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Such Great Heights

This is based on an ask:  “ Imagine Crowley having found a book that contained Gustavedore’s artwork and he was looking at the depictions of angels and he casually says to Azirphale, none of them are as beautiful as you ~~~”

So I of course, had to hammer out a nearly 2 thousand word fic in which Crowley is jealous, Aziraphale is oblivious, and (probably excessively) dramatic confessions are made.

Such Great Heights

On a Tuesday in October, Aziraphale found himself in rare possession of a most quintessentially perfect afternoon.

Outside, trees, swathed in resplendent oranges and reds, shivered in delight at the autumnal breeze tickling their leaves. On his desk, steam rose from a freshly brewed cup of tea. And a new book waited, open and ready for his most ardent perusal.

Peaceful. Aziraphale reflected, lifting the steaming cup to his lips. It was peaceful.

Quiet too.

Aziraphale froze, cool ceramic pressing against his lips.

Entirely too quiet.

If Aziraphale were alone, the silence would have been acceptable - welcomed even. But the problem was this: he was not alone.

A few hours ago, Crowley had breezed in, colorful leaves swirling around him, moaning about boredom. He’d then proceeded to prowl around the shop, getting underfoot as Aziraphale read - er, worked - and being the general sort of nuisance that only a demon suffering from excessive boredom can be.

The last time Aziraphale had heard from him was half an hour ago.

As Aziraphale sorted some of his newer books, he’d heard Crowley somewhere near the back of the shop, doing what sounded like a frightful amount of rummaging. Aziraphale had resolved to put a stop to it - only to re-discover a book he’d been meaning to read, tucked, forgotten beneath a pile of texts.

Readying the book, Aziraphale had promptly hurried to brew a cup of tea.

Now, a few pages in, silence hung over the bookshop like a curse.

A loud, bored demon might a nuisance, but a silent, bored demon was dangerous.

Aziraphale frowned, sitting up. Setting the cup aside, he turned a wary glance over the shop.

“Crowley?” he called

No response.

Not good.

Aziraphale rose, swiftly marking his page. Straightening his vest with a determined tug, he marched toward the rear of the store - the last known location of Crowley’s mischief.

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In 6000 years time when their relationship is truly established, Aziraphale digs out his old magician’s costume. He’s kept it in brilliant condition but he can’t stop the aging process completely so it’s rather worn and a bit moth-eaten.

When Crowley sees him in the costume he groans and protests loudly. He asks Aziraphale what he could possibly be wearing it for? After all, they don’t have any kids to entertain! 

Aziraphale simply tells Crowley to sit down. He’s been practising some new tricks and he needs an audience. Crowley does so, complaining the whole time, and Aziraphale does some of his usual card tricks and makes a rabbit come out of a hat. 

Just as Crowley says ‘Angel, I’ve seen these a hundred times’, Aziraphale reaches out behind Crowley’s ear, and in his hand there isn’t a shiny penny, but a beautiful ring. The band is made from gold crafted into an elegant braid, and there are tiny stones set in it in Crowley’s signature shade of red. 

Aziraphale drops to one knee. 

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Such Great Heights

This is based on an ask:  “ Imagine Crowley having found a book that contained Gustavedore’s artwork and he was looking at the depictions of angels and he casually says to Azirphale, none of them are as beautiful as you ~~~”

So I of course, had to hammer out a nearly 2 thousand word fic in which Crowley is jealous, Aziraphale is oblivious, and (probably excessively) dramatic confessions are made.

Such Great Heights

On a Tuesday in October, Aziraphale found himself in rare possession of a most quintessentially perfect afternoon.

Outside, trees, swathed in resplendent oranges and reds, shivered in delight at the autumnal breeze tickling their leaves. On his desk, steam rose from a freshly brewed cup of tea. And a new book waited, open and ready for his most ardent perusal.

Peaceful. Aziraphale reflected, lifting the steaming cup to his lips. It was peaceful.

Quiet too.

Aziraphale froze, cool ceramic pressing against his lips.

Entirely too quiet.

If Aziraphale were alone, the silence would have been acceptable - welcomed even. But the problem was this: he was not alone.

A few hours ago, Crowley had breezed in, colorful leaves swirling around him, moaning about boredom. He’d then proceeded to prowl around the shop, getting underfoot as Aziraphale read - er, worked - and being the general sort of nuisance that only a demon suffering from excessive boredom can be.

The last time Aziraphale had heard from him was half an hour ago.

As Aziraphale sorted some of his newer books, he’d heard Crowley somewhere near the back of the shop, doing what sounded like a frightful amount of rummaging. Aziraphale had resolved to put a stop to it - only to re-discover a book he’d been meaning to read, tucked, forgotten beneath a pile of texts.

Readying the book, Aziraphale had promptly hurried to brew a cup of tea.

Now, a few pages in, silence hung over the bookshop like a curse.

A loud, bored demon might a nuisance, but a silent, bored demon was dangerous.

Aziraphale frowned, sitting up. Setting the cup aside, he turned a wary glance over the shop.

“Crowley?” he called

No response.

Not good.

Aziraphale rose, swiftly marking his page. Straightening his vest with a determined tug, he marched toward the rear of the store - the last known location of Crowley’s mischief.

Keep reading