A/N: Hi, friends! I'm so sorry it took over a month to write this. As you might've guessed, things happened, as I'm sure they're happening to a few of you too. I hope everyone reading is staying safe, healthy, and happy through all of this. 3 In other news, this is the last chapter! And what a whopper. I had such a blast writing this. Please enjoy!

P.S - if you feel like keeping up with me, I've started an Instagram for my writing/art adventures; wicked dot scribbles.

Happy reading. :)

Crowley had not slept in two hundred and twenty-three days. After all, why should he? His subconscious mind was no longer more pleasant than what awaited him in waking hours. In the past seven or so months, following that turn of events in Crowley's own flat, he and Aziraphale were - what did the humans call it? - an item. Together. Dating. Boyfriend and boyfriend. He didn't care how it was phrased, only that it was happening. And more than that, Aziraphale wanted him around all the time, was just as delighted as he was.

About two weeks in, a customer had caught him slinking around the front desk, muttering something flirtatious to Aziraphale and leaning in far too close for the gesture to be mere friendliness. She'd asked his angel if Crowley was a new hire - an employee, for the love of everything unholy - and Aziraphale had merrily clasped Crowley's hand in his own and told the human girl that they were partners. The two of them had chatted on, with their "oh how nice, Mr. Fell" and "thank you, dear"s, while Crowley had to struggle out of Aziraphale's grasp to hide how utterly red he'd gone. The word partners had bounced around in his head for the rest of the day.

"Partners?" He'd said a few hours later, once the shop had closed. He was walking up the steps to Aziraphale's comfortable little flat, delivery boxes crowded in his arms. It had kind of just come out of his mouth, like a secret that had to be shared and dissected.

"Mm?" Aziraphale wasn't really listening; he was struggling to open the wine.

"Earlier today. Y'know, in front of the bookshop girl. You called us that."

"I did." Aziraphale's eyes were bright, the faintest trace of a smile flirting on his mouth. "Would you prefer I use a different term, dearest?"

"Er - no. I'm just." Crowley sighed. "I liked it. It was nice, okay?" He was rubbish at saying things. They came out all wrong, either backwards or sideways, more likely to offend than assure. He set the food on the table so that he could jam his hands in his pockets.

"Oh, you are a grumpy thing." Aziraphale came around the table and embraced Crowley's tense figure. "Did you think I wouldn't tell the whole world that you're mine, as soon as the opportunity presented itself?" He leaned up on his toes and kissed the corner of Crowley's mouth, which did wonders for the demon's disposition.

This was the problem with Aziraphale - he made it almost impossible to sulk for any length of time. Instead, Crowley more often than not found himself melting into a puddle of lovestruck goo at every turn. "You're so soft," Crowley said quietly, unable to keep from smiling.

"That's why you love me." The angel reached out to tap the tip of Crowley's nose with his finger, raising his eyebrows mischievously. "Now, let's tuck in, darling. Don't want dinner going cold."

From then on, they had taken turns spending nights at one another's flats, eventually settling in Aziraphale's. Crowley moved in after two months of the back and forth, and now his beautiful plants sat in the sun-soaked windows of the bookstore. His angel had wanted to try his hand at growing plants, too (an honest attempt, not like years ago when he'd pretended to be the Dowling's gardener and Crowley had done the actual gardening), and now a row of succulents sat on his kitchen windowsill. The silly creature had named them all (Bruce, Sophia, Ron, Michael, and bloody Pancake if anyone was asking), but still somehow forgot to water them.

In return, Crowley had taken up reading. It gave him something to do when Aziraphale was busy with his shop, though truthfully he had cut the hours down so that they could spend more time together. When he'd told his angel he was halfway through The Giver, Aziraphale's eyes had widened to the size of saucers. They'd discussed it for hours after, and Crowley finished the novel curled up in his lap the next night, feeling safe and tended to and understood.

There were dates every weekend, which they took turns planning. Crowley preferred taking Aziraphale to the hip little ice cream joints which had started popping up everywhere - perhaps in part because of what the angel's tongue could do to an ice cream cone - then off to Cahoot's for a cocktail, letting the ice cream settle and the world grow blurry. Ideally, they would wrap the evening up after one or two of these, and the night would end in a rush of sweat and sex in Aziraphale's bed.

But Aziraphale's idea of an outing was more elaborate, which did not surprise him. Everything he did had to be ever so slightly more elaborate. Aziraphale was content to pick a starting point and walk for hours, swinging their hands idly and ducking into any shop that caught his interest. They could be out from noon to sunset, just wandering around on the angel's whim. Crowley had to admit that Aziraphale's way could be just as fun.

As they grew more and more committed to one another, there was even talk of moving out of London entirely. If he was being honest, Crowley wanted that badly - he was terribly bored when the bookstore was open, and it wasn't as if he had any work to do anymore. He occasionally still got out and made some trouble, but it was just to pass the time. Lovestruck fool that he was, Crowley could mainly be found hanging around Aziraphale, watching him rebind books with loving attention, miracling in a broom to sweep the shop in a slow moment (it was filthy, though Aziraphale would argue against the fact), dozing as a snake in one of the sunny windows. He would do anything to have that beautiful man all to himself, day after day.

A rather annoying question plagued him, in the spaces when his angel was looking away, or when he was walking alone on the damp London streets. Should I ask him to marry me? Even thinking the words made his breath catch. It was human tradition, of course, but ancient and sacred as well. Aziraphale was about as romantic as they came, but would he go for it? It would hardly be a stressful event to plan; just the two of them, if Crowley had his way. And then, the rest of their lives.

Crowley's mind jumped back to a few weeks prior, when he'd held Aziraphale's hand in the tattoo parlor. The angel had insisted that he himself get one to match him, had even had Crowley draw out the design. It had taken a little over an hour and cost Crowley the use of the fingers on his left hand from how tightly Aziraphale had gripped them, but in the end, they matched. The black feather on his ankle had the tiniest of snakes wrapped around its quill. Underneath, the Latin phrase Ab Imo Pectore. When they got home, Crowley bent and gave it the lightest of kisses, and had cleaned the skin for him ever since. He was such a fool for this angel, Someone save him.

Here in the present, Crowley was tracing his finger innocently over the outline of the healed mark. He lay at the foot of the bed, while his angel nestled amongst the pillows reading some (terribly inaccurate) historical recount of Casanova's exploits on women. The hair around his ankle was just beginning to grow back in full force, lighter than sunbeams and softer than a kiss. Crowley's finger roamed slightly higher than the exposed skin, creeping under Aziraphale's trousers to draw lazy hearts on his calf.

The angel in question looked over, his glance inquisitive. "What are you doing down there?"

Crowley shrugged, feeling playful. "Only as much as is welcome, sugar."

The pet name set Aziraphale to blushing almost at once; once Crowley had grown comfortable with them in his mouth, he couldn't get enough of using them against him. He tried, eagerly and often, to make them as mushy and embarrassing as possible - as Aziraphale had once promised him he would do. In short, it was a game, and neither of them quite wanted to stop.

The book closed with a muffled snap, and the bed shifted as Aziraphale crawled to lie sideways on the bed beside him.

"Is that some sort of...proposition?" His eyebrows drew together as if he could never fathom such a thing; the virtuous expression only goaded Crowley on. When it came to sexual exploits, Aziraphale had left innocence behind long ago. The odd combination of him, the sweetness of his personality and the intensity of his newly budded desires, was something Crowley couldn't get enough of. The same man that smiled brightly at babies in prams on the sidewalk would in the same day pin him to the wall in the back room of the bookshop with a grin that said he was very proud of himself.

Crowley invited the attention in whatever mood the angel found himself in; gentle and submissive, or cocky and assertive. He was - and suspected he would always be - thrilled to have captured Aziraphale's affection, and was not picky about how he received it. And with the way that Aziraphale was teasing him, Crowley could already tell that he was leaning towards the latter mannerism. A certain shift had happened in the balance of power between them, an unspoken push-and-pull. While normally it was Crowley making the first move, initiating the touch that turned from sweet to sexual, now Aziraphale laid one hand on his ass and squeezed.

"Oh really," Crowley chuckled. "Now who's propositioning?"

Aziraphale's hand didn't budge; the touch deepened along with his expression of mischief. "What, I can't fondle my lovely, sweet boyfriend in the privacy of my own flat, at my leisure?"

The praise always sent ice and magma through Crowley simultaneously. While a part of him yearned to decline the commendations, to shove the mixed feelings that bubbled up into some dark corner, stomp on them and leave them to die - another part of him wanted to hear the words again. After all of these months, Crowley was beginning to wonder. Was he actually good? Would Aziraphale keep saying these things if he didn't mean them? It was all a mess somewhere in his chest, in the space neglected. Eventually it would all come up, like a tangled mess of string and ink, ugly and hard to even think about. Hopefully someone would be willing to help him through it someday.

Noticing the wrinkle that had formed on Crowley's brow, Aziraphale reached up to smooth it. "I have news."

"News?"

"Remember that property in South Downs we were looking at?"

He did. Even now he had the link pulled up on his mobile - knew the asking price, the number of offers, how many rooms the cottage had and what each looked like. Though they hadn't been out to pay an official visit with a realtor, an inconspicuous snake had slithered over every square inch of the property and fallen in love with it.

The cottage was handsomely built, with high ceilings and wood floors. The windows were wide and ample, and Crowley could just imagine sunlight pouring through them. There was plenty of room for the several hundreds of books Aziraphale couldn't part with, and best of all was the attached greenhouse. As if moving to the country wasn't a good enough chance to really roll up his shirtsleeves and indulge in his gardening, this was a whole space devoted to it. He had a feeling about this cottage, though they'd seen a handful of others. Of course, Crowley hadn't said that to Aziraphale, in case it turned out that they couldn't get it. He'd settle anywhere with this beautiful, contradictory being.

Aziraphale had grown too impatient for Crowley's response. "Well - the couple that put their offer in backed out - and I kind of swooped in!" He was beaming, and there was a faint glow around him that could sometimes appear when he got too excited. The Glow Stick Effect, Crowley liked to call it.

Crowley was vaguely aware of his mouth popping open with an audible sound. "Y- really?" Was all he got out before Aziraphale was blustering on.

"I know it seems sudden, and we haven't even been out to see it, for goodness' sake, but Crowley - I just had a really good feeling about it. Like this is our place. I couldn't watch it slip away." His eyes had gone all round and earnest in a way that made Crowley unable to refuse him a single thing on this strange planet.

He leaned in to kiss his angel, slow and sweet. "Y'know, I got that feeling too."

A small but confident hand curled its way into his hair, feeling through the loose waves that had grown out the past few months, tugging lightly at the roots. Crowley sighed and leaned into the touch like an eager housecat, loving the sensation. Aziraphale pulled away slowly to look at him, licking his lips in what had to be a calculated motion.

"The realtor was fairly confident that my offer wouldn't be challenged," his angel continued, as if his cock wasn't pressing firmly into Crowley's thigh now. "If it doesn't move in a week, we'll be homeowners, love. A whole space just for us. No busy street below."

No one to hear us fucking each other senseless.

"That sounds bloody amazing," Crowley breathed, moving his body instinctively to rub against the temptation in front of him. "No more miracling the walls soundproof."

Aziraphale only sighed in response, letting his hand trail from where it lay on Crowley's buttock to his crotch. He felt him freeze in surprise and struggled not to laugh out loud; the usual equipment wasn't there, and Aziraphale seemed to be at a loss.

"Er, Crowley?" The angel's hand remained there, as if uncertain of what to do.

"What's wrong, angel?" Smirking, Crowley went for the button on his jeans, shimmying them down to his knees in one fluid motion.

"You didn't tell me you switched out, you devious little thing," Aziraphale was fixated on Crowley's pubic mound, the soft red hair that spread between his legs.

Crowley just shrugged. "Haven't had one in a while. Just felt like a change. And...I really wanted to see that look on your face." He squirmed slightly, already feeling wet.

He watched Aziraphale swallow, felt the erection jump against his leg. "Well," began his proper English angel, "I'm not familiar with the anatomy, but I shall endeavor to love it as thoroughly as your cock."

His heart sang, among other things. "Fuck me," Crowley hissed, unable to take the anticipation any longer.

Those eyes were still far too sweet when he replied, "But of course, love."

In less time than it took to blink, Crowley's clothes had disappeared - but knowing his lover's fondness for undressing him, Aziraphale himself had remained fully clothed. Crowley wasn't sure exactly why it drove him so crazy - only that watching Aziraphale go from a tidy, well kept gentleman to a naked, blushing disaster at his hands (and his hands alone) always reduced his willpower to ash.

The bow tie always went first, naturally. Crowley now did it up for him every morning, making sure it was just-so; this made it all the more satisfying to undo later. (Even if he wasn't going to be untying it with devious intentions, seeing his angel walking around the bookshop in the little tartan bow that he'd done himself made him glow with pleasure.) It came apart easily under his fingers, as if it knew better than to put up a fight. Then went the vest, unbuttoned with great care - the cursed thing was going on two centuries old now, but Aziraphale refused to part with it. Perhaps he could be tempted into just the tie and button-down shirt someday, if only because it made these moments that much easier. The thought increased Crowley's pace where he would normally stop and savor. He kneeled on the bed to shimmy Aziraphale's trousers and pants off, flinging them carelessly off the edge somewhere, and unbuttoned the (brand new) sky blue dress shirt.

Before the shirt could come off, Aziraphale's hands were roaming him. Crowley had no say in the way he was suddenly placed flat on his back, righted on the bed in a way that was disorienting. Had he miracled them this way, or actually moved that fast? Crowley wasn't sure. Aziraphale, he was finding out, had strength far beyond his gentle exterior. Although the angel never acknowledged it, none of his divine power had left him - and Crowley was excited to see how they could explore this aspect whenever the Aziraphale felt comfortable. If he ever felt comfortable. He seemed keen to never speak about the more heavenly aspects of his person, acted almost embarrassed of them. Crowley couldn't see why, as he adored every new facet that the angel wanted to show him, but was willing to give him the space.

New facets such as this; Aziraphale's tongue lapping at the skin of his clavicle, unbidden and eager. Apparently he was just as impatient as Crowley, because the touch didn't linger there. A flurry of kisses, wet and deep, made their way down his body. Crowley shivered into him, weak with what he wanted to happen, as his angel's cute little pointed nose paused just above the newly miracled labia.

"Hmm," Aziraphale hummed, pausing theatrically. "Now, I'm not sure what I should do here."

Oh, for fuck's sake. Crowley grit his teeth and tried not to let out a desperate whine. He felt himself clench involuntarily, and watched Aziraphale's eyes flick down to watch - the utter tease was loving every second.

"Tongue, angel," Crowley managed to gasp out. "A lot of it."

"Really? Interesting." Aziraphale's expression remained politely curious even as he drew close enough to leave warm breath on Crowley's slit. As his nose nestled in the light red curls, Crowley couldn't take it anymore - a whimper escaped him, a high and needy sound.

Stopping with his mouth exactly two millimeters from Crowley's opening, Aziraphale drew back. Crowley nearly reared up and bit him; the tension was overwhelming and infuriating.

"My goodness, love. Is this really so exciting to you?" The angel rested his head on Crowley's thigh and peered up at him. He really was a dirty, dirty sinner when he felt the urge to be.

"What do you think?" Crowley breathed. He was certain that Aziraphale could smell his sex - and even more certain that the angel was in just as bad of shape as he. He was just keeping himself together for the sake of the game. Crowley could taste his lust heavy in the air like ozone.

"I want to hear you say it," Aziraphale whispered. "Tell me what you want. Then you can have it." The grip on his thigh tightened - close-clipped nails digging into him.

He really didn't want to and yet couldn't resist letting the words spill out. Aziraphale knew all of his weak points, and exactly how hard to push them. There was a shame-pleasure that edged these sorts of things (and it could really only be counted as pleasure because it was Aziraphale there, encouraging and soft and recently quite daring).

"Urgh...fine." Crowley tried to swallow but found that his throat was too dry. It didn't help that his angel had eagerly settled himself back atop his crotch, eyes glimmering like he was about to be told a bedtime story. His hot breath was back, wickedly moist in the close space.

"I want you to eat me out, angel."

His sentence was hardly finished before Aziraphale's tongue was working its way into the depths of his slick folds in tentative movements. Crowley gasped, hands knotting in the covers. The motions continued for a few seconds, gentle and smooth - then came to a stop. Aziraphale popped back up again, mouth wet.

"How do you want me to do that to you, dearheart?" Crowley's look must have been venom, because he added, "It's just - it's my first time with this anatomy."

He really was going to make him be descriptive as possible. Yep. Crowley rolled his eyes Heavenward, then remembered that no one liked him up there. He briefly considered rolling them Hellward, but that would probably only earn him back luck for a week. The mounting tingling in his sex needed attention, and if this was the only way he'd get it, then he would lay down his dignity. Only for this angel.

"I want your tongue inside me," Crowley exhaled, almost a sigh, as Aziraphale got right back to work. Crowley's legs went haywire at the maddening sensation, trembling and rising off of the mattress; Aziraphale was a quick study. "Rubbing up against my folds - mmh! - and my clit."

"I'm sorry, your what," Aziraphale murmured directly into him. Crowley let out a snort of laughter despite the situation. "Just here. Little higher - no - there."

Aziraphale's tongue had pinpointed the bundle of swollen nerves with painful accuracy, making Crowley arch off the bed into his mouth. "Ohhh fucking hell, angel. That's the ticket, just - more." Thankfully, his angel didn't tease this time. With a small smirk, Aziraphale increased his work, tongue working deeper and eyes narrowing in concentration. With his hands cinched on each of Crowley's bone-pale thighs, buried nose-deep in curls, it was almost as if he were enjoying a succulent meal. An image rose to Crowley's mind of Aziraphale flinging him a table at one of their frequented eateries, fucking him with his mouth the way he was doing now.

There wasn't a sound in the air but Crowley's jagged breath, the obscene sounds Aziraphale was making from the general area of his cunt, and now the slick sliding of one of his hands as he'd begun to jerk himself off clumsily. He was a quick study - within moments he'd gone from exploring the area with some hesitation to pulling and sucking on Crowley's folds as if he'd been performing this particular sin all his life. Each long, licking slurp brough Crowley a little closer to the edge of coming, made his hips buck and jolt as he chased it. The look on Aziraphale's face was all Crowley needed to know that it wouldn't be long for him, either - his eyes had gone round and glassy, eyebrows drawn together in a desperate expression as he surely held back to treat Crowley first. The hand that was still holding Crowley's thigh came to the angel's mouth, teeth biting briefly into his thumb as he struggled not to make a sound.

"Angel, I'm close - I'm there, I'm there, Zira - oh fuck-!"

With a shuddering gasp, Crowley rode out the intensity of it, the ceiling blurring and fuzzing above him as the orgasm came in waves. Aziraphale stroked the flat plane of his stomach soothingly, tracing little hearts as Crowley himself had done earlier.

When it had ended, Aziraphale made a sound like he'd been holding his breath. More than a little amused, Crowley looked down just in time to see the angel lunge for him. Their mouths met violently, foreheads knocking. Aziraphale planted himself on top of Crowley, cock rock-hard and weeping onto his chest. His mouth tasted like Crowley's juices, and it sent another strange little quiver of arousal up his spine. Their tongues were having a kind of vicious struggle, and Crowley was righting himself against the headboard so that Aziraphale could sit in his lap, reach his own end by rubbing off on him. If he'd needed air, Crowley might have had to stop. Thank Someone that they could ignore all that rubbish in moments like these and just have one another, in the most primal means possible.

Aziraphale wasted no time. He rutted against Crowley in quick little thrusts, digging his nails into the demon's shoulder blades. In only desperate seconds he was coming, spilling hot and long on Crowley's chest. As he came down, he spread chaste little kisses all over the demon's face - something he almost always remembered to do. Crowley made a competition out of catching his lips, smiling through it, feeling young and silly and utterly loved.

"That was…" Aziraphale began, after a moment of glowing silence, "a lot more entertaining than I'd imagined." He frowned at the state of his shirt, and Crowley knew he was silently protesting the wrinkles that were surely forming right this very moment in the fabric.

"'Was?' Oh, we're not done, angel." Crowley grinned up at him lazily, thighs still throbbing with post-orgasmic pleasure. "I told you to fuck me, remember?"

Aziraphale's eyebrows shot up. "Is that so."

Heart pounding, Crowley nodded up at him. He'd waited so long for Aziraphale's cock in him like this, had imagined it on lonely nights centuries ago. Fucking each other the usual way was all and good, but there was something about this Effort that made him feel particularly keen to be dominated. He wondered now what had taken him so long.

"Well, are you ready for me, love?" Aziraphale's voice had gone soft and low - any moisture that had found itself in Crowley's throat evaporated. How could he be sexy and cute at the same time? It wasn't fair.

"Yeah," Crowley answered, feeling fairly stupid. Every coherent thought had floated out of his brain. There was only the scent of them, and the anticipation of what lay ahead.

"Then be a dear and spread your legs. I'm fairly certain I can figure out this portion." Aziraphale trailed one hand leisurely back down to Crowley's sex, dipping a finger in the slippery folds and sucking it clean. Crowley scrambled to comply, choking on an undignified little moan at the sight of being tasted so casually.

It took only the tiniest of miracles (it amused both of them to imagine their Head Offices cringing over what they were now being used for) to slick Crowley's palm. He reached for Aziraphale's half-ready erection, eager to touch.

"Why, Crowley," Aziraphale practically purred. He leaned deep into the touch, unabashed. "So needy today." His tone was conversational, as if they were sitting on some sunny square surrounded by strangers. All the while, his hips moved lazily into Crowley's hand, fucking it until his cock strained hard and slick from the demon's nimble fingers.

You haven't seen me needy yet, Crowley wanted to say. Only his brain couldn't seem to put the words in the right order. He flexed the hand gripped around his angel's dick, urging it down, to the vee of his legs.

"Goodness, if you insist. Inside you, then."

With a sudden movement that betrayed his tone, Aziraphale grasped himself in one hand and parted Crowley's folds with the other, sliding inside with an ease that would have been embarrassing if Crowley weren't absolutely gagging for it.

"Oh!" Aziraphale gasped, no longer able to keep up the casual facade. "Fuck, darling, you're wet-" He adjusted his hips, pinning Crowley fast to the mattress.

The small movement rubbed something deep in Crowley's cunt, stoking the ebbed pleasure from his first orgasm. He embedded his fingers in the flesh of his angel's supple bottom, urging him closer. Finally. Crowley could have cried when Aziraphale laid into him with a steady rhythm. He matched every thrust with one of his own, not caring what Aziraphale had to say about it.

In fact, with all of Aziraphale's teasing banter from before, he didn't have much to say at all once Crowley's tight muscles were gripping his cock. Crowley knew this, loved it, salivated for the moment when his angel finally gave up his little game and just fucked him. Not that it wasn't fun, seeing him act bossier in the bedroom. But watching him drop it and react was far more entertaining. And Satan, did he react.

"God in heaven, Crowley, you feel amazing-"

"Mmmmnh," he managed to reply, shivering as Aziraphale's cock rubbed the head of his g-spot in short teasing bursts. "Angel, please - oh Satan fuck yes, yes!"

The second orgasm overwhelmed him beyond the point of dignity. Crowley's toes were curling and crossing over one another. His wings appeared out of thin air, flapping weakly under him. And all the while, Aziraphale continued to fuck him, breath shallowing to desperate pants. He planted a hand in Crowley's hair, tugging harshly, letting out an indecipherable stream of swears and endearments. Crowley sought his lover's eyes, lost, already aware that he was careening towards another climax. In all his millennia on Earth, he'd never come like this - just one after the other, a string of pleasure that bordered right on the edge of being too much.

He wanted to tell Aziraphale, but had lost the ability to do anything more than whimper. He continued to gaze up at his angel, hoping that he understood. If nothing else, the unbroken look was edging Aziraphale into hysteria just as surely as Crowley himself was.

Crowley knew his angel was coming, though it didn't feel the same inside him as it usually did. He would have known the look in his eyes anywhere (not to mention it was eerily akin to the expression he bore when sinking his teeth into the softest, most delicate pain au chocolat), the slight quaver in his voice, anywhere. He had it memorized, ingrained in the depths of his squishy human brain's pleasure center. Along with the delight of how the Bentley looked after a fresh polish and wax, the excitement of discovering new music, and glee at making someone fall for a subtle and very stupid prank, there was his angel on a loop. Touching and pink and slightly sweaty, wings fluttering, head back, saying the most delicious things. The thought alone of Aziraphale in this state had sustained him for centuries. Now he could have him this way whenever he pleased. He tried not to let it go to his head.

Though when Aziraphale collapsed atop him with a shivery sigh, murmuring pet names into his neck, it was hard not to be a little smug.

"Have fun?" He purred, tangling his hand in those impossible blond curls.

"Fun doesn't cover it. Good Lord, Crowley, you were holding out on me!" Aziraphale laughed weakly. "That thing's some kind of...of superweapon."

"I'll just keep that in mind, then."

Crowley wriggled until he was released from his (admittedly very warm and snuggly) trap. They lay nose to nose in the covers, smirking at one another like guilty schoolboys. Crowley loved these moments; all the new jokes, the naughty looks mingled with love. He'd never felt more human, real, something. Worth being. Even when he'd been an angel, there was nothing like this.

A week from that evening, their offer on the South Downs would be enthusiastically accepted. Would it be the result of a miracle? If Aziraphale was asking, definitely not, nor would Crowley assume the angel would break his own rule about "cheating" to obtain a property of their own. Perhaps, though, each had had their own hand in the matter. That didn't matter. What mattered was packing things frantically into all manner of boxes, plants delicately finagled into the Bentley, and dozens upon dozens of trips back and forth to fetch all of the books. It mattered that Aziraphale's lip did that wobbly thing when he was trying not to cry, seeing their boxes sitting in the rooms of the cottage, and Crowley kissing him on the top of the head so that he couldn't see his own stupid lip wobbling.

Perhaps what mattered most of all was the ring in Crowley's jacket pocket, miracled so that he couldn't remove it unless he actively chose to - could not risk losing that fucking thing - and now all he had to do was pick a moment and make Aziraphale his, forever. He absolutely couldn't wait.