Something light and fluffy with a dash of romance on the eve of Armageddon't. Because yesterday's story was so gloomy, eh. This is actually one of the first stories I wrote for this fandom.


COCKTAILS

Fluff, romance, first kiss, mild A/C slash.

When the angel and the demon drank, all bets were off. They had made that a formal part of The Arrangement shortly after proper wine was invented.

Typically getting drunk involved a casket of fine French bordeaux at the Ritz but this was the First Day of the Rest Of Their Lives and Crowley felt a little celebration was in order.

"So, angel," he said, alcohol-driven confidence pulsing through his veins. "Ever had a proper cocktail?"

The angel bristled. "Of course not. Sugary drinks designed to trick young ones into having more than they should. Surely an invention of your lot."

Crowley grinned toothily. "A good one."

"Wine is a perfectly fine beverage. Besides, we've both had plenty tonight, my dear."

"Ssssshut up, angel. I happen to know a place."

-/-

"I'll have you know," the angel cried over the deafening beat, "the music is a disgrace. I'm sure I don't know how you stand it."

Not for the first time that night, Crowley chose to ignore him. "And one Long Island Iced Tea for my associate here."

Aziraphale was tentative when he tried his first drink, and then he wasn't anymore. Together they went through most of the cocktail menu before the club closed. By then the angel was hopelessly drunk.

-/-

Somehow they managed to make it back to the bookshop, supporting each other.

"Cocktails," Aziraphale said slowly. He had trouble linking words into proper sentences. "One of your better ideas, I have to say."

"Told you sssssso."

They collapsed onto the angel's couch in the back room and spent a few minutes quietly hiccuping while the room was spinning around them.

"We should sober up," the angel said finally, although not without a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"Nonssssense. If we do, what'ssss the point of getting drunk in the firsssst place?"

"You smile when you're drunk."

Crowley did a double take. "What'sss that ssssuppossssed to mean?"

The angel blinked meaningfully at him. "You never smile otherwise."

This earned him an indignant glare. "Of courssse not," Crowley hissed back. "I'm a demon."

-/-

Under the influence of alcohol, Crowley's brain felt like honey dropping very slowly from a spoon. He successfully identified his current intention to be finding a bed to drop into headfirst. He vaguely remembered having such a bed in his apartment.

He tried to stand up (which was proving more difficult than anticipated) until Aziraphale's voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Are you leaving?"

He had never heard the angel like this, voice dripping vulnerability (or perhaps he had but ignored it). To his own surprise he found that he could not ignore it now.

"No," he said quickly and let himself plop back down on the sofa. "I'm not leaving, Zira."

The angel stared at him wide-eyed. "You haven't called me that in a while."

"You sssssaid you didn't like it," Crowley gave back drowsily, trying not to think too much about how the tone of the angel's voice sent a shiver down his spine.

"I think I changed my mind," Aziraphale said quietly and when Crowley turned his head to face him, the angel stared right back at him.

-/-

Later, neither of them were sure exactly how it started but they secretly agreed that it must have been Aziraphale who eventually lifted his hand to Crowley's cheek.

"You are beautiful," he said quietly, earnestly.

Crowley swallowed, and blinked, and stared at the chubby, white-blond creature next to him. The sight terrified and thrilled him like nothing ever did.

He fought back the dizziness and his own common sense, and climbed into the angel's lap. Drunken heat was flooding him and he buried his face in Aziraphale's shoulder, one hand coming up to thread into his hair. In this moment, his world was reduced to the body of the angel underneath him and the usually faint scent of his aftershave that invaded his senses now.

Aziraphale pulled him back and looked up at him with desperate helplessness. "You are beautiful," he repeated. "You are."

Tension tore him apart and, not knowing how else to make it bearable, Crowley bent down to press his lips against Aziraphale's. Beneath him, the angel shuddered. Crowley drew claw-like nails across the angel's neck, and through his short locks, and down his cheek, until Aziraphale broke away, pressing his forehead against the demon's collarbone.

"Stay," he breathed. "Please stay."

Crowley did try very hard to compose a structurally sound sentence from the million ways of saying yes that occurred to him at that moment.

"Cocktailssss, huh," he blurted out eventually.

And wasn't that the truth.


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