I fell asleep! What was it?"
Crowley could feel a blush spread on his cheeks and ears. He leaned up and caught the angels lips with his own to hide it.
Aziraphale kissed him back before abruptly tearing himself away. "Tell me," he demanded.
The demon shrugged and smirked. "I said you'll love the next position--"
"No, no, no!" Aziraphale rolled off of Crowley and put as much distance between them as possible while staying on the bed. He tried lifting himself but gave up when his jello-like arms would not cooperate. "I think that's enough now, Crowley, we've been at it for weeks." He shut his eyes and shuddered with pleasure. When he opened his eyes, he found the demon shrunk in on himself with a pained expression.
"I overdid it, didn't I? I shouldn't have - I mean - if you didn't like something I did, you can tell me. I can - I can do better. Really, I can. Just give me a chance--"
"Crowley!" Aziraphale's mouth hung open in disbelief. "If you do any better, you'll discorporate me!"
Crowley blinked, confusion written all over his face. "So, does that mean you like it? Sex, I mean. With me?"
"Good lord," Aziraphale breathed, rattled to the core from the obvious doubt in Crowley's expression. "Of course, I do! Do you really believe I would have let you do what you fancied with me if I didn't?"
Crowley cast his nervous eyes to the space between them. "Then why are you over there?"
Aziraphale shook his head and scoffed, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Because I'll continue to let you do what you fancy with me otherwise, and we'll never leave this flat again." Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow. "It'd be nice if you romanced me a bit outside of these walls. Take me to dinner. I honestly can't remember the last time we've eaten, Crowley!" He sounded very dismayed at the thought.
Crowley chuckled. "Anything you want, angel." He patted the empty space next to him and pouted briefly, hoping to coax Aziraphale closer. Maybe have him forget food for just a bit longer.
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There is only one difference between bad dreams and nightmares. Both can cause a person to have very vivid emotional responses such as anxiety, fear and despair, but only one will cause strong enough emotions to wake the dreamer. The very word “nightmare” comes from an Old English word, “mare”, which is a name given to a mythological demon that haunts a person in their sleep, inducing frightening situations in order to torment the soul. So, you might see the irony in a demon keeping himself awake as not to torment himself with them.
However, when a demon has accustomed himself to sleep every so often, one can imagine there are consequences to deliberately cutting off the habit cold turkey.
In his simple and modern flat, Crowley sat tucked away in the midst of his house plants. He was too tired to stand, so he rolled from one plant to another on a stool with small wheels, misting their leaves lethargically. Although Crowley no longer slept, he suffered from nightmares all the same. They did not always plague him at night, however. No, they struck at whatever time of day really. When he was doing something mundane and repetitive or looking at nothing in particular for too long without blinking. In fact, one was about to strike at this very moment.
The sight and sound of the mist shooting out of the bottle had a hypnotic effect on the exhausted demon. He watched the little droplets catch on the leaves and roll, collecting on the green edges until they were heavy enough to drip down, down, downwards. Over and over again.
He smelled smoke but it didn’t bother him. Anyone else would be choking on it. It was hot. Hot as Hell itself but that wasn’t causing his heart to slam against his chest in panic. He couldn’t find him. He couldn’t sense him. He wasn’t on this world anymore. They killed him. No, they destroyed him.
“Aziraphale!” Crowley screamed as he pitched forward out of his stool, landing on his knees hard. The pain that shot through his body snapped him out of the invasive memory and back to reality but the aching pit in his gut left behind made him double over. He wanted to curl up and die. Crowley heaved and panted as he looked around frantically. He pulled out his mobile and called his friend. He held his breath as the dial tone rang in his ear, eyes wild and pupils thin. “Pick up,” he demanded. It continued to ring, and it felt like it had been ringing for centuries.
“Please, pick up.” He was about to toss the phone and miracle his arse to--
“It’s six in the morning, Crowley,” came the peeved voice of his friend. “Has something happened?”
Crowley covered the receiver and nearly sobbed with relief. He took in a sharp breath and finally spoke. “It’s that early?” He croaked not able to hide his mirth at knowing his friend was alive and well. “I just called to ask when I should pick you up.”
“Lunch is always at one. You always pick me up at ten. Every month. Why would it be any different this time?”
“Right!” He laughed and wiped at his moist cheeks. “Quite right. See you then.”
He hung up and held the phone to his chest. He could feel his plants watching him. Crowley shot to his feet and glared at them all, turning in a circle.
“What are you all looking at,” he grated with malice, “carry on!” They trembled and minded their own business.
Beelzebub bent towards the gardenias and inhaled. Yes , they mused, just like him. They sensed his presence and smiled into the petals.
"Hello, flower," they greeted Gabriel cordially. The prince straightened and turned. "Feeling better?" The look on Gabriel's face was odd and unreadable. He was studying the demon's face intently. "Something the matter?"
Gabriel took in a sharp breath and put on a fake smile that barely reached his eyes. "Hello, bug." He looked at his surroundings with curiosity. "Interesting choice of meeting place. Never imagined a demon such as yourself would enjoy strutting around a nursery. I thought we'd meet at a dank and mouldy pub again."
Beezlebub ignored his curt tone and shrugged. "I thought this place suited you better."
Gabriel's eyes widened briefly before he snapped his gaze to the demon's face. He thought he'd catch contempt in their expression, but there was nothing but honesty. The Prince of Hell had thought about what he, the Archangel Gabriel, would prefer. They'd thought of him. Heat began to climb up his neck. Oh no. Now what? He thought in a panic. His heart was hammering in his chest. Gabriel cleared his throat, turned away from the prince and began to walk idly.
"I took a shower," Gabriel blurted out without really thinking about how that may sound.
Beelzebub followed languidly behind him, eyebrows almost jumping beneath their hat. "Erm, congratulations?" They scoffed.
The archangel felt stupid. "On the whole, it was a pleasant experience, but what's important is that an idea came to mind. One that I think you'll approve of."
The demon prince was very intrigued. Not just about the idea either. "I'm listening."
Gabriel paused before a pot of Tacca chantrieri and gingerly thumbed its petals. "I've been thinking about love - the human kind. You were right about letting them destroy one another. Humans do stupid things when they're in love."
Beelzebub watched the angel's delicate fingers caress the flower, known as Devil's Tongue, with great interest. "Indeed," they breathed.
"People do even dumber things when they fall out of love." Gabriel turned toward Beelzebub and smirked. "At its worst, heartbreak can really destroy a human. I wonder what it would do to an angel?"
The prince smiled, sharp teeth exposed. "Or a demon."
Aziraphale watched the mother and daughter with a kind smile. “The baby is just lovely,” he marvelled quietly.
“Would you like to hold her?”
Aziraphale beamed. “Oh, yes. Please.” He held his arms out and carefully cradled the infant. The small thing yawned dramatically and fell asleep. The angel chuckled as a tear of joy slipped out of the corner of his eye. “How are you, dear? I know the first few months can be challenging.”
Anathema sighed and sat on the bed, but smiled. “I’m good. Newt is a big help. He’s an amazing father and things have been wonderful. We’re tired all the time but we’re managing. We’ll need a new place soon. I love Tadfield but the cottage will be too small for the three of us.”
“You know, I’m always available to babysit,” he mentioned hopefully. “Crowley is an excellent nanny as well.”
Anathema laughed aloud but smothered it when she saw he was serious.
“We have references,” Aziraphale uttered a bit hurt.
“Oh, right, you both cared for Warlock. Um, sure. I mean I guess we’d be lucky to have actual angels looking after Theo for us when we need some time for ourselves.”
Aziraphale gave her a grateful look, not just for the chance to watch over the baby but for how she always referred to both he and Crowley as angels. He never corrected her and curiously, neither did Crowley. “It might do the insufferable idiot some good. Keep him busy with fussing over someone other than me for a change,” he muttered with annoyance.
She giggled in response. “He’s still that bad?”
The angel looked behind him at the empty hall then moved closer to Anathema and whispered harshly. “Worse.” He let her laugh again and shook his head. “If I were a demon, I’d have wrung his neck by now. He’s… what’s a proper American expression?”
Crowley picked up a biscuit. He knew better than to press that kind of subject, but something in him couldn’t help it. “No, no. Go on. Explain the joke,” he drawled.
Newt squirmed in his seat nervously and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Well, it won’t be funny anyway. You know, when, um, a joke is explained--” he watched Crowley lean forward and take a bite of the cookie. “What I mean is…” his eyes grew wide as the demon masticated slowly, watching him with what appeared to menace. He couldn’t be sure. The spectacles hid all, but it did feel like a menace. He swallowed hard.
“Driving you batshit crazy?”
It was a distasteful phrase but seemed appropriate. “Batshit. Yes. Crazy. He’s going mad and taking me with him.” He sighed. “He miracled away my candles last night,” he whined. “He calls at all hours of the day even if we’ve just seen each other. Bosses me around all the time. I can’t take much more.”
Anathema rolled her eyes but nodded. “Partners can be a bit much when they’re worried about our safety.”
Aziraphale nearly choked and sputtered. “Oh, we’re not… I mean--”
“Or friends,” she corrected herself before Clueless Husband Number One could drop her baby in his sudden flustering.
The ex-witchfinder cleared his throat. “It’s just a little joke between me and Anathema, really, because, you know, you two are,” he coughed, “always together.”
Crowley stared at the young man for what seemed like an age before he finally swallowed his biscuit. “You haven’t said yet.”
“Said what?” Newt squeaked.
Painfully slow, the demon reached for his cup of tea and took a sip. “The joke.”
“Oh. Again it’s nothi--” he suddenly felt compelled to tell Crowley every little secret he ever had. “We call you the Clueless Husbands.”
There was a pregnant pause before Crowley scoffed with amusement. “Is that right?”
“Yes.” He couldn't stop himself. “We have a bet.”
“Do tell.”
“I bet you two are a couple and just hiding it from everyone. Anathema bet that you’re not and totally oblivious that you’re both stupidly in love with one another.” He took in a long, loud breath and the spell was over. “Oh bugger.”
Aziraphale composed himself and placed Theodora in her bassinet. He rocked her a bit as he pondered on the opportunity to finally confide in someone about his predicament with Crowley. “We are friends…” he trailed off not knowing how to proceed.
Anathema sensed the change in him and wondered if he was finally going to mention the elephant in the room that always sat between him and Crowley. She had grown to care for them both over the months after the world almost ended and wanted them to be happy. “You do know, don’t you?” She tested.
The angel held his breath. “Know what?”
The witch sighed and shook her head. She knew she was the one who had to say it if Aziraphale was going to confide in her. She decided to be cautious. “That Crowley seems to fancy you? I mean, I thought, at first, you knew and were just being...” she shrugged, “British. But I’m not so sure anymore.”
Crowley was now reclined on the sofa completely, looking like a patient at his therapy appointment. “We’re of different stock, us and you humans. It’s completely different.”
Newt shrugged his shoulders. “So, you’re not together ?”
The demon splayed his hands, always keeping tabs on Aziraphale’s location in the house. “In some way, we are, I suppose. We have a sort of… arrangement .”
“Not labelling it then. That’s fair.” Newt nodded slowly, hoping he was saying the right things.
Crowley hissed softly. “Except this arrangement doesn’t really expand to other areas outside of business, and well, there’s no more business to speak of. See my dilemma?”
Aziraphale was now lying on the bed, feet still on the floor, hands dragging on his face. He had spilt his guts and more information than Anathema needed about angel relations or lack thereof.
“It’s not like I haven’t noticed at all that Crowley and I are…” he waved his hands in the air as if trying to grasp the perfect word that kept escaping him, “ something. It’s just, our case is a bit tricky! Our kind doesn’t need the sort of physical affection that humans exhibit for one another when, well, when you know.”
The witch nodded in understanding. “True, but angels don’t need to eat, and yet, you do… a lot… and you seem to enjoy it very much.”
The angel sighed. “I actually started to feel bouts of hunger after a millennia or so, and Crowley sleeps every night though he shouldn’t need it.”
Anathema scoffed. “Oh, he needs it. He hasn’t slept in almost a whole year and look at him! Grouchy all of the time and driving you nuts.”
Aziraphale removed his hands from his face and sat up looking completely baffled. “What do you mean he hasn’t slept for almost a year?”
“Maybe after the anniversary, he’ll be able to relax more.” She reassured him.
“He falls asleep in my bookshop almost every night!” He almost yelled.
Anathema frowned. “Well, then he’s lying to one of us because when he was here last week, he mentioned he hasn’t slept a wink since the day the world almost ended.”
At that, Aziraphale launched to his feet. “Last week? He was here last week? He said that?”
She nodded. “Yes. He comes by once or twice a week to check up on things. You didn't know?”
The angel was frozen in shock with his mouth hanging open. Crowley had been coming to Tadfield once or twice a week to make sure things were okay with Adam and the Pulsifers. That was sweet and not exactly too surprising because Aziraphale knew that Crowley did not like to appear like he had any good in him. What was throwing the celestial in for a loop was the fact that Crowley had been feigning sleep while in his presence for a year. The times his head would roll onto his shoulder, or when his leg would limply fall against his own, or when his hand would drop onto the angel's lap, was now taking on a whole new meaning. The memory of Crowley needlessly pressing up against him, and the feel of his hand grazing the back of his head earlier made his eyes grow wide. In a blink, similar moments flashed in his mind going all the way back to the very time they met in the Garden as if someone hit the rewind button on an old VCR.
"Crowley, I need to tell you something." His voice was hoarse with agitation.
"Go on. Tell me anything." He didn't care what was about to come out of the angel's mouth as long as he could continue to hold him.
"I know I probably shouldn't say it, but I think it's crucial for you to know now. I wasn't going to say anything but, but- I couldn't - that is you should know how I truly feel before... before you commit. I don't expect for you to feel the same..." For the first time ever, Aziraphale thought he was going to be sick.
Crowley tore away from him enough to try and read his face. His angel was a nervous wreck and wouldn't look him in the eye. It can't be, he thought with awe. Crowley pulled his hand out of Aziraphale's to rip off his glasses and toss them aside, then he cupped Aziraphale’s jaw and bent low to look him directly in the eyes.
The angel did his best to avert his gaze but finally gave in. When their eyes finally lock on to one another's, Aziraphale gasped. Crowley's pupils were usually narrow, but now they were almost entirely round. The words he wanted to say began to slip out of his slacked jaw. "I need you to know that I've been terribly in lo--"
Crowley pressed his fingers onto Aziraphale's lips. "Shush! Don't. Don't say it."
Azirapahle's heart plummeted, and he nearly sobbed with the grief that suddenly sprouted in his midsection.
"Not before I say it," Crowley husked.
The angel took in a sharp breath and held it. Crowley's fingers were still on his lips, sweaty and cold from nerves. He dared to hope.
The demon bore into his angel's eyes (now green), willing him to understand just how much he meant the words he was going to say next. "I love you, Aziraphale. If I tell you for how long, you wouldn't believe me."
A relieved and happy laugh escaped him as well as a few tears. "You do?" He mumbled behind Crowley's trembling fingers. So demons can love. Fancy that.
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Baseball, a popular American sport (no one really knows why), has four bases. The object of the game is for as many players as possible to reach Home Base (the fourth and final base). This game and its objectives have been used as euphemisms in the dating game as well (because, why not reduce the exploration of love and human connection to a dull sport that only one country in the entire world seems to obsess over?)
I could go into which base represents what, but that is what the internet is for. Anyway, if you keep reading, you'll be able to infer which is which.
They'd been holed up in the bookshop for a week, and both were going mad, though neither of them let on they were, and it wasn't due to any kind of cabin fever. No, the Clueless Husbands had been kissing and cuddling between naps and meals and occasional "bookselling" duties, both thinking they might push their luck too far if they tried to get to what some people would consider second base.
Any time one of their hands slipped below the belt (front or back) they'd quickly snap their hands back up to innocent territory - to both their dismay. Aziraphale couldn't for the life of him understand why the demon, being a demon, didn't just rip his garments off and have at him already. While Crowley couldn't understand why the angel, being an angel, continued to torture him with his purely accidental grazes and not finally grant him mercy by asking him ever-so-politely to move things along.
The demon had accepted his fate, however, and just wished he had a handful of moments of privacy to relieve the one-hundred-sixty-eight-hour throbbing boner in his pants. It just couldn't be healthy at this point, but a mantra that had played on repeat for centuries on end played in his mind to keep him in check.
Slow down, you dense bastard.
Lips bruised and raw, Crowley came up for air and tried to form some kind of coherent excuse to leave for the thousandth time. Aziraphale's hair was mussed in all directions, and his clothes were all dishevelled and wrinkled. He even sported a dark five-o'-clock shadow that Crowley had never seen on him, not once. For a moment, Crowley wondered if he looked as wrecked as the angel. He twisted and squirmed to keep from brushing his huge stiff on Aziraphale's hip.
"Angel," he rasped, "I think the coast is clear." He sounded kind of drunk.
Bleary-eyed with desire, Aziraphale nodded slowly. "Yes, I think we've established that some days ago."
"I should, um, I should see to my plants. Or something. I think." He just wanted to wank and go to sleep, but he didn't make a move away from the pinned, pink cherub on the wall. "Ugh," he exhaled slowly and raggedly.
"Oh, right. The plants. I could come with you."
Crowley bit down on his lip and regretted it the moment he did. He wanted Aziraphale to go with him, but he really needed some bloody relief.
"I'd like a hot shower and maybe a quick nap as well." He'd been miracling himself clean because, if not, who knew what ungodly musk he'd be sporting at this rate.
Aziraphale frowned, but nodded anyway. "Will you come back later?" He dipped the tips of his perfectly manicured fingers down the back of Crowley's trousers and nuzzled his neck.
Satan's bollocks. The angel obviously wanted to discorporate him. He could hear his epitaph now.
Here lies the demon, Crowley,
damned and kissed an angel’s lips.
He perished of a sennight's stiffy,
'neath his gaunt, sharp-angled hips.
Crowley groaned. "Yep."
With the speed of a sloth, the demon forced himself away from his temptation and did not saunter on his way out the door because that would have been detrimental in his state. Instead, he stiffly shuffled toward the exit without a look back to Aziraphale or any last words. Concentration was essential for his escape. Pupils as thin as graphite paper, irises swallowing whole the whites of his eyes, cock throbbing painfully against his tight trousers, Crowley sat arse first into the driver's seat of his Bentley and booked it home at a breezy velocity of the speed of sound.
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Ineffable Timing is a multi-chapter Good Omens fan fiction!
