Chapter Text
Around 1020, they come to an Arrangement.
It was Crowley’s idea, of course. “All I’m saying,” he said, slinking across the room to drape himself across Aziraphale’s couch (well, more like a bench trying very hard to be a couch, and Aziraphale liked to give credit where credit was due) like a languid panther. He was mildly drunk, obviously bored, and incredibly demonic. It was a dreadful combination, “is why not?”
“Well,” said Aziraphale, suddenly finding his quill fascinating. His cheeks burnt so hot that he was fairly certain his quill would combust into ashes if it brushed against his skin. “Well,” he tried again. “It’s a bit har—it’s a bit of an effort, isn’t it?”
“This century is the pits,” complained Crowley. “And trust me, angel, I know pits. I mean, just look at this place.” He waved an expressive hand. Aziraphale dutifully looked. He had to admit, his little cottage was rather—small. And dusty, which was bound to happen when you had floors made of dirt. And constantly smoky, since humans had yet to invent chimneys. Aziraphale could see his point.
“Humans seem to quite enjoy doing it, so why shouldn't we have a go?” said Crowley, lowering his hand and leaning one elbow on his knee. “Get some pleasure out of this forsaken time.”
Words like carnal desire and sins of the body and original tempter flashed through Aziraphale’s mind. He had to wonder if he was just another one of Crowley’s deeds; a notch to put on his bedpost of evil. He could already hear him bragging to his demon friends: oh yeah? Well, I seduced an angel. It made cold prickle over his skin, followed by a hot flush of preemptive shame.
Shame, because he was considering it, anyway.
“I mean,” said Crowley, earnestly. He had pushed up his darkened spectacles (“they’re called sunglasses, angel”) and was watching Aziraphale with those snake eyes of his. Even after all this time, they were impossible to read. They were the eyes of a predator. Flat. Emotionless. Or—enigmatic. Aziraphale still couldn’t put his finger on the right adjective to describe Crowley’s eyes. “Who’s to tell us we can’t?” He held up a hand. “No, don’t answer that question. But, really, who has to know?”
“I would,” said Aziraphale. “I’d have to know.”
Apart from his strange pupils and unusual iris color, what made Crowley’s eyes disconcerting was that he only blinked to make a point. Azirphale didn’t necessarily need to blink either, but he could see why the humans would be so upset about it.
“Besides, anyone could see us,” said Aziraphale, turning back to his document.
Crowley scoffed. “Come on. You and I both know that they’ve stopped watching long ago.”
That was true. It had taken him roughly three millennia to realize that the Host had much better things to do than to constantly monitor a minor angel who sometimes tiptoed around doing things that could possibly be construed as bad.
In any event, sex wasn’t Strictly Forbidden.
Although he wasn’t entirely certain if sex was Strictly Forbidden with someone from the Other Side. It wasn’t, at least, written in any rulebook that Aziraphale had read. He had a feeling that it was one of those rules that ought to be inferred. Thou shall not lay down with thy enemy, even if he really is an alright sort of bloke.
Crowley crossed one leg over the other. “Have you never wondered? Not even once?”
Of course he had. Humans, and all their strange quirks, had been an endless fascination to Aziraphale.
“I’ve wondered,” admitted Crowley.
“Really?”
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
“I was just under the impression that you’ve, er, tempted—other humans.” Aziraphale’s voice petered out a little lamely. Best not to bring up ancient history.
“I have no interest in humans,” said Crowley, mildly offended.
“Other demons?”
Crowley didn’t say anything, and instead was deeply offended.
If Crowley wasn’t interested in humans, and disgusted by other demons, and other angels were out for obvious reasons, that meant—what did it mean?
“Just—me?” said Aziraphale, blankly.
“Of course,” scoffed Crowley, as if this really should have been the most obvious thing in the world. “Listen, there are demons who specialize in this sort of stuff—sex, I mean—but it isn’t really in our nature.” He lifted an expectant eyebrow at Aziraphale, but when Aziraphale just frowned blankly, he rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “We come from the same stock, angel. Sex is ‘a bit of an effort’ for us as well.”
Aziraphale stared at him.
Eventually, Crowley’s posture stiffened. He appeared less like a sunbathing snake and more like a viper ready to dart away. He shifted his weight, then finally broke eye contact, glaring hard enough at a table leg that there was a real risk of it catching fire.
“It’s fine, of course, if you don’t want to—”
“I never said that,” Aziraphale interrupted.
Slowly, Crowley lifted his eyes back to Aziraphale. And then he smiled. It wasn’t crafty, or smug, or even particularly evil (except where it was always a little evil). It was small, and sort of—secret. Sweet.
“Well, then,” he said.
The sex is bloody dreadful.
“I don’t understand,” said Crowley, pushing himself into a seated position in Aziraphale’s—admittedly terribly uncomfortable, and oft forgot—bed.
“I believe there are far too many elbows involved,” said Aziraphale, rubbing his sternum.
“Why in the hell do humans find this so—entertaining?”
“And knees,” said Aziraphale, rubbing his thigh. He sat up as well, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
“We must be doing something wrong,” said Crowley, grimly determined. “There’s no way humans would be so obsessed with something so bloody awful.”
Aziraphale glanced at him over bare shoulder, then tutted to himself and glanced at him over his clothed shoulder. Crowley looked back him, long hair tousled and full of bits of hay, eyes—something. Aziraphale still couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it rather made him want to crawl back into the bed and wrap his arms and wings around the demon.
“I’m an angel,” said Aziraphale, gently. “You’re a demon. Even if carnal desires were in our nature, we don’t match on a fundamental level.”
Crowley’s eyelashes dipped, and then he turned his head away.
It was true. It was the truth. And yet something that felt a lot like regret solidified into a stone in Aziraphale’s stomach, even as he stepped quietly from the room.