Chapter Text
“Oh, let me tempt you to—”
As if he’d just realized his word choice, Aziraphale stumbled. Crowley looked at him, both eyebrows raised.
“Oh. No, no that’s your job, isn’t it?”
Crowley tried to tone down his smirk as he brought his cup back to his lips. After all, it had taken over four thousand years for the angel to approach him socially. He didn’t want to spoil things so quickly. “I might be amenable,” he murmured over the rim of his mug, deliberately not looking to his right.
“Really? I mean, that is to say, jolly good! Shall I get us a table? Tonight, or perhaps tomorrow night would work better for you? Or later, even; I wouldn’t want to rush into—” He cleared his throat hastily.
He was behaving so delightfully awkward. Crowley looked over with as casual a smile as he could manage. “Tomorrow evening will do splendidly. What time should I meet you?”
Later, after Aziraphale left with a flurry of hasty excuses, Crowley considered the conversation (such as it had been). Something about it struck a strange note in his memory, and he followed it all the way back to Eden. The two of them met periodically when work sent them into the same orbit, a frequency that had narrowed from millennia- to century-sized gaps. The angel was the closest thing he had to a friend, and certainly the person who knew him better than anyone at this point. It had been a long time since Aziraphale had acted nervous when speaking to him. Not really since that first meeting on the wall.
Maybe it was because this interval was so short, only eight years since they last spoke. Or maybe the angel wasn’t exactly where Heaven expected him to be, so running into the demon had spooked him. Whatever the reason, he would likely be back to his normal sanguine self by tomorrow evening.
Dinner. Oysters. Crowley didn’t relish the thought of them. He’d seen humans consume them and thought they looked…slimy. However, if that’s what it took to spend an evening with Aziraphale outside of work concerns, that was a fair tradeoff. He’d spent a lot more time than he cared to admit trying to think of a way to set up something just like this. Every single one of his hypothetical scenarios had ended the same: with the angel suspicious of his motives and increasing the distance between them. Crowley was a demon, after all. Aziraphale would have every reason to doubt his word. Better to let the angel set the pace of their friendship.
So. Oysters it would be.
Oh, let me tempt you…
Aziraphale was glad Crowley had chosen tomorrow evening for dinner, because tonight, he couldn’t stop hearing his own voice prattling on idiotically. He’d been so thrown by the familiar figure, first hearing him speak, then seeing him at the bar.
I hear he does remarkable things to oysters.
The demon had cut away all those long curls. A shame, really. Aziraphale loved his hair. Not that it mattered, of course. Crowley couldn’t help being attractive, whatever form he chose. But he’d had more than one inappropriate thought about running his fingers through those locks.
Still a demon then?
And yet Aziraphale couldn’t even manage to get his name right at first. It was mortifying.
Oh, let me tempt you…
His face would not stop burning. Honestly, he was surprised Crowley had agreed to meet him at all. Maybe he was simply humoring the angel. Maybe Aziraphale should send him a note to cancel. Say he’d gotten a new assignment and had to be out of Rome.
No, no that’s your job, isn’t it?
Why did he always have to rub Crowley’s face in it? He’d never seemed to particularly enjoy being a demon, yet Aziraphale couldn’t make it through a single conversation without somehow referencing the fact. It was needless cruelty, and he didn’t want to be cruel. Especially not to the one person who knew all—well, most—of the shameful parts of him and accepted him anyway.
Sometimes he wondered if it was this acceptance that needled at him. There was no judgment with Crowley, despite him being a demon. Or perhaps because of it? Contrasted with the terrible judgment that Heaven would surely mete out if they knew his secrets, it left Aziraphale awfully confused. Heaven was meant to be better than Hell, and that implied judgment rather than acceptance was the more righteous path. Only…only that’s not what the Son of God preached. His words were still being spread by his disciples—to love, to help, to show mercy, to not judge.
No, no that’s your job, isn’t it?
The world had been a more confusing place for the last few decades. And it had grown even lonelier since the resurrection. Heaven had withdrawn from direct interaction with earth, and the missions Aziraphale traveled for now carried far less weight than before. In his worst moments, he felt abandoned here on the planet.
Then he would remember that he wasn’t alone. A sole demon also walked the earth. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley felt equally at a loss as Hell withdrew like Heaven. Likely not, given that he’d never shown any real fealty to the place. It made the angel wonder if this was exactly how lonely Crowley had been all these thousands of years. How terrible it was, to hold a position you didn’t want, to be sent on jobs that held no satisfaction for you.
Still a demon then?
He found himself thinking of Crowley a lot post-Golgotha. Thinking of taking him out to dinner. Of running his fingers through his hair. Of taking his hand, the way humans did with the ones they cared for. It was probably sinful, these thoughts. This was a demon, after all. But Aziraphale was full to the brim with all kinds of sin now, and like most indulgences, once he allowed even the tiniest taste, he needed to have it all.
Oh, let me tempt you…
He hadn’t used the word by accident. He’d only been too craven to own it once it was out there. Had pawned it off on Crowley.
Tomorrow, he would be better. He wouldn’t send a cancellation notice. He would have oysters with Crowley, and by the end of the night, Aziraphale promised himself, he would invite him on a second date. This time without making a fool of himself. He hoped.
The tray of shells sat in front of them. Crowley tried to keep his face impassive as he drank faster than normal. If he was drunk enough, maybe slipping one of those little creatures down his throat would be easier.
Aziraphale seemed to be having no trouble. In fact, the way he swallowed, eyes closed, head tilted up, was almost indecent. Especially with the happy little noises he made after each one. If the angel could stay properly distracted, Crowley might get away with pretending an empty shell was his, once enough of them piled up. Unfortunately, Aziraphale emerged from his food-ecstasy after only four oysters.
“What’s wrong? You haven’t tried them yet.”
Crowley lifted his glass. “Whetting my appetite.”
Aziraphale frowned. “I can show you how to eat them properly. I know you haven’t had them before.”
The demonstration was wholly unnecessary, but it contained an obscene amount of tongue-work that Crowley rather enjoyed, so he said nothing. Afterwards, he took another large gulp of wine and poured himself another.
“Oh really dear, you must try them. Why come out if you were just going to watch me eat?”
As if watching Aziraphale eat wasn’t a delight in and of itself. “Maybe I wanted to enjoy the company.”
For a moment, the angel looked unsure. Crowley held his breath. Had it been too forward to admit that? Would he think there was an ulterior motive here? Then Aziraphale smiled and turned his head away almost shyly. Crowley’s abdomen tightened.
“Let me get a few glasses of wine in me first, alright angel? Loosen me up a bit.”
“Hmm.” He swallowed down another oyster. “Do you know, I’ve still never tried human wine? Or any alcohol, for that matter?”
“Really? I’m surprised, given how well you took to food.”
Aziraphale’s eyes darted to his a few times. “I’ve been afraid to try. What if I get drunk and do something I regret? What if I make a fool of myself? Or do something really, really sinful?”
“Can’t get drunk on a sip, angel.”
“When have you ever known me capable of taking a single sip?”
Crowley laughed. “Self-awareness, good quality to have.”
Aziraphale hummed and reached for another oyster. His eyes were still flicking to Crowley’s. The demon considered him, then held out his cup.
“Go on, if you like. I can watch over you. Make sure you don’t do anything too foolish.”
He bit his lip, eyes on the wine. “I…”
“Only if you want to, angel. I promise I’m not trying to tempt you. Just offering.” He wanted to say more, that sometimes it was easier to try things with a friend to look out for you, but that felt too much like persuasion.
After a moment, Aziraphale’s eyes raised to his. They burned with both anticipation and determination. “I’ll trade you. You try the oysters, and I’ll try the wine.”
“I already said I’d try…” Crowley began, trailing off when the intensity in those eyes seemed to increase. He felt something deep inside his belly and didn’t know exactly where it came from. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Aziraphale was trying to tempt him. “All right. Oysters for wine.”
The angel gestured. Taking a deep breath, Crowley picked up one of the shells and swallowed the oyster down exactly as Aziraphale had shown him. The spiced broth was sharp and tangy. The oyster itself was…slimy. He repressed a shudder as he gulped down more wine. It didn’t help erase the sensation of slipping down his throat.
Aziraphale handed him a chunk of bread. Crowley took it gratefully. “It does take some getting used to,” the angel said.
“Not sure it’s worth it,” Crowley said around his mouthful. At Aziraphale’s disappointed expression, he added, “S’alright, I rather enjoy watching you eat them.”
Two pinks spots appeared on the angel’s cheeks. For a second, he hesitated, a shell held halfway to his mouth. Then he tipped it back and swallowed. He turned that intense look back on Crowley. “My turn?”
Crowley waved down a server and requested another cup and a new jug of wine. Aziraphale’s eyes never left his face as he poured a small amount out for him. “Salutaria,” he said as he handed it over.
Aziraphale clinked his cup to Crowley’s, then tossed the wine back in one gulp.
“Shit. Angel, that’s not how—”
With a cough, Aziraphale said, “That was awful.”
Crowley grinned. “Oysters for you, wine for me?”
“I—” He frowned, brows drawn in tight. “What did I do wrong?”
“Might not be your thing.” When Aziraphale’s shoulders slumped, Crowley added, “I could show you the proper way, see if it works better for you?”
The angel nodded eagerly, and soon he was sniffing and sipping and sorting through flavor notes. The wine wasn’t particularly fine at this restaurant, and Crowley decided that if Aziraphale was going to indulge tonight, he ought to experience something better. When he’d had his fill of oysters—and had enough wine in him to lessen any suspicions he might have about Crowley’s motives—Crowley suggested they continue their evening with a decent vintage elsewhere.
Aziraphale was drunk. He seemed to slide very quickly from tipsy to drunk without really experiencing any stages in between.
“Craw—Crowley. How d’you do this? All the time?”
He was propped up on a very comfortable pile of silky cushions. Somehow, the demon was squatting on his haunches across from him, completely steady.
“Do what? Drink? I thought you were enjoying the wine?”
“No. I mean yes. I mean.” He closed his eyes for a moment and started again. “How d’you…hmm…be drunk all the time?”
Crowley grinned and took a swig of his wine. “I’m not drunk, angel. Just a little inebriated.”
“Sss’not fair, that.” Aziraphale looked down at the mug in his hand, and after a beat, the hand obeyed his command to bring the cup to his mouth. Before it got here, a different hand stopped it. Long fingers. A few tiny freckles…
“You’ve probably had enough for tonight.”
He looked up into Crowley’s face. At some point, he’d removed his glasses. His eyes looked…concerned? “Not enough,” he slurred.
Crowley gently pulled the mug from his hands and set it out of reach behind him. When Aziraphale tried to grab that direction, the demon took his hand and guided it back into his lap. He looked at their two hands. Hadn’t he fantasized about this? But then the second hand was gone, and an aching loneliness rolled over him. He could feel tears in his eyes.
“Aziraphale. You should sober up. Before it’s too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“Eventually your body will absorb the alcohol completely. Leave you with a sore head in the morning.” He ran a hand over Aziraphale’s curls, knocking gently with his knuckles on his scalp. “It’s not fun. Better to sober up now.”
Something stubborn in Aziraphale made him shake his head. Perhaps too vigorously, because he was suddenly dizzy. Crowley slid beside him and put an arm over his shoulders to steady him. He felt so incredibly warm, and Aziraphale couldn’t resist the urge to lay his head on the demon’s shoulder.
“Alright,” Crowley said. “I’ll watch over you. Like I promised.”
“You’re too kin—” He cut off at a poke in his ribs that made him squeak.
“Don’t say it. Even drunk. That’s the sort of thing that can get a demon into a lot of trouble.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry, Crowley.” Aziraphale settled back on his shoulder. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Probably shouldn’t. Should wait ‘til you’re sober.”
He ignored that. If he waited, he might never confess. “I like you, Crowley.” With a sigh, he settled more heavily into his warmth. “That’s all. I really like you.”
This wasn’t how Crowley had pictured the night going. The excess drink, yes. He’d seen Aziraphale’s first “meal.” Of course he would overindulge on wine, too. He’d brought the angel back to the room he was renting and set him up on what passed here as a bed. All that, he expected.
Having a drunk angel snuggling up to him and telling him how much he liked him, all with a dopey look of adoration on his face? Not what he expected.
Humans claimed that wine made you honest, but in Crowley’s experience, alcohol only exacerbated whatever feelings were foremost at that moment. Aziraphale was feeling particularly friendly after spending a night out together. Their first social meeting—it made sense to be overly fond. It meant nothing more. He told himself very firmly that it meant nothing. The fluttering in his stomach didn’t get the memo.
“Like you, too, angel,” he muttered.
“I’m a terrible angel,” Aziraphale said, sudden tears leaking down his cheeks.
“Because you’ve been drinking? It’s fine. Come on. You can sober up and you’ll be—”
“M’not going to sober up!”
Crowley kept his face as impassive as possible, but he could feel the fond smile taking root there. He stroked the angel’s hair, trying to soothe him into sleep.
“I’m a bad angel because…because…because you’re a demon!”
This time Crowley couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped him.
“S’not funny, Cra-owley. You’re a demon and I like you. I like you. Hereditary. Enemies. I’m such a bad, bad angel.”
Crowley tried not to let that sting. No one meant anything they said when they were drunk. “You’re not a bad angel. Even Christ said it: love your enemy, right?”
Aziraphale’s glassy eyes went wide. He slowly mouthed the words love your enemy. “Oh Crowley! Does that mean it’s okay?”
“Sure,” he said, not knowing exactly what he was being asked.
The angel beamed at him. “I love you, Crowley.”
For a moment, he wondered if Aziraphale would remember any of this conversation in the morning or if the wine would spare him. He hoped the latter—the memory might drive a wedge between them again.
The thought was driven clean out of his mind as the angel clumsily lunged upwards and pressed their lips together.
He would be ashamed of it later, but for all of five seconds, Crowley returned the kiss. Something about that touch, those specific nerve endings, the scent of Aziraphale’s skin and wine-soaked breath, and a volcano erupted in his core. He hadn’t even realized there was anything simmering there, but in that moment, he understood. It had always been there, waiting to explode, poised to send fire raging into every particle of his being. His life would forever be cleaved in two by those five seconds: before he realized he was in love with Aziraphale, and after.
Crowley pulled away. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, and immediately he forced himself into complete sobriety. Whatever happened next, he needed his brain sharp.
“You don’t want to,” Aziraphale whispered, looking mortified. He tried to move away, but Crowley pulled him close again.
“Oh I do, angel. Believe me, I really do.” Crowley cupped his cheek, shivering as he resisted the call to touch those lips again. “But this isn’t a decision you should make under the influence.”
“I’m not brave enough otherwise.”
He swept his hand back over those blond curls. “Then I’ll be brave for us. In the morning, we’ll talk. I promise.”
“You’ll stay with me?”
“I promised to watch over you, didn’t I?”
Aziraphale nodded.
“Sleep, then.”
Crowley guided him down onto the cushions. It was a warm night, but he covered him with a light blanket anyway. The angel was asleep within minutes, and Crowley sat back, trembling. Whatever force this was, this monster that had awoken inside him, it clawed and screamed for release. He wasn’t sure what to do. Aziraphale might not remember any of this. If he did, he’d probably be mortified. That was more likely than him actually wanting to kiss Crowley sober. And in the off chance he did want to kiss, Crowley needed to go slow. Too fast would push him away. In his current state of physical agitation, he doubted he had enough control for slow.
He knew what humans did with this feeling. He knew exactly where and how to find release. Yes, he’d promised to stay, but this wouldn’t take long, and they would both be better off in the morning.
Leaning over to kiss the top of Aziraphale’s head gently, Crowley whispered, “I’ll be back soon, angel. Sleep.”
Aziraphale’s mouth felt dry and sticky. He cracked one eye and realized that he was lying down in a dark room. The night came back to him in fragments. How long had it been? He didn’t think he’d been asleep long. He still felt very, very drunk.
“Crowley?” he croaked. “I could use something to drink. Not wine.”
There was no answer. Had the demon fallen asleep too?
He pushed himself up. A blanket slid off his shoulders, and he took a moment to close his eyes as the room spun. “Crowley?”
A throb from his left temple. Maybe Crowley was right. He’d had the experience of being drunk; he didn’t really need to experience a hangover as well.
The miracle was only partly effective. Some of the alcohol must’ve already metabolized. Aziraphale sighed. At least the room no longer spun every time he moved his head. He was able to look around to figure out where Crowley had nodded off.
Except…the demon wasn’t here. He’d promised, but he wasn’t anywhere in the room. Aziraphale made his unsteady way to his feet. There was only one room, no branches off it where he could be tucked away. Had he stepped out for a moment, despite his promise?
An image came to him, his lips on Crowley’s, Crowley pulling away from him. He’d said he wanted to…but he also said he’d stay. Shame and a horrid, twisting embarrassment took hold of him. That must be why Crowley broke his promise. It was to give Aziraphale a chance to slink away without the humiliation of facing what he’d done when he was drunk. He was never touching alcohol again! What had possessed him to give physical form to his quietest, most secret desires, the ones he didn’t even acknowledge except on the darkest, loneliest nights? He'd known that drinking would lead him to foolishness!
A sob bubbled up from deep in Aziraphale’s chest as he scurried away from Crowley’s rented room. He’d been happy for those few moments. Even after Crowley pulled away, he’d reassured him. All lies, he knew now, but the demon had done his best to be kind. He couldn’t blame him. This was for the best. For both of them.
Release turned out to be more difficult than Crowley expected. He hadn’t thought to be picky. Any human would work, as long as they were willing. He accepted the first woman who offered herself, only to find that nothing worked properly around her. She laughed at him when he shoved a few coins at her and fled. He thought perhaps it was her shape and so chose a man next time, only to meet the same fate.
Frustrated and desperate to be back with Aziraphale, Crowley thought he might have to give up and hope for extraordinary strength in the morning. Then he stumbled upon another man who crooked a finger at him from the shadows beside a temple. His body flared to life, blood rushing to a central point, and Crowley didn’t bother to go any further than that shadow. As he fucked the man from behind, pressed up against the temple wall, he buried his face in blond curls and wrapped his arms around the soft curve of his belly.
“Angel,” he panted as he came.
“Whatever you like, doll,” the man said, and he sounded nothing like Aziraphale. Crowley quickly put his clothes back into order, thrust coins into the man’s hand, and left the temple.
Though he was shaky now and loose-limbed, Crowley rushed back to his rented room. He’d been gone far longer than planned and he hoped Aziraphale would still be soundly asleep. He really didn’t want to have to explain himself to an irate angel. Lust was not one of the so-called sins they’d debated over the years. This wasn’t exactly how Crowley wanted to start that conversation.
He needn’t have worried. His room was empty. Apparently, Aziraphale had woken up after all. And he’d left.
Crowley slumped against the wall. It had been too much to hope for, that the words and kiss of a drunk angel could be true. He had gone without saying goodbye, and that gave Crowley his answer.
Mortification and regret it was, then.