Archive of Our Own ^beta

Aziraphale was fuming. 

The ‘pranks’, as his trouble-making colleague liked to call them, had gone too far.

He could forgive the man for the time he glued quarters to the floor outside of his office, then snickered behind a cracked door while Aziraphale attempted, and failed, to pick them up. He has ignored every single piece of loose change since then, even pennies found on heads, which has consequently cost him several chances at good luck.

He could also forgive the instance where he returned to his office to find the fiend had completely rearranged his computer's desktop, making it impossible to find his important documents and causing him to be late in submitting his annual performance update. It took him weeks to sort everything out and he still had no idea how his colleague managed to wreak so much havoc during the few hours Aziraphale taught classes. 

He recovered from the time he entered the staff offices to find bebop blasting so loud the walls shook. He had been shocked and more than a little mortified to discover the maddening noise was coming from his very own office! He had quickly walked past his colleagues as they gave him disapproving looks – as if he would ever listen to such drivel. What did a Scaramouche and Galileo have to do with one another anyway? It was all utter nonsense, if you asked him.   

He could live with the rubber snakes giving him a horrible fright every time he pulled out a drawer or opened his lunch bag (the blasted things were everywhere), the tape on the bottom of his computer mouse, and even the disappearing ink on his favorite coat.

But this! This was going too far. 

He had just finished up a rather exhilarating lecture on the Bible’s influence on English poetry when he opened his office door and immediately noticed his most recent purchase – a first edition Stuart Little – was missing from where he had left it on his desk only a few hours prior. 

“Crowley.” He growled, clenching his fists and stomping off toward the astronomy professor’s office.  

Without knocking, he pushed the door open and stepped inside the small space that was the opposite of his own in almost every way. Where Aziraphale’s office had books upon books bursting off the shelves and most certainly violating a handful of fire hazard laws, Crowley’s office was – as Aziraphale had taken to calling it – a space garden. Beautiful plants spread from floor to ceiling while vines ran along shelving that housed astronomy books and planet-themed displays. A large star chart hung on the wall next to a framed pollination and pollinators poster, and the ceiling was covered in glowing stars and dangling planets. 

Aziraphale had always thought it incredibly beautiful. Not that he would ever confess such a thing to the menace that was Dr. Anthony J. Crowley: Professor of Astronomy and overall pain in Aziraphale’s backside. 

“Where is it?” He demanded, taking much pleasure in Crowley’s startled yelp at the unexpected intrusion.  

“If you’re talking about your manners I’m afraid I can’t help you.” Crowley said, flatly. His initial shock smoothing out into the cool confidence that Aziraphale found both infuriating and extremely alluring.

“My book, Crowley. What did you do with it?” 

"Haven't seen it.” Crowley said, dismissively, his attention turning back to whatever he was doing on his computer. 

“It didn’t just get up and walk out of my office.” Aziraphale gritted his teeth. “It was a rather expensive purchase, and I am not….” 

“Please, Fell. Give me some credit.” Crowley interrupted impatiently, his amber eyes turning on Aziraphale. “I know how you are about your precious books. Even I know that those are off limits. I didn’t touch your book.” 

Aziraphale squinted at him suspiciously. “Really?” 

“Really. Pinky promise.” Crowley said, the corner of his mouth tilting up into a sly grin, and not at all helping to lessen Aziraphale’s suspicion. “Now, your pastry on the other hand….” Crowley's smirk grew as he opened his desk drawer and removed the perfectly iced chocolate doughnut Aziraphale had brought with him that morning. 

Aziraphale gasped and made to grab the stolen pastry, but Crowley stood and held it out of his reach.  Damn his long sexy legs.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale said in a low warning. 

“I stopped by your office earlier to have a very professional, very academic conversation with you, and imagine my surprise when I saw that you had left me such a delectable snack.” 

“I did no such thing and you know it.” 

Crowley’s smirk grew even more and he lifted the doughnut to his lips. 

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Aziraphale said. 

The man had the audacity to wink just before opening his mouth and eating half the pastry in one large bite. 

“You fiend!” 

Crowley smiled while he chewed. “Delicious.” He said through his mouthful. 

Aziraphale could no longer hold back the knowing grin that slowly spread across his face. No sooner had Crowley’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion at Aziraphale’s sudden change in attitude, they rose again in surprise. 

“Wha….” Crowley began, but was cut off by a coughing fit. “Hot! Fuck!” He managed between choking and spitting out the bite of doughnut. He reached desperately for his bottle of water just as Aziraphale pulled it away from his desk. “Ziraphale! C’mon!” 

“How fortunate that I was here to witness the consequences of your actions. I do so love a well-timed lesson. I suppose that makes us even… for the pastry theft at least.”

“You bastard.” Crowley wheezed, his face a satisfying shade of red. “What… is in that?” 

“A single drop of Ghost pepper hot sauce. Honestly I thought you’d be a bit more tolerant of a little heat… considering what a demon you are.” Aziraphale informed him, a touch of pride in his voice. 

“Fuck. I can’t feel my lips.” Crowley complained, touching his fingers to the side of his mouth where a bit of drool was starting to escape. 

Aziraphale huffed and walked out of Crowley’s office and back toward his own. 

“Oh, that’s real nice, Fell. Don’t even have the guts to witness my death!” Crowley yelled down the hallway. “A bit cowardly don’t you think? Fuck! It’s like…. Fuck. ‘s hotter than hellfire!” 

Aziraphale smiled to himself before opening his mini fridge door, extracting a bottle and turning back to Professor Crowley’s office, where he found the man furiously spraying his tongue with a plant mister. 

He rolled his eyes. “So dramatic. Here.” He handed over a bottle of cold milk that he had brought for just this reason. He wasn't a sadist after all. ‘Water makes it worse.” 

Crowley didn’t even hesitate, he grabbed the bottle of milk and chugged it. “Christ. My entire face is tingling.” 

“Maybe you’ll finally stop stealing my sweets.” 

“I don’t even like iced doughnuts.” Crowley whined. 

Aziraphale snorted. 

Sweat had started to bead on Crowley’s forehead and Aziraphale felt a small pang of guilt. He didn’t like seeing anyone in pain, not even Professor Crowley. “Come along, I have more milk in my office.” 

Crowley followed without comment, and Aziraphale waited silently as the man drank another bottle, swishing the liquid around in his mouth before swallowing. 

Crowley sighed in relief. “Thanks,” he said, and Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. The poor man must have really been distressed if he’s thanking his mortal enemy, especially the one who put him in such a state to begin with. But, Aziraphale reminded himself, the man had brought this upon himself. After all, this had been the fifth pilfered dessert in the last two weeks! The  chocolate eclair from Tuesday was still weighing heavily on his conscience. 

“Now, about my book.” 

“I swear, I didn’t take it.” Crowley said, raising his hands in surrender. “Although, now I wish I had nicked your book instead of your doughnut. Would have been a lot safer.” Aziraphale gave him a look that said otherwise. “Er… or maybe not.” 

“If you didn’t take it, then who did?” 

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” 

“Have you seen anyone in this wing since I’ve been in class?” 

“No. But I don’t exactly keep an eye on your office, now do I?” 

Aziraphale arched another eyebrow, not quite sure that statement was true. 

Crowley rolled his eyes, but said nothing. 

“I am certain I locked my office door when I left.” Aziraphale thought, frowning at the offending door. “So, it doesn't seem likely that someone broke in and took it.” 

Crowley was unusually quiet beside him. 

“What did you do?” Aziraphale asked.

“I… uh, might have opened it when I took your doughnut.” Crowley said sheepishly. “Might have forgotten to lock it back. Maybe.  Probably.” 

“You picked my lock?” Aziraphale asked flatly. 

“Possibly.” 

Rather than being angry at the breaking and entering, Aziraphale mostly just felt defeated. He plopped down in his office chair and sighed heavily. “I had to sell several of my antique snuff boxes to purchase that book.” 

Crowley fidgeted beside his desk, looking increasingly uncomfortable. “Maybe you just misplaced it.” 

“I wouldn’t ‘misplace’ a book like that, Crowley. It’s rare, and I was really looking forward to sitting down with it. It was… special.” Now that some of the anger at Crowley had dissipated, Aziraphale was beginning to feel properly devastated. The book had been one of his mother’s favorites to read to him when he was young, and was ecstatic to have found a first edition copy of it reasonably priced and in need of some light repair to bring it back to life. 

Crowley shrugged. “Maybe you can retrace your steps from this morning until now.” 

Aziraphale perked up. “That is a rather good idea, actually.” 

Crowley looked mildly surprised at receiving a compliment from his long-time foe, and Aziraphale conceded that it was a fair reaction. 

“Let’s see.” he said, finger tapping his bottom lip while he thought. “I came in this morning and the package was securely under my arm. Normally it would have been in my briefcase, but I had just picked it up from the post, you see. I hadn’t even opened it yet. I thought the early morning rain outside of my office window and a cup of earl grey would set the perfect mood for the unboxing.” 

Crowley snorted again. 

Aziraphale ignored him. 

“Then let’s see, what then? Then I spent some time looking it over, to see the extent of the damage and what I would need to repair. Then I made notes of any special tools I may need.” He lifted a small leather notebook from his breast pocket and presented it to Crowley, as if giving proof of his story. Crowley took it and flipped through the pages of elegant handwriting, turning it sideways and even upside down, as if it held some sort of complicated puzzle.

“Repair, huh?” 

“Yes. I dabble in book restoration in my spare time.” He confessed guardedly, worried he was about to be made fun of. It wouldn’t be the first time someone offered an unkind comment about his interests. 

“Huh.” Crowley said, looking mildly impressed. “Didn’t know that was a thing. Never really thought about it, I guess.” 

“Yes. Well. It is a thing, and I’m quite good at it, in fact. But, I digress, after I made some notes about repairs I placed it on top of the outgoing mail and got to work on my itinerary for the day.” 

He and Crowley both looked down at the mail sorter on Aziraphale’s desk, as if it were going to magically reappear there. No luck. 

“Could have been picked up with the mail, then.” 

“No. Look here.” Aziraphale picked up a pile of envelopes. “My letter of recommendation for Adam Young, a grant request, and a letter to my penpal. They’re all still here.”

“Penpal?” Crowley grinned. “Like a legit, paper and ink, penpal? Can’t say that I’m at all surprised by that. I bet you use a fancy pen and everything, don’t you?” He asked, but quickly changed topic when he saw Aziraphale’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “After your schedule, what then?”  

“Nothing. I mean, I went about my day, classes, lunch, and a meeting with a colleague. I never touched the book again.” Not that he hadn’t thought about it several times that day. He sighed again and put his head in his hands. “I’ve lost it. I’ve never lost a book before. Never.” 

There must have been something in Aziraphale’s voice that softened Crowley just a little, because his next words were more gentle than any the man had ever directed at Aziraphale before. “Hey, I’m sure it will turn up. Just misplaced is all. Not lost. Maybe you’ve just forgotten you moved it. Here, I’ll help you look for it.” 

Aziraphale stared with wide eyes at the hand Crowley was holding out to him. The man had never offered to help him with anything. Ever. Not when he was swamped with papers to grade and couldn’t get the blasted printer to print. Not when his arms were full of textbooks and he was having trouble opening the exit door to their building – Crowley had passed by, opened the door, then let it fall shut again before Aziraphale had a chance to wedge his foot inside to hold it open. He hadn’t even helped when Aziraphale was being reprimanded by the university's president about an incident that had been entirely Crowley’s fault. 

Aziraphale can admit, though, that he has played his own part in their shared rivalry. He had once taken the last of the coffee from the pot in the teachers lounge, simply because he knew Crowley had been running late and was unable to stop at his usual coffee shop. Aziraphale hated coffee, but it had been worth the foul bitter taste just for the satisfaction of seeing Crowley's angry scowl and his bared teeth. 

On another occasion, Aziraphale had pretended to be a new student interested in taking one of Crowley’s classes. Via email, he had asked his colleague questions based in astrology rather than astronomy, and completely ignored any attempts at correction. He asked about Mercury retrograde and whether or not Crowley thought it might be having an effect on his emotional anxiety. He asked if a virgo was compatible with a sagittarius, and if not, could Crowley recommend a better match. When he asked Crowley what he made of his daily horoscope advising him that he was vulnerable to stomach upset and should avoid salads that day, Aziraphale heard the frustrated yell from across the hall. He had laughed so hard his cheeks and stomach muscles had been sore the next day.  

He had done other things too, not cruel things – they were never cruel to one another, not really. Though Aziraphale may have been pushing it with the hot sauce. Their flavor of antics was more a game of incredibly irritating minor inconveniences than maliciousness. If Aziraphale was pressed, he would admit that their tricks and banter was all rather amusing and quite a lot of fun. He wasn’t even sure why they had started swapping pranks in the first place, or why they had been enemies from the very beginning of their acquaintance. 

When they had first met at the university's yearly faculty appreciation luncheon, Aziraphale had nearly had a heart attack at how attractive the new astronomy professor was. Long and lean and devastatingly handsome with his remarkable eyes and fiery red hair. Aziraphale was gone on the man instantly. 

When Aziraphale had finally worked up the courage to introduce himself – thanks to Anathema’s insistence – Crowley had looked at his outstretched hand, grunted, then simply walked away. Not a single word spoken. He just… left. Aziraphale had been shocked, then disappointed, then embarrassed, then absolutely furious. The absolute gall of the man.  

So, the next week when the first official day for faculty and staff arrived, Aziraphale didn’t even glance at Crowley when they passed one another in the hallway. Nor did he offer any advice on things like, how he needs to press B6 on the vending machine if you were actually wanting the crisps from B9, or, how he should never call the president of the university Gabe, or – and this was really important – how he should never, under any circumstances, suggest to Bea Prince that she had been flirting with Gabriel Messenger. 

Crowley had made all three mistakes in only a few short hours and Aziraphale couldn’t have been more delighted. When Crowley was finished apologizing profusely to Professor Prince, he turned to make a hasty retreat from their office only to catch sight of Aziraphale leaning against his desk and watching the exchange with amusement. Aziraphale smirked at him. Crowley grumbled something under his breath and stomped off. 

And so it began. A six-year feud that Aziraphale didn’t understand, but went along with, and secretly enjoyed anyway.  

Crowley cleared his throat, bringing Aziraphale back to the present and making him realize he had just been staring dumbly at the offered hand. He cleared his own throat, reached out, and allowed Crowley to gently tug him out of his seat. 

Crowley’s hand was warm and soft and fit perfectly against his own. They had never touched before, Aziraphale realized. Not even a hand on an arm or even a brush of shoulders. They had always kept their distance from one another. What reason would he have to touch a man that despised him?  

When Crowley took a step back, releasing his hand and making his way to the overstuffed bookshelves to poke around, Aziraphale mourned the loss of contact. He liked touching Crowley. He wanted to keep touching Crowley. 

“It wouldn’t be in there.” He said, his voice wavering slightly, distracted by the tingle of warmth still clinging to his hand and the desire to reach out for more.  

“Why not?” Crowley asked, not looking at Aziraphale, eyes focused on the shelves. 

“I have them organized by date and genre. Those are my nineteenth century novels. Er, romances specifically.” He didn’t know why that made him blush, but thankfully Crowley still wasn’t looking at him to see it. 

Crowley eyed the messy shelf with as many books piled on the floor in front of it as on the shelves themselves. “These are… organized?” He asked, amused. 

Ten minutes ago, Aziraphale would have bristled and taken offense to the implications of that question. Right now though, he decided not to ruin whatever truce they were currently occupying. 

“They are organized enough.” He said. “For me at least, and since I’m the only one that goes through them, I see nothing wrong with the way they are sorted.” He took a step closer and began pointing out different areas of his office. “Those are nineteenth century romances, as I said. Behind you, the twentieth century. In the corner are poetry and short stories. Over there.” He pointed to the right side of the room. “Are my collection of Shakespeare. And here….” He stepped to the shelf under his office window. “....are my bibles?” 

“Bibles?” Crowley asked, looking intrigued. 

“Yes. I collect unique, rare, and misprinted bibles, though my most valuable ones are at home. Some of them are quite entertaining.”

Crowley smiled. An actual, genuine smile. It gave Aziraphale heart palpitations. “Are we talking about typos or….” 

“In some cases, yes. Little things like, ‘thou shalt commit adultery’, or, ‘if the latter husband ate her.’  But there are also bigger mistakes. Some have left out certain texts completely, or added their own made up versions of stories or lessons.” He wiggled, unable to keep his excitement to himself. “There is even a 1631 version where instead of ‘God’s greatness’ it reads ‘God’s great arse.’”

Crowley threw his head back and laughed loudly, catching Aziraphale off guard and making him suck in a sharp breath. If his smile had caused Aziraphale’s heart to flutter, his laugh sent him into full cardiac arrest.

 “Leave it to man to fuck up copying the same text over and over, yeah?” 

“Indeed.” Aziraphale said, still dizzy with the sound of Crowley’s laughter.  

They stood, smiling dumbly at each other until it became awkward. “Anyway.” He said, breaking the silence and the eye contact. “My point is, I wouldn’t have shelved this particular book. I was planning on taking it home and enjoying it with a nice glass of red wine before I started any repairs.”  

“You’re not afraid of getting stains on your books?” Crowley asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips that Aziraphale found incredibly attractive.

“Certainly not!” He gasped, playing along with Crowley’s teasing. “What do you take me for, a philistine? ” 

Crowley laughed again, bright and happy, and clearly pleased with their easy banter. Aziraphale’s heart clenched at how lovely Crowley was like this and at how much he longed for more lighthearted and joyful conversation with the man. 

“Okay, then.” Crowley said, looking around the office once more. “Maybe you placed it in a drawer instead.” He made his way to Aziraphale’s desk and began rummaging through its compartments, then stopped and stared into the bottom drawer. “Are you fucking serious?” He said, snorting in disbelief as he pulled out another perfectly iced doughnut. “Is this one laced with hell’s hot sauce, too?” 

Aziraphale lifted his chin and sniffed. “No. I wasn’t going to sacrifice a perfectly good pastry and not have one of my own.”

Another burst of laughter from Crowley. “Of course not.” He touched his mouth. “Bloody lips are still tingling.” 

Aziraphale wanted to say something really stupid and corny like how he would be happy to kiss them better, but he wasn’t in the mood to make an absolute fool of himself so he stayed quiet.

Crowley lifted the plate. “Go ahead, Fell, eat your well earned doughnut while I keep looking for your book.” 

Aziraphale blinked and gently took the pastry from Crowley’s hand then watched bewildered as his colleague walked away in continued search of his book. The man seemed almost pleased that Aziraphale had tricked him into eating hot sauce. What had gotten into the dastardly demon? Was he just pretending to be nice? Was this whole ‘nice-guy’ act a trick? A ruse? Was Aziraphale being played for a sucker? 

Maybe he was dreaming this whole scenario. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s dreamt of the tall mesmerizing man, and he doubted it would be the last. Truth be told, Crowley has featured in quite a lot of Aziraphale’s dreams over the years, and more often than not they were of the spicier variety. Not that Aziraphale minded at all. The only negative thing about those types of dreams was waking up alone.  

He shook away those dangerous thoughts and turned his attention to his doughnut, taking a bite and closing his eyes to savor the sugary sweetness of it. “Oh, good heavens.” He moaned around his mouthful. “That is scrumptious.” 

He heard a choking sound to his left and when he opened his eyes Crowley was staring at him, wide eyed, slacked jawed, and with a bright red flush painting his cheeks. 

“Everything alright?” He asked, concerned.  

“Ngk.” Crowley coughed. “Course. Yeah. Right as rain, me. Just, er, still kinda choked up from the, er, hot sauce. Very hot. The sauce, I mean. It’s… er… hot.” He waved his hands in the air nonsensically then realized what he was doing and stuck them into his front pockets instead. “Do you, uh, always eat like that?” 

Aziraphale stiffened, all too used to people commenting on his eating habits and his weight. He straightened his spine and clenched his jaw ready to defend himself. In all of their years spent one-upping one another Crowley had never said anything about his weight and for him to bring it up now, while they were being as close to friendly as they ever had been, seemed all the more insulting. But before he could tell Crowley very firmly to go eat his plants, the man held out his hands in panic.  

“No! No! That’s not what I…. I wasn’t…. You look…. Fuck, y-you just sounded like you really enjoyed the doughnut is all. Like you… uh… appreciated it?”

Aziraphale squinted at him, still unsure if he was being made fun of or not. “Well, that’s the point of good food isn’t it?” 

“Right. Yeah.” Crowley breathed, relaxing a little.

Aziraphale sat the half eaten doughnut back down on the desk. He would eat it later, alone, just in case Crowley really was making fun of him. 

“Bloody hell. Don’t do that.” Crowley whined. 

“Don’t do what?” 

“Don’t do that.” He pointed at the doughnut. “Stop eating because of what I said.” 

“I didn’t.” He lied. “I just don’t want the rest right now.” 

Crowley sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t trying to insult you, Fell.” 

“I know.” Aziraphale lied again. 

“Do you?” 

He was taken aback by the earnestness in Crowley’s voice. It somehow felt as if they might be talking about more than a simple chocolate iced doughnut. “Well, mostly.” 

Aziraphale looked back down at his desk where the book had last been seen, needing to focus on something other than the seriousness in Crowley's gaze. “Oh, dear.” he said, a tendril of panic starting at the base of his spine. 

“What?” 

“What if… oh no… what if I didn’t misplace it at all? What if it was….” He gasped and placed a hand over his heart. “Stolen.”

“I told you I didn’t….” 

“No, I know, dear, it wasn’t you.” He was surprisingly confident in that fact now. “I mean by someone with truly nefarious intentions.” 

“Dea-ngk.” Crowley stuttered, but regained himself quickly. “So… what? You think someone knew you would be out of your office then came up here with a plan to nick your book while you were gone? How could they have even known you had it?” 

“Hmm.” Aziraphale thought. “Maybe it wasn’t a planned theft. Maybe it was just someone who was stopping by to see me and noticed it lying there.” 

“In that case they would have known there was value in it, right? Wouldn’t have just picked it up because they were such devoted fans of E.B White and mouse adventure books.” Crowley put his hand on his chest in false shock. “Oh, no. You don’t have Charlotte’s Webb stashed around here too do you? They might come back for that next.” 

Aziraphale blinked, ignoring Crowley’s sarcasm for now. “How do you know which book it was?” 

Crowley shrugged. “Saw it lying on your desk when I took your doughnut.” 

“Have you read it before?” 

“No.” 

“Then how do you know what it’s about?”

“Dunno, just do. Probably heard someone talking about it. They made it into a movie didn’t they? Must have caught it on or something.” 

Aziraphale looked at him appraisingly when a thought struck him. He had seen Crowley hastily putting books back into his bag whenever he saw Aziraphale approaching out on the lawn, or in the cafeteria, or even in his office. It had never occurred to Aziraphale that it might have been something other than a text book or some other required reading for his classes. Had Crowley been hiding his love of literature all this time? “Oh, my goodness. You read books!” 

Crowley snorted. “Everybody reads books, Fell.” 

“Yes, but not everyone is bookish.” 

“Pfft. That’s not even a real word. You’re making words up. And I am not… that.” 

“What other books have you read?” Aziraphale asked, eager to find a common ground between them. If he and Crowley could talk about books together, then maybe, well, they might become, not friends exactly, but something close to that. 

“I don’t read, Fell. Not unless I have to. And I certainly don’t read children's books.” 

Aziraphale squinted at him again. “I don’t believe you.” His lip quirked up. “Especially about the children's books.” 

Crowley huffed. “Believe whatever you want. Can we get back to finding your book? I have better things to be doing you know.” 

Aziraphale didn’t point out that he hadn’t asked Crowley for his help, and he certainly wasn’t making him stay. Instead, he focused his mind back to the task at hand. 

“Right. Okay, Let's see. Maybe it was a student. It would make sense that a student would be visiting me, and I make no secret of the fact that I am a bibliophile. They could have reasoned that the chances of randomly finding a book of value were pretty high, so they just grabbed the first one they came across.”

“Nah.” Crowley waved a hand dismissively. “Your students love you too much to steal from you.” 

Aziraphale blinked in surprise. “I’m sure not all of them….” 

“All of them.” Crowley interrupted. “Hear them talking about how great you are all the time. Bloody annoying is what it is. You have a literal waiting list of students wanting to take your classes, Fell. No other professors have that. And it’s not because they’re so eager to learn about Sappho or Byron, either. There are other literature professors at this university that teach the same classes as you do. It wasn’t a student.” 

“Well.” He wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to all that. “I’m not the only one loved by their students.” He looked down at his hands, fiddling with his pinky ring. “I overhear you sometimes. You’re very kind to them, and they are always happy to see you.” 

“‘M not kind.” Crowley grumbled and blushed. “My job, isn’t it? Can’t be an arse to the students if I want to stay employed.” 

“You’re just an arse to certain literature professors, then?” 

Crowley paused, then chuckled. “Only the literature professors who deserve it.” 

Aziraphale fought to keep the smile off of his own face. He didn’t quite manage it. 

“Anyway.” Crowley said, still smiling. “I don’t think it was a student. What about a staff member? Wronged anyone lately? Been spreading foment around campus?” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to deny such suggestions, but stopped as he considered. “You know, I did upset professor Hastur a few days back. Unintentionally or course, but he was rather cross with me when he stomped off after our conversation.” 

Crowley’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Pissed off Hastur, did you? What did you do to him? Tell him he smelled like poo?” 

Aziraphale gasped. “Why would I say such a thing?” 

“You haven't heard?” Crowley asked, clearly pleased to be relaying some office gossip. “One of the students, Warlock Dowling, told him he smelled like poo in front of his entire class. Now everyone is calling him professor poo.” 

“Oh goodness. That would explain why he was so upset, I suppose. I, uh, well, you see, my barber suggested a rather lovely smelling cologne and I was so pleased with it I was promoting it to anyone who would listen. I, uh, may have suggested it to Professor Hastur.” 

Crowley burst out laughing again. “Oh, that’s good, Fell. Wish I could have been there to see the ol' toad's face.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t help but join in on the laughter. “He looked at me like I had grown two heads. He mumbled something angrily under his breath then stomped off. I had no clue what I had done to upset him so thoroughly. He’s given me the stink eye ever since.” 

“Ha!” Crowley laughed and pointed at him. “I see what you did there. Stink eye. Ha. Good one.” 

Aziraphale preened at the praise, then said more soberly. “I suppose I should apologize.” 

“Nah. The toad deserves all the harassment he can get. Bloody arsehole is what he is.” 

“Well, maybe so. But, still, I don’t enjoy hurting other people's feelings.” 

“Just mine?” Crowley mumbled. 

“Excuse me?”  

“Nothing.” Crowley clapped his hands and turned away. “So, Hastur is a definite suspect in our book theft case, yeah? Anyone else you can think of?” 

Aziraphale thought. “Hmm. Mr. Shadwell has never liked me much. But, I don’t think he likes anybody very much, so, I don’t think I’m special enough to be stealing from.” He thought again. “Professor Shax hasn’t liked me ever since I corrected her misspelling of toast in one of our staff group chats. Honestly, what kind of university professor can’t spell toast? She misspelled it six times, Crowley, so it wasn’t just a mere accidental typo.” 

“Why were you having a group chat about toast?” Crowley asked, an adorably confused look on his face. Aziraphale wanted to kiss him. 

“That’s not the point. The point is, I can’t think of anyone else that might bear ill will toward me.” 

“It was definitely Hastur. No doubt about it.” 

Aziraphale sighed. “That seems rather unlikely to me. He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. I can’t imagine him coming up with such an elaborate scheme.” 

Crowley shrugged. “Maybe someone is playing a trick on you?” 

“I’m afraid the only tricks that get played on me are from you, dear.” 

Crowley made an odd sound then sputtered a few vowelless words before finally starting an actual sentence. “You know….” 

The door at the end of the hallway opened and shut, cutting Crowley’s words short. 

Aziraphale grabbed his arm and pulled him quickly toward the storage cupboard, locking his office door as they went. He opened the closet and unceremoniously pushed Crowley inside, not bothering to turn the light on and pulling the door almost all the way shut. 

“Wha….” Crowley began. 

“Shh.”

The closet was small. Very small. So small that two people barely fit side by side. Shelves lined all three walls and were packed with copy paper, extra office supplies, and cleaning equipment. It hadn’t occurred to Aziraphale when he led them inside that they would be standing so close. Close enough to smell sandalwood and jasmine, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of Crowley’s body, close enough to feel the man's warm breath on the side of his face. 

He shivered. 

Steps that were drawing closer drew his attention back to the person approaching his office. 

“If someone stole my book,” he whispered, “that could be them coming back for something else. Office hours are over and I’m not expecting anyone. Are you?” He could barely make out Crowley shaking his head in the dark. 

The footsteps came closer and closer until Aziraphale heard the person stop right outside of his office, followed by a series of light knocks. He peaked out of the small crack he had left in the door just enough for him to see through, but couldn’t make out who the person was, they were just barely out of his line of sight.

They knocked again, a little louder this time. He was about to push the door open and confront whoever it was, when they took a step closer and Aziraphale had to cover his mouth to keep any sound of surprise from escaping. 

Muriel. 

His favorite student – of course he has a favorite, don’t believe any teacher that tells you otherwise – was standing by his door, Stuart Little clutched tightly in their hands. 

They knocked again then jiggled the handle of the locked door. He wasn’t sure what he should do. He never in six thousand years would have expected Muriel Constable of all people to steal from him. He held his breath, not daring to move and reveal himself. He needed time to think, to decide how he was going to deal with the matter. 

Muriel disappeared out of sight once again and Aziraphale heard them sigh out an “oh, bother,” before the door to the storage room shut completely, the sound of the lock clicking into place.  

Murial must have leaned against it. 

“Hello, Eric?” He heard them say through the door. “Professor Fell isn’t here, are you outside yet?” A beat of silence. “He won’t be back until Tuesday, he has a work from home day on Monday.” They said, sounding nervous. “He has thousands of books, Eric.” More silence. “I guess that will work. I’ll meet you in front of his office on Monday at eleven and we can do it then.” Another moment of silence. “Thanks, Eric.” 

Quick steps faded down the hallway, then the building door opened and closed again. 

Aziraphale took a shaky breath. 

“Alright?” Crowley whispered, startling Aziraphale and making him squeak in surprise and press himself closer to the warm body next to him. He had completely forgotten the man was there, too lost in his shock and disappointment.

“Sorry.” He said, scooting as far back as he could out of Crowley’s space. 

“‘S’fine.” Crowley said. “What did you see?”

“Muriel.” He said in quiet disbelief. “Muriel stole my book.” 

“Muriel Constable?” 

“Yes.” 

“I don’t believe it. They're too sweet and adorable for petty theft.” 

“I don’t want it to be true. But, they had it in their hands just now, and you heard them on the phone. Didn’t it sound like Muriel and Eric are planning on another… heist?” 

“I don’t think you can call it a heist, Fell.” 

“All the same. It sounded like they were planning to steal more of my books when I’m not here on Monday.” 

“Well, you’ll just have to be here when they show up, won’t you. They said eleven, right? Be here at ten and catch them in the act.” 

“Oh, Crowley, this is terrible.” He said. “What am I going to do?”  

“Maybe there’s a reasonable explanation.” 

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Aziraphale sighed. “I truly can’t believe someone as sweet as Muriel would be capable of stealing anything.” 

“We’ll figure it out Monday.” Crowley said, and Aziraphale felt a flutter in his chest at the use of we. 

“Yes. We will.” He straightened his waistcoat. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing more to be done today. Shall we?” He gestured to the door even though Crowley couldn’t see it.

“After you.” Crowley said.  

Aziraphale turned the door handle to exit, but nothing happened. He tried again, jiggled it one way then the other. 

Nothing. 

“Er.” He said. 

“What?” 

He turned the knob again, this time leaning his weight against the door. 

Nothing. 

He laughed nervously. “I, uh, can’t seem to get the door open. I think it might be locked.” 

“Very funny, Fell. Now, let us out of here before I develop claustrophobia.” 

Aziraphale tried again with no luck. 

Crowley tugged him backward by the arm, squeezing past while his body slid against Aziraphale’s in a very pleasant way. “Fell, if you’re having me on, I swear I’ll dump every pastry and sweet-treat you bring into the building off the bloody roof from now on.” 

Aziraphale heard the rattle of the door knob, A loud thump – presumably a shoulder to the wood – a hiss, then finally a frustrated sigh.

“Fuck. The bloody things locked.” 

“Yes. As I said.”

Silence filled the small closet making the already cramped room feel even more suffocating. There was a rustle of fabric, a click above his head, then the room was flooded with light. Aziraphale blinked, his eyes slow to adjust to the harsh brightness. 

“Let there be light.” Crowley said, dryly. 

They stood face to face staring at one another. They were so close that if Aziraphale moved forward just the slightest bit they would be pressed together from thigh to chest. 

Or, even better, thigh to lips.

“This is fan-fucking-tastic.” Crowley grumbled, his hands on his boney hips.

“Don’t you have your mobile?” Aziraphale suggested, trying not to let the panic of being locked in a closet with his mortal enemy, and secret love of his life, become a full on anxiety attack. He could feel a headache coming on, as well as a strong sense of dread.  “Perhaps you could call someone. Shadwell should still be here. He usually cleans these offices in the evenings, I believe. 

Crowley spent a few minutes patting his trouser and jacket pockets. Aziraphale spent that time wondering how a piece of paper would fit into jeans that tight, let alone a mobile phone. 

“Fuck. Must have left it on my desk. You don’t have one on you?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I keep it in my briefcase.” 

Crowley growled and looked to the ceiling before saying crossly. “This is not how I was planning on spending my weekend. So, thanks for that.” 

“Yes. Well. Nor was I.” 

“I wasn’t even supposed to be here this late.” He turned his honey eyes on Aziraphale, now dark with anger. “I was just sending my last email when you barged into my office.” 

Aziraphale had the feeling Crowley would have started pacing if there had been room for it. 

“I was supposed to meet someone. Now, I can’t even call them to cancel!”  Crowley’s voice was growing louder and more irritated with every word. “And it’s a bloody weekend! Are we supposed to stand here for three days? No food, no water? Are we meant to drink the copier toner?” He smacked a pack of ink cartridges on the shelf, sending them to the floor and making Aziraphale wince. 

“I can’t believe this!” Crowley continued, voice echoing off the walls and jarring Aziraphale’s already overstimulated brain. “The one time I try and be nice to you I get locked in a fucking closet!” 

Crowley was right, he had been trying to be nice to Aziraphale, and what did he do? He had gone and led Crowley into a terrible and uncomfortable situation. How could he have been so stupid? He should have just confronted Muriel as soon as he saw it was them. He should have never involved Crowley in his problems to begin with. He was locked in a closet with a man that hates him, his favorite student had stolen a very personal and meaningful book from him, and he had ruined any possible chance of he and Crowley becoming friends. Things really could not get any worse. Mortifyingly, Aziraphale’s eyes began to burn with tears and he blinked rapidly in hopes of keeping them at bay. 

“Un-fucking-believable!” Crowley continued to rant. “If we survive this I’m putting in a request to move offices. On the other side of the bloody campus! Maybe even an entirely different university! One without stuffy English teachers and their snobby little bowties.”  

Aziraphale’s stomach lurched at the thought of Crowley leaving. He would rather have Crowley as an enemy than not have him at all.  

“This is your fault, Fell.” 

Aziraphale swallowed, the tears still threatening to spill despite his best efforts. “I know.” He said meekly. He felt even closer to losing his fight with his emotions and he tried to turn his body away, but couldn’t do so fully without putting a shoulder into Crowley’s chest. “I’m sorry.”

“You bloody well should…. Hey. What….” 

Aziraphale decided that pressing into Crowley’s chest to turn away was far less unbearable than having him witness the moment his composure finally broke.

“Fell? Are you….” 

“I’m perfectly fine.” He said, anger coloring his voice, more out of mortification and frustration at himself than anything else. “You’re right, this is my fault, and I apologize.” He sniffed, deciding practicality rather than emotion would best serve him in this situation. “But, it’s not going to do either of us any good to stand and yell at one another, is it?” 

A long stretched out moment of quiet that seemed to only make his tears fall faster.

“Look, I….” Crowley started.

“Please, don’t.” He pleaded, his voice thick. He didn’t want to risk hearing a fake apology, or the pretend remorse, or worse, the ridicule he might suffer for being too soft. “I would really rather you didn’t.”  

More silence.

He took the time Crowley was allowing him to gather himself and wait for the tears to dry on his cheeks, refusing to wipe them away as if he could make himself believe that he wasn’t actually crying in a storage cupboard with his long-time enemy. 

When he was ready, he took a deep breath and turned back to Crowley, who had leaned as far against the shelves as he could manage, as if he had been trying to give Aziraphale the space he had needed. Aziraphale didn’t think he deserved even that small kindness, not from a man he had trapped in a supply closet for what could turn out to be a very long time.   

“Help me look through these shelves for something we might use to aid in our escape. Surely there must be something we could pick a lock with or pry open the door.” 

Crowley looked like he wanted to say something else and Aziraphale held his breath, hoping the man wouldn’t start yelling at him again, even if it was warranted.

Thankfully, Crowley didn’t raise his voice or comment on Aziraphale’s crying, he merely turned and began rummaging through the supplies on his side of the closet. Aziraphale turned back around and did the same, ignoring the way he and Crowley kept brushing up against one another, and praying that one of them would be lucky enough to find something useful. 

He found nothing. 

Nothing of any use whatsoever. He sighed, defeated. When he turned back around, Crowley was already facing him, still pressed as far against the shelves as possible. It didn’t look comfortable and Aziraphale’s back ached in sympathy. “Well, I suppose that’s that then.” He said, then looked up at the ceiling in an attempt to avoid making eye contact and setting himself off crying again. “Unless you think you can fit through that vent.” He pointed upward at the rectangular ventilation grate above their heads, roughly the width of an A4 size piece of paper. 

Crowley looked at him flatly. 

“Right. Then I’m afraid I’m out of ideas.” 

Crowley didn’t reply.

“Maybe Shadwell will pass by in a few hours.” He tried. “Or, at least first thing in the morning.”

“Right.” Was all Crowley responded with. Aziraphale supposed the man was still angry, as he had every right to be.

They spent the next fifteen minutes trying to avoid one another's gazes and putting as much space between them as they could manage. It was awkward to say the least, and Aziraphale felt like his skin was crawling with anxiety and guilt. 

“’M sorry I yelled at you.” Crowley finally murmured. 

“It’s okay. I deserved it.” 

“No. You didn’t.” Crowley huffed. “You didn’t lock us in here on purpose. I shouldn’t have yelled. I just… panicked, I think.” 

“It’s fine, really.” 

Crowley groaned and wiped a hand over his face. “It’s not fine. I yelled at you and you didn’t deserve it, and I made you cry, and I’m sorry.” 

Aziraphale cringed at the acknowledgment of his earlier breakdown. “If I accept your apology can we stop talking about it?” Because, really, he was already humiliated enough. They didn’t need to discuss what an overemotional fool he was. 

Crowley looked at him for a long moment, debating if he should argue further, but looked away and sighed again. “Whatever you want.” 

Aziraphale didn’t want to make things worse by bringing up topics that might anger Crowley again, but he also didn’t want Crowley to stop talking. The conversation, even if it was unpleasant, was helping Aziraphale focus on something other than the tight space they were sharing, and the way the walls felt like they were closing in on him. “Will your date be very upset with you?”

“What?” 

“Your date? The one you were supposed to meet? Will they be cross with you for not showing up?” 

“Oh. No. I mean, wasn’t a date.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale felt an odd sort of relief at the information. He knew that Crowley probably dated, maybe even had a long time partner, he just didn’t like to think about it.

“You know Newt, right?” 

“Newton Pulsifer? Anathema’s new beau?” He had only met Newton once when he joined him and Anathema for lunch about a week ago. He seemed like a nice young man, and Anathema was obviously smitten. He was happy for his best friend, but also envied her good fortune just a little bit.   

“That’s the one. Was supposed to meet him at the pub for drinks. Apparently he had something to tell me that couldn’t be said over text.” Crowley shrugged. “Guess he’ll just have to wait.” 

“Oh, dear. I hope it wasn’t anything too important.”

“I doubt it. He said it was information that he learned from Anathema and that it was going to change my life. He likes to be overly dramatic about things though, so I don’t put much stock in it.”

Aziraphale risked a tentative smile. “Maybe she shared some of the secrets within her book of prophecy.” 

“Ah, yes, the mysterious book that knows all. I’ve heard about it.” 

They both chuckled and Aziraphale felt himself relax slightly. “I am sorry to have ruined your evening, though. I’ll have to apologize to Newton when we get out of here.”

“Ah, he’ll be alright. He’ll probably just think I forgot anyway.”

“Still, I’d like to pay for your drinks when you reschedule.” 

“Fell, really, it’s not a big deal.” 

“I insist. Just bring me the receipt afterwards and I’ll reimburse you.” 

Crowley bit his lip, then looked away, then back at Aziraphale. “You could, er, join us. You and Anathema I mean. If you wanted. I know Newt would like that.” 

Aziraphale blinked, taken completely off guard by the unexpected suggestion. “Oh. I…. that would be…. Okay.” 

“Okay? Really?” Crowley looked just as surprised as Aziraphale felt. 

“Y-yes. I believe so.” 

“Right. Good. That’s… good.” 

Aziraphale felt his cheeks redden and he couldn’t help but notice Crowley’s did as well. It was quite fetching on him, Aziraphale thought, and he felt an urge to reach out and feel the heat of Crowley’s blush under his palm. His own cheeks heated further at the thought and he cleared his throat. “Will there be a truce called at this pub meeting, or shall I still be on guard as to thwart your wiles?” 

“Oh, definitely on guard.” Crowley grinned wickedly. 

Aziraphale grinned back, happy to be back in familiar territory. “Marvelous.” 

They stared at one another, both sporting lopsided grins and mischievous eyes, a complete contrast to just a few moments ago.

“No hot sauce tricks, though.” Crowley said. “I don’t think the bar serves milk.” 

Aziraphale laughed. “Deal.” 

Crowley looked at him, a sort of grin on his face that Aziraphale had never seen on him before. “You really gonna join us?” 

“I am.” A tendril of doubt. “I-If you’re sure you want me there. You can take back your offer, of course. I won’t be offended.” 

“No! I mean, I would like you to come. I’ve been wanting ... er, Newt has wanted us to all have dinner together for a while now.” 

“Really?” 

Crowley shrugged. “Said that he would like his best friend and his girlfriend's best friend to at least be able to sit in the same room together without fear of a duel breaking out.” 

“Hmm. That’s asking quite a lot, I think.” Aziraphale grinned again. Crowley grinned back. “But, I suppose….” He twisted his ring nervously. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try to be a little less… adversarial. For Newt and Anathema, I mean.” 

“Right. Yeah. Maybe we could agree on an arrangement? When we’re out with the lovebirds we try to behave. Mostly.” 

“Yes. I think that should work.” Aziraphale tried not to let his excitement at the prospect of spending time with Crowley outside of work light up his face like a marquee sign. ”I can pretend you don’t despise me for a few hours, I suppose.” 

Crowley blinked. “Despise you? It’s you that despises me.” 

“It is not.” Aziraphale said, stunned by the accusation. “You’ve hated me since the very day we met.” 

“That’s not true. You hated me first.” 

“I’m afraid you are very much confused, dear boy.” Aziraphale huffed, irritated at Crowley’s assertions. “You completely ignored me when I attempted to introduce myself to you. You were rude and unnecessarily cruel, in my opinion. Walking away without saying a word. Really. What was I supposed to think?” 

“I ignored you because you had just said horrible things about me only a few minutes before that. I didn’t want to talk to someone who thought so little of me.” The bite was back in Crowley’s voice, but this time Aziraphale was ready to match it with his own. 

“What? That is prosperous. I’ve never….” Aziraphale’s denial was cut short when the room went dark once more.

“Wha….” 

“Oh, dear.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The sound of Crowley tugging on the light chain aggressively above them pulsed in Aziraphale’s head with every click. “The bloody light blew.” 

“Maybe there’s a replacement bulb in here somewhere.” Aziraphale suggested. 

“Would make sense. Storage closet. Where else are you gonna keep spare lightbulbs?” 

“Quite right.”

Aziraphale made to turn, to feel around on the shelves behind him, but bumped hard into Crowley who had presumably been attempting to do the same. 

“Shit. Sorry.” Crowley said. “Who the heaven designed this bloody cupboard, anyway?”

“Someone with no experience in being locked in one with a wily astronomy professor, I suspect.”

“Smart-arse.” 

Aziraphale, intending to turn the rest of the way around and start his search, found himself bumping into Crowley again as the man had also moved in the same moment.

“Fuck. This is ridiculous!” Crowley said. “Stay right there, don’t move.” He instructed.

Then, to Aziraphale’s astonishment, he felt the other man’s hands reach out and touch him lightly on the chest. He held his breath as those same hands moved slowly outward to find his shoulders. He couldn’t manage to hold in his shiver, but Crowley, thankfully, pretended not to notice. 

“Okay?” Crowley asked, voice soft and so close to Aziraphale’s face he could feel the warmth of his breath. 

“Y-yes.” 

“I’m going to turn you around, okay? So we don’t smack into one another again.” 

“Okay.” 

There was light pressure on Aziraphale’s right shoulder and a gentle instruction to begin turning. As he did so, Crowley's other hand followed, dragging across Azriaphale’s back pleasantly. He tried not to think about how Crowley’s long delicate fingers would feel on the rest of his body, and instead focused on not stumbling in the dark as he turned. 

“There.” Crowley said, sounding breathless, his fingers lingering just a little too long on Aziraphale’s back. “I’ll just, er, turn around now.” 

“Okay.” Aziraphale said as Crowley’s fingers left his body. He let out a shallow breath and closed his eyes even though it was already pitch black all around him.

He heard Crowley start to rummage around the stuffed shelves and followed suit, carefully running his hands over the clutter, trying to make out the shape of a lightbulb, or a box they might be in. As he searched he thought about what Crowley had said earlier. That Aziraphale had hated him first. Which was absurd. Why would he have implied such a thing?

“Crowley?” He asked, tentatively. 

“Yeah.” 

“What did you mean when you said I had just finished saying terrible things about you?” 

Crowley was quiet for a long moment, then sighed. “During that first luncheon, when I was new. I came up behind you and I overheard you talking to Anathema about me.” 

Aziraphale’s eyebrows drew together trying to remember anything that he might have said that day that would have possibly caused Crowley offense. He remembers he had been ogling the man from across the room as Anathema had approached him. She had said something about how Aziraphale needed to stop drooling and pick his chin up off the floor. He had rolled his eyes, but didn’t deny he had been looking at, and appreciating, the intriguing man dressed all in black. 

The evening had been long and tedious as most faculty functions are, but Aziraphale hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off the red-haired man. Anathema eventually started pushing for Aziraphale to introduce himself. Then she had started teasing him about asking Crowley out on a date. He had laughed it off and argued that a man as beautiful as Crowley would never go for someone like him. Then Anathema had suggested it wouldn’t hurt to be friends at the very least. They would be officing in the same building after all, and Aziraphale had reasoned that he couldn’t possibly be frie…. Oh.  

“You said.” Crowley said, tightly. “You could never be friends with someone like me. That you wouldn’t be able to tolerate being around me. You said that I was too different from you. You said, and I quote, “Professor Crowley and I aren’t even on the same level.” This last part was spoken in a high pitched mockery of Aziraphale’s posh accent.   

He was stunned into silence. They had been fighting with one another for six years because of a simple misunderstanding? Six years. Aziraphale didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. Right now he felt on the verge of hysterics. Six years of bickering and practical joking all comes down to a misheard statement? He wanted to turn and tell Crowley how ridiculous they have both been, how Aziraphale would have never said something so hurtful. He wanted to laugh with Crowley about it and agree with one another that they had both been fools. But….  But telling Crowley the truth would mean confessing the real reason Aziraphale had been arguing the trouble with befriending the man in the first place.

“Right.” Crowley said, both hurt and anger evident in his clipped tone. “I haven't found anything over here, what about you?” 

Aziraphale debated with himself on what he should tell Crowley. He couldn’t let Crowley continue to believe that he had been thought of so poorly back then – or now. But how was he supposed to explain that he had been taken with the man from the moment he first laid eyes on him? 

“Look. It’s fine, alright. I get it. You and I aren’t….” 

“I was attracted to you.” Aziraphale blurted into the darkness before he even knew what he was saying.

“What?” 

Well, now that he started, there was no choice but to come clean with the whole story. 

“Crowley, you misunderstood what I said to Anathema.” He sighed and rubbed his temples. “Lord help me, I may regret this, but I’m going to tell you the whole truth. I would appreciate that after I’m done explaining that you refrain from any ridicule.” 

Crowley didn’t respond to that, so Aziraphale drew in a deep fortifying breath to continue. “The truth of it is, that I thought… I thought you were exceedingly handsome the first time I saw you. You came through the doors of the dining hall and you took my breath away. Anathema, the nosy witch, saw how much I was… distracted by you, and of course she made it her mission to convince me that it would be a good idea to get to know you. Maybe even ask you out to dinner.”

“I….” 

“No. Let me finish or I’ll never make it through this frankly, mortifying, confession.” He took another breath when Crowley remained silent. “I said that I could never be friends with someone like you because I didn’t think I would be able to keep my attraction hidden and safely within friends territory. I said I wouldn’t be able to tolerate being around you because I would have been driven crazy by being close to you and not being allowed to kiss you. And I said that we weren't on the same level because… well, because we’re not.” He laughed humorlessly. “Look at you, Crowley, your striking red hair, your stunning eyes, everything about you is interesting and breathtaking. And I’m… the opposite of all of that.” He sighed and rested his head on the edge of the shelf in front of him. “So, there it is. The whole of it. I was attracted to you and trying to convince my meddling friend that you would never be interested in someone like me. I’m sorry I’ve made you spend all this time thinking I hated you, when it is quite the opposite.”

His heart was hammering so fast and loud in his chest that he was certain the echo of it was bouncing off the walls of the tiny closet. There was no sound from Crowley behind him, no movement. Good lord, there really couldn’t have been a worse time for a confession. Trapped inside a closet for who knows how long with a man that you’ve just admitted to pining over for the last six years. He found himself hoping the room would remain in total darkness, not sure he would be able to look Crowley in the eyes after everything he has just admitted to.  

“I-I’m going to turn around now.” Crowley said, his voice shaky. 

Aziraphale supposed it was only fair that they be facing one another, even in the darkness, for when Crowley told him off. 

There was movement behind him, a brush of fabric against his back, then a clumsy hand on his shoulder again, gently tugging to guide him as before. Aziraphale couldn’t see him, but he could feel how close they were, and he had the feeling if he simply took in a deep breath their chests would be touching. 

“It took me an hour to work up the courage to introduce myself to you.” Crowley said, his voice quiet. Aziraphale swallowed, ready to be filled with even more guilt. “I…. That wasn’t the first time I saw you, you know.” 

“Excuse me?” He asked, confused.

“I had been in Gabriel’s office after my first interview with the university. He had stepped away to take a phone call and I went to the door to give him some privacy. That’s when I saw you. You were talking to Gabriel’s secretary, Tracy, and you were laughing and had the biggest smile on your face, and I…. Aziraphale….” He breathed. 

Aziraphale’s overtaxed heart skipped at the use of his rarely used first name.

“Aziraphale, you were… are, the most beautiful man I have ever seen.”

Aziraphale’s world tilted and he felt dizzy as he tried to make sense of what the other man was saying. “Crowley?” He whispered. Not daring to hope. Dear God, don’t let this be a trick, a prank, the most devastating joke of all time.  Please.

“It’s not just how you look though. I’ve spent all this time trying to hate you, but I…. Even through all the fighting….” Crowley growled in frustration. “I like that you’re a bastard, okay.” He said, finally. 

Aziraphale blinked. “Was that… a compliment?”

Crowley huffed out a laugh. “Yes, it was a compliment. I like that you’re a bastard, and not just when it comes to me. No, listen.” Crowley interrupted just as Aziraphale drew in a breath to argue. “You are. But, you’re also the kindest person I’ve ever met. And I don’t know how you pull off being both things at once, but you do, and I….” Aziraphale heard him swallow. “I like you, Aziraphale. No matter how much I’ve tried not to.” 

“Oh.” Aziraphale breathed. 

A hesitant hand found his chest again and Aziraphale knew Crowley could feel his erratic heartbeat through his layers of clothing. 

“I wanted to talk to you that day in Gabriel’s office, would have done, if he hadn’t finished his phone call and needed me to sign some paperwork. You had gone before we finished. Then, when I saw you again at the faculty luncheon, It took me a while to work up the nerve to talk to you. I felt like a bloody teenager with a crush.” 

Crowley’s hand moved slowly upward, until the tips of shaky fingers grazed the delicate skin of Aziraphale’s neck just above his collar. “Crowley.” He whispered again, closing his eyes as that same hand moved higher to cup his cheek, and a trembling thumb swept over the soft skin under Aziraphale’s eye. 

“For so long I’ve wanted….” Crowley began, his voice thick with emotion. “Didn’t think I would ever…. Would it be alright if…. Can I kiss you?” 

“Please.” He begged, moving his own hands to Crowley’s hips and squeezing in gentle encouragement. 

It felt like an eternity before he felt a soft puff of breath against his mouth, then the warmth and pressure of lips on his. The kiss was tentative and a little off its mark, but it sent a spark of electricity fizzing through Aziraphale’s body all the same. It was over quicker than he was ready for and his hands flexed on Crowley’s hips wanting to drag him back in for more. 

Crowley didn’t go far, though, and his lips grazed against Aziraphale’s as he whispered… “Stars encircle me when your lips lean down to mine, there is the sound of many waters falling. There is the murmur of a million nightingales, – and the flash of brilliant lightning.” 

Aziraphale’s breath caught and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling even if he had wanted to. “I knew it, you fiend. You do read.”  

He felt thin lips stretch into a smile against his mouth before pressing firmly into another kiss. One that Aziraphale accepted eagerly. 

“Six.” Kiss. “Bloody.” Kiss. “Years.” Kiss. “We could have.” Kiss. “Been doing this.” Kiss. “The whole time.” 

The kisses became more urgent as Crowley spoke. As if his own words were encouraging him to be bolder with every peck. What started out as a careful press of lips blurred into lingering kisses, each one deeper than the last.

“We have….” Aziraphale’s breath was starting to quicken. “A lot of time.” Kiss. “To make up for.” Kiss. 

After six long years of craving, aching, yearning for more, Aziraphale wasn’t about to take his time now. He tugged on Crowley’s hips until the small distance between them vanished completely. Crowley hummed in approval and melted into Aziraphale like he had been waiting six years to do just that.

Kissing Crowley was like being consumed by wildfire. He was hot and burning, scorching Aziraphale’s heart with every press of lips and every swipe of his tongue. He wanted more. He wanted to make up for all the years they spent hiding their feelings behind half arguments and petty tricks.

Impatient to have Crowley closer, Aziraphale’s roaming hands found their way to the delectable arse he’s been sneaking peaks of for years, squeezing and pulling until their bodies were flush together. 

He could feel, pressed firmly against his thigh, that Crowley was half hard already. He knew, just as surely, that Crowley could feel his own need in return. The undeniable proof of their shared arousal sent a quiet thrill through Aziraphale and he couldn’t resist pressing his thigh up into the bulge of Crowley’s tight trousers, swallowing the sound of his surprised moan. 

In retaliation, Crowley’s long fingers found their way into Aziraphale’s curls, tugging just enough to sting and pulling a small gasp from Aziraphale’s parted lips. 

“Fuck. Aziraphale. I….” Crowley cut his own sentence short as he readjusted his focus to trailing kisses down Aziraphale’s jaw and neck. 

He groaned at the feel of Crowley’s lips on him, and began pulling urgently at Crowley’s shirt where it was tucked into his trousers, desperate to feel the soft, heated expanse of Crowley’s skin beneath his fingertips.Years of wondering what Crowley might feel like under his tight layers of black clothing had him frantic and desperate in his need to explore the mystery of Crowley’s body. 

“Oh god. Oh fuck.” Crowley said, sounding just as desperate and scrambling to help Aziraphale with his task, helpfully tugging his shirt free and pulling it over his head. As he did so, he knocked a few things over on the shelves and there was a loud thump of something to Aziraphale’s right. They both started giggling but didn’t stop in their attempts to rid Crowley of his vest. 

“Oh, my dear, you feel wonderful.” Aziraphale said as he ran his hands along Crowley’s now bare sides and back. “I wish I could see how lovely you look.” 

“Ngk. ‘Ziraphale.” 

He trailed a hand up Crowley's ribs, a finger lightly grazing a pebbled nipple on its journey upward, pulling a satisfyingly sharp breath from Crowley’s lips. His hand continued to travel higher, fingers tracing the outline of a sharp collar bone and dipping into the hollow of Crowley’s throat. He could feel the rapid pulse of the man’s heartbeat under his touch, quick and strong, and singing Aziraphale’s praises. Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he leaned in to kiss and taste the long expanse of Crowley’s neck, the way he has dreamed of doing for six long years. 

“Nnng. Fuck. I…. “ Crowley whined, but didn’t try to pull away. Aziraphale mouthed all along his neck and shoulder, lightly grazing his teeth against the velvety skin, resisting the urge to suck a mark into the soft flesh. He wanted to wait until he was able to see his brand bloom across Crowley’s beautiful porcelain skin. 

Crowley’s hips jerked forward involuntarily, pressing his hard cock against Aziraphale’s hip, as he licked a wet stripe along Crowley’s jawline and up to the sensitive skin behind his ear.

The dark wasn’t ideal of course, and Aziraphale longed to see what has been hidden from him for all these years, but there was something exhilarating about exploring Crowley by touch alone. Something sensual and thrilling. 

His hands made the journey back down the length of Crowley's body, smiling at the goose pimples he could feel popping up on the man's skin. He stopped when he hit the tops of Crowley’s trousers, his fingers toying with the snake's head of his belt buckle, silently asking for permission. 

Crowley groaned and gripped Aziraphale’s shoulders as if needing to support himself. “Yes. I….” He ground himself into Aziraphale’s thigh once more. “Please. Need you to touch me.” 

“Of course, my dear. Anything you want.” 

Aziraphale made fast work of the belt buckle, along with the trouser button and zip. He could easily reach in and pull Crowley’s cock from his pants, but Aziraphale was nothing if not a horrible tease. He dipped fingers into the back of tight jeans and pushed trousers and pants down together, exposing a perfectly round backside to Aziraphale’s greedy hands. He ignored the place where Crowley wanted him most and took his time memorizing the pleasing curve of Crowley’s arse and the smooth toned skin at the backs of his thighs.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley half heartily complained, nipping at Aziraphale’s bottom lip. “If you don’t touch me right now….” 

“Shh. I’ll get there, darling. Just let me indulge in the rest of you for just a moment longer.” A handful in each hand, Aziraphale squeezed and spread Crowley’s cheeks apart, kneading the soft give of flesh and eliciting a deep guttural moan from the soft lips against his own.

“Where do you see this going, darling? What would you like from me?” He asked, willing to give Crowley absolutely anything he wanted.

“I don’t… anything… everything. Just, please, for the love of someone, touch me, already.” 

Aziraphale chuckled at the man's impatience but moved a hand to the straining erection  between their bodies, giving Crowley a slow firm pump of his fist. Crowley moaned again and thrust up into Aziraphale’s hand.

“I believe, shall we choose to do this again, you may need to be taught some patience, my dear.” Aziraphale said, deliberately allowing his voice to dip into something low and intimate. “I like to savor beautiful and delicious things, Crowley. I like to take my time with them, enjoy everything they have to offer. And you, you remarkable creature, are going to be no exception.” 

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yes, I believe that is an option.” 

“Ngk.” 

“Would you like that, darling?” Aziraphale asked, his hand continuing its slow glide up and down Crowley’s length, already slick and wet with the generous amount of precome leaking from the tip. “Do you want me to fuck you right here in this cupboard? So you can think about my cock splitting you open every time you walk by this door from now on? 

“Holy fuck. I knew you’d be a bastard in bed, but I didn’t expect the filthy mouth.” 

“Mmm. I very much want to hear all about what you’ve imagined me to be like, my dear. But, that’s for another time, right now I’d like for you to reach into my back pocket and get my wallet for me. I believe I have the necessary supplies in there for this occasion. 

Crowley’s hands were already searching Aziraphale’s pockets before he had even finished his sentence, fishing the wallet out then smacking it onto Aziraphale’s chest in a flash.

“Eager are we?” Aziraphale asked, amused.

“I’ve been waiting six years, so yes. I. Am. Eager. Now fuck me already.” 

Aziraphale chuckled, delighted by Crowley’s enthusiasm and overall brattiness. They were going to have a lot of fun together in the future, he was certain of it.  

“As you wish, dearest.” He began fumbling with his wallet, searching blindly for the condom and foil packet he kept in there. “Could you take off your boots and finish removing your trousers, please?” 

A rustle of fabric, the thump of two heavy boots, and a swish of tight trousers being kicked off of feet in a hurry. Aziraphale would say something snarky about Crowley’s hasty undressing if he wasn’t busy imagining what the darkness was keeping him from seeing. 

“Good, lord, I wish I could see you.” He stated, because it was definitely worth mentioning again. “I am certain you are an absolute vision.” 

“What about you?” Crowley asked. 

“What about me?” 

“Your clothes. You’re still dressed.” Crowley pushed the grey cardigan easily off Aziraphale’s shoulders, then worked on the buttons of his waistcoat until he was free of that as well. “Fuck. Braces? Really?” 

“Problem?” 

“Nope.” Crowley said, running his fingers along the tartan straps. “Sexy as hell, actually. Do you have on sock garters too? Jesus, I must be mental. Who gets off on braces and sock garters?” 

“You do, apparently. In that case, I believe I’ll just leave the rest of my garments where they are.” 

“But….”  

“Ah ah. You’ll just have to wait for the rest of it I think.” 

“You mean you’re….” Aziraphale heard him swallow. “You’re gonna fuck me while you’re fully clothed?  In your bowtie and everything?” 

“That’s the plan. Yes.” Crowley kissed him fiercely and messily for a long drawn out moment.  “Fuck.” He panted. “That’s the hottest…. Christ.” 

Aziraphale hummed in agreement and ran his hands down beautifully quivering thighs, the muscles tensing and untensing under his hands. His fingers meandered their way back up and into the cleft of Crowley’s arse. 

“Don’t need prep.” Crowley blurted suddenly. “I, uh, like to feel it, and, er… this morning I….” 

“How intriguing.” Aziraphale bit his bottom lip and unzipped his flies, sighing at the release of pressure. The thought of Crowley touching himself, working himself up to orgasm with his fingers or a toy, it was definitely something Aziraphale has had thoughts about in the past. “In that case….” He found Crowley’s hand and guided it to wrap long slim fingers around his cock. “Oh, good lord.” He breathed, tilting his head back as Crowley touched and explored him eagerly.

“Fuck. I knew it.” Crowley said, breathlessly.

“Knew….” Aziraphale moaned as Crowley swiped a thumb over his leaking head. “K-knew what?” 

“Knew you’d have a huge cock.”

Aziraphale huffed out a laugh. He knew he was blessed in that department, but it was always nice to hear. “Thought about it, have you?” 

Crowley’s hot mouth found his ear. “Every. Fucking. Day.” 

That was it. No more teasing. No more trying to savour his first tastes of Crowley. No more pretending that he wasn’t out of his mind with want already. 

He took hold of Crowley’s waist and turned him, backing him up against the closet door. Crowley squeaked at the cold wood coming in contact with his skin, but otherwise remained quiet, eagerly waiting to see what Aziraphale had planned.

He quickly tore the wrapper off the condom and rolled it onto his dripping cock. “Put your hands on my shoulders.” He instructed and had to bite back a laugh at how quickly Crowley obeyed. “Very good.” He praised, then bent slightly to wrap his hands around two trembling thighs and in one quick motion lifted Crowley until his back was supported by the door and two long legs were locked around Aziraphale’s waist.

“Fucking hell, Aziraphale!” Crowley yelped as he scrambled to wrap his arms tighter around Aziraphale’s neck.

“Something wrong, dear?” 

A strangled laugh from Crowley. “N-no. Jus’ really fucking hot ‘s’all.”

“Mmm. I quite agree. Hold on tight, dearest, I’m going to open the foil packet.” 

Crowley hugged him closer to support his own weight while Aziraphale carefully tore open the packet and spread lube on his cock and around Crowley’s twitching rim. The light touch earned him a sharp intake of breath and a delectable shiver. 

“Ready, darling?” Aziraphale asked.

“Fuck. I’ve been ready for six years, Aziraphale!” 

He held his breath as he guided himself to Crowley’s waiting hole. “Tell me if it’s too much.” He said, before pressing up into the heat of him. 

They both gasped as the head of Aziraphale’s cock pressed past the tight ring of muscle. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for Crowley to relax enough for him to continue. He was barely inside and already on the verge of losing his composure. 

“Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.” Crowley chanted, hands gripping Aziraphale’s shoulders almost painfully tight. 

“Relax for me, darling. That’s it.” He coaxed, running a soothing hand up and down Crowley’s thigh.

When Crowley was ready, Aziraphale continued to push further inside, relishing the way Crowley’s body opened around him to make room for his sizable girth. Crowley’s body was pulling him in greedily and squeezing tightly around him, making Aziraphale’s breath hitch. “Crowley.” He whispered, voice shaking with emotion and the need to go slow. “My god, you feel…. Goodness. You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.” 

Crowley was deliberately taking slow steady breaths above him, concentrating on staying relaxed as Aziraphale slowly split him open. 

When he was finally seated inside, buried in Crowley as far as he could possibly go, they paused, foreheads touching and hearts racing. Crowley’s thighs were shaking and Aziraphale continued to run a comforting hand over them while he waited for Crowley’s breath to even out.

“Okay, darling?” He asked. 

“God, yes.” Crowley wiggled as much as he could manage while being sandwiched between Aziraphale and the door, causing Aziraphale to let out a strangled gasp at the movement. “Fuuuck. There’s so much of you.”

“I do hope that’s not a complaint.” Aziraphale said, his voice strained with the effort of not thrusting.

“Not complaining. The opposite of complaining.” Crowley laughed and Aziraphale felt the muscles in Crowley’s arse flexing around him. 

He groaned. “Crowley, if you don’t stop squirming, I’m afraid I won’t….”

“Can move now.” Crowley interrupted. “God, you can move.”  

Aziraphale held his breath as he pulled out slowly, his cock dragging against Crowley’s walls as his fingers dug into the meat of Crowley’s thighs. The darkness made everything feel so much more intense, without his vision his mind was free to focus only on sensation. 

When he had pulled almost all of the way out, he carefully eased back in again, giving Crowley time to adjust to his movements. As badly as his body was screaming for him to fuck Crowley through the door as hard and fast as he possibly could, he didn’t want to risk hurting him.   

“Jesus fucking christ.” Crowley said, throwing his head back against the door with a thump while he tangled his fingers tightly in Aziraphale’s hair.

“I knew you would feel amazing around me, Crowley, but, good lord, I never expected you to feel quite this exquisite. You’re….  You’re…. Lord, I have no words.”

“Thats – Fuck. That’s a first. You –nnng. Having no words.” Crowley managed. 

Aziraphale smiled against his neck. “You’re right. How about this then – ‘My tongue breaks, and thin fire is racing under my skin.’” 

“Oh my god. You are not quoting Sappho while you’re fucking me.” Crowley complained, but Aziraphale could hear the pleased amusement in his voice.

Aziraphale withdrew and pushed back in a little harder than before, relishing in the shiver that ran through Crowley’s body with the movement. 

“Okay, darling.” Aziraphale huffed out, his breath coming faster now with each thrust. “Maybe this one is more to your taste. ‘The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.’”

Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder and laughed. “Wilde? Please, stop.” 

“Are you not enjoying yourself?” 

“Would enjoy myself a lot more if I was being properly fucked and not quoted at.” 

“Hmm. One more, I think.” 

Crowley groaned, but there was laughter in his voice. “This is embarrassing. You’re embarrassing. I’m embarrassed for you.” 

Aziraphale ignored him. 

“Your beauty burns like the night sky, vast and infinite, and brighter than any sun. I am helpless beneath its glory.”

Crowley was quiet and Aziraphale stopped his movements, worried he’d crossed a line. 

“I don’t recognize that one.” Crowley said, softly. 

“That’s because it’s mine. Well, mostly, I drew inspiration from several of my favorites. Butthe sentiment is still true.” 

Crowley’s hands cupped his cheeks tenderly and when he spoke his words sounded a bit watery. “My turn.” He whispered and kissed Aziraphale’s temple. ‘He had loved none but her.’” 

Aziraphale’s breath caught and he felt himself coming undone. “Oh, Crowley.” He took one of Crowley’s hands resting on his cheek and kissed his palm and wrist tenderly. “My darling. My love.”    

Their mouths crashed together, each man desperate to pour six years of the longing and aching they had felt into the other. Everything became a blur of frantic need after that. Aziraphale adjusted his stance, pulled Crowley’s bottom slightly away from the door so he could get a better angle, then began thrusting hard into his lover, no longer able to maintain the gentleness from earlier.  

“Oh, fuck.” Crowley cried out, the back of his head thumping into the door once again, and his legs squeezing Aziraphale’s waist tighter.  

“Oh, Crowley. You’re a marvel.” He picked up his pace, slamming into Crowley as hard and fast as he could manage. Ignoring the way his legs burned and his arms strained with the effort of holding a writhing Crowley up off the floor. 

Nails were digging sharply into his shoulder and back as they clung to Aziraphale for dear life. Crowley was scorching hot, inside and out, full of fire and heat and growing even hotter as he careened closer to orgasm.

The tingling pressure was building at the base of Aziraphale’s spine, urging him to move faster in search of his release. All thoughts of poetry, and love confessions, and being trapped in small closets were now far from his mind. He could only think of Crowley and how good he felt stretched around his cock, squeezing and tightening as he drew closer and closer to orgasm. 

“Oh, god. Aziraphale. I-I’m so close…. S-so fucking close.” 

“I know, dearest. I’ve got you.” 

As Crowley grew nearer to his finish, he began to bounce harder and faster on the cock splitting him in two, meeting each of Aziraphale’s powerful thrusts. 

Unable to let go for fear of dropping him, Aziraphale pushed Crowley up against the door with his whole body, trapping Crowley’s leaking cock between them and giving his lover the friction that he needed. 

“Nnngk. Fuck.” Crowley groaned at the contact. “Gonna…. Oh fuck. Nnng. You’re shirt. Oh, god.  Messy.”  

“D-don’t care.” Aziraphale ground out, too lost in his pleasure to think about the mess Crowley was about to leave on the front of his favorite blue button down. “Crowley. Good lord. You feel too good, my darling. Come for me. Let me feel you come on my cock.” 

“‘Ziraphale. Oh, fuck. Oh, f-fuck.” Crowley managed before his whole body tensed and he came hard and shaking against Aziraphale’s belly. 

The rhythmic clenching around his cock sent sparks of white gold flashing behind his closed eyelids. He groaned deep within his chest as his orgasm ripped through him, wave after wave of raw pleasure tearing him apart in the very best of ways. 

He had just enough awareness to keep his shaking legs rooted to the ground and Crowley pinned against the door so as not to drop him. The man was wrapped around him so tightly, though, that Aziraphale doubted he would have fallen regardless. 

They breathed together, waiting for the world to right itself again, and for their heartbeats to even out. 

Crowley chuckled against his neck. 

“What is it, darling?” Aziraphale asked, turning to press a kiss into Crowley’s hair.  

“I have never been fucked like that in my life.” 

“Oh.” He worried for a moment that Crowley might have been uncomfortable in the position he was in. “I know that being pinned against a door isn’t the ideal place to….” 

“No, you madman. I meant it was… good. Really good. Bloody fantastic, actually. You’ve given me a whole new appreciation for cupboards. ” 

“Oh.” Aziraphale said, relieved. He pulled on Crowley’s hair to get him to lift his face so he could kiss him. “I very much agree.” He smiled against Crowley’s lips. “And I’ll fuck you in a cupboard anytime you wish, my dear.” 

Crowley laughed and kissed him again, slow and languid, no frantic rush of heat or desperate desire. Just them, enjoying one another in the afterglow. 

Eventually Aziraphale’s cock began to soften, and he was suddenly made aware of just how tired his arms and legs actually were. Reluctantly he was forced to settle Crowley’s feet on the floor and allow him space to stand. While Crowley was getting his bearings, Aziraphale felt around on the shelf beside him for some tissue paper he had noticed earlier, and cleaned himself and Crowley up as best he could, wrapping the condom in a paper towel to dispose of later. 

“Your quote. From earlier.” Aziraphale said, suddenly nervous. 

“What about it?” Crowley asked, trying and failing to mask his unease with an indifferent tone. 

“The same is true for me, too. Just so you’re aware.  None but you.”  

“Yeah?” 

“Yes.” 

“That’s… that’s good to know.” 

Aziraphale giggled and clumsily found Crowley’s mouth once more, enjoying the way their matching smiles prevented them from accomplishing an actual kiss. 

“Guess I should find my pants.” Crowley said, lips still against Aziraphale’s. 

“Mmm. I suppose. Though, I’m not opposed to spending the rest of my time here with you sans clothing.” 

“Why Professor Fell, how scandalous of you. I am shocked.” 

“I’m quite sure that what we have just done is both scandalous and justified grounds for dismissal.” Aziraphale gave him a peck on the lips. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.” 

“How many times do you think Bea and Gabriel have fucked in here?” 

“Crowley!” 

“What? It’s a serious question.” 

“One that I do not wish to even think about let alone talk about. Especially while I'm still… exposed.” He blushed at the reminder and quickly tucked himself back into his pants. 

“You’re exposed?” Crowley laughed. “Aziraphale, the only thing I’m wearing is a smile and my snake tattoo.”

“Don’t remind me.” Aziraphale pouted. “I do hate that I’m missing out on seeing all this lovely skin.” He ran a hand over Crowley's chest and stomach.

“You’ll get your chance, Fell.” Crowley said, before clearing his throat. “There’s, uh, a new student production of Hamlet I have tickets to. Two of ‘em. If… if you’d be interested in, uh, joining me.” Crowley said, nervously, and though Aziraphale couldn’t see his face he imagined he looked quite adorable just then. 

“Oh, that sounds wonderful! I would love to join you, my dear.” Aziraphale will keep it to himself that he too has tickets to the new production. He loves supporting his students any chance he gets, especially in the arts. “And then dinner afterwards? I know a lovely little sushi place.” 

“Right. Great. It’s… er… a date then?” 

“It is indeed.” Aziraphale’s smile was so big his face ached. 

“I’m going to put my clothes back on now. I feel like an arse standing here starkers in the dark.” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale chuckled. “Here, I’ll help you find your things.” 

They spend several minutes searching blindly for Crowley’s clothes and laughing hysterically while they try to squeeze Crowley back into his tight jeans, a nearly impossible feat in the dark and in such a small space. 

“It’s not usually this difficult.” Crowley explained, trying to sound put out by Aziraphale’s giggling, but failing by a mile. 

Fully clothed and still laughing, Aziraphale found Crowley’s lips with his own once again. “You know, I can’t tell if my lips are tingling from all the kissing we’ve been doing, or from the hot sauce that I can still taste a hint of in your mouth.” 

“Foiled by your own malice, huh?” Crowley said.

“It would seem so.” 

They laughed and kissed some more and Aziraphale decided he would be quite happy to stay in this closet with Crowley for all eternity.  “Crowley, I want you to know….” 

Aziraphale’s sentence was abruptly cut short as the door to the closet was jerked open, blinding them with the fluorescent hallway lights and nearly giving Aziraphale a heart attack. 

“Found them!” Anathema called out over her shoulder.

“Bloody hell!” Crowley said, blinking rapidly for his eyes to adjust.

“Anathema?” Aziraphale asked, squinting into the hallway as his vision cleared.

“Oh, thank god.” Newt said, revealing himself when he jogged up to stand beside Anathema.  

“What are you two doing here?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Crowley didn’t show up at the pub and he wasn’t answering his phone.” Newton explained. 

“Then I tried to call Aziraphale.” Anathema said, crossing her arms. “And couldn’t get an answer from him either. Then I consulted my book and it said you were both trapped and needed help.” 

“So we came looking for you.” 

Anathema looked them up and down. “Guess we were right and wrong.” She said smugly. 

It was then that Aziraphale realized he and Crowley were still clinging to one another. He cleared his throat and took a half step back, just enough that his and Crowley’s bodies weren't completely flush together. 

“Oh. My. God.” Newt said, looking back and forth between them, then down at their clothes. 

“Wot?” Crowley asked. 

“You two… you’ve….” Newt’s eyes were as round as saucers. “In a cupboard?”  

“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, dear boy...” Aziraphale started, as his cheeks burned with embarrassment. 

“Save it Aziraphale. It’s very clear what the two of you have been up to.” Anathema looked far too pleased with herself. “Crowley is wearing your cardigan for one thing, and I’ve never seen you this rumpled in all the time that we’ve been friends – your bowtie is crooked for god’s sake. Your hair is sticking up everywhere, as is Crowley’s. And….” She leaned in, grinning wickedly.  “You have a stain on your shirt that I would bet my inheritance isn’t from clotted cream.” 

Aziraphale looked down, horrified to see that she was, in fact, correct. He had a stain that couldn’t be mistaken as anything other than what it was. 

“So are you….” Newt said, not making eye contact and trying not to look at the state they were in. “Together, now?” 

Aziraphale looked at Crowley who was as flushed in the face as himself, but trying valiantly to appear unaffected. 

“Er.” Crowley said, and Aziraphale nodded his head. “Yeah. Yes. We are… together.” 

“It’s about fucking time!” Anathema said. “Newt and I were going to stage an intervention if this…” She waved a hand in their direction. “...hadn’t happened.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we’re both idiots, we get it.” Crowley said, moving forward to exit out of the closet.

Aziraphale looked down and snatched Crowley’s black jacket and his waistcoat out of the floor. “Here, darling. I think I’d quite like to have my cardigan back please.” He said, trying to avoid Anathema's amused snort.

Jackets exchanged and the stain on Aziraphale’s shirt covered, he and Crowley were free to gather their things and follow Newt and Anathema out of the building. 

“Professor Fell!” A voice called from behind him when they were out on the pavement. “Professor Fell, please, wait!” 

He turned to see Muriel hurrying toward him. He tensed, unsure what he should do. He had all but forgotten why he and Crowley had gotten locked in the cupboard to begin with, and he hadn’t had time to decide how exactly he was going to handle the situation with Muriel.  

“Hey, Muriel. What’s up?” Crowley asked smoothly, sensing Aziraphale’s panic. 

“Oh, hello, Professor Crowley.” They smiled at the man sweetly, then looked back at Aziraphale with a worried expression. ‘Professor Fell, I didn’t mean to do it. It was an accident. I was returning the copy of The Crow road you let me borrow and I set my other books down… I-I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” They rambled quickly. 

Aziraphale lifted a hand to stop her rambling. “What exactly are you sorry for, my dear?” 

Muriel dug through their tote bag, then handed him his copy of Stuart Little.

“I’m really sorry, Professor Fell. I set my books down and I wasn’t paying attention when I picked them up. I guess I picked your book up with my others. I didn’t notice until I was back in the dorms. I was going to see if I could leave it with Professor Prince or Professor Crowley on Monday since you wouldn’t be here.” 

The poor dear looked as if they were going to cry at any moment. 

“Oh, my dear, don’t you fret a second longer. I assure you I am not upset with you at all.” He looked at Crowley and gave him a tender smile. “As a matter of fact, I’m very grateful that you took it.” 

“You… you are?” Muriel asked, confused. 

“Yes.” He smiled at her kindly. “Now, you run along and let Eric know everything is right as rain, and I’ll see you next week in class.”

“O-okay.” They said, still confused. “See you next week, Professor Fell. Professor Crowley.” And with that they performed something like a curtsy then scurried off presumably to find Eric.     

“Told you there’d be a simple explanation.” Crowley said, and put his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders, pulling him in close to his side. 

“Yes. You also said you were absolutely sure Hastur did it.” 

“In my defense, Hastur is a much more believable culprit than Muriel Constable.” 

“Hmm. I suppose you’re right.” Aziraphale smiled and leaned up on his toes to kiss Crowley’s lips. 

“Alright, love birds, can we please get to the pub? I’m starving.” Anathema complained. 

“I’m afraid I must insist that I go home and take a good long soak.” Aziraphale said. The sticky dried mess on his shirt was becoming uncomfortable and he was sure he was going to be sore all over tomorrow.

“And I’m afraid I must insist that I do the same.” Crowley said, grinning. “Your tub big enough for two, Fell?” 

Newt made a horrified sound, Anathema yelled something about putting a curse on both of them, and Crowley threw his head back and laughed, delighted that he had just scandalized their friends. 

“There’s plenty of room, my dear.” Aziraphale said, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. “As long as I sit in your lap.” 

“Ngk.” Crowley said, stumbling a bit.

“Agh!” Anathema yelled. “I knew you two would be impossible together. C’mon Newt, before I puke on the pavement.” 

Newt’s face was in danger of catching fire from embarrassment, but he stayed silent as Anathema drug him away. 

“We’ll meet you two for dinner tomorrow!” Aziraphale yelled after them. 

“If we’re not too exhausted!” Crowley added. 

Anathema threw up her middle finger in reply. 

“Well.” Aziraphale said, shyly when they were alone. 

“Well.” 

Aziraphale rocked up on the balls of his feet, his hands clasped behind his back. He felt ridiculously giddy with happiness and was fighting very hard not to show it. “I was actually quite serious about the bathtub.” 

Crowley blinked, then swallowed. “You want….” 

“Mmhm.” 

“Then what the hell are we standing around here for? C’mon, Fell, the Bentley is just over there. Soho, right? I can have us there in five minutes.” 

Aziraphale laughed, but was also a bit terrified. “You would have to break several speeding limits to make it in that amount of time, my dear, and you can’t go ninety miles an hour through central London, Crowley.” 

Crowley turned and grinned devilishly. 

“Watch me.”