Everything Between Us

When Crowley opened the door to his flat, the first thing Aziraphale noticed wasn't the sleekly modern design or the beautiful artwork adorning the walls. It was the foul rot, sulphur and brine smell coming from a rather horrific looking puddle on the floor near the entrance-way.

"Ah," said Crowley, stepping gingerly over the stain on the floor. "Shit. I'd forgotten."

Aziraphale also stepped over the puddle, noticing Crowley's downturned mouth. The smell of brimstone and rot was even more intense, and Aziraphale suddenly realised exactly what it was marring Crowley's polished floors.

"Oh- oh my dear, I'm so sorry. Your old friend, I presume?" Aziraphale asked, placing a gentle hand on Crowley's elbow as they both stared at the mess. Crowley's eyebrows pulled together in confusion and he turned his head to stare enquiringly at the angel.

"Friend? What?"

"At the pub- you mentioned you'd lost a friend."

Crowley's expression seemed to harden slightly, and after a moment he huffed a bitter laugh, shaking his head and stalking a few steps away. Despite the demon facing away from him, Aziraphale could see that he pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. The angel just had time to think that perhaps that had been the wrong thing to say when Crowley ripped his sunglasses off and, with a violent movement, threw them angrily across the room.

"No, Aziraphale, I wasn't fucking talking about Ligur!"

The angel had startled slightly at Crowley's sudden anger and now as he stared, the line of the demon's shoulders began to tremble. Aziraphale stepped forward and again put a gentle hand on Crowley's elbow, turning the demon towards him. Their eyes met – celestial, crystalline blue meeting serpentine gold – and to Aziraphale's horror, Crowley's face crumpled.

"It was you, you idiot. You were gone, your shop had burnt down, and I thought Heaven, or- or Hell had- had-" Crowley couldn't seem to finish his sentence and instead hid his face behind a hand; too late, for Aziraphale had seen the tears gathering in his friend's eyes. Seeing Crowley so upset – and over him, no less – felt remarkably similar to the punch in the gut he had received courtesy of Sandalphon. Watching him, Aziraphale felt winded. Hurt.

"Oh, my dear, dear boy," Aziraphale said, using the hand on Crowley's elbow to pull him into his arms. Like a puppet with its strings cut, Crowley all but collapsed against him, still trembling.

"I thought you were dead," Crowley said, his voice muffled against Aziraphale's shoulder, a choked sob wrenching itself free of the distraught demon.

Aziraphale's heart seemed to break in his chest and he tightened his hold around Crowley's shoulders, one hand rubbing soothing circles against the demon's back. He tried to imagine how he would have felt, had their situations been reversed. If he had arrived at Crowley's flat perhaps, to find Crowley missing and the smell of sulphur and holy water in the air. Even just the thought made his stomach roil.

"Shh, hush now. It's okay, we're alive. We're both alive, Crowley. Don't waste your tears on me my dear, I'm not worth all this fuss," Aziraphale said quietly – but once again he seemed to have said the wrong thing, because Crowley's head snapped back, and this time he almost looked offended.

"Don't fucking tell me you're not worth my tears, angel. You mean everything to me; don't you understand that?"

Crowley hadn't moved away, still standing within Aziraphale's arms even as he glared down at the angel. Aziraphale couldn't help but stare. It was little wonder the demon usually kept his eyes hidden behind those dark shades; such expressive eyes were no doubt considered unseemly in a demon. As it was, the gold of Crowley's eyes shone bright in the gloom of the flat, and the emotion present was clear: sorrow, yes, but also relief and annoyance and- and-

Oh, thought Aziraphale, dazed. He loves me.

He reached up without thinking, his fingers curling and helping to pull Crowley's face down to meet his, their lips coming together firmly. Crowley gasped against Aziraphale's mouth, and suddenly the angel was being kissed within an inch of his existence; the demon's tongue flickered against his bottom lip, two hands buried themselves in his curls and a low groan rumbled from Crowley's chest as it pressed against his own.

Aziraphale was – rather guiltily – a sensualist at heart. Throughout the millennia he had spent on earth he'd enjoyed fine wines, soft clothing, and mouth-watering delicacies from all over the world. It paled; it all paled in comparison to Crowley's lean form pressing against him, the demon's lips – plush and tender one moment, biting and demanding the next – brushing over his own. His heart was thundering in his ears, and the angel thought he finally understood that oft-used line, 'weak in the knees'.

When the kiss eventually drew to a close, the two of them were grasping at one another, foreheads touching as they both panted for air that they didn't really need. Aziraphale opened his eyes – unaware of when he had actually closed them – to find Crowley's serpentine gaze staring back at him. The usually thin line of pupil was rounder than Aziraphale had ever seen it, and the sheer affection in the demon's golden eyes was almost overwhelming.

"Do you need me to explain this, too?" Crowley murmured. "Do you need me to say it, angel?"

"Oh darling," Aziraphale answered quietly, giving a sad smile. "You already have. I was just- too foolish to hear you. Too scared to let myself recognise what was right in front of me. I'm sorry." He pressed a second, gentler kiss to Crowley's lips, and the demon sighed, a weight seeming to fall from his shoulders.

"Glad you finally caught on," Crowley teased, pressing his cheek to Aziraphale's temple.

"As am I, dear one. I hope – and I realise that I have been unforgivably slow, but – I hope you know that I love you, too. Truly."

Crowley's mouth hitched up at the side, his smile crookedly besotted and just a little bit soft. "Not unforgivably. Never that, angel. But yes; I know."

Aziraphale hummed happily, swaying further into Crowley's hold. The angel and the demon stood in the gloom of the unlit flat, pressed close as they traded kisses and murmured to each other, hands brushing softly through hair and smiles tucked into the crooks of necks. The smell of brimstone and brine had begun to fade, and the sky outside was turning from the deepest blue to a faded purple; despite everything, despite Heaven and Hell and even despite humanity – the sun would eventually rise. It was the day after the end of the world, and everything that Crowley and Aziraphale were to one another was finally, rightfully there, between them.