Chapter 8: Game

Aziraphale was busy reading; there was nothing interesting on TV; and it was raining. Hard. The sort of rain that soaked you to the bone the instant you stepped out into it. And the fridge was full. This meant that Crowley was Bored, with none of his usual activities to fall back on. Except for one.

On a similar sort of day, back in the bookshop, he'd invented a game. It didn't have a name (because there was no point. It wasn't the sort of game you asked someone to play with you). There was a single objective: get Aziraphale to put the book down. Of course, the objective itself was easy – he'd once completed it accidentally by knocking over and smashing a glass with a careless arm movement. The fun came in how he got the book to be closed; in the little, sneaky, pay-attention-to-me actions.

He was currently 40 minutes into this game – approaching Aziraphale's personal best. But he had a feeling that the particular book currently holding his angel's interest was his most formidable opponent yet. It was time for bolder moves.


Aziraphale had been playing along for the past 20 minutes. He'd noticed a pattern in his demon's behaviour during days like this quite early on, though he'd taken care to not let on. He was determined to beat his previous best, though he wasn't entirely sure what that was. He also wasn't completely sure how long this particular game had been afoot. Clearly, it was quite a while as there was suddenly a head resting in his lap.

Even without looking down, he could feel Crowley looking at him expectantly. Waiting for the desired response. But two were playing the game, and if Crowley was going to up the stakes, then so would he. Aziraphale flicked his eyes down and smiled, "You okay, my dear?"

"Yep," Crowley answered with a smile back, exactly as Aziraphale expected. He'd had to try and work out the rules of this game for himself and so far understood that Crowley won when he put the book down, and figured that that meant he won if Crowley had to do something overt.


Crowly was sure, when Aziraphale looked down at him, that he'd won. He was absolutely positive when his angel shifted the book into one hand so his now freed hand could play with his brown hair. Crowley shifted his head instinctively at his angel's touch, eyes half closing with pleasure. But Aziraphale's eyes returned to the book and he carried on reading.

Your move, Aziraphale thought, feigning interest in his reading as he fought a smug smile, though he was actually rather preoccupied.

It was a while before Crowley realised that the book was still open, too distracted by the sensation of having his hair played with to notice at first. Once he had noticed, of course, he started thinking about his next move. Aziraphale had turned several pages before Crowley decided to up the stakes again.

Wriggling about for a few moments, he manoeuvred himself so that he was now sat in Aziraphale's lap and place his head on his angel's shoulder, as if trying to read the book also. "What're you reading?"

Aziraphale completely lost where he was in the book. But he tried to carry on as normal. "You wouldn't like it. It's historical fiction."

"Human history's strange enough without them making up more stuff," Crowley huffed and Aziraphale could feel his breath on his neck.

"They're quite good at making it sound realistic," he managed to reply, despite the fact that his mind was now almost completely focused on Crowley: his breath, his warmth, the weight in his lap… "Might even trick historians later down the line."

The damn book was still open and Aziraphale had stopped playing with his hair, and there was something just so wrong about that. Crowley scowled at the book irritably. Aziraphale had long passed his personal best. But all Crowley needed to win was for the book to be closed.

Last resort it was.

"Ezra?" His angel turned to meet his eyes at the sound of his alias and Crowley took the opportunity to capture his lips in a kiss that he immediately responded to.

The book clattered to the floor as Aziraphale's hand moved to rest on his waist, pulling him closer. Crowley grinned for a moment, but this was no time to be celebrating his victory. He had something better to do.