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"Dearest, wh-where would you like to place your, your er... throne?" The angel's eyebrows were deeply furrowed as he said this.
"You hate it."
"I didn't say that."
"Mm-hmm." Crowley knew his angel.
"Where did you acquire such a piece anyway?" The angel attempted a tone of interest.
"Guess."
"Oh...well, it's you, dear, so it has to be genuine.
Romanovs?" Aziraphale quarried.
"Cold angel" Crowley punted.
"It's a bit too modern to be from Ivan the Terrible" Aziraphale attempted again.
"The Reign of Terror. Nah! Cold." Crowley parried again.
"Alexander the Great used this type of red material on his-"
"Ice cold angel. Iceberg really." Crowley almost went with 'Strike three' but felt no compunction to have to explain baseball to the angel.
"With it being an authentic, historical piece, wouldn't it be better suited to be on display? AND, Appreciated, oh I don't know, in a museum?" Exasperation coated the angel's retort.
"You DO hate it!!" Crowley cited.
"It's, it's... Oh, alright! I hate it. It's gaudy and big and terribly uncomfortable. It will clash with the natural warmth of our cottage-"
"Jesus made it."
"He what?? JESUS??!"
"Wot? You don't believe me?
You think because I'm a demon I had to have had stolen it from some historical miscreant?"
"No, no. Not at all, dear. I just think I would know if Jesus had come to earth. Second Coming and all that.
When did you cross paths? And why didn't you tell me?"
"Funny story actually. You and I weren't speaking to each other." A subtle tinge of bitterness let the angel know the demon did not really find this humorous.
"You are going to need to be much more specific than that, dear. We spent many a year squabbling. Hereditary enemies and all that."
The angel moved to wrap his arms around Crowley, nuzzled against his neck and took deep, calming breaths. They could do this now! Aziraphale squeezed his demon as if attempting to weld all his heartbroken bits together.
"Trying to distract me angel?" Touch was still rather novel for them. A few kisses, some cuddles. Hand holding here and there. This embrace was new.
Two glasses of wine and a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape materialized.
"On the contrary, dearest. I'm providing incentive for you to get on with it. I once watched Dostoevsky put words on paper and release an entire novel in less time than this recounting is taking."
"Pfhpfgh!" His angel was a right bastard.
"Here, dear, drink this. Might help loosen your tongue." the angel offered.
That imagery was most unhelpful to the poor demon and unconducive to aid in his speech. He wanted to let his tongue loose alright.
Instead he gulped down the full glass of wine and thought about Jesus.
"Ngk. Right. Uhmm.
After my time as the Black Knight, I headed to the Caribbean. I wanted, nay, I needed warmth.
Jesus made an appearance out there. He never fully left earth you know. His corporations have expanded the whole gambit of humanity. He's lived many a lifetime by now. What else was he going to do... after? He loves the humans. Obviously. Which is how I knew the whole Second Coming was a farse."
This time, the angel gulped his whole glass of wine down.
No need to belabor that point though. They were past that in their relationship.
The demon continued.
"When we met, Jesus was attempting to be a carpenter again; trying His hand at making furniture once more. Lots of wood in the Caribbean. Specifically, Mahogany. Didn't get that type wood in Europe till way after Columbus.
That throne was among His first attempts. I may have inspired it. Or maybe it was the many liters of wine we shared.
Making it uncomfortable as nothing else and ugly as sin was my contribution. We had us a good o' laugh about it.
I always assumed He scrapped it and started over.
One day, it popped up in my flat. Right as I prepared to meet up with you as Nanny Ashtoreth.
Made me believe everything would be alright. Always has."
Miracle energy crackling all around snapped Crowley out from his memories.
"What did you do?" He asked the angel.
"Dearest, you are moving into OUR cottage with one solitary piece of furniture." Shax had defiled Crowley's bed.
The angel continued, "I hate the throne, yes. Maybe a little less now. I don't suspect you love all my hoard either."
"Hmm" was all Crowley could muster.
"I have my library and you will have your plant room. The throne is set in there for now. Unless you prefer otherwise. This is your home too." And with that, Aziraphale pulled Crowley onto his chest in a tight embrace.
Crowley's eyes shone with unshed tears. This was home.
He really was home.