Aziraphale had been following Crowley up the stairs but stopped at the top, their locked hands making him pause as well and turn. The fallen angel was attempting to prepare for Aziraphale's sudden departure at any moment, and worried the suggestion to come up here was moving too fast for him again. To his surprise, he drew Crowley to him and hugged him close, burying his face in his shirt, making him soften. He wrapped his arms around him in return and tucked his face in his hair. After a long moment, Aziraphale tried to speak.

"I- I..."

"I know, love," he whispered back, then inhaled the woody maple that scented the angel's hair. Meanwhile, he tried to keep from reeling from the new pet name, and for the way it dripped off his tongue.

Aziraphale locked his arms around Crowley even tighter, and they both could have melted into each other right then; the only thing keeping their entities separate being their desires to finally relish the feeling of the other's person. Neither of them knew how long they held the embrace, for all they knew it could have been another year gone, but eventually the angel pulled back to look at him and spoke.

"Why don't I get us some drinks?" He smiled.

Crowley smirked back and kissed the top of his head, then nodded. In the past Aziraphale had always looked away when he realized he was staring at the demon for too long, hoping he never caught on. Now that he was able to do it as much as he wanted it was hard to stop. Crowley didn't mind, as he pulled back to keep eye contact with his angel, letting him admire as much as he wanted. One of the benefits of wearing his sunglasses was his ability to stare usually whenever he wanted, but has never grown tired of doing it.

Aziraphale kissed him again. Words weren't either of their strong suits. Nor was being intimate, but something they had always excelled at even without realizing it was caring for each other. It was a brief touch before he stopped, and was loath to pull away but went to get the drinks anyway. He smiled to himself while he exited the room, his lips still buzzing.

It would be a while until Crowley came to believe it, but this event changed Aziraphale in a few different ways. One being his understanding just how much Crowley meant to him, and another was him beginning to see that Heaven had no intention of doing good by humans. In fact, he was starting to think they had no idea what is best for humans, and had only ever planned to do what was best for Heaven. More specifically, God. He felt shame to even form the thought into a full sentence in his mind; it felt wrong in its accuracy. Aziraphale would either have to do things he was ashamed of in the name of God, or do things he was ashamed of in the name of humanity. And humanity didn't have miracles at their fingertips to defend themselves for whatever Heaven was planning. The angel had made his somewhat tentative decision: he would defend humans, he wouldn't allow them to die, not if he could help it. And most importantly he wouldn't let the miracle he always had next to him go a second time.

The angel shook off the idea, not wanting to get stuck in the thought on an evening like this, and began making the drinks.

Crowley glanced around the room, quickly snapping a spark into the fireplace, and it roared to life. He walked over to where he knew Aziraphale kept his piano, currently closed and covered in books. He smiled to himself as he placed them in a pile on the floor and sat down. He almost always only performed for himself, regardless of the instrument, and on the rare occasion for his angel. He had a fondness for Chopin, the stories of his opuses occasionally getting him through the long nights. He began softly with Nocturnes Op. 9 No. 2, and Aziraphale could feel tension leave his spine after hearing the second key two rooms away.

Soon enough he was finished with their drinks and made his way back to his living room. He heard the tune had changed, as it often did while he played this artist, to the prelude of Raindrop. He knew it was likely his favorite piece of the immortalized man. Aziraphale's steps were quiet, but he knew he wouldn't disturb Crowley anyway. When he played, there were few things that could pull him out of the trance he appeared to cast on himself, and anyone close enough to hear. Sure enough, his eyes were closed, lost in the swell of the crescendo, and it wasn't long after that the angel was as well. He moved closer and leaned against a pillar a few feet away.

As he eased the song back down, he turned and looked to Aziraphale. Further supporting his suspicion that Crowley enchanted him with his notes, his opened at the same moment and he grinned. He offered him his glass of wine which he took, continuing the tune with one hand as he drank. The angel sipped his cocoa and admired the way the fire danced on Crowley's face. He polished off the wine quickly, and continued towards the end of the piece.

Aziraphale sat down backwards on the bench, unable to keep from staring at him. It nearly broke his heart to think about the desperation in their first kiss, and he wished it could have been different. He didn't know how he was prepared to leave this world that he adores so much... And Earth, as well.

He couldn't help himself. He leaned in closer and kissed Crowley's cheek softly, and he leaned into the exchange. Aziraphale then reached up to hold his other cheek and kissed his lips. The keys his fingers were resting on carried the note, Crowley caught off guard by the interaction. Eventually, he raised his hands to hold his face in return, the only sound being the lingering of the chord dying in their ears. Aziraphale pulled him closer, adjusting himself to be more in front of Crowley, moving both arms around his waist.

After their kiss tapered off, Aziraphale hugged him again, his face against the fallen angel's neck, and Crowley embraced him back. The sweet cologne and leather scent was even stronger on his skin than his shirt, and Aziraphale found himself wondering if it tasted as it smelled. He caught himself in the consideration and almost giggled. He had no idea how he had managed to even stay inside his own skin at the idea of thinking about Crowley this way, especially with him in the room. Yet the very celestial being he had been dreaming of for longer than there was even a word for it was right here, and the angel doubted he would have objected if he dared such a maneuver. He took a deep breath and tried it, sticking his tongue out, and flicked it swiftly across the vein in Crowley's neck. The taste was sweeter than he was expecting, almost like a lemon custard.

He had hardly even processed the information when Crowley jumped up off the bench, making a strange noise in the process; somewhere between "hey" and "angel," but with a yelp. Aziraphale stood up in response, wide eyed.

"I- I- er," he struggled to find what to do with his hands, unsure if he should go to him or cover his lips as if to hide the evidence.

"Fu-huh-" Crowley chuckled, avoiding his gaze, and did a full body shimmy. "Huuhhh, 'kay. Eh-hem."

"Sor- I'm- I-," Aziraphale started looking around the room as if to calculate which exit would be quickest to dash away toward.

Before he could plan his escape, he heard a deep, bellowing growl come from Crowley. It was enough to thrum the floorboards.

"Wh-"

But the angel didn't get to finish. In less than a second Crowley had traveled the distance between them and kissed him hard. His hands slid down Aziraphale's sides to his hips, squeezing on them gently before he bent down slightly, his hands quickly dropping to the inner edges of his thighs and picked him up. The angel gasped against his lips, this being the first time anyone he'd ever been lifted off the ground by someone else, but the grip Crowley had on him was firm. He eased into the new position and wrapped his arms around the fallen angel's head, their kiss deepening. The scent his bookshop infused in him over the centuries could almost be tasted on him, but the sugary warmth from his cocoa was enough to coat Crowley's lips as well, and was gradually dissolving on his tongue.

He soon began to move them, sauntering to Aziraphale's desk and gently settling him on top, keeping one hand on his thigh and another eased around his back to pull him close. The angel steadied himself on one arm and wrapped his legs through Crowley's. His other arm was getting tighter around his head, wanting him even closer than he was now.

Aziraphale felt like his whole body was right next to the fire, and it made him wonder if Crowley was knowingly doing it to him or not. It almost felt like he was vibrating.

Crowley was feeling the same warmth, and was just as unaware as to if he was doing it intentionally or not. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise and without thinking, he softly bit Aziraphale's lip. He gasped again and pulled himself away, unsure how to even react to it at first. The demon looked at him with concern, but the look on his face, how flush he was, lust quickly flooded his yellow orbs. Aziraphale fell for the look instantly and kissed him fiercely, wrapping both arms back around him and Crowley lowered him to almost lay on the desk, holding him up with gripped fingers on his back.

Aziraphale slowly slides his leg up Crowley's body, which he grabs onto immediately, struggling to control the urge to feel him everywhere he could all at once. Their caress was passionate, occasionally allowing their breathy pants to escape, but neither could tell which one of them they came from. It was more than millennia of longing finally finding a home; it was an entire renaissance of their existences. Each second that passed was them giving each other permission to be as close to human as either of them ever dared try. They were forgiving each other, and building each other. Every vulnerability the other respected either faded away, or suddenly became worth celebrating.

Aziraphale knew Crowley better than he knew himself. Better than he knew God Herself. And yet the person he was here was a new entity. He was his; he belonged, something he may never truly have done until now. He could tell he was faintly radiating, a soft brassy tone illuminating his closed lids. Aziraphale felt a tear drop down and blend onto Crowley's cheek. As soon as he felt it, he broke the kiss to move up and kiss his angel's eyes. It stopped any future tear from spilling over, lightly coating his lips and when he pulled back Aziraphale followed the movement of his hand go from his thigh to wipe the tears onto his fingertips, but instead, sucked the liquid back into his mouth and closed his eyes. The salty flavor tasted faintly of figs, and a low rumble came from Crowley's throat.

Aziraphale was watching him curiously, and raised a brow. When Crowley looked back to him and saw his expression, the demon looked down at his lips, seeing they were slightly pursed, swollen and bright red, and couldn't help but grin wide, the very grin he gave that had inspired his old friend Lewis Carroll. Somewhere deep inside Aziraphale, he knew that devastating smile could probably get him to Fall.

The angel slid himself down against Crowley to stand, their bodies touching on almost every front. The look he had was a rare, confident determination.

"I love you so fucking much, angel."

It was Aziraphale who spoke. And he said it with all the assurance in the universe that he understood what he had said despite Crowley's rapid change in demeanor as be backed away. His disbelief was almost comical if it wasn't anguishing. The gut reaction in him wanted to correct him, insist he was no such thing. He could hardly remember ever being such a thing. That was his pet name anyway, not something to be thrown around. Maybe he even wanted to get angry; an unwelcomed reminder of fear in the shape of a small pebble, getting tossed into that black hole that formed where the torture had pooled inside him way back when. But instead all he did was stare.

Crowley hadn't realized it at the time, but this was the safest he had been since he fell. The only way Metatron could hide them from Heaven was if he hid them from Hell as well. He may not have known it, but it was likely the only thing that was keeping him safe at this moment. Not for being called angel, since it technically wasn't used as a remark for anything good he had done, but for how it had made him feel. He felt raw, like when his wings were healing... He felt exposed.

"I know..." Aziraphale said, after seeing his face. "But please just listen. I need you to hear this."

Crowley had frozen in place, unbreathing, locked in bewilderment. Aziraphale knew he had to choose his words as best he could.

"You didn't deserve what happened to you, Crowley. And you don't need to be forgiven. But if you still believe you do... I, me," he held his hand to his heart. "I forgive you for what you've done in order to survive."

He could continue, and he intended to, but millennia with a fascination for words still often left him searching for the right ones. He wanted to explain how sorry he was but feared he was repeating himself. He wanted to say how Crowley wasn't like the rest of the Fallen. He wasn't like anyone, or anything, anywhere. He wanted to list all of the amazing things he had done, and everything he loved about him, and why he was the exception to every rule.

Instead, Aziraphale knelt down in front of Crowley, the gray sea in his eyes swirling like a typhoon. He hoped this would somehow suffice. That his fallen angel would know what he meant without having to find the way to voice it.

He still hadn't moved, except his thin pupils following Aziraphale, watching the storm billow. For a moment he thought he was tearing up, but his eyes had begun to sparkle a pearly blue. He watched the glow for a moment, unsure of how to even move himself after this. The very idea of being exposed like this felt like the monster on his back was whispering in his ear again, telling him he's in danger. It seemed once more his angel and himself were mirroring each other that evening, as he had to resist the urge to bolt for the Bentley.

As Crowley watched Aziraphale, however, the circling of the periwinkle cyclone seemed to mesmerize him. That weight that had started for his spine was being drawn from him, and if they tried, they could have seen it almost dissipate in the air. No doubt a miracle Aziraphale had been performing, and yet the fallen angel wasn't angry. If anything, he was relieved. In the past the only thing that had been able to get him to alleviate the oncoming surge of repressed trauma had been alcohol, or worse. Aziraphale knew better than to have tried this for him before, though. Then, he would have been angry. His pain was, as far as he believed at that moment, all he was. Taking it away from him was... Well, he had had enough taken from him already.

This time wasn't like any of those before, and they both knew it. And he knew what his angel meant by the gesture. He inhaled deep, it being the first sound in over a minute. Slowly, he walked towards him. They kept their eyes on each other for a while before he settled on his response.

"I love you too, Aziraphale."

In a graceful motion, Crowley bent down on one knee in front of him and eased him to the side onto the floor. He had placed them in front of the fire, himself slightly on top of his chest, and Aziraphale reached to clutch his face. He kissed his angel fervidly, running one hand through his hair and holding him to his grasp. As their entanglement bloomed, the reality keeping their bodies separate finally began to bleed.