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Crowley had more or less retired as a demon when he and Aziraphale had thwarted Armageddon. He had thought, at that time, that his demonic days were all but behind him. He could create a little havoc if he felt like it, make a little trouble here and there if the mood struck, but wasn’t bothered if he didn’t. Although he wouldn’t admit it out loud, realistically, he thought that spending as much time with Aziraphale as he intended to would temper his urges to make trouble. He’d turned out to be right, and the most mischief he’d caused in the last two years had been changing the fairy lights around in Aziraphale’s neighborhood to spell rude words at Christmastime.
Today, however, he was fuming - and racking his brain. That stupid carpet salesman, Brown, had been flirting with Aziraphale again, right in front of Crowley, as if he didn’t understand proprietary matters. He didn’t understand how that greasy slimeball could be so dense. Crowley had been as overt as he could possibly be the other times he’d chased Brown off without creating a scene or straight-out licking Aziraphale. Now, he was wondering whether a scene needed to be created.
He didn’t allow himself to think about licking. It sounded fun to him, but he doubted Aziraphale would be in favor.
For the moment, he was doing his best to think of some way to keep the beige buffoon from flirting with Aziraphale, to make him get the picture. It had to be something that didn’t involve Aziraphale cottoning on to Crowley’s feelings. Crowley had to be discreet. He thought about going to the dumb carpet shop and threatening the auburn arsehole with all manner of ill if he didn’t leave Aziraphale alone, but that would undoubtedly get back to Aziraphale. Crowley wasn’t about to run that risk. Perhaps he could do some sort of miracle that would make Brown leave? That would work, he decided, but would take time. In the meantime, the umber usurper needed to suffer.
What he needed to do was construct a series of unfortunate events that would befall the taupe twat. He spent a while pondering this, draped across his couch as if bones were just a concept, watching old cartoons, until ideas began occurring to him, rapid fire, and a wicked smile spread across his face.
~*~oOo~*~
A week later, Crowley was smiling as he sauntered into the bookshop with a box of chocolates he’d nicked off a stand a couple streets away, just because he thought Aziraphale might like them.
“Hiya, angel! Brought you some chocolates.”
Aziraphale was sitting in his armchair in the little alcove at the front of the store, and the light streaming in was making him look so beautiful. His head was down and his silly little glasses were perched on his nose as he read, but he glanced up at the mention of chocolates. “I do hope you paid for them.”
“‘Course I did,” Crowley said, subtly moving his fingers to perform a miracle out of Aziraphale’s sight and put some pound notes in the chocolatier’s till. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m reformed, remember?”
The angel screwed up his face in a doubtful look, then closed his book and sat it to the side. “Have a seat, Crowley. We need to have a talk.”
Crowley had no need for a cardiovascular or nervous system, but somehow, both of them were going wild at the moment. He tried not to let on as he sat down as casually as he was able. “What’s up, doc?” he joked, feebly.
“Funny you should use that greeting,” Aziraphale began, taking off his absurd little glasses and putting them to the side. “As it gives credence to what I’m about to say.”
His cardiovascular and nervous systems were now frozen in terror. “What’s that, then?”
“You simply must stop terrorizing poor Mr. Brown.”
Caught, feeling trapped in a snare, Crowley tried evasive maneuvers. “I have no idea what you’re -”
Aziraphale held up one hand to stop him. “Crowley, please. Don’t insult my intelligence. There is no one else that could be doing these things.”
“What things?”
“Mr. Brown has been beset with a series of unfortunate events that are quite cartoonish.”
“Such as?”
“He has slipped on at least a dozen banana peels and fallen down.”
Crowley laughed. “What a maroon.”
”Crowley…”
”That sounds funny, but you should check for rogue monkeys. Not me.”
“More than once, a bucket of water has been dumped on his head with no apparent cause.”
“Maybe the almighty was telling him he needs a shower.”
“He also walked into a wall, thinking it was an alleyway.”
“Not my fault he’s a dolt.”
“A piano fell just behind him while he was walking, and would have killed him had it landed on him. Whoever did it must have had that intent.”
Crowley let an outraged noise escape. “I wasn’t trying to - oh, bugger,” he said, when he realized what he’d said.
“You weren’t trying to hurt him?”
”No,” he said, morose about the impending ostracization from Aziraphale. “I just wanted him to go away and leave you alone, is all.”
Aziraphale quietly came to sit next to Crowley, then put his hand over the demon’s. “Crowley, darling, none of this is necessary.”
His systems were back to frozen. “Darling?”
A small smile graced Aziraphale’s gorgeous face. “Yes, darling. There’s no need to attempt to run Mr. Brown off. I have no interest in him.”
“He has interest in you.”
“I don’t care. My affections are spoken for.”
“Who -”
He didn’t get any farther before Aziraphale was pressing a sweet, gentle kiss to his lips. Oh, Someone, Crowley had wanted this for so long, now it was happening, and he didn’t know what to do. His brain was offline, his hands were useless, and all of his body systems were rioting.
He’d just started kissing back when Aziraphale pulled away, smiling, leaving Crowley dazed. “Did you like that, darling?”
Crowley nodded dumbly. “I did. Yeah.”
“I promise to do that quite a lot more if you’ll call off your Looney Tunes assault on Mr. Brown.”
“Promise to kiss me right in front of him and you’ve got a deal.”
Aziraphale smiled and kissed him again.