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It was a nice day. This was their second spring in their cottage, and while rain had most definitely been invented, and had fallen on a little over half of them, all their days had been nice. Glorious, even. It was bliss to be together, finally together properly and without subterfuge. They had retired to this cottage a year after saving the world for a second time. It had substantial library space, cosy living areas, and a sprawling garden with flower beds, vegetable patches and a greenhouse. Their own little slice of... Well, you get the idea.
Aziraphale is currently basking on one of two sun loungers on their patio, part of a matched set with a small round table between them. Aziraphale’s was decadent comfort itself with its thick cushions (upholstered in his personal tartan, of course) which stayed miraculously dry and fluffy despite the best attempts of the Great British weather. Crowley’s, while similarly plush, was jet black despite the best attempts of a certain angel (“tartan is not stylish, angel, and I will not have it”). He had agreed to the comfort of the cushioning though, so Aziraphale conceded that battle for another day. The angel had been gradually attempting to teach Crowley he was allowed to be comfortable, deserved it in every way. Crowley, in turn, was teaching Aziraphale to unbutton, relax, take each day as it comes. It was a long journey, with a considerable way to go, but now that they were on their own side, they had nothing but time to settle in and build the lives they have been dreaming of for six thousand years. Together.
Crowley, ever the doting companion, had swiftly installed an umbrella over the angel’s chair during their first summer, when the blazing sun threatened to mar his perfect alabaster skin. Aziraphale had assured him that his corporation wouldn’t dare do anything so inconvenient as burn, but the demon hissed and began muttering about not taking any chances, not again, even with the sun. And really, what was Aziraphale to say to that?
So, lying out in the garden of their shared home on a gorgeous spring day, sheltered by his demon's love, Aziraphale was as content as he had ever been.
He had brought a book out with him, a much-loved copy of Pride and Prejudice he was reading for the thousandth time, but thus far it sat unopened in his lap in favour of the only thing that could distract him from reading: watching Crowley tend his garden.
Crowley was kneeling at one of the flower beds, diligently pulling weeds and tidying the area in preparation for the later springtime blooms that were sure to arrive soon, if they knew what was good for them. They wouldn’t dare grow anything less than lush and verdant because Crowley simply would not allow it. He muttered and grumbled while he worked, a stern expression on his sweat-damp face, and Aziraphale’s chest swelled with fondness for this silly creature. Crowley was all bluster, after all – not that the plants knew that, of course.
At the first sign of a misbehaving leaf or stem or, heaven forbid, a bent or wilting petal, Crowley was growling his displeasure, causing the poor plants to shake with fear. Repeat offenders were expediently removed from the ground and walked around the side of the cottage to the small woodchipper that came with the property, out of view of the beds at the rear. Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile when Crowley put on a show of shouting about consequences, running the odd stick or broken branch through the woodchipper to cement his charade. The poor offending plant was always surreptitiously potted and brought inside for some special care and attention, and Aziraphale had been sworn to secrecy (“got to make an example, can’t let the rest of them get complacent, angel, or they’ll be getting leaf spots next!”). Still, the angel often made his rounds of the garden when Crowley was napping, gushing over the beautifully coloured flowers or the steadfast vegetable patch. He didn’t notice that the flowers all stood straighter, bloomed brighter, and leaned towards him like he was the sun as he passed them by. Crowley, in turn, pretended not to know about the angel’s covert compliment tours because he did see the way the plants made an extra effort to be their best in Aziraphale’s radiance and, well. It would be rather hypocritical of Crowley to punish them for that.
Aziraphale is disturbed from his reverie by Crowley sitting back on his heels, running the back of his forearm over his brow and tilting his head up, soaking in the warmth of the sunlight on his face for a moment. Aziraphale’s breath caught at the sheer beauty of him, fiery red hair ablaze in the afternoon sun, pulled back into a messy bun atop his head. His face, neck and arms were glistening with sweat, and the angel was afforded the rare sight of Crowley dressed down in a black vest top rather than his usual turtleneck and blazer. The deceptively strong arms of the slender demon were on full display in the heat of the spring day, and watching as they flexed while Crowley worked was one of Aziraphale’s favourite reasons to sit out on the patio. The sun, the sweat, the glow of hard work and a job well done made Crowley radiant. Totally at ease in his element. Completely at home. Aziraphale could not believe he was so lucky to witness Crowley’s contentedness after all these years of fear.
Crowley was unfurling to his feet, removing his gloves and brushing down the knees of his gardening trousers (“they are not jogging bottoms; I do not jog”). Aziraphale took this as his cue to abandon the pretence of his intention to read and slipped the yet unopened book onto the table next to him, watching as Crowley turned his head towards him. Their eyes met across the garden and the demon lit up with a soft smile, his devastatingly unguarded eyes crinkling with it. Aziraphale felt his chest would burst as he matched with a bright smile of his own. The simple pleasure of such interactions often hit the angel like a gut punch, stealing his breath away with how impossibly, incandescently happy he was. He watched as Crowley made his way across the garden towards where Aziraphale lounged, his hips swaying with their usual disregard for the normal range of motion of the spine and pelvis his corporation supposedly possessed.
When he arrived on the patio, he placed one hand next to Aziraphale’s head on the back of the chair and leaned over him to place a soft kiss to his lips.
“Hi angel. Enjoying your book?” He smirked knowingly a mere breath from the angel’s lips. Aziraphale hummed, his head still tilted up towards Crowley, eyes closed in contentment.
“One of my favourites,” he murmured back, a sly smile on his face as he opened his eyes to rake them slowly over the demon before him in blatant appreciation. No longer content to have Crowley hover over him, Aziraphale wrapped his sturdy hands around Crowley’s hips and pulled him firmly down to sit sideways across his lap, lifting one hand to Crowley’s back to steady him.
“Ngk! There’s no need to manhandle me, angel,” Crowley griped in mock annoyance. The effect was rather negated by the furious blush now spreading across his cheeks and down his neck.
“Oh dearest, there’s every reason when you blush so prettily for me every time I do it.” Enough of a bastard indeed.
A few vaguely consonant-sounding noises sputtered from Crowley, and Aziraphale wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him closer, hands then drifting up to cup both of the demon’s glowing cheeks. Crowley wound his arms around Aziraphale’s neck in response and ran his fingers through the downy curls at his nape.
“Now isn’t this much more comfortable, darling?” Aziraphale teased, and kissed him again, ever so sweetly. Crowley made an affirming hum and tightened his arms around the angel. Aziraphale’s thumbs caressed the demon’s face once before pulling the hair tie from Crowley’s bun as gently as he could. He smoothed back the silky soft locks that tumbled about his face by burying his hands deep and using his grip on his hair to tilt Crowley into just the right angle to deepen the kiss. Crowley melted into him and allowed Aziraphale to drink slow indulgent kisses from his lips for an eternity that, as always, ended too soon.
When Aziraphale gently pulled away, ducking back in for a final lingering press of lips, the demon smiled a love-drunk smile he would absolutely deny later, and rested his forehead against the angel’s in contentment. They basked in each other’s closeness for a good while, simply enjoying being in each other’s space.
“Love you, angel.” Aziraphale’s smile became a blinding grin.
“I love you too, darling demon. Now what do you say we make ourselves some dinner and settle in for the evening? I thought I might read to you if you’d like?”
“Sounds perfect, angel. I’ll just clean up, and then I’ll get started on the food.” Crowley pressed another quick kiss to Aziraphale’s lips and stood with his usual grace, holding a hand out for the angel. Aziraphale took it, though he had no real need of the assistance, and didn’t let go when he had climbed to his feet.
“No rush, dearest, we have all the time in the world.”
As the angel and the demon retreated into their home, hand in hand, they both realised, for what always felt like the first time every time, that this was not just true of the evening, but of the rest of their lives. They had forever, until the end of time and beyond. All the ages of the universe were spread out before them, no longer bleak and lonely but full to bursting with love and happiness and contentment. Together, as they were always meant to be. As the sun set over their little slice of paradise and they curled up together with Crowley’s head in Aziraphale’s lap, bellies full and bottle of wine and a book at the ready, they both knew that heaven was not found Upstairs in that cold and sterile place, but in the warmth of their love, their shared life together.
And so, another day ended, and their forever began anew.