The Serpent's Companion

by WaitingToBeBroken

Summary:

Every young woman knows that a flawless debut in society will surely lead to a successful match. Luckily, Aziraphale is one of the best at what she does.

Finding a match for Crowley should not pose a challenge either. She is stunning and smart, willful, in the most delightful of ways. She deserves the best, and Aziraphale is more than happy to provide. Find a suitor who will do so is, of course, what she meant.

Crowley seems to have other plans.

Chapter 1

Notes:

Months and months ago, I watched The Lady's Companion on Netflix. I was obsessed. If you have watched it, you probably know which part I was obsessed with too🤭🤭 Thus, this was born!

"Cease that immediately," Aziraphale hissed, eyes glued to the front of the other woman's dress. Where, she was certain, a little bit of pink was poking out, just above the colourful fabric.

Crowley tugged on her corset again and, oh, oh goodness. That had definitely been her nipple.

"But angeeeel," that demon of a woman whined, voice pleasantly scratchy. Aziraphale was supposed to find it annoying, wasn't she?

"Miss Fell, I'd trust you to remember." And, ah, there was the annoyance in her voice. That was always something to be proud of, especially in the other woman's presence.

Crowley scoffed, rolling those gorgeous amber eyes. "I thought we were trying to marry me off. Aren't we supposed to show off my assets, few as they might be?"

Aziraphale had to bite her tongue to stop herself from saying something she was sure she would regret, once those rosy nipples had disappeared from her memory. Give it a couple of centuries.

Because, while the woman in front of her was gorgeous, simply stunning, with that athletic body that spoke of years of horse-riding, while still whispering, ever so softly, about feminine wiles. With that long auburn hair, curling down her back, so soft looking, even when it appeared as if it would burn Aziraphale's fingertips clean off. With how smart she was too, a cunning, wily thing. Always too quick to laugh, to smile that cutting smile of hers. With-

Yes. Despite all those note-worthy qualities, one did not go around ogling their charge. The charge they had been employed to find a companion for. A suitable male companion.

Oh, but Crowley was blinking slowly at her, eyes as warm as liquid gold, and just as enticing. She was a temptress, that one, and perhaps didn't even know it.

Ridiculously, Aziraphale wished for that to remain the case forever.

"You are perfect, my dear," she said, soft. Softer than she had intended. "Now sit back properly, as a lady must."

Crowley sank back into the carriage seat with a huff. But she did stop fusing with the front of her gown, even managed to close those ridiculously long legs of hers and- Aziraphale should have been grateful, she supposed. She wasn't sure she would have managed to take this much longer.

"So this pompous arsehole?" the other woman drawled, in a manner that was both extremely unladylike and also particularly sinful. Aziraphale chose to focus on only one of those things.

"His name is Gabriel," she snapped back, lips pressing together in faux distaste. "He boasts good education and an excellent family."

He also stood to inherit a large sum of money and a title that would set them both for life. It felt too crass to mention, besides, she felt like it was implied. Or at least, should have been, but the way Crowley shrugged, body lolling to the side, was not filling Aziraphale with confidence.

"That all?" the spoiled creature grumbled, as if she couldn't care less that Aziraphale had found her a future Duke.

Fortunately, Aziraphale had been prepared. With information, much better kept as an emergency enticement, and yet she could tell, simply from the way her charge was eyeing the carriage door... This was the emergency.

"Gabriel is also highly interested in astronomy," she conceded. Tried her best not to notice the way those beautiful golden eyes widened, sparkled with interest.

Gabriel was a highly educated man of seven and thirty. Tall, broad-shouldered, impeccable bone structure. He was also, as Crowley had so eloquently put it, a pompous arsehole.

To her credit, Crowley hid it very well. Her eyes, always so emotive and what Aziraphale had thought would be her downfall, dimmed only ever so slightly, every time that stupid brute cut her off, talked over her. Her hands, folded over her lap, tightened into fists, every time the man let those hungry eyes roam over her figure. And, goodness, but the man was not subtle at all. It felt like, at any point, he was taking in pieces of Crowley's body. Carving her up, cleaving off everything he didn't like. Everything sharp and smart and delightful, until only ingrained meekness remained.

That wouldn't, could not, happen. Not on Aziraphale's watch anyway.

She told herself it was only professional pride, which made her so protective, almost territorial when it came to her charge. That a good match meant a good matchmaker, and this was neither.

"Next time, I would much prefer having you in the conservatory," Gabriel said, something sharp in his smile that revealed he was more than aware of the double-entendre. Crowley's flushed cheeks, too, spoke of an understanding. So did the way she twitched in her seat, leant away, ever so slightly.

"So I can have the pleasure of showing you the stars," the man added, gliding over the tense air like a shark through water.

Crowley seemed to relax at his words, but Aziraphale had been in this game far too long to let herself be fooled. There had been nothing apologetic in the tone of his voice, the cut of his smile. Simply, a predator that had felt his prey slip away, and had opted for backing off, before the final strike.

Aziraphale had to put a stop to this, before it had become too late.

Oblivious to it all, Crowley smiled. "I think that would be-"

"Of course-" Gabriel tilted his head towards Aziraphale, even as he swayed forward, peering into Crowley's wide eyes. "You could bring your old maid along. We wouldn't want any questions about your virtues, now, would we?"

Aziraphale flinched, despite herself. It wasn't even the comment, she had heard it plenty enough. One tended to, when one had remained unmarried for more than a decade after they had entered society. Oh, but it had been the way the man had referred to her, like a mere object, a handy parasol to shield Crowley from vicious gossip.

It was unbecoming of a woman of her social status and position to insert herself in the conversation before her. Not without a reason, at least, and she frantically searched her mind for one.

She shouldn't have bothered. In one liquid move Crowley had managed to extract herself from that vulgar man's clutches. Another one, and she was towering over his form, smiling sharply at the confusion in his eyes.

"I believe we are done here," Crowley noted, the amber in her eyes shockingly cold.

It was the last time she addressed the man. Looked at him.

"Shall we, Miss Fell?" Instead, she said, turning to her companion with a smile that seemed to have morphed in seconds. A tiny thing, hesitant, a little crooked around the edges. So beautiful, still.

It didn't stop Aziraphale from nodding, from accepting the proffered hand, so warm and soft, as it snuck around her elbow. She did mind Crowley's next question, or at least the fact that the devious thing had not put nearly enough distance between them and Gabriel to ask,

"No more pompous arseholes, angel?"

Well, didn't mind nearly enough to stop herself from laughing as she dragged the other woman closer. As she ignored her heart fluttering from the way Crowley came so easily, fit so easily against her.

"No more, my dear," she agreed with a smile.

---

Crowley was the only daughter of a wealthy medical man. As such, she always had a steady supply of maids and helpers, people to take care of her every need.

She seemed to forget that. A lot.

"Angel!"

The sound drifted through the empty hallways, blindly searching for Aziraphale, before it found her, curled on the sofa with a book.

She knew where the other woman was. It wasn't quite her job to, but she still made it a point to know all the times her charge was naked and, oh, so tempting. Quite definitely so she could avoid her.

"Angel, please." The sound came again, more insistent and most irritating.

Aziraphale sighed. The idea of following that voice to a bare and glistening serpent of a woman, forced fire ants to dance over Aziraphale's skin. The thought of suffering that incessant yelling, and she knew it would not stop, she knew, Crowley had always been the persistent kind- Well, it made something even worse overtake her mind. She didn't even want to touch the other urge, writhing underneath her flesh, propelling her to move.

"What is it, you demon?" she still hissed at the washroom door.

"Could you come wash my back for me, please?" came the lilting, sinful reply.

Another sign fell from Aziraphale's lips. Sometimes, she wondered if the other woman was doing it on purpose, teasing her on purpose. Had Aziraphale been an eligible bachelor, it would have left no doubt in her mind that this was the behaviour of someone, who was trying to seduce her into a courtship. But Aziraphale wasn't. So it served to reason that neither was Crowley.

Aziraphale leant a hand against the door and pushed slightly, knowing that her fate was sealed. Yet unable to accept it just yet. Petulantly, she squeezed her eyes shut, when the stupid door opened eagerly with a happy squeak. How very rude.

Navigating an unknown room without sight was a challenge. Keeping her features blank, while gazing at that very naked, very sinful creature, would be even worse, she knew. So she moved slowly, arms outstretched before her. If questioned, she was ready to claim she was trying to preserve the other woman's modesty. No matter how hard Crowley was fighting her on it.

Crowley must have realised something was wrong before she did, a loud gasp stopping Aziraphale in her tracks.

"Angel, you are liable to break your neck, the way you are walking on wet floor," Crowley grumbled, and for once, it didn't feel performative. Didn't feel like a tease, but carried the honest weight of hurt. Enough of it, to make Aziraphale consider giving in to temptation.

She didn't have to. Just before she had let her ravenous eyes open, the unmistakable sound of shifting water reached her ears. For one terrifyingly exhilarating moment, she let herself imagine Crowley approaching her. Naked and dripping, soft skin she had only seen glimpses of, Aziraphale's to witness. Little droplets of water scurrying down curves Aziraphale had dreamt of, for far too long.

Crowley cleared her throat. "You can look now. 'm decent."

Doubt overtook Aziraphale for a moment, suspicion that it was all a ploy to get her to gaze upon that tempting woman before her. But no, she knew, had felt the guilt, underlining Crowley's words. Besides, that was the game, wasn't it? Getting Aziraphale all flustered. And the game was over.

She opened her eyes, her gaze almost instinctively drawn to the other woman. Curled into a ball in her bathtub, raised legs hiding the soft of her torso from view, long arms wrapped around her knees.

She looked small and wretched, and Aziraphale had to deny herself the urge to scoop her into her arms and never let her go. It wasn't the first time she had felt the pull of that particular siren's song. She was getting quite good at ignoring it, if she could say so herself.

"Sorry," Crowley mumbled, mostly to the curve of her knees. Her long hair fell over her eyes, a drenched curtain of fire and yet, just as vibrant. Just as tempting.

"That is quite all right, my dear," Aziraphale allowed, magnanimous and extremely proud of it. Of the fact her voice had not trembled, either.

She was being ridiculous. The other woman, a young and beautiful creature, too used to getting everything she wanted with but a smile. Of course, she didn't want Aziraphale in this way. Of course, she wasn't trying to seduce her.

Nothing more than a playful tease, one that Aziraphale had misread as thoroughly as an ancient book in her grasp.

Strangely enough, the disappointment helped smother the fire underneath Aziraphale's skin.

"Could you lean forward for me, dear girl?" she asked softly as she reached for the washcloth. Crowley mumbled something, swallowed by the sloshing of the water as she moved.

Her spine curved before Aziraphale's greedy eyes, muscles flexing. Flushed skin so tempting and soft, as if waiting for the other woman's touch. Freckles too, constellations weaving over Crowley's back, begging for Aziraphale to trace them with a curious finger.

A plea, she was too weak to ignore.

"Your freckles," she whispered, hypnotised, as she watched a perfect manicure dance over a depiction of Orion's Belt, far more lovely than the one on the night's sky.

Crowley shuddered. But she did also press into Aziraphale's warm touch, if only for a moment. 

"I know." It was her turn to lower her voice. Lower her head too, until her forehead was resting against those soft-looking thighs. "Bit unseemly, I've been told."

Aziraphale shook her head with an urgency that didn't fit the fact the other woman wasn't even looking at her. And then, because that apprehension in Crowley's voice, pain and guilt, Aziraphale was more than familiar with. It warranted a much better response.

"Nonsense, my darling," she gasped, unable or unwilling to swallow back the reverence on her tongue. "They are gorgeous. You are gorgeous."

And because Aziraphale was, had always been, too weak, she couldn't simply speak of the masterpiece before her without running a palm down that heated skin. Just as soft as she had imagined it so many times and Crowley was shifting, turning to look at her.

Something gentle in her eyes that suited her an unfair amount. Features that had reminded Aziraphale of cliffs, looming over the savage, hungry sea. Now melted instead, shifting into something so precious, so fragile, Aziraphale had the irrational urge to protect it at all costs.

"Do you mean it?" the other woman whispered, wide eyes searching Aziraphale's face for any sign of deception.

Aziraphale let her. Did not move, did not even twitch, surrendering to the inquisition, certain that it would uncover nothing. Only her hand, as if divorced from her body, continued running up and down that soft back. Chasing the occasional shiver that overtook Crowley's slight body.

"You are the gorgeous one," Crowley finally muttered, as she turned away. So quietly too, and Aziraphale wasn't certain if she had been supposed to hear it, at all.

Oh, but she had.

---

"Tell me again where we are going?"

Aziraphale tried to ignore the strange feeling in her chest at the fact Crowley cared more about the destination of her date than the date itself. Couldn't even dream of ignoring that sinful shiver that danced down her spine, as a graceful arm wove around her own. Crowley tugging her closer, ever so slightly, until they fit. So perfectly well together.

"The botanical gardens," she said, eagerly tracking the look of wonder on those startlingly gorgeous features. "We are to meet Frederick."

A tug to her arm, so childlike in its glee, and Aziraphale couldn't help but smile.

"I've been wishing to go there for months, angel," Crowley whispered. Red mouth curving in the most tempting of ways.

Aziraphale told herself that, of course, of course, she was proud of her success when picking a place that suited her charge's interests. Of course, that warmth in her chest was pride, too.

"Frederick is a clergyman," she pointed out evenly, more than aware that Crowley would never ask on her own. Didn't even have to turn around to see the scowl on the other woman's face. "Please allow time before you judge him, my dear. It is a noble profession and the gentleman comes from a good family. You will never lack for anything."

Crowley hummed next to her, not so much appeased but still willing to give the match a chance. And as much as she hated it, Aziraphale knew it would be a good one. Frederick was not as independently wealthy as Gabriel, and not so much the epitome of male prowess. But those were good qualities. Ones that ensured he would worship the ground Crowley glided on, would give her anything she wanted, even when she chose to be insufferably petulant.

After what had happened with Gabriel, Aziraphale was more than certain this was the path that would lead to Crowley's heart. And she deserved it, how could she not? Someone to love her unconditionally, to delight in her whining and put up with her grumpiness in the morning. To always be there, cheerful and soft and smiling, as she mumbled about yet another way her plants had apparently slighted her or that the basil wasn't growing well and would not stop flowering, the horny bastard, and-

Crowley deserved it all, was the point. And Aziraphale was more than intent on giving it to her.

Finding a man who could give it to her. That was, of course, what she had meant. And as she watched Frederick flutter around her charge like a nervous bee, she knew she had succeeded.

It was perfectly obvious from the way he was gazing at her, that the poor man was smitten. Had been since the moment he had laid eyes on her, Aziraphale supposed, and couldn't blame him one bit.

Even Crowley looked amenable to his advances, tilting her head to the side to show that she was listening to him as he blabbered on about his job. The corner of her mouth twitching up, ever so slightly, at every compliment or a badly told joke. The kindest Aziraphale had ever seen her treat any of her suitors.

Resolutely, she ignored the stab of something stupid and irrational, right beneath her ribs.

"What is this?" Crowley asked, pointing a gloved finger at what was clearly a tulip.

Frederick turned to stare at it, eager to please and much too obvious about it.

"It is... some sort of flower, is it not?" he said finally and Aziraphale had to stop herself from smiling at the sharp tug to her elbow. Their eyes met, the outrage in Crowley's gaze only fanning the spark of relief, deep in Aziraphale's chest.

This was unfair. She wasn't supposed to be wishing for the poor man to fail. It was her job to find Crowley a husband, to fulfil her duties and then... to leave.

And her teeth were certainly not supposed to grind together, when Crowley's suitor turned to her with a smile and asked, "Do you enjoy flowers, Miss Crowley?"

To anyone else, the other woman's response would have looked aloof, bordering on disdainful. Only Aziraphale noticed, she was sure, the way those amber eyes widened. The tremble at the corner of those lovely lips, guarding the most beautiful of smiles. Even the way her grip had tightened around Aziraphale's elbow, their arms still tightly entwined... It spoke of raw wonder, whispered of the beginning of an interest.

Plants had always been one way to gain Crowley's affection and that silly man had blindly stumbled upon it. Aziraphale forced her jaw to loosen, lest she end up with no teeth.

And so, they continued wandering aimlessly through the garden. Crowley and Aziraphale, arm in arm, with Frederick hovering close by. Crowley, as excited as she had ever been in the company of a suitor, pointing at this plant and the next, gleefully sharing fact after fact. Frederick nodding after each one, smiling that pleasant smile, and worst of all, occasionally asking questions that made Crowley's eyes resemble the stars.

Her heart stumbling wildly in her ribcage, Aziraphale chose to focus on the warm arm around her own. On that solid, lithe frame, pressed against her, fluttering with each excited breath. If she cast her mind to ignore the dark looming figure beside them, it almost felt like they were on a date. Almost as if it was them, the ones enjoying the garden, in pursuit of familiar intimacy and... courtship.

"What do you think, angel?"

Crowley's voice snapped Aziraphale out of her frankly indecent thoughts. The smile on those gentle features, like sawdust against her tender, itchy skin.

"They are gorgeous, my dear," Aziraphale allowed, her voice lower than usual, if only to hide the sudden edge to it.

Beside them, Frederick scoffed. Nothing more than a sharp huff of breath, the disgusted wrinkle of a nose. Aziraphale saw it, still, and felt all the worse for it. He was right, she knew that, could taste it at the back of her throat. She wasn't there to be included, she wasn't a part of this.

Her job was to observe, silent and unseen.

Crowley must have noticed her suitor's response too. Her reaction, a lot less subtle, a firestorm in its intensity, if one knew where to look. Her eyes darkening, narrowing. Thin lips pursing ever so slightly, showing the cut of her cheekbones.

"Did you have anything of note to add, Frederick?"

Sensing the frost in Crowley's voice, the man hurried to shake his head. His hands coming to press together in front of his chest, a gesture that resembled supplication so much as to be almost blasphemous.

"No, no, of course not. Quite. Just as Azirapalala put it." Crowley's eyebrow hiked over the slopes of her forehead. Frederick, unfortunately for him, decided to try again. "Azirphapalala."

"Aziraphale," Aziraphale couldn't stop herself from saying, even voice hiding the brunt of her anger. Frederick didn't even look at her. Frankly, she had expected no less from him.

"Your maid," the man hissed at Crowley, as if that somehow excused his behaviour. It probably did, in his head, and with most of his peers. But the only thing it managed with Crowley, was kindle the storm already blazing in those amber eyes.

Crowley's arm tightened around Aziraphale's.

"Come, angel. I've read that they have a collection from the Far East on display somewhere around here," that infuriatingly gorgeous woman said, a smile unlike anything she had shown her suitor, shining on her lips as she turned to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale opened her mouth to protest. She did, truly. Unlike Gabriel, this man had regard for Crowley. So what did it matter if he didn't respect the help?

Frederick was quicker, "I could accompany you, Miss Crowley. If you wish."

His face twisted into a grimace of hope, his fingers trembling ever so slightly.

Crowley shook her head, curls bouncing in the air, not unlike the flames in her eyes. "I believe I have learnt more than enough from our time together. Farewell. Furfur."

Only a sharp bite to the soft of her mouth stopped Aziraphale from laughing in the man's shocked face. In fact, she even managed to hold off her giggles until they were almost out of earshot.

"Is there really a collection from the Far East?" she asked, curious. Crowley's only response was a mysterious smile, as she dragged the other woman closer, slotting her against the sharp of her body.

And Heaven forgive Aziraphale, it was so much easier to pretend this outing had been designed just for them both, with Furfur out of the picture.

Notes:

Crowley being horrible to people who are mean to Aziraphale will never NOT be my favourite thing to write! Join us next time for even more lingering touches and not-at-all seduction attempts from Crowley 🤭

But for now, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!

Chapter 2

"Angel?"

Crowley was nervous. Aziraphale could tell, could feel that quiver at the edges of her charge's words even before she had rounded the corner.

Perhaps it was why her own voice came out so gentle. 

"Yes, my dear?"

Or, at least she chose to think that was why. Chose to ignore her own shivers, her own gasping need. 

Crowley floated in front of her, the perfect vision of anxious beauty. Whole body fidgeting, hands pulled taut behind her. The slope of her neck trembling in uncertainty.

Before she had even had time to think, Aziraphale was resting her book on the table and standing up. Her own fretful hands trembling with the desire to reach out, curl around that lithe figure. Tug, ever so slightly, she wouldn't need more, she knew. Until Crowley was tipping into her, those sharp edges smothered by Aziraphale's softness. 

She could almost imagine the way Crowley would feel against her. Right. Like a piece of her soul, returning home.

Aziraphale was barely able to keep the apprehension out of her voice as she asked, "Is something the matter, Crowley?"

The other woman fidgeted some more. A series of scenarios, each more horrifying than the last, flashed through Aziraphale's mind. Crowley was sick of her, had finally seen through Aziraphale's careful facade and had decided to fire her. Crowley was sick, a fever of some sort, judging by the severe flush on her cheeks. Crowley had found a partner, someone to adore and care for her. Someone else.

She tried to ignore why that felt like the worst possible scenario, a harbinger of the end... And failed rather miserably. But even then, she knew, it wasn't the time. She could examine the wretched voids of her psyche once she did not have an anxious serpent of a woman to fuss over.  

Crowley stared at her, amber eyes burning in some unknown, unknowable emotion.

"Nothing wrong, I just- Got something for you. Nothing fancy, mind, just a-" She swayed forward, shoulders tightening with the force it took to keep her arms behind her. Her throat bobbed with each clipped word. "Just a book. Reminded me of you."

"And how is that?" Aziraphale asked as she inched forward. Her worry not abated, not at all, even as her gaze drifted to the surprise promised to her.

Crowley scoffed. It sounded light and airy, a puff of breath more than any conscious word.

"Bit silly," she whispered with a smile, presenting the book. "Soft."

And the thing was, all throughout her life, Aziraphale had been told she was too soft. Too weak-willed or just plain weak. She hadn't believed it, of course, she knew the strength that hid in the corners of all her placating smiles, the power behind every move of her well-manicured fingers. But it had still stung, every time it was uttered. Had shimmered into the shape of a truth with each time it had pierced through her heart.

It didn't hurt now. Aziraphale tipped her head to the side, her smile and her eyes turning gentle. Turning soft. And that was before she had even read the title of the book.

She gasped.

"My dear, you did not!"

Crowley shrugged, the tips of her ears red.

"It's no bother, angel," she barely managed to mutter, around the flush of her cheeks and mouth.

"It's Austen's latest!" insisted Aziraphale. She was holding onto the book gingerly, barely letting her fingertips sink into the cover. The touch reverent, she could not remember the last time she had held something so precious.

Something occurred to her.

"Oh, this must have cost you a fortune."

Crowley's father was a wealthy man, and he had never shied away from spoiling his daughter. His generosity, however, only reserved for items he had deemed suitable for a young lady's mind. Despite the name of the book, "Sense and Sensibility," this was decidedly not.

If possible, Crowley turned even more scarlet.

"Not much. Honestly, it's fine. All an evil ploy to keep you occupied while I run away with a suitor," the other woman said, shrugging. As if, suddenly, she had remembered her aloof persona and was desperate to return to it. 

Aziraphale couldn't help it, she laughed.

"My darling girl, which suitor?"

For a moment, she let herself imagine it. Pictured the lovely woman before her, saving money, a stray penny from the purchase of a bonnet here, a dress not neatly tailored there. Crowley must have done this, in secret, possibly for months, just so she could afford to buy Aziraphale something. A book, written by her favourite author, lovingly picked and loosely bound in red string.

Her heart so full, she reached over. Fingers curling around Crowley's hand, already waving in the air, dismissing her own kindness. Tried to pour all those soft feelings sloshing inside her into a single touch.

And she has been wrong after all.

It wasn't the book, the most precious thing that she had ever held.

---

Eric was a young boy of seven and twenty. Almost Crowley's age and way too young for the desperation in his parents' eyes as they had approached Aziraphale. In their hushed words, which had almost tasted like pleas, as they had asked her to arrange a meeting. 

He was young and it showed. Too talkative and too curious, in a way Aziraphale knew her charge would dislike. Always moving, always asking questions, eyes wide in wonder. He was, and this Aziraphale only let herself admit once, perfect.

The first look that Crowley sent the boy felt like vindication. Tasted foul on her tongue, too, but Aziraphale chose to ignore that part.

"Hi, Miss Crowley. Miss Fell." The boy waved, a smile on his face. Aziraphale almost stumbled over her own feet. As if the world had tilted a degree to the left, and yet she had no hope of placing why. 

Crowley only nodded, too warm a greeting, as far as Aziraphale was concerned, before she took her place next to him.

Their first meeting was to take place in the theatre, the boy's parents had insisted. Somewhere public, somewhere they could be seen. It had been Aziraphale, the one who had chosen the play. And as Crowley's amber eyes swivelled to hers, the adorable scrunch of a sharp nose meeting Aziraphale's innocent smile. 

As the other woman leant to her, the warmth of her breath almost scalding as she groaned in Aziraphale's ear, "This isn't one of Shakespeare's gloomy ones, is it?"

What was Aziraphale to do but raise a shoulder, her eyes as gentle and devoid of mischief as her smile. Even as she waited, something aching and itchy just beneath her ribs.

It had been the first time a suitor had greeted her, she suddenly realised. Had even acknowledged her presence, with something other than insult.

She ought to feel guilty about this, she knew. It was unfair, setting this up in such a way that the boy had barely a chance to leave a good impression. Eric didn't deserve this. He was, more likely than not, a perfectly good match, albeit cursed with overbearing parents. Aziraphale ought to be ashamed of herself. She knew, even as she held her breath. Waited.

It didn't take long.

"What is this flower?" The boy pointed at Crowley's hat, finger far too close that it made the other woman flinch. Aziraphale wondered if that was enough of a reason to deem the match a failure.

"Tulip." Crowley's voice was sharp, her scarlet lips barely moving as they formed the word. She didn't even look at her prospective suitor. Entirely on its own accord, Aziraphale's hand pressed against her chest, a vain attempt to stop it from leaping in excitement. Not long now.

And perhaps, when they got home, she could examine why doing her job was bothering her so much. 

Perhaps not, she decided. Didn't even attempt to explain away why she had thought of Crowley's house as their home. 

"Do you like flowers?" Eric asked, eyes round. Voice sick with sincerity.

The corner of Crowley's mouth twitched. Her gaze briefly leaving the stage to meet her suitor's bright and inquisitive one. 

"I do," she agreed, the same degree of sharpness present in her voice. Yet, slightly muted somehow, buried underneath a different, vile-tasting feeling. 

Aziraphale did not much care for this line of questioning.

"I'm not much of a gardener," the boy admitted, a grave error. "Perhaps you can show me one day?"

An unnatural stillness swallowed Crowley. Aziraphale, too, held her breath. That question, innocently uttered, not a drop of seduction, a hint of forwardness. Simply, the boy's thirst for knowledge from someone he recognised as a better. A woman, no less.

Crowley tilted her head to the side. She didn't smile, she didn't look at Eric. And yet, with poisonous certainty, Aziraphale knew. 

"Is your garden suitable for it?" Crowley asked, voice low. The first personal question she had ever posed to one of her suitors, and she must have realised it too. Her cheeks flushed bright red, even in the dimness of the theatre. 

Eric nodded, eyes round and happy. Apparently, as much as he enjoyed asking questions, it seemed he was just as comfortable answering them. His hands gesturing wildly before him, his curls bobbing with each excited word. Aziraphale almost wanted to shush him.

It wasn't the time to talk. Not with such a wonderful play before them.

"I've always loved trees," Crowley murmured, an obvious response to yet another question. "I wished to plant an apple tree at home, but my father-"

She stopped, shoulders tightening slightly. Eric made an inquisitive sound. Aziraphale didn't have to. She knew, could easily imagine, what the response would have been. The way Crowley's father must have laughed at the idea of his daughter making plans for a place that would shortly no longer be her home.

Her fingers curled into fists by her side, choking the need to reach out. Draw Crowley close, somewhere deep and safe, where the outside world could never leave her with the haunted look, currently shadowing her face.

"Trees take so long before they bear fruit," Eric hurried to say. Clearly unsure of what had caused Crowley's grief, but desperate to fix it. Entirely the wrong thing to say, and yet Aziraphale felt herself soften, ever so slightly. Breathe, for what felt like the first time in her life. 

He had wished to fix it. He had seen Crowley's upset and his first reaction had been to soothe, maybe distract her. How could Aziraphale ever fault him for it?

Crowley smiled too. A simple turn of the lips, the ghost of movement. 

"Some things are worth the wait," she said, gaze flickering to Aziraphale. Full of something warm and precious and, oh, Aziraphale was going to be sick.

Eric turned to her too, eyes, somehow, widening even more. Aziraphale held his gaze, daring him to say something, anything that would turn those glimpses of interest into frost. Hoping for him to. 

Instead, he smiled at her. Wide and a touch too smug, as if he knew something that she didn't and, oh, how she wanted him to-

Goodness, what was wrong with her? Wishing for her charge's suitor to be a villain? Eric didn't deserve this. Crowley didn't deserve this.

She had gone too far. So she forced herself to smile at the young couple, instead. Forced herself to sit back, fasten her eyes to the performance before her. Only her fingers, unruly things that they were, weaved around each other, a nervous dance she knew far too well. 

Not that anyone paid her any mind. Eric and Crowley were talking softly to each other, yet loud enough to ensure she heard every word. Appropriate and considerate and, oh, how much she hated them at that moment.

Yet, when fate provided her with an excuse to leave the suffocating bubble of new love, she could stand it even less. 

A woman, a chaperone she had briefly met while working for her last client, stumbled into their private box. Her hair wild, her gaze even more so, she took one look at the newly formed couple before facing Aziraphale. 

"I lost her," she whispered, stumbling towards Aziraphale. "I need help. Please."

They had never been formally introduced, they didn't have to be. Aziraphale knew that look, could taste the panic and desperation, thick in the air. It was the right thing to do, she argued with herself. Heaven knew what the chaperone's lady was up to. There was a code for these things. 

Aziraphale hesitated, still. Her gaze turning to her charge, taking in the way she was leaning over her chair, towards Eric. Arms folded in her lap but for how long? How long would it take for them to cross the meagre space between? Before that boy was reaching over, pressing a hand to Crowley's cheek, his lips to-

"Angel?" Crowley's voice was small, hesitant. Her hand, as she reached for Aziraphale, was trembling, ever so slightly. "You must go. Help her."

Aziraphale couldn't accept that gentle persuasion. Could deny the siren's call of the other woman's touch even less. As if from outside herself, she watched her hand curl possessively around that morsel of an offering. There, in front of Crowley's newfound suitor and the panicked gaze of someone who needed her. Shameless, she was. 

But how could she leave them? How could she risk-

"I'll be fine, promise," Crowley whispered with a smile. A squeeze to Aziraphale's hand. "Eric will keep me company."

And, yes, that was exactly what Aziraphale was afraid of. What she knew she had no way of stopping even more. 

She nodded. Gently extracted her hand from Crowley's hold and didn't even notice the pang of sorrow that swallowed her whole. 

The other chaperone, her name was Maggie, also held her hand. Fingers in a tight clutch around Aziraphale's wrist as she rattled on about one thing or the other. Truth be told, Aziraphale paid her no mind.

Had she done the right thing, she wondered. She trusted Crowley, knew that she would never do anything to bring shame to herself or her family. And, goodness, but she also knew that the other woman was more than capable of holding her own. It was just as likely for Aziraphale to come back to a bruised Eric as it was to witness how Crowley looked, freshly kissed and debauched. Her cheeks flushed, her carefully coifed hair a mess. Her bosom heaving, even as she tried to pretend-

Oh, Lord, what had she done?

They found Maggie's charge in the garden. Close to debauched but easily salvageable. And as Maggie held Aziraphale's hand, gratitude and promises flowing out of her mouth, all Aziraphale could wonder was... What was she going to find, once back?

Nothing, was the answer. 

Nothing but a newly courting couple talking quietly, a respectable distance stretching between them, as vast as the abysm in Aziraphale's stomach. 

"All good, angel?" Crowley asked with a smile, reaching out for Aziraphale again. 

When she reached back, Aziraphale couldn't even pretend away the desperation in the tightness of her coiled fingers. What had she done?

Crowley was by her side in seconds, body sliding against her own. As easily as Aziraphale had known it would. Only serving to turn the shaking of her knees even more apparent. 

"We are going home," Crowley whispered into her curls. One arm sliding around Aziraphale's waist, holding her tight. Holding her close. Aziraphale should- "Apologies, Eric, but we must go. We can finish our conversation some other time?"

There was a hopeful arch to Crowley's voice and Aziraphale forced herself to close her eyes. Breathe deeply. 

"Of course. Miss Fell looks like she has seen a ghost, I'm sure she'd appreciate it," from somewhere as if so far away, Eric said. He sounded calmer, somehow. Self-assured. Aziraphale detested him. "Never was much of a tragedy fan, anyway."

Crowley huffed with amusement, even as her arms tightened around Aziraphale's body. Keeping the other woman upright when her whole body was refusing to. 

Aziraphale couldn't even bring herself to enjoy it.

What had she done?

---

"How do I look?" Crowley asked, palms running over the front of her dress, as she twisted this way and that. 

Aziraphale schooled her expression into something soft and indulgent. "Lovely, my dear."

And she did. She truly did. The emerald of her dress, startling against that pale skin. Her hair, the most enticing of flames. The powdered gold weaved into her curls, making them sparkle in the light. An ethereal, almost divine glow to her. 

Worst of all, she was smiling. A shy pull to those rosy lips, uncertain and frethful. 

She was gorgeous. And she didn't even know it. 

"You don't think it's-" Crowley swallowed. Their eyes met in the mirror. "A bit much, isn't it?"

All at once, Aziraphale realised. That gorgeously wily thing, and yet she had never had to care about the way she looked. She had never, and Aziraphale was very careful about the way she built the next thought in her head, she had never had to worry what a suitor might think of her. A perfectly normal way for a young woman to feel and Aziraphale clung to that. Refused to poison such a precious moment with her unseemly emotions. 

Instead, her hands curled around tight shoulders, pressed, ever so slightly, until Crowley was collapsing back into her chair. 

"It's a ball, it's supposed to be too much," she said and was proud of how devoid of anything sinister her voice was. Of the easy way her smile spread over her own features, warm and sincere. This was good for Crowley, she reminded herself.

Eric was going to be good for her. Not like-

Crowley tipped her head back, her gaze like gold molasses and Aziraphale was nothing but a helpless insect, caught in its sweet prison. 

"Do you like it?" that infuriatingly tempting creature asked, voice only slightly wavering. 

Aziraphale could feel her body sink even deeper. She nodded. Squeezed the shoulders still in her grasp. 

'You are always stunning,' she didn't say. She could not imagine the sheer reverence in her voice, set free. She wasn't allowed, she didn't let herself even think. 

"Let me fix your hair," she suggested, instead. An excuse to touch the other woman, to feel the weight of her curls as they wrapped around her shaking fingers. 

More docile than Aziraphale had ever seen her, Crowley simply nodded. Let her head tip forward again, her eyes fluttering shut. And no matter how much Aziraphale missed that piercing, sticky gaze, she couldn't deny it was easier this way. Easier to let the reverence bleed into her features, her touch. Her very essence.

She ran her fingers through those fiery curls, gathering some of them into a loose hold. Fussed with them, until her mind was stained with the memory of how they looked, scarlet against her skin. Until her own fingers were stained with that golden shine. She knew, only one of those things would ever wash away.

The other woman looked lovely with her hair down. In all honesty, she looked lovely in any way she chose to present herself. But there was something to be said about the way she looked now, the curls in front of her face pulled back, held by a green ribbon. Revealing the long column of her neck. Pale and inviting, and Aziraphale had always been so good with temptation. Had always known when she was allowed to touch, when she was allowed to push.

And yet, she watched as her fingers danced down alluring marble, traced the way it pinked, sank fingertips into each shiver. The touch, a brief, cursory thing. A sinful, horrid affair. Still, she wished that it would keep, that it would brand Crowley as her own, so nobody else would think to dance with her and court her and love her. And she was glad that it couldn't, that it hadn't left so much as a mark. 

She couldn't do this to Crowley. She could never, would never, do anything to harm her.

Aziraphale forced her hand to fall away from soft skin and temptation. Or tried to, except long fingers were curling around her wrist, pressing her closer.

Crowley's lips fell open around a sigh. Then, an even more horrible affair, she whispered, "Angel."

Aziraphale took a breath, tinged with Crowley's perfume. Held it in until it burnt her lungs. Carefully avoided Crowley's searching gaze, her own eyes, raw and stinging, far too honest for her liking. 

"You are all done," she said, a finality to her words that she had not meant. Should have meant, nonetheless. 

Crowley's shoulders tightened against her. The throat in Aziraphale's hold, still in Aziraphale's hold, trembled nervously. 

"Do you like it?" Crowley asked again, a fervent, desperate thing. 

It took everything to extract herself from the other woman's iron grip. Oh, not physically. All Aziraphale had to do was twitch underneath Crowley's warm palm, and it was sliding away, releasing her from a prison of her own making. 

But having to draw back, tuck her hands behind herself lest she did something stupid, again? Having to once again steel herself against the cold that came from being away from Crowley? Draw breath, devoid of the scent of that lovely creature? It wounded something deep inside her, carved out a piece of her she didn't even know had existed.

She met Crowley's gaze, even smiled. Tried to ignore the ash on her tongue, as she said, "Eric will be smitten when he sees you."

Notes:

The gold glitter in Crowley's hair in the last scene is courtesy of junohoppe who told me that Victorian women used to put powdered gold into their hair... and then I googled it and saw this video. And I was sold! I mean, look at how lovely that woman looks! And now imagine Crowley 🥺🥺 How was I supposed to resist?!

Also, I NEED you to see the tumblr post for this fic, because I found the most perfect picture that reminded me of the wives in this fic! And because it will give you a hint of an upcoming scene in the third chapter 🤭 Just this once, I am WILLINGLY sharing spoilers haha!

Thank you so much for reading! The last chapter will be posted next week ❤️❤️

Chapter 3

Aziraphale wasn't hiding. 

She wasn't. She was a grown woman who had spent a little over three decades on this Earth. She was not a young maiden with her first crush. Unrequited crush, her mind bitterly supplied, even as she maintained how far from her actual situation this was.

So what if she had chosen the farthest corner of the estate to lay out her tartan blanket? She had only meant to escape the havoc of the house, she was not avoiding anything else. And it was pure chaos, she petulantly noted. With Crowley's father having left his London townhouse, in favour of bonding with his daughter, there was simply nowhere to sit and read in peace. Which was exactly what Aziraphale was doing. 

And so what if she had chosen a particular willow to sit underneath, one whose branches touched the ground and safely hid her from view. It was the sun she was avoiding. It was unbecoming of a lady to appear as if she had been ravished by sunlight.

Aziraphale wiggled slightly, satisfied with how rational she was being. 

"There you are," a familiar voice cried out, far closer than she had expected. 

Her wide eyes snapped up, landing on a tall, lithe figure hovering above her. Fingers curled around a lower branch, her whole body dangling from it. Swaying slightly with the breeze, as free and beautiful as the leaves around them. 

Smiling, always that smile. 

Aziraphale couldn't help it, she smiled back. It was ridiculous to expect her not to. 

"Here I am, my dear. All yours," she said and tried to ignore the taste of truth on her suddenly dry tongue. "Is something the matter?"

With a huff, Crowley collapsed next to her. A mess of skirts and anxiety, and Aziraphale reached out. Smoothed the front of her dress, hoped, a ridiculous, outrageous notion, that her touch might ease Crowley's worries too. 

"It’s father," the other woman finally whispered, as if the mere mention of the man might summon him. Even glanced around, although she did try to do it as surreptitiously as possible. 

Aziraphale hummed. She didn’t ask, didn’t have to. Crowley trusted her and when she was ready, she would reveal her troubles. 

Another groan and Crowley was leaning to the side. A sharp shoulder digging into Aziraphale's arm, the heat of the other woman's body both exhilarating and dangerous. It wasn't hers to enjoy.

As if having read her mind, and wishing to punish her for the insolence, Crowley said, "He's become insufferable, ever since he learnt of Eric. He wants to meet him."

Everything went very still. And very cold. Only Aziraphale's fingers spasmed, desperate to clutch around something soft and only allowed the weight of the book in her grasp. 

She had expected it, of course. The- the couple had been meeting more and more often, almost every day now. Leisured walks in the park, meetings, in cafes and theatres and art galleries. Eric, his pockets filled with gently wrapped sweets that he would give to Crowley, but would always end up being enjoyed only by Aziraphale. The young man, just as vibrant, just as respectful. Not as inquisitive though, his questions rare but far more meaningful. Aziraphale detested-

Sometimes, he would say nothing at all. Falling into step behind Aziraphale and Crowley, as they strolled arm in arm. Sometimes, Aziraphale would forget he even was there. A treasured occurrence that she tried not to get too attached to.

Her days in this household were numbered. Aziraphale should have known better.

Wordlessly, she wrapped an arm around the other woman's shoulder, pressing her close. Tried to ignore the vicious voice in her head, telling her to commit this to memory. For it could be the last time she-

Perhaps it was why her voice came out shivery, as she tried to reassure her charge, "Eric is a splendid young man. I am certain he will make a good impression on your father."

Crowley's only response was a faint smile. Not one of her regular ones, and the void in Aziraphale's ribcage ached.

"He does wish to marry you, my dear," she said, in the softest voice she could manage. Had to remind herself that she couldn't cry in front of the other woman. "You have nothing to worry about."

Crowley shifted slightly, until her face was out of view. Her breath warm against Aziraphale's neck, cheek squished against the collar of her dress. She was probably uncomfortable, twisted in such a way, Aziraphale thought. And yet, desperately, despicably, wished that Crowley would never move. 

"He would like to see you," Crowley mumbled. It took Aziraphale a few seconds to parse through what she had first assumed was a simple huff of air. Crowley's voice too low, muffled by the cotton of Aziraphale's dress. Certainly not because of that delicious weight in her arms, distracting her. 

"Your father?" 

Aziraphale felt silly she had not prepared for this. For the barb of ice spearing through her heart, either. Of course, the man would no longer need her employ. He would pay her, rather handsomely, and bid her goodbye. Ask her to leave their lives, as if she had never existed.

He wasn't a cruel man. And this wasn't a cruelty. She had been hired for a purpose, and that purpose was now at an end. 

Crowley huffed again. It felt amused, as it tickled Aziraphale's tender skin. "Eric. He wants your blessing."

She had thought there was no more she could hurt. Oh, but how wrong she had been. 

The tears were burning in her eyes, cruel and uncaring of how humiliating it would be, was she to give in to the urge. Her fingers were shaking, where they had curled around Crowley's shoulder, pressing her closer. She tightened her hold, wishing that it would keep, it would transform. A physical bond to tether her to the other woman. 

She was wretched. 

This was good for Crowley. 

A twist of the head. A single fleeting kiss to the flaming crown before her, a brushing of lips that might be mistaken for the breeze, caught in Crowley's curls. All she allowed herself, before she was forcing her lips to twist into a smile. Forcing herself to lean away too, give up this morsel of divinity she had been hoarding for herself for far too long. 

"Of course, my darling girl." There was too much feeling in her voice but she ignored it. She was allowed that one luxury. 

When Crowley smiled at her, it was watery, fragile at the edges. Aziraphale dutifully committed it all to memory.

She would never see her again, the thought, an uninvited but frequent guest in her mind. Never get to hold her and listen to her whinge about the state of her garden. Never again chase after her with a shawl as that insolent demon of a woman decided to brave the elements. Never hear her laugh at Aziraphale's fretting, never suffer her mocking voice again. 

Never be allowed to love her.

"Would you like me to read to you?" Aziraphale asked. 

Never was a long time, but it was also not now. 

Crowley's nod was a wild, desperate thing. Her smile, even more so. She was radiant, like the morning sun, a familiar but no less treasured sight. What Aziraphale hadn't expected, would have never expected, was the way the other woman twisted around. Turning her back to Aziraphale, for only but a moment, before she was laying her head down. Curls of wildfire spilling over Aziraphale's white dress, branding the sight of it into her mind forever. 

The other woman blinked up, eyes round and uncertain. Not a hint of a tease, a drop of seduction. A plea, instead, and, goodness. It was so much more difficult to say no this way.

Not that Aziraphale could ever. The weight of Crowley on her lap, yet another thing to take note of, keep tucked into her heart when the world turned vacant and cold.

She turned to her book instead. Let her hand rest over Crowley's stomach, close enough to feel the movement of her chest, without leaning into temptation. Made sure her voice did not shake with each breath she could feel, vibrating in Crowley's ribcage. 

Each touch new and, yet, already blanketed by nostalgia. The last time she would feel Crowley squirm against her thigh. The last time Crowley's curls would tickle her hand as she reached to turn the page. The last time they would share a smile over a particularly silly passage, Crowley's sharp teeth sinking into her lips as she fought the urge to mock the author.

Another page, another shared smile. There was a leaf caught between Crowley's lips. Judging by the innocent look she was giving Aziraphale, not by accident, either. 

Wily temptress. How Aziraphale adored her. 

"You silly thing," she scolded instead. Dangerously close to voicing her real thoughts, and the affection, dripping from her words, more than made up for that missing last bit.

Plucking the leaf from Crowley's mouth posed no challenge. In fact, the gorgeous creature let her lips fall open, twisted them into a self-satisfied smirk. Keeping her touch brief and devoid of any longing was much harder. Impossible, even.

Aziraphale watched her fingers as they pressed against Crowley's rosy mouth, lips soft and supple underneath her inquisitive touch. The way Crowley gasped, tipped her head back, coaxing Aziraphale closer. The way it felt, having that wild creature still beneath her touch, eyes fluttering shut. Vulnerable, yet so brave.

It almost made Aziraphale forget that this wasn't real. 

In one swift movement, Aziraphale drew back. Offered a smile, and almost convinced herself that the grimace on Crowley's face was a smile too.

---

"Stop fussing," Aziraphale hissed, extremely uncharitable and yet, shamelessly unrepentant. 

Right this moment, Eric was asking Crowley's father for his blessing. There was no moment more important, in a young woman's life. Aziraphale knew it, had been witness to it a number of times. 

It had never hurt like this. 

"It will be all right, my dear," she tried again, softer this time. "Your father adores Eric and your young man- Your young man adores you."

Crowley waved a hand absent-mindedly. She hadn't stopped pacing. 

"It's not that. I know that." Abruptly, she stopped. Whipped around to face Aziraphale. "Right, yes. No more delaying this. I need to tell you something."

Aziraphale's heart, already self-preservation cold, frosted fully. Her first reaction, the ingrained reaction, was to wonder if her charge could have done anything to bring shame to her family. But, no, of course not. She trusted the other woman, in a way she had never trusted anyone else in her life.

Besides, when would she have had the chance to escape Aziraphale's burning gaze? They were inseparable, these days, not even the presence of a suitor able to make Crowley detach herself from Aziraphale's arm. 

She was going to miss it, she thought in guilt, and then did not think at all as Crowley sank to her knees before her.

"Crowley?" she rushed to ask, her mind flashing to the worst possible scenario. "Are you well, my dear? Is it your legs?"

Crowley shook her head. She looked amused, even beneath the wild panic in her eyes. It only made Aziraphale's anxieties worsen.

"I'm fine," Crowley said, but she did not look fine and Aziraphale was reaching for her shoulders, tugging her up. The warm palms on her thighs, the weight of which she had felt only a handful of times but could recognise, blind and deaf, managed to stop her in her tracks. "Listen to me. Please?"
 
It was the urgency in that voice that made Aziraphale finally still. Made her nod, and then whisper a soft word of assent, when the woman before her refused to meet her gaze.

Only silence followed. Crowley rocketed back, still on her knees. Her body swallowed by her most formal dress, in anticipation of the proposal. Her hands tucked together in her lap, her head bowed. She looked small and wretched and Aziraphale could hardly stand it. 

"At least sit next to me, while you tell me your news," she mumbled, more than ready to be rebuffed.

But Crowley had rarely been able to refuse her. Now, now, it was no different. 

The other woman nodded and, in one liquid move she was next to Aziraphale, so close their thighs were pressed together. It seemed to give her some courage too, as she finally raised her gaze.

"Come with me," Crowley whispered. Words like hooks, sinking into Aziraphale's tender skin, making her sway forward.

But, no. Goodness, that was ridiculous. Running away together, two women with nothing to their names? They would be pushed to crime in less than a fortnight. Or worse.

"You are being silly, my dear. There is nowhere to go," Aziraphale said, as gently as she could manage, even as her heart wobbled with each breath she took. 

Did Crowley hate her suitor? Was this what was driving her sudden desire to run away? How had Aziraphale missed this?

Crowley shook her head, her cheeks flushing enchanting scarlet. Her eyes sparkling like the stars in the sky. 

"It's not running away. I will marry Eric and you can come with us. Can hire you as my maid, although, I would never- You know I would never-"

Aziraphale gasped, the words, like a physical weight pressing her down. Scalding and heavy. 

"Eric-" she managed to croak out, her hand coming to rest on her throat. As she attempted to claw at the thing suffocating her, before she realised it was coming from the depths of her. Had been growing and budding, the stalks now crowding her lungs, the flowers pressing at her throat.

"He does not mind. It was his idea, in fact," Crowley rushed to say and there was a hopeful smile on her face. As if she knew, the wily creature, could tell she was ensnaring Aziraphale in her web.

And she had been. From the very first moment Aziraphale had laid eyes on her. It was what made this so difficult.

"I can't," Aziraphale whispered. Everything inside her breaking into fine dust, and she wished the breeze would take her away, scatter her where the pain would be unable to reach her. "You know, you must know, how much I love you, my darling girl. And it's selfish, I realise, but I cannot imagine seeing you happy with someone else."

She was wretched, she knew. Greedy and possessive, a creature built of nothing but vice. 

Repulsion was what she had expected. Hoped for, even, would have certainly made the rejection easier to swallow. Crowley's eyes filled with tears, her hand coming to cover her mouth, choking out what would undoubtedly be vile words, filled with reproach.

"I love you too," Crowley said instead, low, as if a secret. Before she laughed, delighted and free. "I do, I do love you. Not as a sister, or a friend. I adore you the way I was to love Eric."

Aziraphale opened her mouth, sure to try and find some way to disprove this dream come reality. Crowley was faster. 

She gathered Aziraphale's hands in her own, pressed them against her hummingbird heart. 

"You must know, angel. I have hardly kept it a secret."

Aziraphale shook her head. Had she known? Goodness, she couldn't have even imagined her feelings not being seen as something wretched, let alone returned. She wanted to laugh and she wanted to cry, and she could do neither, in the face of the choice presented to her. 

"Come with me," Crowley repeated, no longer a question. Her smile open and adoring. "I shall marry him, and we can be happy. Together. Please, angel."

There were so many unanswered questions, still. What was the extent of Eric's knowledge? The extent of his need? Aziraphale cast her mind to the dates she had supervised, both women arm in arm, while Eric hovered a polite distance away. She imagined herself in his position, slowly pushed away until she could only trail behind them. Until she was expected to care for little ones, the fruits of their love, or at least, of their marital duties.

Her whole being hurt as she shook her head. "I could not bear to see someone else love you."

Crowley laughed. She laughed, not like someone whose whole world had been torn apart. But as someone who was getting exactly what they had wanted. 

"Eric doesn't love me," she said, the easiest thing. "Not in that way, he can never. He said so himself, that first night at the theatre. He could tell that I- That I could never return a man's affection."

Crowley smiled at her, hadn't stopped smiling. Gentle and patient, as she waited for Aziraphale to make sense of her words. 

It took some time. Everything inside her fighting to convince her that this wasn't real, could not be real. Everything around her, the way Crowley was holding onto her, her smile, the glimmer in her eyes... Whispering, ever so faintly, that maybe it was real.

"I can think of nothing better, than being with you," Aziraphale allowed softly.

Crowley's gasp was delighted, relief tinting the edges. So was her smile. What was Aziraphale to do but lean closer, offer her lips and her love, to the only woman that had ever deserved them both?

Crowley stood still. Motionless and breathless, a flush to her cheeks that made something itch, underneath Aziraphale's skin. But it wasn't disappointment, did not taste like acid on her tongue.

"We don't have to," Aziraphale said gently, and meant it too. Love took many forms, and as long as she had even one aspect of Crowley's affection- Why, that would sustain her for years, millennia, even.

Crowley, if that was possible, flushed even more scarlet. 

"I do want to. I have just- I never-" 

"With a woman?"

Crowley waved her hands, Aziraphale's too, still clutched between them. Her whole face was vibrating.

"With anyone. Never much cared for it, did I? Before I met you, that is." 

Aziraphale opened her mouth, to reassure or to vow no coercion, she did not know herself. Before she could have found out, Crowley was squeezing her hands, resolve shining in her eyes. 

"So you must teach me. Exactly what you like." 

Ridiculous creature. Temptation incarnate, she was aware of exactly what she was doing. 

Aziraphale leant forward. And pecked her on the cheek. It was surprisingly easy to return the devilish teasing, now that she knew it was on purpose.

---

The clattering of a teacup was Aziraphale's first sign of what to expect. Followed shortly by the screech of the door as a vision in nothing but a nightgown shouldered it open, her arms laden with biscuits and tea. 

"Thank you, my love," Aziraphale said, grateful but a touch guilty. 

A lingering kiss pressed to her hair put a stop to her worries. Crowley squeezing her shoulder, before long fingers were dancing over her back. Chasing shivers and goosebumps that often accompanied such a touch. 

"Are you cold, angel?" that ridiculous woman fussed, infuriatingly gentle. "Would you like me to bring you a shawl from upstairs?"

Aziraphale always cherished the care, it would have been impossible not to. Not when the lovely woman that she had called her own for almost a year now gazed at her like this, eyes soft and eager. Her hands always reaching out, to help, or to fuss, or simply touch. 

Heavens, Aziraphale had thought they had been inseparable before? It did not hold a candle to how close they had grown here, in Eric's home. Left to share a room, and time, and so much love. 

"You do realise I am supposed to be your maid, don't you?" she asked, teasing.

Crowley scoffed. "As if I would ever let you wait on me. You know perfectly well that is not why you are here."
 
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, the urge to smile a tough one to resist. 

"And why am I here, darling?" She let her voice dip low, watching with satisfaction as a flush bloomed across Crowley's lovely features. 

For all the teasing the other woman had done in the beginning, or what Aziraphale had recently found out had been teasing, she was surprisingly easy to fluster. Unsurprisingly sweet to, as well.

Aziraphale ran a hand down her thigh, covered by the thin, almost translucent material of her shift. Could no longer resist her smirk as Crowley tracked the movement hungrily. 

"What can I do for you?" 

She had barely managed to ask the question, before Crowley was shaking her head, a determined pull to her lips. 

"Nothing," the other woman muttered, sinking to her knees. "Don't have to do anything but sit here pretty. Let me take care of you, angel."

It didn't sound like a question but there was still hesitation in Crowley's eyes. In the way she was holding onto Aziraphale too, warm palms burning with the reverence of their touch. 

It hadn't been a question but Aziraphale still nodded. One hand coming to cradle Crowley's cheek, thumb sinking into soft skin. She no longer wished her touch could brand, she no longer needed to. The desperation in her blood, different and far sweeter now.

"I do adore you so," she said, words she had uttered so many times before and yet, they tasted crisp on her tongue. 

Crowley grinned, a certain look in her eyes and, oh, Aziraphale knew that look. 

"Let me show you my love," Crowley whispered, already lifting Aziraphale's skirt. There, on her knees, still in her nightgown, hair mussed with sleep. She was every inch the tempting creature Aziraphale had suspected her to be. 

Long fingers splayed over her thighs, and Aziraphale shifted forward, opening them eagerly. While the thought of doing something so intimate in the study had crossed her mind, and how could it not, with her love always looking so tempting- She had certainly not planned for this today, as she had snuck here, not to bother the sleeping beauty in her bed.

A thought occurred to her.

"What of Eric?"

Crowley whined when a palm landed just at the edge of Aziraphale's bunched-up skirt. But, indulgent as always, it took her very little to overcome her petulance in order to answer the question.

"Out with his new beau. Said he might be a while."

Aziraphale searched her mind for a name. It proved to be tricky, especially with a demon between her legs. Especially one taking extra care to be as seductive as she could, pink tongue running over her lips, before being replaced by sharp teeth.

"Ligur?"

Crowley shook her head, somewhat absent-minded. She had given up on Aziraphale's soft thighs, hidden by her shift, and had instead focused all her attention on her shins. Blunt nails dancing over the skin, just as enticing as any touch the woman could bestow upon her lover. 

"Someone else. Ligur was too clingy, apparently."

That poor boy, Aziraphale mused. He was very unlucky in love, very good at acquiring it, but not the best at making it last. She wished he would find someone, would be able to settle down. If only for the kindness that he had done them. 

Aziraphale had never tried her hand at finding a suitor for a man. She could not imagine it would be much different from the young ladies she had previously helped. It had been a while since she had last frequented those circles, but surely, she would be able to find someone for Eric. Someone discreet and just as lovely as the young man deserved. 

Yes, she could pen a letter to Maggie today and arrange- 

Sharp teeth dragged over her knee. Making her gasp and twitch into that warm temptation.

"On my knees for you, angel," Crowley drawled, shifting, as if Aziraphale had forgotten.

Well.

Aziraphale removed her hand from where she had rested it, in an effort to delay a seduction attempt that would have surely left her unable to form any coherent thought.

"Oh, yes, my dear." She patted her thigh invitingly. "Please do carry on."

Crowley rolled her eyes, grumbling, "Carry on, she says. Carry on, as if I have asked her if she wants her tea, she says."

Her head lolling from side to side, her voice a high-pitched caricature of Aziraphale's own. She was delightful and lovely, even more so when she was frustrated. Aziraphale adored her wholly.

Still couldn't help but tease, "I don't need tea, my darling. You already brought me some."

She knew she deserved what happened next. 

Crowley surged forward, a viper, taunted one too many times. Her mouth hungry and vicious as it sank into Aziraphale's, her fingers curling around soft cheeks, holding her steady. As if there was anywhere Aziraphale would rather be, than in the clutches of that demon of a woman that loved her so.

"You are a bastard, do you know that?" Crowley asked, breathless and teasing, but so gentle too. 

"Your bastard," Aziraphale said, just the same. She could not believe there had been even a moment, when she had doubted the validity of the other woman's feelings. 

Crowley smiled, that soft, radiant smile, reserved only for Aziraphale. "My bastard. My everything."

Notes:

Of course, Crowley would wait to be three seconds away from marriage to confess her feelings! Of course, Aziraphale's first thought would be, "Oh, no, she must hate her suitor. How did I not realise?" Listen, they are not the smartest in this fic (or most of the ones I have written, we can't have them too OOC 😅😅)

I really wanted this to be as close to history-compliant as possible and I also tried to drop as many hints as I could bear that Eric is very much not interested in Crowley in that way. BUT he is very interested in having her as a wife and having HER wife as their "maid". I kept thinking of that Parks and Rec meme, "This is my wife Crowley, and this is Crowley's wife Aziraphale" 😂😂😂

I really hope you enjoyed this and thank you so much for reading! My Tumblr if you want to come say hi!