What he discovered could not have been further from his expectations. He was prepared to find Aziraphale bloody and badly beaten. He was prepared to find the angel missing a limb or near discorperation. He'd even been prepared to find other angels - or possibly demons - in the flat, still fighting with Aziraphale, although he'd dearly hoped that was not the case, and was ready to fight them on his angel's behalf.

He had not been prepared to find Aziraphale naked, for several reasons.

He'd already spent too long sacrificing the here and now on the altar of the past. They had so little time.

AU, series. Ten years. It isn't enough. It's all they have. Aziraphale tries to hold on to every moment.

He couldn't explain it, just like he couldn't explain the intensity of all his reactions to Aziraphale, couldn't explain the pull he felt, like gravity, like grace, like words on the tip of his tongue, like a memory that wouldn't quite come into focus.

AU, series. Aziraphale comes back. Crowley tries not to go too fast. And not to think too hard about his dreams...

AU. Aziraphale should have known better. From the very start, he should have known better. But he just keeps making the same mistakes, and it isn't only him who has to pay for them.

Sequel to "Flowers for Anthony" and "Who Pluck'd Thee From Thy Stalk", multi-chapter, Aziraphale POV on what's been going on.

Aziraphale put his manuscript aside, instruments perched daintily on a knock-off Charles and Diana commemorative dish by an artist who couldn’t seem to decide whether he was painting the Princess of Wales or a young Aled Jones. “I believe the general consensus is that the fun of sexual activity is to enjoy climax, not to be deprived of it,” he said.

“Well, you would think that, angel.” Crowley stood up, unfolding himself in a sinewy deployment that Aziraphale followed with his eyes. “A right little hedonist you are, if ever I saw one.”

Crowley had never believed in... well, in much of anything, to be honest. Certainly not in anything so woolly as destiny. Or any other force, cosmic or divine or otherwise, that could bring people together because their lives were meant to intersect.

And yet here he was, walking past the same bookshop for the third time this week.

AU. Sequel to 'Flowers for Anthony'. Crowley can't quite let it go, even though he doesn't really understand what 'it' is.

In the aftermath of the non-pocalypse, Crowley struggles with returning to a 'normal' life. How do you decide what work is worth doing, and which habits to keep, when you're a disgraced demon? Meanwhile, Aziraphale has issues of his own, namely: How on earth do you define the difference between divine and personal love, and could online dating be the answer?

Crowley didn't look up immediately when he heard the shop door open; he was just in the middle of finishing off a complicated bouquet, and the blasted ribbon was being difficult about things.

"Just a sec," he said, scowling as the end slipped away from him again.

There was a pause. And then a voice, softly, "There you are."

For all the years Crowley has longed for him, he never allowed himself to actually imagine kissing Aziraphale. It would only have made it worse, imagining what he could never have, but now that Aziraphale’s lips are on his, curving slightly upwards as the angel pulls back for a second, only to kiss him again, sucking on the swollen flesh of his bottom lip, teeth just adding the smallest sting to the pleasure, Crowley knows he won’t ever be able to think of anything else.

Crowley heard Aziraphale swallow. “One moment, please.” Crowley listened as Aziraphale put the phone down. He imagined that it was probably an antique; Aziraphale didn’t like anything that had been invented more recently than the rotary phone. Crowley heard a loud click, unmistakably the sound of Aziraphale locking the door to his hotel room. Encouraged, Crowley drifted a hand over his cock, which was beginning to strain against his trousers.