Chapter Text
Although humans already had a tendency to misunderstandings with the language at their disposal, they also had a tendency to invent more words, as if more would help them to untangle the mess they made of their already existing vocabulary. But even the one species that takes itself more seriously than the residents of Heaven and Hell deserved to experience the fun of creation now and then. And their limited yet imaginative minds rarely disappointed.
One unknown jester with an impressively vivid imagination and an equally impressive low tolerance for frustration came up with one very simple, yet so descriptive word that it would soon be taken in the mouth by humans of all backgrounds and stages. Metaphorically, of course, otherwise, it would be meaningless.
We're talking about cockblock.
The simple, often intentionally employed action to prevent another from having the hoped-for action with a third party. It was not rare to encounter such a situation at, well, parties, but cockblocking happened in all kinds of situations, usually, as it was its nature, whenever it was not desired. The principle was simple. One human, let's call them A, desired the lustful attention of one or more other humans, but for the sake of simplicity, let's call them B. C was not invited by A and oblivious of A's attention and conducts themselves in such a manner, that A's attempts remained fruitless. Cockblocked. Like a condom but 100% effective and minus the pleasure.
The motivations for cockblocking are as diverse as the situations and constellations surrounding it. Often, it was fair to not ill intentions. Often, the cockblocker wants to shield an oblivious or flustered B. And sometimes, it was B, the object of desire, the temptation incarnate, the one so far and yet close enough to fuel the flames of lust, who'd, well, rather not be all that right now.
If this B happened to be an angel, especially one in the shape of a blond human male who was usually easily tempted to all other forms of desire, he'd of course never resort to such a vulgar concept as cockblocking.
Instead, once it was established that the world wouldn't crumble under the destructive forces of Armageddon, Aziraphale quickly mastered a similar art, one as effective and frustrating.
Bookblocking.
“What’s up with this bullshit again, angel?” Crowley said after his forehead hit the hardcover of a book, for the fifth time within the last six days. Not that he was counting.
“What you’re calling bullshit, my dear friend,” Aziraphale ducked away from his friend and continued his path to the counter, “Is the first print of the 1907 edition of-”
“You know that’s not what I meant!” Two long steps and he was behind Aziraphale and wrapped his arms around him. He pressed his face against Aziraphale’s neck. It was a miracle that somebody who was this soft and warm could be so stubborn, and that as an angel! Crowley could tell, he was, after all, kind of an expert.
Aziraphale put the book down and sighed. “I hate to cut our meeting short, Crowley, but I have to get the shop ready for its reopening. There are still four boxes of donations I have to go through and frankly, my dear, you aren’t as much of a help as you promised to be.” With a quick turn and sidestep, he freed himself from Crowley so smoothly that the demon had to wonder who of them was the snake.
He gave a low hiss and declared the battle as lost. Up- and downstairs, the war between demons and angels might have been put on ice. But the small corner bookshop in Soho, London, was a battlefield, as far as Crowley was concerned. Yes, yes, maybe, just maybe, ambushing Aziraphale of all angels to finally get the kiss he felt they deserved wasn’t the most elaborate plan he ever had. He’d think of something smarter later. For now, he contented himself with sitting down on the counter and hopefully crinkling up as many documents as possible with his butt. He let his long legs dangle, not much unlike a pouting child - which he, in a way, was at times, although he wasn’t aware of it. And if he ever were, he’d deny it.
“What this with your grand reopening anyway?” He watched Aziraphale through his dark sunglasses.
“What do you mean?” Aziraphale asked from behind a pile of books he was balancing as he stumbled from one shelf to the other, coming dangerously close to falling over stray books.
“Well, first of all, it was never closed. Or burnt down. Not in the existing reality.”
“There you have it.” Aziraphale slammed another pile of books down, next to Crowley, and glared at the papers that were partly occupied by his friend’s ass. “The humans might have forgotten about it but I haven’t. This is for me.”
Crowley let out a whistle, the corners of his mouth twitching. “How selfish of you.”
Aziraphale indulged him with a smile. He’d become better at detecting sarcasm and teasing. This was another thing Crowley liked him for. Aziraphale had learned and changed in all these centuries they’ve known each other. Something that was hard to do for angels. Fuck, Archangel Gabriel was twice as old as him and Aziraphale together and all that had changed about him was that his fashion sense had become even more boring. Not that your regular citizen of hell was any better but that was beside the point.
“Even an angel is allowed to be a little selfish every other millennium, my dear.” Aziraphale had disappeared behind one of the many cupboards, rummaging through it to find who knew what but his voice was clear as if he was still standing next to Crowley. It didn’t surprise Crowley at all that his superiors had reprimanded Aziraphale repeatedly since he was sent to earth. Mr. Prim and Proper McAngel was frivolous with his usage of miracles. It had become worse - or better, as far as Crowley was concerned, after all, everything that was worse by Heaven’s standard was highly appreciated among his folks - since both their leading departments had decided he and Aziraphale kinda didn’t exist.
“Selfish indeed, yeah,” Crowley muttered, certain that his friend understood him perfectly fine. “Brings me to the second point. You never sell anything!”
“That’s not true! Just last December, I-”
“Yeah, yeah. Every blue moon, you sell the leftovers of your donations and flea market loot. Nothing worthy of a grand reopening. Admit it, angel,” he jumped off the counter and strolled to the shelf Aziraphale was inspecting and casually leaned against it, arms and ankles crossed. “This ain’t no shop. This is an excuse to show off your collection because having all this moldy paper isn’t enough for you. You’re vain, my angel.” His grin widened when a faint blush appeared on Aziraphale’s cheeks and as long as Crowley didn’t ask what it caused, he could decide it was mostly because of the term of endearment and only secondly for pointing out his very un-angelic traits.
“I’m not vain, Crowley.” Aziraphale gave him one of his stern looks that, as so often lately, lingered a moment too long to be free of any not so innocent tension. “I’m just… passionate about my interests.” For a well-read angel like Aziraphale, this was the most unfortunate choice of word he could make. There was nothing wrong with it in general but he was talking to Crowley who was in a mood after his first one got bookblocked only a few moments ago.
“Are you now?” Crowley whirled around and stood firmly in Aziraphale’s way. His fingers closed like a vice around his shoulders, preventing him from slinking away again. “Because I, as your most important interest, have yet to see you being passionate about my presence.” He spat the two words as if the ‘p’s were dissolving his tongue if he didn’t get them over his lips as forcefully as possible. He didn’t speak quick enough, though, they still left a bitter taste.
“Crowley, dear, please.” Aziraphale sighed but didn’t move away, nor did he show any sign of anger. Crowley saw the flicker in his eyes and he knew damn well what it was. You weren’t friends for thousands of years without learning to read the looks your friend gave you, especially if said friend had no control whatsoever over his facial expressions. This damn angel was as into Crowley as Crowley was into him. There was no doubt. And yet, there was no comfort in this knowledge as long as Aziraphale refused to act on it.
“Dear, please,” Crowley wiggled his head from left to right to left as he aped Aziraphale’s words. “Please what? What is it, angel?” Crowley let go of him and spread his arms, letting his righteous sense of dramatics flow through him. “And what’s so wrong with this? I know you want me, oh yes, you do!” He snorted when Aziraphale shook his head. “And here I am. With you, both on this fucking planet. That we saved because neither of us could stand the thought of never hanging out together again. We stopped Arma-fucking-geddon and pissed off Heaven and Hell because we didn’t want to fight each other. Oh, and don’t you dare to say anything about crêpes now!” he hissed through his teeth, pointing a warning index finger at Aziraphale who, to his credit, took the hint and closed his mouth.
“Really, what is it?” He was beginning to feel deflated. The frustration was all the worse as fighting was the last thing he wanted to do right now. What was there to achieve anyway? He ran his hand through his hair and paced up and down, down and up, with not much regard or respect for the books on the floor. “More time? That’s what you want? I’m cool with that. A few decades more or less don’t make much of a difference after six thousand years!” Oh hell, they did. Every minute did and not just since today. Crowley knew what he felt since Adam and Eve’s departure but he felt what he desired since 1862, St. James Park, exactly when the word ‘fraternizing’ fell.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale repeated his name, ever so softly. “Calm down, please. Isn’t it good as it is?” Crowley snapped around and was back in Aziraphale’s face.
“NO, it is NOT good as it is! Because it’s not what we want! It doesn’t make sense! Start making sense to me, angel, and I might - might - calm down!” Or do it already! Like in the bad movies. All Aziraphale had to do was to get his act together and shut him up with his mouth and kiss Crowley until he calmed down. Or rather, until they could shift the excitement to something more worthwhile.
But as any bad movie would have told Crowley, life wasn’t like bad movies. Sometimes, it was better. And sometimes, it was worse.
“I’m sorry, Crowley.” Aziraphale sighed again but under that, his voice was unusually calm and firm. That wasn’t like him. Flustered, giddy, nervous, excited, that was Aziraphale. Calm and firm - that was neither of them, that’s why they got along so well.
“You’re right, I owe you an explanation.” He took a step away from Crowley and reached for his hand, holding them gently. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, my friend. But it’s not going to happen.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” Crowley inhaled sharply, making an honest effort to calm his temper. “And as I said, it’s okay, no need to rush things after all this time.”
“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying.” Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hands and stared him directly in the eyes, as if the sunglasses weren’t there. “Things will stay as they are, Crowley. Do you understand? I admit I want to have you around, I admit I appreciate our, well,” he gave him a nervous, twitchy smile, “friendship probably isn’t the right word.”
“Probably?!”
“Definitely not the right word. But you and I, we’re not humans. We neither share their, well, desires. Nor do we need them to feel content with our existence.”
Again, for someone as eloquent as the angel Aziraphale, he was really bad with words today.
“CONTENT?!” Crowley jerked his hands away. “I don’t want to be content! I want to be… be…” He waved his hands around. Passionate. Wild. Ecstatic. Happy. “Not THIS!”
“I’m sorry but this is all I offer you. There is nothing I can do if that isn’t enough for you.”
They stared at each other.
Liar.
“Well, I guess there’s not much more to say to someone who lies into my face. Good luck with your reopening.” Crowley spun around, grabbed his phone, and stomped out of the door.
“Crowley…”
“Don’t call me.”
Aziraphale closed the shop after another delightfully slow day. The opening hours had left only a little chaos here and there, most of it caused by Aziraphale. That was good, straightening out bits of disorder was a guilty pleasure of his and had sweetened many long evenings. Sometimes, when he stroked over the backs of his favorite books or discovered a new treasure he had ignored before, he suspected cleaning up his books was even more wonderful than fine dining in the Ritz.
But neither was as fun as it could be without company. His shoulders dropped and he checked his pocket watch. Not even early in the evening.
In four hours and twenty-three minutes, it’d been three weeks since Crowley thrown the door shut behind him. Not a call, not a suspiciously inconspicuous symbolic sign or message, no demonic presence lurking in the shadows, assuming they were sneaky enough for the angel not to notice.
“Oh dear, I really messed up this time, didn’t I?” He spoke to the book he just picked up. Goethe’s Faust. Making a high-pitched yelp, he quickly tossed the book on one of his chairs.
“Sorry, sweetie, you’re the last one I’d ask for advice on this dilemma. Alas, what to do, what to do?” But no rhetorical question could change his mind which he had made up shortly after Crowley had left. It wasn’t like he had a choice, did he? Of course, he didn’t. He was an angel, he didn’t choose between right or wrong, he simply did the right thing.
Like Crowley once said, as an angel, he wasn’t capable of doing wrong. Although, in retrospective, Aziraphale had come to accept that he had been successfully made fun of. It didn’t make a difference. He had proven that he was well capable of doing all kinds of wrong, from being too trusting and too stubborn to distrust when the truth was jumping in his face, swinging a sword at him, figuratively. His last act of stupid - which is its own breed of wrong - he committed almost three weeks ago.
He looked outside, then checked once more his watch. Too soon, still too soon.
“Showing off all our hard work as yours again, aren’t ya?”
It was indeed a beautiful night. Since the creation of the earth, there had always been nights like this. Warm with a gentle breeze, leaves rustling to remind the listener of the lush cascades of green. The last days had been too warm to smell the earth at night but instead, the comforting scent of dried grass filled the air. Anyone who walked in the sun during the day now felt the heat slowly leaving their skin. The world was full of sensations in a warm summer night, a close comfort that wrapped around the mind like a cozy blanket, heavy enough to not get lost in the cold, distant sky.
Over six thousand years ago, it wasn’t so distant. Crowley had been right there, long before he had been Crowley. Long before he had been Crawley. Before time had come into being, he existed in the darkness and while he didn’t invent light, he had the power to create and to shape it and to release it into the infinity of space, giving those who weren’t endless something to hold on to.
He scoffed. Crawley. He suspected they had known who he used to be and delighted in turning what he had been into… Crawley. Assholes.
“Hello, Crowley.”
“Speaking about.” Crowley hissed and rolled on his side. Behind his back, he heard Aziraphale huffing as he climbed on top of the wooden platform. It was only a few meters above the ground and not much more than an uneven number of wooden boards nailed together on top of an old tree that had given up on dying a century ago.
“You could have miracled your way up here, you know.” Crowley didn’t turn around when Aziraphale sat down next to him, catching his breath.
“Oh, please, as if a tiny wonky rope ladder were too much for me!”
Crowley bit his tongue. No. He would not chuckle, he would not even smirk at the thought of this always overdressed angel struggling climbing a dumb, ol’ rope ladder in the most ungraceful manner. No, not the smallest snort!
“What are you doing here?” he asked instead, as rudely as he needed to be to not sound happy to see Aziraphale.
“I wanted to see you.” Plain and so to the point that it was obvious that this wasn’t the full answer. But as usual, Mr. Angel was too stubborn to let the cat out of the bag without dancing around it like a madman. And he, Crowley, was considered the occult one, pshaw! Be it as it may, he wasn’t in the mood to play along, Aziraphale could have this dance, all to himself.
Now that he wasn’t looking up into the sky anymore and all he had to stare it were a gnarly tree trunk and branches, Crowley closed his eyes and listened to the night. All he heard was Aziraphale. Breathing, a heartbeat, him fidgeting where he sat.
“I knew I’d find you here. I saw the Bentley and your shoes at the roadside. So, where else should you be at this late hour, with bare feet? Thought I might as well see how you’re doing.”
Did Aziraphale think he’d buy this? That he just happened to be around and saw his car? They were a good hour away from London, off the main road, where the wheat fields ended and the forest began. This fucker knew exactly where to look for him tonight. Crowley swallowed hard. No. He wouldn’t talk to him. So, after six millennia, Aziraphale noticed he liked stargazing, big deal. What did he think he deserved, a cookie?
“I see you’ve overcome your habit of interrupting me, dear. And with such impeccable timing!”
By Satan, Aziraphale had been practicing his sarcasm lately and, with impeccable timing indeed, got it for once right at a moment Crowley needed it the least.
“Why don’t you take the opportunity while it lasts, say what you have to say, and then bugger off?” Crowley snapped. Heavens, he should just turn into a snake and hiss the cold-hearted intruder away. Being the big, bad demon for once. Served Aziraphale right, wouldn’t it?
But it smelled like rain in the distance and the wind freshened and he felt the cold much more in his snake form. Might as well listen before he inconvenienced himself sooner than he had to.
“You’re right. It doesn’t lead us anywhere, beating around the bush like this. Well. Here goes nothing.” Aziraphale took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Crowley glanced over his shoulder, expecting him to stare into the darkness but instead, he caught Aziraphale’s gaze. He turned his eyes back to the tree quickly. He swore he could feel Aziraphale smile, that heavenly bastard.
“I came to apologize. I’m sorry, Anthony. I’ve been foolish and haven’t done right by you.”
Crowley turned on his back and propped up his torso on his arms. There was so much to tease about how Aziraphale made a simple ‘Sorry I treated you like crap’ sound like one of Shakespeare’s early drafts. But it was the sound of his chosen, worldly name coming from Aziraphale that hit his nerves like a blunt guillotine. He had called him Anthony about… how many times was it again, three? Four? Screw his dears and honeys, Aziraphale saying his name was so intimate, they might as well be rolling in the grass, naked.
“Go on,” he said. There was more, so much more, and the longer Aziraphale took to speak, the more important, the heavier it had to be. They weren’t over. Not yet. Heavens, who was he kidding, a ‘sorry, let’s be friends again, meet you for lunch tomorrow?’ from him, and Crowley would ask where. This angel’s damn softness was rubbing off on him!
“I will. I have to. I owe it to you.” Aziraphale gave a small laugh and Crowley wouldn’t need his night vision to see his fine face muscles twitch all over the place. Another long pause followed and Crowley had to do something before he also caught Aziraphale’s nervousness.
“If it makes it easier for you, I’m sorry, too.” He fully sat up, one arm around his knees, and brushed his hair out of his face. “Didn’t want to push you or anything. Was maybe seeing things I wanted to see but that weren’t there, you know. With us being free, no one bothering us, both of us having human bodies and all that…” There was no way in Heaven or Hell that he had imagined the looks Aziraphale had given him, the smirks, the little moments when their hands brushed against each other. But just in case he had been mistaken, just in case… Damn, now he felt like crap.
“Bodies, right. Good. Might as well. Whew! Make everything complicated, they do, don’t they?” Aziraphale flashed a tortured smile at him. Crowley tossed back his head and groaned.
“Out with it already, angel!”
“Yes, yes. Let’s count to three, then I’ll explain everything. One…” True to his word, Aziraphale counted to three and used the few seconds of bought time to turn his eyes away from Crowley. This was going to be interesting and as Crowley couldn’t do much to get him to talk short of beating it out of him - what he’d never do, no how tempting it seemed sometimes, but at least he couldn’t make it harder by staring at him. By the count of three, they were both staring ahead, Aziraphale sitting properly upright, Crowley crouched over his knees, hugging his legs.
“You weren’t wrong or mistaken. And you’re correct about us having, well, bodies. We are an angel and a demon but we aren’t a typical angel and demon. I’ve known that for a long time, too.” Aziraphale’s chatter was too cheerful and Crowley could almost touch the fragments of a prepared speech. But he needed to know where this was going so he remained silent.
“I don’t have to assure you I feel about you the same you do about me. We’ve done so for an incredibly long time. But we never acted on it. Couldn’t. Couldn’t even admit it to ourselves.”
“I did.”
“Of course you did.” Aziraphale smiled and Crowley cursed the lack of sarcasm, the softness hurt more than the sharpest cynicism could. “Anyway,” he continued after a sigh. “I hope you won’t laugh at what I say, but I haven’t cared this way for anyone else. I wasn’t tempted in the slightest to act on any desires with anyone else as the desire wasn’t there. Meanwhile, you… Well. You’re handsome and you walk among humans as one of them, so, naturally… you know.”