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Crowley was getting better at drinking beer. Aziraphale had brought some fruity sour six pack and toted it along with them to the Christmas eve party at Nessie’s.
“It’s either I bring this or you drink Coors trom the tap and you don’t like that,” Aziraphale had reminded him as they had gone over the selection at the grocery store. Crowley had kvetched and complained about his tastes being coddled, but it was all for show.
The bar was shut down for the evening. A friends and family event. Anathema and her boyfriend, Nessie herself who turned out to be a tough as nails woman who tried to get everyone to take tequila shots that she set on fire before downing them. Crowley declined. Aziraphale didn’t. Tracy was also there, dolled up in a red wig and fake eyelashes so long that Crowley had no idea how they didn’t tangle together when she blinked.
It wasn’t Crowley’s usual Christmas eve scene. Last year he’d spent the evening in his own apartment eating Chinese food and watching Golden Girls for lack of anything better to do. He didn’t have family to spend it with and Christmas had never been a huge to-do among the Crowleys. Aziraphale, it seemed, loved the holiday.
In the weeks leading up to it, they had gone to a tree farm a few miles down the mountain where they had trudged through the mud until Aziraphale had identified “the perfect tree.” He had lit up and turned to Crowley, eyes bright and grin infectious.
“It will look perfect,” he had said, looping their arms together and any protest Crowley could have had (what was he going to protest?) melted entirely.
So they had an eight foot tree in their living room which required a ladder to decorate. Aziraphale had more than one box (who need more than one box?) of decorations in storage and liked listening to twee Christmas music while they strung the lights and hung ornaments.
Spider was dead curious about the whole proceedings, winding around the foot of the tree, drinking water out of the stand. Crowley had to google if that was alright. Seemed it didn’t matter overmuch. Weird little bugger.
So now, Crowley nursed his beer in a booth in a dark corner and watched Aziraphale laugh with his friends by the bar. He glowed like this. His fiance. What a thought. Fiance. That handsome man over there was Crowley’s fiance . They were going to spend their lives together in a cozy log cabin. This Christmas and all the ones to come. His body warmed from more than just the alcohol and even though he wasn’t a Christmas spirit sort of person, he smiled into his drink.
It would be easier to enjoy himself if the little box in his pocket didn’t weigh so heavily. He wanted to give Aziraphale his ring tonight. Aziraphale’s proposal had been an accident. Three weeks ago now. But Crowley wanted to make this proposal special. He obviously knew Aziraphale would say yes but that didn’t stop his nerves from getting all tied up in bows that would rival the ones on any present under a tree. He was no good at speeches or public displays, but Aziraphale deserved it.
Aziraphale glanced at him and his smile grew. Excusing himself from the group, he came over to the table. “How are you getting on?”
He had a pleasant flush on his cheeks, from the alcohol, from the heat of the bodies in the room. Crowley managed a wavering smile.
“I’m good, angel.”
Aziraphale kissed his cheek and his beard tickled Crowley’s skin. Not to be too perverted about it, but Crowley felt like he had his own personal sexy Santa to take home.
“You can’t sit in the corner all night,” Aziraphale said, more of a tease than a reprimand.
“Is that a challenge?” Crowley retorted.
Aziraphale gave him an adorable pout. Crowley groaned and allowed Aziraphale to drag him from the booth and into the crowd. Aziraphale’s friends were nice. Crowley just wasn’t the social sort.
After a second beer on Crowley’s part, Aziraphale tugged on his hand and pulled him onto the makeshift dancefloor as White Christmas started to play. Another activity Crowley was decidedly not good at. But it was hard to say no to Aziraphale. He looked so handsome tonight, wearing what he called his “Christmas flannel.” It was red and green and tucked into jeans that showed off his thighs.
“I’ve got two left feet,” he warned, but Aziraphale just laughed.
“It’s basically swaying to the music you ridiculous man,” he said and pulled Crowley close. Touching Aziraphale never failed to make Crowley’s heart beat faster and his blood thrum in his body. He was warm and soft and everything about him felt safe. Like home.
“I love you, darling,” Aziraphale said quietly as the music wound down and Crowley swallowed hard. He stepped back and dug in his pocket, withdrawing the ring box and holding it out to Aziraphale.
Fuck, when had he ever thought he was going to propose to someone?
Aziraphale’s brow furrowed and he looked between the box in Crowley’s palm and Crowley’s face. All I Want For Christmas Is You began to play and Crowley barely stopped himself from visibly cringing. Worst song that could have turned on but Crowley had started this. and he wasn’t going to stop.
“You didn’t get—” Shit, his voice was too high pitched. He cleared his throat. “You didn’t get a real proposal so I thought, you said you were going to propose on Christmas. Here goes.”
He went down on one knee and Aziraphale flapped his hands. “Crowley, the floor! It’s disgusting!”
It was rather sticky but he was already down there. “Aziraphale.”
There was some internal screaming going on that he thought he was doing a wonderful job ignoring. Sounded a bit like sirens. And tropical birds.
“I’m not very good at big gestures. Or words or declarations. But I love you. I do. And I want to marry you and be your husband and do whatever I can to make you happy even though I know we’re going to fight all the time because you’re stubborn and a bastard but in a good way and I’m not a very good person and, shit, this isn’t going the way I planned. Can you say something?”
Aziraphale laughed, eyes shining. “I think you’re doing very well.”
Crowley shook the box in his hand in Aziraphale’s general direction. “Take the damn box.”
Aziraphale took it and opened it. “Two…”
“One’s the real one. The other...I researched safe rings for people who do manual labor. Apparently, you’re supposed to wear a rubber wedding band. Don’t want you losing a finger if you get in a sticky situation.”
Aziraphale snapped the box shut and tugged at his shoulders to get him to stand and kiss him. “You are so wonderfully considerate.”
“No,” Crowley said warningly.
“A nice man,” Aziraphale said.
“Not nice,” Crowley said. “Practically a grinch.”
Aziraphale grinned and kissed him. There was laughter in the bar and some cheers and Mariah Carey was singing but Crowley didn’t mind.
“Thank you,” Aziraphale said as they left some time later. “For doing that for me.”
“I’d do a lot more than that,” Crowley said.
Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “I know you would.”