Every so often a worldwide phenomenon occurs and one has to give themselves over to the world as it is. The internet, as it was, was a simple blip on the map. It had yet to become the multi-homed necessity needed by everyone. But it was useful for those in the military who needed to use it for their day to day contacts. Currently though, the two were able to keep in contact through other means.
One way was through telephone. When Alexander Graham Bell had created this nifty little trinket of a device, no one could imagine the importance they would hold. But here they were, cradled next to one another’s phone box, calling one another over the littlest things. A new book came out for Aziraphale’s shop, a nice new part for maintenance for the Bentley, a handsome bottle for the two to share. Despite not living together, the two did everything together. There wasn’t a day that went by that they didn’t come over to one another’s flats, either for a bite to eat or perhaps a long and lengthy drinking session.
Tonight was much like every night, where they were in each other’s arms as they stumbled down the street, clutching tighter with each step. Drunk out of their minds, Aziraphale clung tightly to the lanky form of his compatriot. Something about the way they stood next to one another, bodies swaying in a drunken beat with each other, it brought happiness to Aziraphale, more so than he could rightfully speak.
It had long since been known to him that Crowley loved him, it had been a source of happiness for him to fall back upon whenever things got rough. They were mortal enemies, sure, agents for opposing factions in the war over mankind, but all the same, they loved each other. This was a simple fact that, much like the fact that they were drunk and rocking one another back and forth in a slow dance whose music was only heard in their heads.
“Come--” Aziraphale slurred as he gripped tighter to Crowley’s arm, the tip of his nose barely touching Crowley’s own. “Come to my place, I’ve got more wine.”
“Wine?” Crowley scoffed, nose wrinkling up at the sound. “Whiskey is more like it.”
“Whiskey then, I’ll… I’ll miracle it to be whiskey.” Aziraphale stuttered as he led the way down an alley that wound around buildings and slid cross streets to end right across the way from A.Z. Fell and Co. Standing at the door, Aziraphale whimpered as Crowley’s hands ran down his hips, squeezing tightly on the soft flesh as he fumbled with the keys. “Wait till we’re inside.”
Crowley was never one to be told to wait, especially after drinking to excess, but he obeyed, sighing as dog told not chew at its favorite bone. The door opened and the two slid into the bookshop, and Crowley could barely contain himself, he pressed his lips to one side of Aziraphale’s neck. Sucking gently, he left a bright red bloom across the fair skin of his angelic companion.
Shuddering as his back hit the wooden frame of his door, Aziraphale groaned as he clung tighter to Crowley’s clothes, sliding down slightly as he felt his knees give way. This action and reaction, their give and take, it was all too common a sight. In this day and age, they were growing bolder in their touches of one another outside. The world was coming around, a slow crawl of a state, but all the same… They were able to lean in, to whisper to one another, to go out to dinner and drink and come home to drink even more, and the world was never the wiser.
“Crowley, I’m…!” Aziraphale shuddered as he felt the leaner man pushed forward between his legs with his thigh, rubbing directly on him, and he knew it would be over for him. It was too much. So much stimulation, so much touching, so much.
Their night had ended in the both of them laying in bed, covers mussed around their bodies, a heavenly glow coming from Aziraphale as he panted, Crowley laying next to him with his hands next to his head, staring up into the ceiling with those wide, snakelike eyes.
“Crowley, do you remember back in Rome?”
“Rome?” He looked over, brows furrowed in confusion. “That’s a weird thing to bring up now, ain’t it?”
“Well, yes, but I’m asking for a reason. You remember when we went to Rome and we went for oysters and you had a lot of wine and kept giving me some and we ended up in the Temple of Juno Moneta together and you put a veil on me?” Aziraphale rattled off the details that, originally were a bit fuzzy to Crowley. He remembered the stench of the oysters and how he had declined to indulge, but was happy to grab at the wine that had come with it, forgoing water with it as to enjoy his time there. Everything after that was…
“I recall the oysters part, if that’s what you’re asking, but Juno’s temple? Hm, I seem to remember that veil, yeah. You were rather charming in it.”
If Aziraphale’s cheeks could flush any brighter, he knew they would have, “I appreciate the compliment. But I’m asking for a reason, you see?” Turning onto his side, Aziraphale reached out a hand and placed it on Crowley’s stomach, drawing a looping pattern in the faint trail of hair starting at the demon’s navel and traveling down further. “I forget if it was legally binding, is why I’m bringing it up.”
“Legally…?” Crowley turned to face Aziraphale, his own hand reaching down to stop the tender touches in their tracks. “Oh, well, I guess at the time they were yeah. Does this mean…?”
“That we’ve been together for going on 2020 years? Around there, yes.”
“Well, technically it’s been longer than that, what with the two of us popping around together since the whole sword incident.”
“Semantics, really.” Aziraphale lifted his hand off Crowley’s stomach and waved it as he spoke. “I’m just saying is that well…” A moment passed before he could actually collect himself enough to continue. The question on his tongue had been one he had been considering for so long now that he was sure that if the other said no, that the angel would be devastated. “Would you mind packing up and moving in with me?”
“What? Is that all? Of course, Angel, that’s no problem. Mind if I come round tomorrow night with all my things?”