Warning: Contains slash
Pairing: Crowley/Aziraphale
Words: 625
Disclaimer: Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman are far more awesome than I, and likely to remain so for, like, ever.
I have graduated to footnotes! :D
Gifts
In the end, surprisingly, no one made much of a fuss.
Before Crowley made his way back up to London, a crowd of sniggering demons accosted him in a – for lack of a better phrase – flurry. By the time he made it back to the Bentley his arms and pockets were full of various sex toys and aphrodisiacs. (1)
As Aziraphale was leaving Heaven, several of the Archangels and a handful of other Principalities gathered around, all smiles and congratulations, causing him to blush terribly. Ramiel and Zarachiel presented him with a nice quilt (2) and some herbal bubble bath on behalf of everyone in Heaven, and when no one else was looking Raphael patted his shoulder and pressed a matching pair of Claddagh rings into his hand. (3)
It was all very strange.
Crowley returned to his apartment first, and barely had time to hide the gifts before Aziraphale knocked nervously at his door.
"Er," Crowley said as he let Aziraphale in, uncertain as to why the angel was clutching a rather large quilt to his chest. "Everything go all right then?"
"Yes," Aziraphale replied, sounding dazed. "Surprisingly," he added. "How were things in Hell? I was worried..."
"It was fine," Crowley said quickly. "Uh. Well, they didn't torture me, anyway. It was just, very..."
"Strange," Aziraphale finished for him.
Crowley nodded. "Surreal."
They sat down on the couch, doing so (without noticing) at exactly the same time.
A thoughtful quiet entered the room, looked around curiously for a moment, drew Aziraphale's attention down to the quilt he was still holding (4), and toddled back out.
Aziraphale began to giggle.
"What?" Crowley asked.
"Oh, nothing," Aziraphale tittered. He settled the quilt on the arm of the couch and scooted a little closer to the demon. "It's just funny, isn't it? Neither side seems to mind at all… All those years of fretting for nothing."
Crowley grinned, slipping an arm around Aziraphale's waist. "I didn't fret," he protested. (5)
"If you say so, dear." Smiling contentedly, and still giggling a little under his breath, Aziraphale laid his head on Crowley's shoulder.
"Hm. Aziraphale?"
"Yes?"
Crowley kissed him.
It was, for the first time, not a chaste kiss. (6)
"Oh," Aziraphale sighed against his lips a moment later. "Well, I suppose I can see what all the fuss is about."
Smirking, Crowley tightened his arm and tugged encouragingly until the angel was practically sitting on his lap. "Did they happen to mention," he murmured, "how far you're allowed to go?"
Aziraphale blushed. He thought of Raphael's gift, hidden (perhaps too conspicuously, he worried) in his pocket.
"I suppose they did, in a way," he said shyly – though it seemed silly to be shy around someone he'd known for six millennia, especially now that he knew Crowley could do things like that with his tongue.
"Excellent," Crowley replied, hissing slightly, and kissed him again.
1. One very small, very expensive-looking bottle had been presented to him by Asmodeus, the Prince of Lust himself, with a smirk and a warning that it was very potent. The phrase 'lasts for days' had been used. Crowley had felt rather as though he'd received a live hand grenade, and handled it as such.
2. For cuddling. It was decorated with hearts, halos, and tiny crossed pitchforks.
3. "For the right moment," Raphael told him, grinning faintly but otherwise completely serious.
4. The bubble bath was wrapped up in it somewhere.
5. Even though he had. A little.
6. Though not for lack of trying on Crowley's part. Aziraphale had always been such a stickler for keeping his angelic virtue intact – for the most part. He had allowed the demon to get away with a decent amount of groping over the years.