Work Text:
Nesting was something all angels did, and demons were made of the same stuff, just slightly to the left and down. So demons nested too, pride and sloth and sometimes lust all packed into one space, tailored to their personality.
There was a small corner in Hell specifically for nests, small because everything in Hell was crowded and claustrophobic, too small for the amount of bodies. The area was protected fiercely, it was the one place in Hell where no one dared crowd into each other’s space uninvited, an unspoken agreement that there’s no fighting or you’re kicked out of it.
Crowley was quite possibly the only demon to not have a nest, not in Hell and not on Earth either. It wasn’t that he’d never had the urge, everyone had the urge to nest every now and then, he’d just never felt quite comfortable enough to. It’d never been a problem until now.
He wasn’t quite sure when he’d started nesting, but he was now. He stared at his hands - which held a pillow and a fluffy tartan blanket that Aziraphale had gifted him just a few days ago - then down at the nest that wasn’t quite finished.
See, the problem was that he was at the bookshop, not in his flat, which would have been easy to clean of his sudden nest, if that were the case. Instead, he stood there, in the room where he felt most comfortable, the room where there was a nice couch to lay on and nap when the urge struck and an armchair that an angel usually sat in while they drank, halfway to having built a nest. It was entirely too presumptuous, too telling, too fast.
He would have to dismantle it, and something inside him near screamed at that thought, loud enough that he let out a high keening noise. It felt like it would tear him apart to take down the nest right now, to deny himself his instincts of comfort and safety. It’d never felt like this before, when he took down his other ones.
“Are you alright, my dear?” Aziraphale called from the kitchen, none the wiser of the demon nesting in his own bookshop.
Right, the angel was here, because where else would he be?
“Fine, everything’s fine,” Crowley answered, voice croaky with a touch of whininess.
He forced himself to put the pillow in his hands back on the couch, folding the blanket and near throwing it onto the back. It hurt something deep inside of him, staring down at the halfway finished nest he couldn’t cuddle into like he wanted. He wasn’t quite sure why.
All the pillows that he’d pulled into a small little circle smelled like him and Aziraphale, exactly like the nest should, and maybe that’s what was different about this one. It didn’t smell like just him, it was Aziraphale’s scent too. It was that thought that had him growling to himself - quietly, lest the angel hear.
Of course. Of fucking course. It had to be how safe he felt now, how sure he was of his place here. They hadn’t outright said that they wanted their side to mean such safety and surety in the other’s presence, but ‘to the world’ while looking fondly at each other across the table was almost the same, was apparently close enough to the same that his stupid instincts had decided a nest was in order, for him and his chosen to be comfortable in their newfound ‘relationship.’
Crowley tore into the nest with vigor, placing the pillows exactly where they had been and miracling the ones he’d apparently taken from his flat back. He was just putting the last pillow down - a small tartan one, that smelled like old books and pine, which belonged on Aziraphale’s armchair - when the angel himself came back from the kitchen, a tray of tea and fresh baked cookies in his hands.
“Oh? What are you doing up, dearest?”
Crowley wanted to revel in the new pet name that Aziraphale had been calling him since that lovely night at the Ritz, but right now it just made his instincts all the more harder to control. They were itching at his skin, small, sharp pin pricks of want stabbing at his insides.
“Mmh, just…just wanted to - to -” He couldn’t really think of an excuse that would explain him, hand wrapped around a pillow that had always belonged on the armchair, that wouldn’t sound like an outright lie. Diversion, then. “What kinda alcohol do you think would pair well with those cookies? Thinking of getting drunk tonight.”
Not so much as thinking of, more so needing to, at this point. His instincts were absolutely howling at him to get closer to the angel, screaming to wrap his arms around that divine body and hide himself away in his neck, to protect and comfort and please.
“Hm,” Aziraphale hummed, not looking entirely convinced to let the subject drop.
Crowley noticed that he had stepped closer while lost in his thoughts, drawn to the angel unbidden. He plucked a cookie from the tray as an excuse for his closeness, then gave an assuredly unconvincing smile before retreating to the couch. Maybe sprawling would convince his instincts to calm the fuck down.
The silence stretched, Crowley unwilling to talk and Aziraphale either trying to find a polite way to pry or deciding if this was a subject he was alright with dropping. Apparently going with the latter, Aziraphale hummed again, finally setting down the tray with a thump that miraculously didn’t spill the tea.
“Perhaps a wine? What would you like, my dear?”
Crowley wiggled his fingers in the air, munching on his cookie and speaking through the crumbs, “Whatever you’d like, angel.”
This time, Aziraphale huffed, seeming exasperated with his less than stellar answers. “Oh, really! Are you terribly sure you’re alright?”
Crowley nodded, taking a larger bite than was strictly necessary and once again talking with his mouth full just to get the angel distracted with something else, “Mhm, tickety-boo.”
“Tickety - darling, you don’t say tickety-boo! Now I know something’s wrong!” Aziraphale looked distraught, hands wringing together.
Crowley blinked, then swallowed, shifting to sit on the couch instead of laying on it as he had been. His eyes caught on the tartan pillow again as he tried to find something to look at that wasn’t the angel. Hands itched to touch, to cling, to make.
“Mnng, I don’t wanna talk about it. Not…Not ready.” Whether Crowley, himself, wasn’t ready, or if it was Aziraphale that wasn’t was unclear.
“Oh.” Aziraphale didn’t seem to know what to say to that. “Well, at least tell me you’re safe?”
Crowley snorted. If only Aziraphale knew. Nesting was practically a sign that he felt the safest he could, and if his instinct was so strong that he’d practically had to claw himself out of it, then he was definitely safe. Especially in the bookshop, with Aziraphale not too far away.
“Safe as can be,” he replied honestly, smile much more genuine this time.
“Oh, good,” Aziraphale breathed, “Then do tell me what wine you would like. You always have a preference, dearest.”
---
Crowley was going insane. Absolutely bonkers. She had built a nest in her flat, cuddled up in it, and even taken her wings out for a nice preen. She should be happy, her nesting instinct sated, but instead it felt completely wrong, incomplete, inadequate.
She growled, pulling at her hair as her feathers ruffled. Before she even knew what she was doing, she was miracling the entire nest away, pillows and blankets haphazardly back where they started and old feathers burned. It was almost as if the thing had never existed in the first place, other than the fact that she was now sitting unsatisfied on the floor, wings drooping behind her.
Her phone rang, and Crowley clambered to her feet in a hurry. There was only ever one person who called her, and that was Aziraphale. Well, except for the occasional telemarketer, but Aziraphale had this weird sixth sense of knowing when she was moping and calling. And she was definitely moping, she could admit that.
“Hey, angel.”
“Hello, dear boy,” Aziraphale happily replied, and something in Crowley settled just a little.
Crowley hummed, already feeling much calmer than she had been. “Girl today.”
“Well then, dear girl, how would you like a walk in the park? Maybe some drinks at the bookshop after?”
Crowley nodded, even though Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to see it. “Yeah, sure. Want me to pick anything up on my way?” She thought for a moment, tapping her nails on the table, pleased by the clicking sound it made. “Mm, pastries, maybe? Seems like a pastry day.”
“That sounds delightful, dearest! Oh, how you spoil me.”
Aziraphale sighed the last bit, like he was reminiscing. Crowley wanted to preen, heartened by how well she had been taking care of the angel. Her instincts were practically purring in the back of her mind.
“See you in a bit?” Crowley asked.
“Yes, see you in a tick, darling.”
Crowley hung up, then snapped to change out of her rumpled clothes into something more appropriate. Leather jacket, simple tight black shirt, jeans such a dark blue they were almost black as well, and hefty boots. She hesitated, tugging at the shirt before deciding on a dark red one instead. Aziraphale was always talking about how she should wear more colors anyways. She then ran a hand through her hair to lengthen it to her shoulders, letting it curl how it wanted. With that, she was ready to go.
She arrived at the bookshop, picked up Aziraphale and handed him his pastries, and then made it to the park in short order. There wasn’t much conversation in between, other than a few words in greeting and thanks, Crowley focusing on driving and Aziraphale eating and enjoying the nice, freshly baked chocolate and strawberry pastries Crowley had managed to get.
Parking the Bentley in a definite no park zone, Crowley swung her way out of the car. Aziraphale followed, brushing imaginary crumbs from his suit.
“We’ll have to go to that bakery again, dear girl. Those pastries were absolutely scrummy!”
Crowley snorted. She hadn’t been able to watch Aziraphale eating like she usually did, but the pleased noises had been a bit more pronounced than usual. A job well done, then. She’d be sure to miracle some good luck on those bakers.
“Yeah, sure.”
Then, Aziraphale offered his hand, like that was something they did. Crowley stared for a moment, perplexed, before hesitantly placing her hand in his, unsure if that was really what Aziraphale wanted from her. The angel only smiled brightly before squeezing her hand and beginning on their walk.
Crowley couldn’t focus on anything the angel said, try as she might, she was much too distracted by the feel of Aziraphale’s hand, his touch. He was rubbing his thumb soothingly back and forth, and Crowley was quite sure she was going to combust. She let Aziraphale take her where he wanted, staring blankly at the park, at the ducks and the people who were seeing them holding hands. They were holding hands! In public!
Aziraphale gave a firm squeeze, pulling Crowley from her syrupy thoughts. She brought her eyes from their conjoined hands to Aziraphale’s face. He looked concerned.
“Oh, my dear, are you quite alright?”
The question was hard to understand, for a moment, like she had heard it but hadn’t processed it yet, hadn’t registered it in her brain that was running slower than a snail. Still firmly thinking of how soft the angel’s hands were, how publicly they were touching each other, close together. Almost like a couple.
“Mmmmh? Finnne, great even.”
“It’s just…you didn’t seem to be…you weren’t really listening, is all.”
Aziraphale pouted, though he didn’t seem too distraught over it. Crowley smiled apologetically anyways.
“Sorry, angel. I’ll pay attention, carry on.”
Aziraphale hummed, seeming to debate something. Crowley let him think it over, enjoying the moment. She took in the people as they passed, an old couple on a bench feeding the ducks, a group of teenagers under a tree having a picnic. It truly was a wonderful day out, the sun out but not too hot.
“Was there something on your mind, dearest?”
Crowley felt the normal warmth that came after that pet name, basking in it for a moment before replying, “Just…mmm, I like this.”
She brought their hands up, to indicate exactly what she meant, before swinging them back down between them. The angel grinned, looking pleased with himself as he gave her hand a squeeze.
“I like it too, my dear. Would you like…”
Amazingly, Aziraphale blushed, looking away from her. She wanted to cup his cheek and turn his head back towards her, to see that rare blush and admire it, but she wasn’t sure that was allowed.
“Would you like to touch more often, perhaps? I know I’ve held you at arm’s length for…well, since we met, really, but I would very much like to hold your hand more now that we’re on our own side. If…you are amenable.”
Crowley couldn’t believe her ears, it was like a fantasy come true. Aziraphale asking for more touch? It was something she had craved for ages but held back through sheer force of will, because she knew that Aziraphale wasn’t ready, wasn’t willing to risk their sides seeing them together, much less touching. He seemed more than ready now.
“Amenab - yesss, absssolutely, yesss, pleassse,” Crowley said, the jumble of words probably hard to parse through all the pleased hissing that had made its way through.
“Oh, how wonderful!”
Aziraphale beamed at her, pulling her closer by their conjoined hands so they were almost touching shoulders. It was a bit awkward to walk so close together, but they made do. Crowley wanted to live in this moment forever, holding Aziraphale’s hand and practically shouting to the world that the angel was hers.
---
From that point on, touching was almost constant. Crowley was absolutely wrecked in the best sort of way. A hand held over dinner or lunch or breakfast, a hug when Crowley eventually left for his flat, a playful slap when one of them made a truly horrid joke, a small line of contact when Aziraphale was lost in a book and Crowley was simply there, not necessarily cuddling but also not not cuddling. It was amazing, wonderful, breathtakingly domestic.
They were doing just that - not not cuddling, while Aziraphale read a book and Crowley watched - when Crowley couldn’t take it anymore. He’d held out for a month, at this point, instincts ramping up and up. They had been absolutely haywire for a day or two now, actually painful somewhere in his true form, and he was at his breaking point.
He carefully extracted himself from the angel, which wasn’t too hard given how deeply he was invested in his book - Crowley let himself preen at that, it was a book he’d found in an estate sale recently, that he’d obviously gifted to Aziraphale. After a moment of just standing and watching the angel read, he let his instincts take over. Fuck the thoughts that had been holding him back, he couldn’t anymore. If Aziraphale accepted the nest, then good, great even, and if he didn’t - which was the highly more likely outcome - then maybe his instincts would finally calm down and he could lick his wounds in peace.
It wouldn’t take long at all to build the nest, he’d built plenty since his instincts had started bothering him and he’d like to think that he was getting pretty good at it. It would be a grand thing, with pillows and blankets miracled from his flat and the blanket he’d been given by Aziraphale near the middle, right next to the one he’d given Aziraphale ages ago that he swiped from the flat upstairs while the angel was still distracted.
He grabbed the pillows from the couch he frequently lounged on, adding them as well, adjusting them this way and that until they were perfect, before he eyed the one that the angel was currently using to rest his arm on. Without much thought, he eased Aziraphale’s arm off the pillow and onto the armrest, the angel not giving any indication that he noticed other than a small hum. With the small tartan pillow acquired and added to the rest, placed just right, it was almost complete. He just needed to add his own feathers.
At this point, Crowley clawed his way back to the surface. Yes, he would be adding his feathers, just so Aziraphale was actually aware that this was a proper Nest, with a capital N and everything, but he didn’t want his wings knocking down all the shelves when he pulled them out. He stepped into the middle of his nest, which was placed conveniently away from the shelves, before pulling his wings into this plane of existence, carefully folded close to his body. Shaking them out as far as they would go without touching any of the shelves, he thoughtfully ruffled through his feathers with his fingers. Which ones would look best? Which ones would Aziraphale like?
“Oh!”
Crowley’s head snapped to look at the angel, who was no longer absorbed in his book and was staring straight at Crowley, or rather, his wings. The demon opened and closed his mouth, feeling his wings all too clearly, held awkwardly aloft with his fingers dug into the feathers.
“Ah…uh,” he helpfully muttered, before closing his mouth entirely for betraying him.
He pulled his wings back behind him, movements slow and careful. Now that Crowley was actually faced with the angel and his potential reaction, he wasn’t quite sure what to do, what to say, where to look. His instincts were still simmering under his skin, screaming at him to complete his nest with the best feathers he could provide, but it felt too vulnerable to have his wings out in the open like that now, too vulgar in a way. At least behind his back the angel wouldn’t be able to see them much.
Then, Aziraphale did something he never would have guessed. He got up, book falling unceremoniously to the floor - which Crowley made a wounded noise at, not because he cared too much for the integrity of the book, but because he knew Aziraphale did - and stepped easily into the nest, wings materializing behind him with a flutter. They puffed up and flared out, a clear courtship display, tantalizing and perfect.
Crowley wouldn’t have been able to hold back his instincts if he’d tried. His own wings copied Aziraphale’s, snapping into place quickly, miraculously not hitting the bookshelves. He let out a flustered noise when Aziraphale licked his lips, looking almost predatory.
“Oh, darling, I’ve wanted to nest with you for years.”
Crowley would have replied - probably with another noise of some sort because words weren’t working right then - if Aziraphale hadn’t lunged forward and pulled him into a kiss. The demon's hands fluttered uselessly in the air for a moment, unsure where to put them before settling them delicately on the angel’s waist. He was quick to open his mouth to let Aziraphale explore it as he pleased, curling his own tongue against the angel’s and tasting the cocoa he’d been drinking. It was messy, inexperienced as they were, but Crowley couldn’t have asked for a better first kiss. They only pulled away when their corporations demanded air, panting and grinning like fools.
“Yearsss, huh?” Crowley asked, because that seemed like an awfully long time to hold off nesting instincts, given his own month of painful repression.
“Oh, yes. It eased when you started coming over more often, so that your scent was more prominent. There were moments, though, where I couldn’t really hold back the urge. That was when I gave you gifts or made you food, it helped a bit.”
Crowley’s eyes darted to the blanket Aziraphale had given him, placed carefully in the middle of the nest. He remembered the cookies when this whole mess started, and all the little presents before. His thoughts helpfully went to the thermos full of holy water, which had been tartan like the blanket and tartan like his suit’s collar had been after they’d switched back. Tartan like the angel’s tartan.
He’d forgotten about gift giving as part of the nesting instinct, because he’d always given Aziraphale gifts. It was an urge he’d always indulged in, so the gifts didn’t really register as instinct in his head when he’d given them this past month.
But Aziraphale hadn’t always given him gifts, likely too afraid that anything that could link them together at all would indicate to their head offices that something was up. The first moment he could think of, in fact, was the thermos, how flustered and worried Aziraphale had been, even when he’d said those damnable words, how he’d left the Bentley immediately after, looking shaky on his feet as he walked away.
It made a bit more sense now, how overwhelmed Aziraphale had looked. Perhaps that had been when his nesting instincts had started, and he had still been coming to terms with them while desperately trying to find a way to sate them.
Crowley wasn’t quite sure how to articulate how that made him feel. If the holy water was actually the start, then that was a lot of time to be suffering in silence. He wanted to say something cool and suave at the revelation, maybe something romantic and dashing, but what he blurted out instead was an infatuated, completely inadequate for the sheer magnitude of emotions he felt, “I love you.”
Aziraphale let out a little gasp, looking like a waiter had just given him a free dessert. In a seemingly unconscious move, he pulled Crowley closer, squeezing in a delightful way.
“Oh, dearest, I love you too, so much.”
Crowley let out a pleased sigh, squirming as close to the angel as he could, wings curling around them. “Do you wanna choose the feathers? I couldn’t decide.”
“Only if you choose mine, dear.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever you want.”
He didn’t let on that ruffling through Aziraphale’s perfect, glossy feathers and picking which ones he would get to keep was like a dream come true. Having a piece of the angel with him at all times, having a nest that he could retreat to whenever the world got too much. It was almost too good to be true.
Aziraphale’s voice was fond and mischievous as he replied, “Well, then, could I have another kiss?”
Crowley grinned, and he was sure that the angel could hear it in his voice, even with his face pressed into his shoulder. “Mmh, I sssuppossse.”
The demon pulled away, but only enough to pull off his sunglasses - they had been in the way for far too long, at this point - and lean forward to kiss the angel proper.