Shit! Where the bloody heaven had that come from? He’d never meant to reveal that, under any circumstances, and yet, the words had just slipped out.
Perhaps he could play it off as though it was just a casual remark, an observation of what others did from time to time. Divert and deflect from the fact of his own unacceptable and discarded attempts.
There was one thing that thankfully popped into his mind, surprising himself somewhat with how far it’d have to have travelled from the depths.
“Well, you know,” he said, trying for nonchalant, “the first time you try, it might not come out anything like you imagined or you think the recipient would like. I know that when first Lord Beelzebub tried – “
“Beelzebub has never tried making a, a nest!” Aziraphale didn’t look horrified or even scandalised but his eyes were almost comically wide at the very idea, the original question pushed out of his mind for the moment, it seemed.
Crowley, who’d taken his hand from the nape of the other’s neck with reluctance when they’d parted, held it up. “As I live and breathe. We didn’t find out until they threw the remnants of it out onto some unsuspecting demon, right smack in the forehead. There was no doubt what they’d thrown out was for a nest, though, even if it was completely unfit to present to anyone – and nobody found out who they were nesting for.”
He paused as a thought occurred to him. “Come to think of it, I don’t know whether they tried again or if they were succesful later on. Huh. That’s…well…”
“Beelzebub?” Aziraphale almost spluttered. “The demon? The Lord of the Flies? Are you telling me that – but they can’t!“
“Why not? Because they’re a demon?”
It wasn’t meant to be needling or pointed, even though that perhaps at another he would’ve meant it that way. Right now, however, it was just a question, but Aziraphale reacted to it as though it had indeed been a needling.
“No!” he cried, quickly, almost urgently, his hand in Crowley’s tightening. “Not at – that was not what I meant at all. Of course demons can nest as well as angels can, if they are so inclined. Of course. But Beelzebub, that’s – that’s as unfathomable as thinking of Gabriel nesting for someone or have someone nest for him!”
Crowley would have to agree the point – and then his mind made a connection he wasn’t prepared for and had no idea how to handle. In fact, he couldn’t help but recoil from it somewhat.
“Crowley? What’s the matter?” Aziraphale asked, worried.
“I, ah, eh – can’t – it – Gabriel and Beelzebub!” the ginger managed to get out.
His expression was now mirrored in Aziraphale’s.
“No!” The tone of voice sounded more scandalised than horrified, though. “You don’t really think – but that, surely – “
“I don’t want to think about it,” Crowley exclaimed, emphatically, interrupting the angel, “not now nor ever. It’s just mindboggling and – eurgh. But especially not now. Not here.”
He pressed, lightly and carefully, down on the hand underneath his, which in turn pressed on the feathers, to make a point, possibly unnecessary, about the situation.
“No. Of course. Most definitely not.”
There was emphasis in the last sentence that went beyond Aziraphale’s normal range but why it was there wasn’t entirely clear, at least to Crowley. It did relieve something inside of him, though, a nasty little part, to hear Aziraphale talk about Gabriel that way.
Silence ruled for a bit after that, a comfortable, warm silence that was spent just looking at each other and, for Crowley’s part, basking in the tangible reality that had only ever been the loveliest castle in the air.
He was just about getting properly settled into that quiet enjoyment when, so quiet that others probably wouldn’t have caught it, Aziraphale said something.
“When did you…how many nests have you started to build then demolished?” he asked, green eyes scanning Crowley’s face, as though he needed further confirmation than he could get from the spoken answer itself.
Crap. It hadn’t worked! Or perhaps he could still salvage it, somehow. Could he lie? He supposed he could, but not only did he not in any way feel confident Aziraphale would believe him, he didn’t want to lie to Aziraphale. Not that he hadn’t, because of course, but this…
This really wasn’t worth lying about, was it? It would be embarrassing and he didn’t want to but…he would.
“I haven’t actually counted how – ” he began, then stopped. No, still wrong.
“…at least half a dozen, probably more over the centuries,” he corrected himself. Then he swallowed, forcing himself not to look away or try to play it off as nothing.
“And how many…” the angel licked his lip, quite unconsciously, it seemed. “Who were they for?” he asked, his voice somehow even quieter, to the point it almost sounded small.
…Did he not know? How could he not – hadn’t he figured it out already? At least after Crowley had admitted to…well, everything. Wasn’t it then more than obvious?
Though if he was honest with himself, was he really in any position to make that sort of judgment?
“For you,” he said, voice coming out a little hoarse, keeping his gaze determinedly fixed on the other’s face. He wasn’t aware that he’d tightened the grip, which had been slackened, on Aziraphale’s hand considerably. “I’ve only ever done it for you, angel. All of them were for you and then they weren’t good enough to…but even if they were, I was so scared of…and I’m sorry. So terribly sorry. I should’ve told you. Shown you.”
Though it might not make too much sense, he needed to say something, to combat the hurt and slightly dejected expression that had kept lurking behind those warm eyes ever since he’d mentioned he’d made nests, too. He hoped it would explain that it was nothing that Aziraphale had done or hadn’t done. It was all down to Crowley and his fears.
It looked at least to some degree as though he had managed to do so. Though the face remained unchanged in expression the emotion lurking in the eyes lessened considerably.
However, he wasn’t done yet. He had to make sure that he communicated the next part. “There’s never been anyone else for me and there never will be. You are my everything.”
He didn’t say anything about having mentioned something to that effect earlier, and not only because he didn’t really remember it, what with everything else that had happened.
It didn’t matter in any case. He’d say it a thousand times if Aziraphale wanted to hear it, really, or more, and mean it just as much every single time.
Aziraphale stared at him, seeming to have gone completely still.
Crowley would’ve worried – if he’d had the time.
Before he could, there was another noise as of a flock of birds taking off and the movement of air.
“Aziraphale…” Crowley breathed as he watched them unfold.
His yellow eyes threatened to take over the sclera, as they did when he forgot himself, while looking at the wings he hadn’t seen in their full glory – and they were a glory to behold, almost iridescent in their soft whiteness, highlighted perfectly by the glow of the light in the bookshop – since…well, really since the same day the angel had last seen his. The day they’d met.
Six thousand years and they were as beautiful as he remembered them.
So why did Aziraphale look slightly embarrassed? More than slightly, really, and not in a good way, if embarrassment could ever be positive.
“I’m so – I just couldn’t keep it in anymore,” he said, and it sounded like an apology, which was both puzzling and ridiculous.
“Keep it –? “Crowley began and his disbelief was clearly audible, “angel, were you – have you been keeping them in check until now?”
He got a nod, slow and reluctant. “Yes. Since you said, ‘I love you’. Well, longer, really.”
“But – why?”
Aziraphale didn’t answer.
“Aziraphale, why would you ever keep them in? Unless – you did lock the door?”
Another nod, emphatic, and Crowley relaxed a bit. “Okay. Right. But why, then?” Surely, if there was one time it would be okay to let them out, it would be for this occasion?
Perhaps he could persuade his angel – his angel! – to have them out occasionally, just for him to gorge himself on, on a both visual and tactile level.
Aziraphale seemed to have a different opinion on the matter.
“Because they’re…they’re not – yours are so exquisite!”
Wait, what? What did that have to do with anything?
“Angel are you seriously…?” he said, incredulous to say the least and entirely missing the compliment, as he reached out with his free hand.
At first, he went slowly but the blond tried to pull his wing back out of reach. So instead, to make sure he got a hold on them, the demon shot his hand out and grasped hold of, not a primary as he thought, which was frankly probably just as well, or he might’ve pulled it out unintentionally.
What he got hold of instead was the metacarpal, what would in a human hand be the bones of the hand itself, not the fingers. His grip wasn’t hard, not really, but he was out on the edge of the sofa by then and he probably used it unintentionally for balance.
Aziraphale gasped loudly at that and his wing shook. Surprised, and worried that he might’ve caused damage, Crowley let go, but that upset what little equilibrium he had, and he fell off the sofa.
Thankfully, he hit the floor with his knees first and managed to stay upright but before he’d had much chance to really comprehend what had happened – or think on why the heaven he hadn’t used his own bloody wings to keep himself upright – warm arms closed around him, underneath his wings, and he realised his torso was sprawled across a lap. His head was pressed into the lovely soft tummy to some extent.
But right then, he couldn’t spare the thought for it, since if Aziraphale’s arms were both around him and he could feel the hands on his back, then where was –
His head snapped up immediately. “Where -?”
“They’re – oh, my goodness, I think – “Aziraphale stopped but then he breathed a sigh of relief. “No, they’re here. Fell on the floor but I do believe they’re okay.”
With one hand still on Crowley’s back, as though wanting to make sure he stayed where he was, he reached down and when he rose back, he held up the four feathers for the demon to see, handling them as though they were made of glass.
There wasn’t a vane out of place.
Crowley made a face that he wasn’t sure what was, exactly, or was meant to communicate but he hoped that it was something positive. He tried to right himself so he could get back up on the sofa. Being this close to Aziraphale’s body was doing things that – was such a thing as spontaneous combustion possible for a demon?
The hand still on his back pressed harder for a moment as if to prevent him getting up but it relented almost immediately afterwards, allowing him to sit himself back on the sofa.
“Sorry,” Crowley murmured as he did so, with a guilty look at the wing he’d demon-handled, however accidental. “Didn’t mean to…is it alright?”
“Alright? Is what alright?”
“The wing! You gasped loudly and the wing shook, I assumed I was gripping it too hard or something! That you were in pain!”
“What? Oh. No, that’s not – I’m perfectly alright, my dear. I was merely…surprised. But thank you for the concern.” He gave a smile that looked genuinely grateful.
However, the pause before ‘surprised’ was just a fraction too long to be believable and in any case, it hadn’t sounded like a gasp of surprise. Pursuing that line of enquiry, though, didn’t seem the right move then and there, so he let it go. For now.
“Oh. Okay. Still, sorry for grabbing it like that. I didn’t – I just wanted to…your wings are beautiful and beyond lovely, Aziraphale. To look at and to feel. Just like the rest of you.” To be honest, his fingers itched to reach out again and run over the bone, following it from base to tip.
It was a statement of fact and wasn’t meant to be leering or even smirking. He could’ve done it like that, of course, but it didn’t feel right.
Regardless, it seemed to have shocked the poor angel more than a little.
“Crowley, I – do you really think so?” There was no coyness there but an honest question, which tore at something inside the ginger.
“Well, obviously. Always have, always will.” He couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow but at the same time, he was smiling. “I’d be a bloody shite nestmate if I didn’t think so, wouldn’t I?”
The smile turned suddenly into a full-blown grin. “Nestmate. Nestmate.”
“Yes, indeed, “Aziraphale confirmed, and his beam was back in full force. “We are. We are, aren’t we?”
It was said with wonder in his voice but also something that was wavering and asking for confirmation that this was indeed the case.
Crowley knew exactly how he felt. In an odd way, though, that felt reassuring and made it more real and tangible. He could honestly not see how he would ever believe his imagination would cook up Aziraphale being uncertain and needing confirmation.
Before all of this, he would’ve said his little fantasy was about as perfect as it could be. He’d spent literal ages creating, tweaking and replaying it, after all.
Now, though…now he knew that even with all the little bits like the misunderstandings, the uncertainties, and the fumbling, both metaphorically and physically, this reality was a hundred times better and more perfect than his fantasy ever could be. It was better because it was reality and it did contain all of those little imperfections.
“We are,” he confirmed. Reassured. “We are! Finally!”
The word was out of his mouth before he was aware of it and he blessed himself and his stupid mouth.
“Angel, I didn’t – “he immediately began, trying to fix what he’d messed up, but, decidedly unexpectedly, the blond didn’t seem upset.
Putting the feathers which he was still holding down on his own thigh for the moment, Aziraphale gathered Crowley’s hands in his. They’d held hands in various ways a few times by now but even so, it sent a pleasant thrill through the ginger. He hoped that would never ever stop being the case.
“You can say ‘finally’ when you’ve waited – oh, Crowley, I am so sorry – “
“If you didn’t reciprocate, then you didn’t,” Crowley cut in.
He’d come to terms with that a long time ago. That was to say, to as much an extent as he could manage and not factoring in that persistent and resilient hope. Which wasn’t a very great extent, to be honest, not at all, but Aziraphale didn’t need to know that.
“You’re not obligated to reciprocate,” he continued. “Never. You can’t control your feelings nor should you.”
“Well…no…of course not. But you can be better at realising that what you were feeling was indeed what you were feeling, and I failed quite miserably at that.”
“You got there. Fuck’s sake, you were the one who started the ball rolling on all of this.”
“Well, yes, but – “There was the definite feeling that if his hands weren’t occupied, then he’d be wringing them slightly, “– oh, how are you so calm about all of this?”
“Calm? Calm? I’m anything but calm and I keep thinking that at any moment, you’ll turn into a three-headed kitten spewing hellfire or something and prove I’m dreaming.”
That made Aziraphale giggle, the sort of giggle that you’re surprised is coming out of your mouth, often because what was said wasn’t that funny.
“Why a kitten?” he asked when he could make himself stop.
“That was the part you picked up on?”
“Among others, yes.” There was a small pause. “Crowley?”
“Yes?”
“Could – can I please touch your wings?”
Oh, G-, Sa-, fuck, yes. Please. You don’t need to ask, angel, please touch them. Touch them as much as you want as long as you want. I can still feel where you touched them earlier and it has nothing, well, very little, to do with you making my feathers grow back.
“On one condition.”
“And what would that be?”
“That I can reciprocate, for as long as I want to.”
Aziraphale blushed at that but at the same time, his lips puckered in what could only be described as a smiling pout, something which was utterly adorable.
A plump hand disentangled itself from a bony and reached out slowly, though not hesitantly. Crowley held perfectly still as it came closer, his breath bated. It somehow felt more intimate than the earlier kiss.
It was fingers that touched first, where the middle primary coverts enclosed the radius bone. They moved over said bone as though…as though they were stroking across the cover of a newly discovered, exceedingly rare book.
A shudder ran through Crowley at that, hard. Not just because of the touch itself, however wonderful it was, but the knowledge that Aziraphale wasn’t just touching him, he was treating his wing as he would his most prized possessions in the world.
He felt the nastily lingering, stubbornly clinging uncertainties and doubts melt away in the face of that. What more proof could he possibly want or need?
Oh, how he loved his angel.
Before he knew quite what he was doing, Crowley had grabbed hold of the soft body and pulled him from the chair he’d been sitting in into his lap. Well-manicured hands grabbed hold of bony shoulders for support, even though he could’ve easily used his wings for balance.
That was, one hand grabbed hold. The other held the given feathers, snatched quickly from his thigh and then pressed against his chest.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale protested but there was no heat to it.
“Do that again,” Crowley said, his voice something of a rasp, which initially surprised him. Then it clicked.
Oh. Oh. Of course.
“Please,” he said.
“Crowley, are you – “
“Yes, I’m sure. Please bloody well touch them again.” He paused and shook himself. He shouldn’t be making demands like that. “Sorry, that was – “
His sentence caught in a gasped moan as a hand ran from his shoulder down the humerus of the other wing, down over the radius and the metacarpals, all the way to the tip of the phalanges, as gently and reverentially as he had before.
That it wasn’t a one-time thing, not the novelty of touching for the first time – it could be argued that it was the first time he touched that much of his wing but that wasn’t the same thing at all and didn’t really hold water – but, it seemed, something that was the immediate reaction to touching his wings in general…
That stole his breath. Not that he’d had much of it right now, but the point remained.
“Aziraphale…” he breathed. His hands on the other tightened and he instinctively moved his wing closer, both for getting them within easier touching range and for enclosing the other somewhat. Shielding him. Protecting him.
There was a bit of manoeuvring to it, on both their parts, so as not to knock into the blond’s wings but even though their wings were the same size and not exactly small, they managed it without knocking anything over and actually, with a surprising amount of grace and ease.
What he hadn’t expected was that the angel would not just tuck his wings in a bit to assist but would make a sort of counter-cocoon inside the embrace of the demon’s wings, low where Crowley’s went high.
The hand hadn’t been removed from his wing all throughout that, though how it had managed it he had no idea.
Especially not given that the other still held the feathers, pressed against his chest, shielding them in turn.
Slowly, the ginger moved his own hand up, with the intention of taking the feathers from Aziraphale. Not to take them back, though, merely to put them somewhere safe.
The moment Aziraphale saw his hand move towards his chest, though, he pulled away a little.
“No,” he said. “You can’t – you gave them to me. You can’t.”
“You what?” Then it clicked. “I’m not going to take them back, angel. I just wanted to put them somewhere safe.”
The angel relaxed a bit. “Oh. I see. Well, that’s…that certainly puts it in a different perspective.”
If Crowley then expected to be given the feathers, he was to be disappointed or at least surprised. Instead of placing them in the still outstretched hands, or even reaching out to lay them on the table, Aziraphale chose to switch hands. This was so he could slide the feathers inside the left side of his long jacket where there might’ve been a pocket, or he might’ve created one then and there, as Crowley had never seen him use an inner pocket there before or anywhere else, for that matter. The way the hand moved was…rather tell-tale.
Given that Aziraphale bought his clothes rather than miracle them into existence like Crowley did, which included alterations, the seeming fact that he had miracled something for the feathers, that was…quite something on its own, too. Something which sent a bubble of warmth, the warmth of a hot drink sliding inside a cold body, bursting inside the demon’s heart.
Joining that sensation was the fact that his solution to the problem, which was hardly a problem to start with, was to make a place where they could stay, protected, not just close to him but right above his heart.
If he had worried about not having realised sooner and, possibly, about plucking up courage to show Crowley how he felt, then he was certainly making up for it now and then some.
Compared to that, how could he ever hope to…to show the angel the same level of caring and love? He felt it, certainly, and so much more, but how could he show it in a way that didn’t seem as though he was merely mimicking the other? Or trying to outdo him, as though…
Well, that was the point, wasn’t it? It wasn’t about who did what, to what extent and at what time, was it?
And in any case, he had something more important to focus on right now, hadn’t he?
The hand he’d reached out with still hung in the air as though frozen there, but he started to move it forward again, towards where the feathers had disappeared.
Aziraphale tensed up again at that, though he didn’t move this time. When the bony hand settled on top of his over the feathers, he relaxed once more.
“My nestmate,” he whispered, looking the other straight in the eye. “My beautiful, loving, perfect Aziraphale is my nestmate.” He allowed his love to shine through in his voice as much as he possibly could.
“For now, and forever,” Aziraphale replied, his voice very soft in turn but no less loving for that. “As you are mine, my dearest Crowley.”
“No matter what Heaven says?”
It might have come across as a pointed or even a needling question. Petty, someone might say. But it wasn’t. At least, that wasn’t how it was at all meant.
That wasn’t to say the angel would take it that way, which Crowley realised a few seconds too late. He opened his mouth to somehow take it back but was stopped by Aziraphale’s expression.
He wasn’t smiling and there was a pained look to his face but at the same time, there was the determination and steel from before.
“Yes. No matter what Heaven says.” There was no hesitation in the voice. “Or Hell, for that matter. They do not appreciate what they have had and therefore, they do not deserve it.”
A shiver ran down Crowley’s spine at that, one of surprise and delight. Well, that was definitely new from Aziraphale. He liked it.
“Same can be said for Heaven,” the demon said. “Just even more so.”
“If that’s the case, why…why were you then so convinced that I had fallen in love with any one of them up there rather than with you?” Aziraphale asked.
