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Aziraphale never explicitly stated how happy he was that the bookstore had been restored in its entirety. Crowley was just pleased that all the wine had been restored as well. He was indulging in a glass or seven while waiting for him to show up when the angel in question burst through (read delicately opened and gently closed) the door.

"Crowley!" he said in as antagonistic a voice as the angel could manage.

Crowley flinched but didn't actually set down the glass. "What is it, Angel?"

"The old man next door said my boyfriend had broken into the shop when I didn't answer the door."

"I didn't actually break in, per se."

"That's not the part I'm concerned about!" Aziraphale snapped, again in that almost antagonistic voice. He looked pointedly at the drink in the demon's hand. "Will you put that down and sober up!"

Crowley sighed. "If I must." The nearly empty bottle beside him refilled.

"Thank you. Now then..." Aziraphale trailed off, trying to decide how to phrase his statement without...restating it. "Crowley, why do random strangers always think we're together?"

"Weeeeeellllll, in a way, we've been on again off again for six thousand years."

"Yes, but you're my, my, my something that is not boyfriend!"

Crowley's thoughts flashed back to the moment he'd thought the angel was dead while lying on the floor after taking a fire hose blast to the face. Someone's killed my best friend! His best friend, did that count for the angel?

We're not friends, I don't even like you!

And the angel didn't even know.

"Then what are we?" Crowley asked finally, after the silence had gone on too long. Because he didn't think the angel had ever actually thought about it.

Aziraphale continued to be be silent, standing next to the demon's lounging form. "We're not boyfriends."

"So you've said," Crowley replied, feeling a small pang in that place where his heart would be if he was human.

"But we are friends, I suppose, of a sort."

"Is that so?" Tread lightly, Crowley.

"Well, yes." Aziraphale glanced at the refilled bottle and then miracled himself a glass that he poured wine into.

Crowley's eyebrows shot up and he snapped out a hand to pull the glass away. "If I have to be sober for this conversation, so do you."

"Oh, oh very well." Aziraphale took a seat and ignored the fact that Crowley drank the full glass instead.

"You still haven't answered the question."

"What do you want me to say, Crowley?" he asked.

"I want you to tell me what you think we are." Crowley's voice was tense, unbelievably so.

"We're...friends?"

"Are we?"

"I answered your question!"

"You answered it with another question!"

"I did not. 'We're friends' is a statement."

"Only if you don't include that massive uptick in your voice at the end of the sentence that would make it a question."

"Really, Crowley, if you would only-"

"Only what?" Crowley snapped, anger finally getting the better of him.

Aziraphale's mouth worked. "Only shut up a moment." And then he was out of the chair and in Crowley's lap, with their lips pressed together.

Crowley's hands shot up in surprise and hesitated in the air for a long moment before they came to rest on the curves of Aziraphale's shoulders and gripping tightly as he opened his mouth and let their tongues brush tentatively together. Their hips pressed hard as the angel's weight settled more comfortably on the demon's lap and his hands pressed against Crowley's ribs.

When they pulled apart, there was a brief moment as their very different eyes bored into each others. "Well then," Crowley murmured. "Is this a one-off orrrr..."

"Like I said, before," Aziraphale whispered, bringing their faces close again, "Do shut up." Then he closed the gap.

The End

Look at that, I'm back after years of not writing much over here, but I want to spread my Good Omens fic around!

Let me know your thoughts and thanks for reading!