Title: Just an Ordinary Day
Summary: Aziraphale's day is full of Crowley.
Author's Notes: Happy Antichristmas! ...I'm not too sure about how this turned out, but I hope you like it.
One day Aziraphale realized that Crowley was a permanent part of his existence. And there was no way to get rid of the demon.
The day began with him waking up. This alone was enough of a proof about the demon’s influence on his life. He had never slept until Crowley had managed to convince him to try it some time in the 17th century. After that he had indulged occasionally, and the second World War had made him sleep almost every night, doing it so regularly that he was almost addicted to it. Not as addicted as Crowley was, of course; he could easily go for a couple of nights without sleep, unlike the demon. However, a week or so without sleep was enough to make him a very cranky angel.
After waking up, he slowly got out of the bed and dressed himself. Crowley still said it was ridiculous that he actually manually put his clothes on rather than miracling them on, but Aziraphale insisted on doing it "the human way". Otherwise he would become too lazy, he always said, and then Crowley would roll his eyes and mutter something about "silly angels" and "waste of time."
Once again, however, Crowley had influenced his habits. Although he did dress himself by hand, he sometimes used a miracle to... well... undress. When he was in haste to do so. Not that it happened often or anything like that, no. Just occasionally. Sometimes not even once in a whole week.
Yawning slightly, he dragged himself out of the bedroom, heading for his little kitchen. Once there, he put the kettle on, wanting a nice cup of tea. His eyes caught the coffee machine, and he smiled briefly. He never drank coffee; the stuff tasted just awful. However, Crowley did drink it. And therefore, Aziraphale actually could make coffee now, and it was even good enough that Crowley accepted it.
After the cup of tea had woken him up properly, he headed for his shop, full of energy. Books were busily reorganized so that they would be even harder for the customers to find, some of the ones he found most dear hid behind the others, precious tomes carefully dusted.
On one shelf he found a magazine he definitely hadn’t put there. It was about gardening, it seemed, with pictures of healthy, green plants on every page. As he quickly looked through it he found one plant being circled with a pen. Suddenly he found himself silently pitying whatever plant of that particular species that got into Crowley’s claws. Er, hands.
Instead of disposing of the magazine, he decided to take it to his desk. If he did throw it away, Crowley would be sure to burst in at the same moment, asking for his magazine. No, he’d better just keep it safe in case the demon ever remembered it again now that it had served its purpose of giving him clues to his next victim.
As he laid the magazine on his desk, his eyes momentarily slid over the smooth wooden surface. There was a slight depression on one point, he noted. At first he was slightly confused, but then a familiar image rose to his mind. Crowley, with golden eyes shining behind his sunglasses, talking about one thing or another -- and leaning against this very same spot on the desk. It hadn’t been only for years, either, or decades -- centuries now had Crowley slowly made this impression on the wood, always on exactly the same spot. It seemed almost intentional -- and, knowing Crowley, it might actually be that.
Aziraphale tried leaning against the desk the same way Crowley always did. It felt very uncomfortable. After all, this was Crowley’s place; he had no right to try to take it over. So what if it was his desk, because on his desk there was Crowley’s place.
Oh, yes. Crowley had definitely left his mark on Aziraphale’s life.
He continued to work with his books for quite some time. He was so completely absorbed in his work, in fact, that when the little bell above the door rang, he didn’t even register the sound. It wasn’t until a hand pushed aside a lock of hair from his neck and lips briefly touched the now exposed skin that he realized he wasn’t alone in the bookshop.
"Hello, angel," Crowley said, his breath tickling Aziraphale’s ear. "Don’t tell me you forgot we were supposed to have lunch together today."
"I didn’t forget," Aziraphale protested. "I just... I just didn’t notice the time." Without even consciously realizing it he leant slightly back against the demon’s chest. They were equal in height, and although Aziraphale’s body was rather soft and plump while Crowley’s was lean and slender, Aziraphale always thought their bodies fit together perfectly.
"Well, it’s definitely the time we get going," Crowley said, smirking a bit. "Ccome on, angel. I’ve got us a reservation in a nice little new restaurant."
"No, you don’t," Aziraphale said even as he was being led towards the door, quite unresisting. "You’re just going to mess with the poor humans’ minds again and make them think we have a reservation there."
"Exactly," Crowley said, grinning. "Isn’t it just great?" As soon as Aziraphale was in the car he started the engine and sped off. A pedestrian only barely managed to hop out of the way before he got ran over by the Bentley. Aziraphale was horrified -- mostly because he wasn’t really horrified. He was used to it, and that was the bad thing. He was an angel, and angels shouldn’t be used to humans almost getting killed for no other reason than wanting to cross the road..
Oh, Crowley definitely had an effect on him.
The restaurant was indeed good, he noticed, and the company even better -- as usual. By now he couldn’t even imagine a lunch, or a dinner, without Crowley sitting on the other side of the table, occasionally glancing at him over his sunglasses with the serpentine eyes, talking almsot all the time. Of course, Aziraphale talked, too; they had quite interesting conversations whenever they ate. And whenever they drank, of course. And, practically, whenever they talked.
After lunch they headed for St. James’ Park to feed the ducks. Ever since the first crumps of bread were tossed into the water Aziraphale waited to see at least one of the ducks sink under the surface. This wasn’t because he would ever do that, of course, but because he knew that it belonged to the duck feeding. Whenever he fed ducks, at least one of them sank momentarily. This was because whenever he fed ducks, Crowley fed them as well. He couldn’t even remember when he’d last been in the park without the demon by his side.
On the way back to the bookshop Crowley did not run over any pedestrians. Aziraphale was quite relieved.
Instead of going to do whatever it was he usually did, Crowley chose to stay in the bookshop and annoy him. He leant against the desk on the exactly same spot as he always did, in the very same position, talking to Aziraphale while the angel went on with his task of caring for his precious books. Every now and then the demon would pick a random book from the shelf and started to read aloud. Whatever he read, it was always something that made Aziraphale blush slightly and snatch the book away from him. The first few times this had happened, he had thought Crowley had snuck some pornography novels into the shop just to annoy him, but over time he had come to notice they were just ordinary books.
No, Crowley wasn’t making it up. However, whenever he picked up a book, its contents automatically turned into pornography. Thankfully they turned back as soon as Aziraphale got his hands on them. Crowley could have probably read explicit sex scenes from the Bible, assuming he could have held the book.
Ah, the Bibles. He kept all those in the backroom to make sure nobody ever bought them. However, while initially they had been in a place of honour on his shelves, now they were situated more to the back so that there was no danger of Crowley accidentally running into them. With all the time he spent in the bookshop it had been a real threat. Nowadays the best shelves of the backroom were reserved for books on demonology and angeology -- with proper editings and sidenotes, of course. Crowley had made almost all markings -- on both books. It seemed to amuse the demon, and although Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure what to think about some of his additions to the angeology books, he did nothing about it. (Besides, some of the comments were indeed amusing. Especially those about Gabriel. He had never quite got along with Gabriel.)
Every now and then Aziraphale would find a book somewhere it had no business being. For some reason Crowley also found it amusing to rearrange his shelves. Most of the time Aziraphale didn’t mind it beyond some annoyed act; after all, the more mixed up the books were, the less chances there were a customer might actually find something they wanted. And this served him perfectly well. Of course, it didn’t stop him from scolding Crowley.
Finally, when Crowley had decided that Aziraphale was overworked and annoyed enough, the demon dragged him to the Ritz. (They had lunch in various places, but for dinner, it was always the Ritz.) At lunch Aziraphale had avoided alcohol, but now wine was indeed involved, and they were both quickly becoming even more chatty than usual.
Crowley had introduced him to drinking, too, a few millennia back. That he still did it only proved the extent of the demon’s influence on his existence.
Not surprisingly, they finally staggered bck into the Bentley. Back in the first years of the Bentley Aziraphale had still had the energy to lecture against driving while drunk, but now he knew Crowley wasn’t really driving anyway. The Bentley could very well do that all by itself.
They ended up in Crowley’s apartment. The door hadn’t been even closed before the demon assaulted him with his mouth. Aziraphale, of course, did not resist much, instead responding to the kiss very eagerly indeed. Oh, this was one of the best parts of the day indeed.
Despite the quick start, things didn’t go too fast today. They actually took the time to undress each other rather than just banish the clothes.
Later Aziraphale lay on the bed next to a dozing demon, listening to the other being’s steady breath. Nothing prevented him from just leaving, yet he was as surely bound to the bed as though he had been tied to it. He belonged there, beside Crowley, sleepy and sated and oh so happy. This was how it should be. Perhaps it wasn’t what could be expected from an angel, but he still wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Slowly he drifted to sleep, content with Crowley's arm around him.
That day Aziraphale realized that Crowley was a permanent part of his existence. And he couldn’t even imagine it any other way.