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It is a truth universally acknowledged that a recently retired demon, after a morning of laborious gardening, must be in want of a small lunch break with his angelic spouse.
Or however the famous quote goes. Crowley’s never been good at remembering the books he reads.
Crowley stretches his long limbs, earning himself a satisfying pop in the lower back and turns his face up towards the sun. He smiles, open and carefree.
Life hasn’t been this gratifying since well - ever. It still takes him by surprise sometimes. That this is how he spends his days now. That he gets to wake up to his angel’s smile and rumbly good morning first thing in the morning. That they take their breakfasts together out on the patio, surrounded by the flowers Crowley has grown with minimal yelling involved. That this is all theirs and forever, the house, the garden, the car and the love Aziraphale fills him with every moment.
Crowley has always considered himself an optimist. Not the foolish, uneducated kind, no. The kind, where you’ve been there during the creation of the universe, and you’ve studied its intricate workings, so you know that with the right kind of motivation and patience, it can be kind to you.
In none of Crowley’s wildest dreams could he have imagined himself the happy life he’s living now.
Nor is he expecting the pair of hands on his waist that spin him around and right into Aziraphale’s embrace.
The angel doesn’t waste a second of his surprise and immediately draws him into a long, tender kiss.
Crowley sighs, melting into it. He miracles his hands clean so that he can slide one up into the angel’s hair and use the other to tug Aziraphale close by his lapel.
And this is another perk he’s yet to come to terms with. The physical expression of love between them that they can’t get enough of. You’d think knowing someone for over six thousand years would’ve tamed the wild tempest of their emotions somewhat, but if anything, the yearning has only made them more intense.
They have ached for each other for so long and so quietly… any and all sort of separation between them seems utterly unreasonable and preposterous now.
No more fear. No more guilt. No more holding back.
Just this, and this and more of that.
Aziraphale pulls back just enough to pepper more kisses across each of Crowley’s freckles and the demon feels so cherished, he feels he might get a bit weepy with it.
“Hi.” Crowley breathes, nuzzling close against Aziraphale’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around the angel’s neck and middle. He could get under Aziraphale’s skin - he has - and it would still not feel close enough.
“Hello, dear.” Aziraphale answers, amused. His eyes are flittering all across Crowley’s face, as if he can’t decide where he wants to look first. “I got a little peckish and came to see if you’d be up for some lunch. You’ve worked quite a lot today, after all.”
Crowley smiles, then, broad and quite smitten. His hollow cheeks round with it.
“Yeah, angel. Was getting hungry myself.”
Aziraphale brightens even more and Crowley can’t help it. Has to lean in and steal a few more kisses.
When they part, they don’t leave the circle of each other’s arms for a while. They’re clearly not done getting their fill for the moment. If Crowley were less of a cynic, he’d think he and Aziraphale have exchanged parts of their souls upon creation, eternally fated to chase each other in pursuit of them.
If Crowley were less of a romantic, he would be inclined to reject that theory. But he’s known aching incompletion in the brief few years he spent on Earth without Aziraphale. He knows that much as they love to play up human habits and tendencies, their love in its rawness is anything but.
Aziraphale strokes his face, and Crowley, ever the swooning ocean tide, leans into it as if Aziraphale is his moon.
“It pleases me to see you like this.” Aziraphale says, eyes warm yet distant.
Crowley looks down at his clothes and back up again.
“Muddy?” he tries and revels in the giggle and soft whack on the arm it earns him.
“No, silly.” Aziraphale says, and reaches up to tuck a wayward red curl behind his spouse’s ear. “It’s good to see you so carefree, so happy. You’re positively glowing.” Aziraphale pauses and glides careful fingers over the golden band he himself put on Crowley’s ring finger. “I love seeing you so unabashedly yourself.”
Crowley’s treacherous heart lurches in his chest at the words.
“Disarmingly charming and witty, you mean?” Crowley says, deflecting, but the angel doesn’t fall for it this time.
Aziraphale steps in close until they’re sharing the same air and pushes their foreheads together.
“Undeniably good, wonderful and kind.”
Crowley’s face falls and he almost flinches, something akin to fossilized pain making him want to run away and hide.
“Angel…”
“No, Crowley, please.” Aziraphale rushes, gently grabbing his forearms, as if afraid Crowley might slip away from him. “I know I’ve not always been the best at articulating my thoughts, but I need you to know.”
“Angel, I do know. You don’t have to.” Crowley says, suddenly self-conscious, as he often is when Aziraphale tries to shower him with affections. He knows that Aziraphale needs it almost as much as he does, but there are days when accepting praise feels a lot like stripping away his miracles and stepping into a hungry lion’s den. Powerless and unarmed.
It’s a process. Some days are excellent and Crowley takes to Aziraphale’s gentle words like a flower stretching up towards the sun. And he basks in the attention greedily, believing himself worthy of every bit of love Aziraphale has so painstakingly accumulated over six thousand years.
And there are days when. Well, hearing Aziraphale call him good sometimes pushes him a few centuries back, and Crowley hates it.
Hates that his brain is slow to catch up with the changes he’s made.
“I don’t think you do.” Aziraphale murmurs and when Crowley’s thin mouth turns down impossibly more, he adds, beseeching, “Oh dove, won’t you look at me?”
Against his will, Crowley looks up at the angel and embarrassingly, shimmers a little. Because another blessed truth about marriage humans won’t tell you is that a few months of living together is enough for your partner to learn exactly how to get under your skin, employing the most wicked methods known to mankind.
Namely, endearments that regularly send Crowley’s head aflame.
And a certain tone of voice, which, if paired with said endearments, is enough to make an obedient house husband even out of hell’s rowdiest of demons.
Which Crowley has never been in the first place.
Aziraphale’s eyes sparkle in a self-satisfied way and Crowley clicks his tongue, cheeks growing warmer. He can’t remember the last time he yearned for his shades around Aziraphale, it was probably long before the arrangement, but he has the sudden urge to hide himself behind something now.
“You must know that I love everything about you.” Aziraphale says and Crowley gulps visibly. “That I adore everything that makes you you.”
“I know.” Crowley responds, automatic, knowing by now that the angel expects it of him.
Aziraphale squeezes his hands in gratitude.
“And you know that all the times in the past when I called you good or nice or kind,” Aziraphale pushes, “It was never to measure you by Heaven’s standards. Or Hell’s for the matter.”
Crowley’s throat feels dry all of a sudden. His lips part, but no word comes out. He wants to reassure, to affirm that of course he knows. He’s known it since before the beginning even!
But the truth is… he hasn’t, has he? Not really. It was one of the primary reasons for the series of disastrous misunderstandings they underwent before finally emerging on the other side, finally unemployed and married. He’s always assumed that Aziraphale was either searching for something underneath all the layers of the new independent persona Crowley’s invented for himself, or expecting something more from him.
Both assumptions would leave him wretched and with a bitter taste on his tongue.
“You are the most amazing person I know.” Aziraphale says now, sounding a little choked up. “And it pained me to see you hide your true nature from angels and demons alike. And what I’m trying to say is - I suppose - that you feeling safe to be yourself around me, being kind to your plants, entertaining the neighborhood children… it is a privilege I don’t take lightly. I promise, I won’t ever give you reason to hide yourself again.”
Crowley doesn’t step so much as he falls into the angel’s arms, clinging to him with a grip too fierce.
“ It is a privilege, he says.” Crowley rasps against Aziraphale’s shoulder, “I wouldn’t have put half the effort into being who I am today if it weren’t for you. And don’t you dare insinuate that I ever feel safer to be myself than when I am in the company of my husband. You understand?”
Aziraphale lets out what is supposed to be a relieved little laugh, but it comes out too broken and teary to fool either of them.
“Of course.” Aziraphale assures, holding on to Crowley just as tightly, “Forgive my poor wording.”
“Yeah worded that poorly you did.” Crowley snipes gently and before Aziraphale can retort, adds. “I see you, too.”
Aziraphale goes still in his arms.
“I imagine you do.” Aziraphale says, carefully.
“I don’t think you can imagine how well I do, though.” Crowley says, a small payback for earlier and smiles when Aziraphale glares at him. He leans in to brush the softest of kisses on Aziraphale’s forehead. “I wish you’d talk to me when you feel afraid. I wish you’d let me help just like you help me.”
Aziraphale sags a little in his hold.
“You do see me rather well, then.” Aziraphale concedes, looking suddenly tired.
“‘Course I do. Hard to miss the blasting sword in our bedroom in the middle of the night.” Crowley says, deadpan and raises an eyebrow when Aziraphale’s eyes grow wide in apparent surprise. “It’s flaming like anything, angel and I’m not that heavy a sleeper.”
“Well, you did sleep through most of the fourteenth century, so excuse me for assuming -”
“No one’s coming after us.” Crowley cuts off, effectively silencing his husband who sobers right back up. “No one can, and if they tried, they wouldn’t get past the fence. This? I’m not letting anyone take this away from us. So you don’t have to worry, angel. You’ve done enough of that for Someone knows how long. We’re safe. Please stop torturing yourself.”
The barely held together composure Aziraphale was maintaining all but shatters.
“I can’t help it.” Aziraphale says, “I’ve lived looking over my shoulder for so long, and you who've had Hell violate your personal space over and over again, I just - I couldn’t bear it, Crowley. If anything were to disrupt the life we’ve built for ourselves now, I don’t think I’d like to find out how I’d react.”
Crowley takes in a shuddery breath, certain that his eyes have grown fully yellow by now. If there’s anything he can’t handle more than his own distress, it’s Aziraphale’s.
It wrecks him up from the inside and leaves him undone. No wonder the angel has taken this long to speak up about this.
Nevertheless, he gears up, prepared to be brave for the both of them.
Crowley clasps Aziraphale’s face between his slender palms. They’re eye to eye now.
“That’s the thing. Our life. Our side. This isn’t one sided. Just because it was the done thing in Eden, doesn’t mean you need to be the one throwing yourself into danger to protect us now. I won’t have you sacrificing your own peace for mine. You’re not the guardian angel anymore. You’re my husband . And beating yourself up and suffering on your own, that, well that’s - that’s just not on!” Crowley says, passionate, somehow missing the entirely enamored look Aziraphale’s aimed at him. “I’m asking you, nicely, to tell me when something is bothering you. So that we can make it better together. Do you think you can do that, angel?”
A beat passes between them when each of them catches their breath.
“You’re the sweetest.” Aziraphale says, solemn and breathless.
Crowley groans, throwing his head back, but allowing himself to be tugged forward for Aziraphale to plant a kiss on his rosey cheek.
“I promise to try.” Aziraphale whispers, tangling their fingers together. “And thank you, Crowley, truly. Being by your side always helps ease my worries a little, and I know we’re safe here, but it might take some time for me to fully believe it. It’s a little - well, I may not be a guardian any longer, by status that is, but it’s a little more complicated than that.”
Crowley frowns.
“How do you mean?” Crowley asks, interest piqued.
“Oh it’s, I couldn’t possibly trouble you with it.” Aziraphale answers, evasive.
“It’s something embarrassing, isn’t it?” Crowley realizes, absolutely giddy with it, and Aziraphale rolls his eyes. It’s all he needs for confirmation. “It is ! C’mon, angel, you have to share it now!”
“You’re a menace.”
“I’m an absolute delight, as you never tire of reminding me. Now spill!”
Aziraphale closes his eyes in resignation.
“You know how I treat things that hold significance to me. It is difficult for me to part with certain books, for instance. It’s the only reason I built the bookshop in the first place! Of course, there are newer editions which I am more than thrilled to put up for sale, but it simply does not compare with -”
“Aziraphale.” Crowley interrupts, voice growly, yet mildly amused. “Please tell me you’re not up every night, poised in a knight’s battle stance because you think someone is going to take away your Jane Austen collection.”
Aziraphale looks at him then and something in his eyes changes. Almost imperceptible for anyone else, but glaringly obvious for Crowley.
He can recall only once or twice that he’s held witness to this look and both times their lives were in danger, and in hindsight, now that Crowley’s really pushing his memory -
“I would part with all my books, all my Earthly possessions in a heartbeat if it would keep you safe. In fact, I have.” Aziraphale says, voice low and serious and it sends Crowley’s poor heart atremble. “It’s complicated, my love, because over the few months we’ve lived together, I’ve already gotten used to this, to you, permeating every aspect of my existence, and it’s terrifying, because I can’t imagine myself without it anymore. More and more lately, I’ve been finding it hard to control myself when anyone so much as looks at you with the slightest hint of offense. If anyone were to come near you with less than kind intentions, especially when you’re resting… I believe I would deal with them accordingly and hold no remorse over it.”
Crowley has to take a deep breath at that because he’s suddenly feeling a tad lightheaded. That’s. Well That’s definitely the hottest thing he’s ever heard in his life.
A little disturbing, too, but it only adds to the hotteness.
And he finally has a husband to do something about it.
“Right. Cool. Good thinking that.” Crowley says, and swoons into Aziraphale. And there’s nothing graceful about it, he tumbles like a tree that’s just been felled.
“Good Lord, Crowley, are you alright?” Aziraphale asks, steadying him.
“Yup. Right as rain, me.” Crowley drawls, snaking his arms around Aziraphale’s neck and looking up at him imploringly. “Say angel, why don’t we put a pin on that lunch and continue this conversation, say, an hour or a day later? There are other things I’d rather we be doing now.”
Aziraphale pauses, taking in the change of mood and what his spouse seems to be suggesting.
“And what would that be, dearest?” he asks, tightening his hold on his demon.
The last of Crowley’s self-restraint seems to snap right there and then.
“I want you to make love to me and only stop when you’re ready to let me go.” Crowley says, voice low and sticky with lust.
Aziraphale’s eyes darken a fraction more but before Crowley can begin to doubt himself and wonder if he’s maybe pushed a little too far, Aziraphale scoops him up into his arms, and begins a determined march back home.
“Your wish is my command.” he murmurs, leaning down to press a series of kisses along Crowley’s neck, and the demon finds himself relaxing.
This might not have been in his plans for the day, when he went out to take care of his garden, but he’s certainly not complaining.