𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐍, ineffable husbands

angel kisses

Year seven: Crowley's memories and track of time had been excruciatingly disorienting since he found out he had basically been given redemption. Sometimes he woke up in cold sweats, remembering odd details or specific scenes from his past life. It was never anything big; it was only memories such as white lies he told, general days, and starry nights. It always surprised and scared him; he wasn't used to being conscious of himself.

A clumsy white light flashed over his closed eyelids, prompting him to immediately sit and wake up. His reflexes weren't that dull. An innocent angel ducked out of view just too late. A giggle promptly followed.

"And what exactly are you doing?" he questioned, cocking an eyebrow. Unfortunate to note, this wasn't the first time this had happened. Aziraphale was never sneaky.

"Nobody's here!" he called, giggling shortly after. He rolled his eyes and turned back into bed, pulling the covers over his face.

"Well," he began, "if nobody's there I'm going back to sleep." He then closed his eyes and pretended to instantly fall asleep. It was the first time he'd gone along with the tiring gag.

There was very quiet shuffling, then slightly louder wrinkling of the covers. To be honest, he wasn't quite sure what he was going to-

"gotcha!" Aziraphale screamed at the top of his short and pathetic lungs, instantly tackling him and pinning him on top of the bed. Crowley didn't scream. Not at all. He doesn't scream.

The angel laughed deviously as the demon tried to regain his senses. "Aziraphale, you absolute idiot. You scared the life out of me!" Where in the world had that come from?

The strange swear pseudonym only made Aziraphale laugh harder, which in turn made Crowley start to chuckle as well. They both choked on their words, uttering frivolous phrases that neither of them could understand.

Eventually, the two stopped their chaos and the angel rolled his way off of him, lazily stretching out in bed and still giggling. He covered his eyes; they were tearing up but in a very good way. His shoulders bounced up and down awkwardly. This was the first time he had laughed in a very long time.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Somehow they both had fallen asleep in their fit of happiness; it was strange, Crowley didn't remember falling asleep. However, when he opened his eyes, the same pale skinned man was facing him with his eyes shut as well. How quaint.

He found nothing better to do than to get out of bed. Though there was nothing he really had to, or could do, it was comforting to pace and to think. His feet found him to the living room, to the spare room, to the kitchen.

The kitchen. With the mirror. He paused, The mirror was flipped over as it had stayed. An unconscious mind told a conscious hand to flip it over. He stared into his eyes for the second time.

Surprisingly, it wasn't as bad as he remembered. Sure, he looked wrong, but he didn't look horrible. His face was brighter, in a way, than he remembered, and his horns had vanished; there were two thin half crescent scars where they originally were. The dark shapes under his eyes were lighter as well, and his eyes didn't look as ugly as he remembered, though they weren't attractive to him either.

He took a light step back, but he didn't want to attack his image this time. Strange how time works. He turned the mirror back in case it might happen again, however.

"Whatcha doing?" a morbidly curious angel piped up from behind the counter. He nearly jumped out of his skin; maybe he was a little sneaky from time to time. He heard a giggle behind him and couldn't resist a smile. His laugh was cute.

"Trying not to get spied on every second of my life," he sighed. He turned around and saw Aziraphale leaning by the wall. Obviously, he was trying to look cool, though it never worked. He hoped he didn't see the entire ordeal.

He giggled, moving from the wall and going to sit on the counter. It was confusing why he never sat in a chair, but rather, in places you really shouldn't sit on. "Why were you looking at yourself again?"

Shrugging, he leaned against the counter next to him. "Dunno. I just felt like I had to." He felt a weird look cast his way, but promptly ignored it. "Why do you always observe me when I'm not looking, you idiot?" And there was that word again. Why was he saying things he never had previously? So many questions.

The pseudonym made Aziraphale laugh again. He found himself laughing along, casually burying his face in his hands when he did. It was supposedly a gained reflex from when he considered laughing a weakness. How things have changed.

He kept giggling about how stupid his life was getting, and when he eventually stopped, he turned to realize Aziraphale was staring up at him with some sort of dazed fondness. Tilting his head in confusion, he pondered what he was thinking about.

"I really want to kiss you right now."

That wasn't what he expected. He also didn't expect himself to immediately kiss him right then and there with no questioning at all.

His lips tasted like warm honey suckles and windy memories lost from damage to his brain tissue. They made him forget where he was, who he was, and who he had yet to be. He was being hugged, and he somehow had his arms draped around his neck. Aziraphale's hands felt around gently up his upper back, seeming to never want to let go. Crowley didn't want to let go either.

He felt dizzy but in such a calming way, and his eyelids flashed with neon blues, purples, and reds. His knees locked and unlocked and though he never needed to breathe, he couldn't. It was passion and love and right and wrong all at once; and when he broke the kiss, he left overwhelmed. His eyes felt dazed, as if they were made of glue, and his imaginary heart threatened to beat out of its rib cage. He was back in the present.

The present had never felt better.