Chapter Text
Aziraphale jumped when he heard the banging on the door and Anthony shouting his name.
“Angel! Let me in!” More hard knocking that shook the door frame. “Angel! Please! Come on! I know you’re not sick! Let me in!”
Not wanting to let Anthony continue to cause a scene, Aziraphale went to the door, unlocked it and pulled it open. As he did so, he stepped back, keeping the right side of his face, where a large bruise was forming, away from the door and the light from the streetlamps outside. He knew he couldn’t hide his face from Anthony for long, but he still felt shame and worry. Over what Anthony would think about Aziraphale’s taste in men. Maybe he’d think Aziraphale had welcomed Gabriel over for reasons other than the real ones. Maybe Anthony would think he’d been seeing Gabriel on the side. Perhaps Anthony would turn around and walk out when he saw the consequences of Aziraphale’s bad prior life decisions. His foolishness, of trusting Gabriel when he shouldn’t have.
Anthony of course, couldn’t be fooled for more than three seconds. He strode into the shop and shut the door, locking it again behind him before immediately gripping Aziraphale by the shoulders and turning him gently to face him, leaning in for a kiss hello. He froze however, mid lean, and Aziraphale watched, close up, as Anthony’s face morphed into a series of expressions Aziraphale had never seen before. Surprise gave way quickly to a shocked sort of recognition, which immediately changed into a cold eyed, thin mouthed rage, the likes of which made Aziraphale want to draw away from Anthony’s wide, staring eyes.
“I’ll fucking kill him,” he said, soft and low, and for a moment, Aziraphale couldn’t process Anthony’s words. He’d expected irritation, disappointment. The type of anger that contained a sullen sort of resignation as he realized Aziraphale was more trouble than he was worth. Not this fierce rage simmering beneath the surface of Anthony’s skin.
“What?” he asked foolishly, numbly.
“I’ll kill him,” Anthony repeated, bringing a gentle hand up to touch the puffy, yellow-brown stain of the bruise just to the side of Aziraphale’s right brow bone. “I’ll kill him. You have to tell me where he lives angel. I’ll fucking kill him.”
“Anthony, dearest. Please. Please, lets just stay calm.” Aziraphale was wound up tight with anxiety from Anthony’s surprising reaction to his black eye.
“I’m perfectly calm. Do I sound like I’m not calm?” Anthony’s voice was very soft and low now. He was almost whispering. His hands where they gripped Aziraphale’s shoulders were starting to hurt a little with the force of his grasp. Anthony seemed to realize this at almost the same time Aziraphale noticed it, and he relaxed his grip and stepped back, his chest heaving gently beneath his black spa shirt. His eyes were lit up like liquid, yellow-gold fire.
“It’s nothing,” Aziraphale tried placating him with cautious, tamping motions of his hands, tried to calm this man who was suddenly so full of cold rage. “Just a bump really. I said some very mean things, and he didn’t take it well. It’s barely anything.”
“Where does he live?” Anthony asked, almost conversationally, his casual tone betrayed by the twitch of his jaw muscle as he clenched his teeth. “Which street? You must have his address yes?”
“Anthony, perhaps a cup of te-”
“I don’t need tea angel”, Anthony cut him off, and began pacing. “I need you to tell me where Gabriel lives so that I can go talk to him about this.”
“Anthony, I’m sorry. I should never have let him in.”
His words caused Anthony to abruptly cease his pacing and step back up to Aziraphale, gripping his face carefully in the fingers of both slender hands. He looked into Aziraphale’s eyes with an intensity that had Aziraphale’s heart racing. “This is not your fault, baby. You did nothing to bring this about, other than be your usual, beautiful self. He’s a narcissistic piece of shite, and you’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing.” He punctuated his words with gentle little shakes of Aziraphale’s face in his hands, as if wanting to drive the point home.
“Oh. Alright dearest.” Despite himself, Aziraphale felt relief that Anthony didn’t blame him for this situation. “I thought... I thought you’d, well, this is silly, but I thought you’d be mad at me.”
Anthony’s eyes went wide upon hearing this. “Mad at you?” he sounded confused. “Whatever for?”
“Well, for bringing this trouble into your life. He... he threatened me. Said if I told you or the police about this, he’d ruin you. Get you arrested for selling weed. I was terrified, and… and… it’s all because of me, because I dated him, because I agreed to let him come back… twice.” Aziraphale felt tears start to prickle at the corners of his eyes as he babbled out the anxiety that had ruled him for the past two days.
Anthony stopped his talking with a fierce kiss. He simply pulled Aziraphale in and pressed his lips intensely against Aziraphale’s, taking in a sharp breath through his nose as he did so, before pulling away quickly. It wasn’t a sexual kiss, or even a tender, romantic kiss. It felt like a reassurance. A statement of dedication. “Aziraphale. Angel. Please,” Anthony said, his eyes locked with Aziraphale’s in a way that made Aziraphale’s knees threaten to turn to jelly beneath him. “Why would you think I’d be mad at you because your ex went psycho and hit you? What kind of a boyfriend would I be if I blamed you for that arsehole’s behavior?”
Boyfriend?
“Boyfriend?” Aziraphale latched onto that one, beautiful, meaningful word. That possessive label that he’d been using inside his head to refer to Anthony for weeks now, from back before they’d even kissed. Boyfriend. Anthony had just referred to himself as his boyfriend. He felt his breath coming quicker.
Anthony turned from white to pink, ducking his head, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah. Um, Is that OK?” his voice was guarded, and Aziraphale worried that he crossed a line.
“Of course it is, darling. Of course” Aziraphale was quick to reassure him, placing a careful hand to his shoulder. “I wasn’t sure you... wanted that sort of thing with me, so I didn’t say it out loud, but it’s fine, more than fine really.” It’s everything I’ve ever wanted in fact, he thought, keeping that part to himself.
“Oh shit,” Anthony swore, suddenly. “Oh shit,” he repeated. “I’ve been a fucking idiot. I’ve been a fool.”
“Don’t say that dearest. It’s fine. I’m fine. I.. I just… I thought maybe you might still be on the fence about us..” he waved a hand vaguely in the space between their chests, “about this,” he finished lamely.
“Angel,” this time, Anthony’s voice was oh so tender. So careful. He stepped up close to Aziraphale again and brought his hands up to hold Aziraphale gently by the neck, thumbs resting along Aziraphale’s jaw. “Angel, I… I fucking love you. I am in love with you.” he said, his eyes glowing with unshed tears, searching Aziraphale’s face. “I’m so in love with you I can’t think straight,” he said.
Aziraphale felt tears springing to his own eyes. He hadn’t cried very much in twenty years, and now, several times inside of a week and a half. Something about Anthony’s presence in his life, opened him up and made him vulnerable. “Darling. Yes. I feel the same way,” he stammered, wrapping his arms around Anthony’s waist. If he didn’t kiss this man soon, and hard, he was going to fall apart at the seams. “I’m in love with you too dearest. I’m so in love with you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”
Anthony shook his head gently, telling him without words that he had nothing to apologize for, and then his lips were against Aziraphale’s, he was in Azirpahale’s arms and they were kissing like only two people flooded with relief and full of love could kiss. The feel of Anthony’s mouth against his own, doing soft, slow, delicate things, made Aziraphale’s insides explode in tingles, twist with delicious fire. He pulled Anthony close, as if their bodies could melt into one another. As if he could somehow make their souls blend, could blur their separate edges.
Soon, Anthony had backed him against the wall of his foyer, up against a blessedly sturdy shelf of old Encyclopedia Brittanicas, and was pressing himself against Aziraphale in return, moaning softly as he drove his hands up into Aziraphale’s hair.
This. This was what he’d wanted since the first moment he’d laid eyes on Anthony. This closeness. This heat. This feeling of belonging. He was overcome with gratitude that this beautiful, talented man loved him back. What had he done in his long, bookish life to deserve such a thrilling turn of events?
And then, as if hearing his internal question, Anthony began to speak, softly, in between kisses. Telling Aziraphale all the things he found beautiful and good about him.
“You’re so kind. You're so fucking kind. I could never be like that all the time. It would make my black heart seize up and stop beating.”
And
“You’re so very smart. All those books you read. I can’t tell you how sexy that is. To know you’d obliterate me in a duel of wits. Fuck that’s hot.”
And
“This hair, how did I not touch this hair the first night I met you? You’d have thought I was a creeper for sure. But it’s so beautiful. And those eyes. Your eyes kill me. You’re so painfully beautiful. I hope you know that angel. So fucking beautiful.”
Aziraphale could do nothing but cry and smile and kiss him back. He was too shy to say all those things to Anthony, though he felt them, and he knew the words were there, simmering under the surface. So instead he simply said the only thing he could.
“I love you,” he said it softly, sometimes over what Anthony was saying, sometimes in between kisses. “I love you. I love you my dearest. I love you my darling.”
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They kissed and spoke softly to each other for what seemed like a long time, but could have been ten minutes. The passage of time had taken on a strange quality. Nothing mattered anymore, now that Anthony was in his arms and kissing him and taking him apart with his gentle, devastating words.
Eventually, Aziraphale pulled back and insisted that they retire upstairs, and they separated just long enough to ascend to the second floor, before falling into Aziraphale’s bed, clumsily shedding clothes as they went. Aziraphale needed to feel Anthony’s skin on his skin like he needed to feel the sun after a long, cold winter. He swiftly worked hungry hands up under the other man’s black work shirt to stroke his palms up the expanse of soft, oh so soft skin over Anthony’s ribs, causing the other man to groan at the feel of Aziraphale’s touch. Anthony meanwhile, was clumsily working at the buttons of Aziraphale’s shirt. He wasn’t having much luck, probably because he was far too engrossed in kissing Aziraphale to focus on the mechanics of unbuttoning anything. Aziraphale took pity on him and swiftly did the job himself, gasping as Anthony immediately reached inside the opening of his shirt and smoothed one hand around Azirpahale’s waist, leaving a trail of tingling fire in it's wake, and the other up around his shoulder to drive the fingers of that hand back into his hair.
They lay there, kissing, skating fingertips over each other’s skin, pulling each other close for a while. A sudden dark thought occurred to Aziraphale, and he couldn’t shake it. Not even Anthony’s warm mouth and body against his could quell his worries. “Dearest?” he broke away reluctantly from kissing Anthony and pulled back to look him in the eyes. “What if Gabriel makes good on his promise to turn you in to the police?”
“Simple really.” Anthony replied with a smile. “I’ll just stop selling weed.”
“Oh.” Aziraphale paused for a second. He hadn’t considered that as a possibility. “But what about-”
“The stuff I have currently? I’ll buy it from my connection and give it to my customers as a retirement gift. It’ll set me back a few hundred, but I don’t ever really have all that much lying around. I’m not some drug lord from a bad movie. And the bloke who supplies me is a neo hippie in Soho who wears birkenstocks. Not really the type to break my legs if I tell him I’m out of the business. It was just a small thing I did to make some extra spending money.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale repeated. “Well, that’s good then. I’d hate to think of you getting in trouble.”
“He has nothing on me. Without the drugs, all he can do is point out to my massage employers that I’m an exotic dancer. And they all know that already. They also know about my history with drugs. I’m clean now, aside from the occasional toke on a joint. I only keep the two businesses separate so that my clients won’t be put off. He didn’t think out this blackmail thing all that well. Perhaps,” he continued thoughtfully, “he could have caused a lot of trouble for a younger me. A me who stubbornly refused to stop dealing because I wanted the extra money. A me who would have been ashamed of his job dancing at the club and was easily manipulated. But I’m too old for that shit now.” He grinned a devilish grin, and Aziraphale marveled again at how handsome his boyfriend was.
“I’m ever so glad to hear you say that darling. I thought for sure he’d find a way to hurt you.”
Upon the mention of pain, Anthony’s face grew serious, and he reached up a tentative hand to place a feather-light touch against the bruise on Aziraphale’s face. “He hit you,” he said, unnecessarily, his voice going a little dark. “He hit my angel. I can’t let that go baby.”
“Yes, yes you can,” Aziraphale said, through the flush of warmth he felt over Anthony’s tender protectiveness. “There’s nothing to be done about it that won’t cause more trouble.”
Anthony looked sullen for a moment “I could kill him,” he offered, sounding determined “I’d make it look like an accident.”
Aziraphale, not completely sure that Anthony was joking, pulled the man closer and started kissing his neck. “My hero,” he mumbled into his kisses. “My dashing hero come to rescue me.” The words were heartfelt, and that’s how Aziraphale meant them, without a grain of sarcasm or irony. Anthony was his dashing hero. He’d come rushing to his aid the moment he suspected Aziraphale had been harmed. Aziraphale pulled back suddenly and looked into Anthony’s eyes again. “I’m so sorry I shut you out darling. I thought for sure you’d think I was more trouble than I was worth.”
Anthony’s face grew serious again, and he reached a hand up to press it against Aziraphale’s neck. “You’re worth any kind of trouble” he said solemnly, then leaned in and placed a soft, gentle kiss to Aziraphale’s lips, causing a thrilling bolt of lightning course through him from head to toe. It was continually surprising to Aziraphale how just the smallest touch from Anthony had him instantly aflame with desire. He opened his mouth, probing flirtatiously with his tongue against Anthony’s closed lips and then they were kissing deeply.
Soon, Anthony was sliding down the bed, lavishing Aziraphale’s skin with soft kisses, whispering praises and compliments as he worked his way south.
“My beautiful angel.”
“My gorgeous darling angel.”
“You have no idea what your body does to me. You drive me wild”
“This soft little tummy is so sexy”
“These thick legs. Fuck baby. These thighs. I want to build an altar to these sexy thighs.”
Aziraphale luxuriated under the onslaught of Anthony’s beautiful words and the electric feel of his velvet kisses. He’d never been with a lover who so clearly worshiped his body. It was healing and terrifying, had him vacillating between tears and giddy laughter. He twisted his fingers in Anthony’s flame colored hair and moaned softly as the other man slowly took him apart, piece by piece, word by word, kiss by kiss. When Anthony enveloped his cock in the tight, wet heat of his mouth, Aziraphale gasped “I love you!” and heard (and felt) Anthony moan against him and sink him in to the hilt.
“I love you so much,” he groaned out as Anthony began to move, to slide him in and out of that hot mouth. “I wanted you for so long,” he spoke through another gasp as Anthony increased his pace, grunting happily as he worked. “Your mouth. Oh god, Anthony darling. Your mouth.” He tightened his grip in Anthony’s hair and heard a ruined little noise escape Anthony’s throat.
“Do you like that darling?” he asked. “Do you want me to be rougher?” Anthony nodded swiftly around Aziraphale’s cock in his mouth, yellow-gold eyes gleaming up at Aziraphale under beautifully knit brows. His affirmation was as clear as day, and so Aziraphale tightened his grip in the other man’s silky hair and pulled his mouth down a bit onto his cock. Both men moaned in response. Once he knew what Anthony wanted, Aziraphale held his lover tight by the hair, close to the scalp, and fucked up into his mouth, watching in wonder as Anthony’s eyes rolled gently back into his head and he started grunting in pleasure with each thrust.
Anthony’s compliance and his beautiful, pleasure-filled submission to Aziraphale’s rough handling had Aziraphale teetering on the edge of orgasm far too quickly. He pulled Anthony up and off his cock, hearing the other man whine in disappointment.
“I’m too close darling. I’ll come if we keep this up.”
“I rather thought that was the idea” Anthony, breathless, cheeks flushed, lips bruised, amber eyes aflame, hanging from Aziraphale’s grip in his hair, was quite possibly the most beautiful thing Aziraphale had ever seen, and that included the rose window at Notre Dame.
“I want you up here with me. I want to kiss you when I come,” Aziraphale blushed, still unused to asking for what he desired. A small, insecure part of him always expected his lover to recoil or mock him. Anthony did neither. Instead he grinned wickedly and crawled up on top of Aziraphale, bringing their mouths together in a sloppy kiss. He ground his stiff erection against Aziraphale’s and moaned into the kiss.
“You have me so worked up from fucking my mouth like that. How do you want this? Tell me angel. Tell me what you want.” He was slow and languid with his words and movements. The serpent tattoo curling darkly up his arm as he propped himself up over Azirapahle and smiled down at him.
“I like you like this. On top of me” Aziraphale’s head was spinning. He cast a hand out to the side, seeking the bottle of lube and Anthony read his mind. Grinning, he grabbed for the bottle, which turned out to be wedged partially under Aziraphale’s pillow, and rolled to the side momentarily to dribble a generous portion up both of their lengths before capping it and tossing it away. And then, oh god, then, he began to move against Aziraphale, sliding them together with a tingling friction that made Aziraphale ache inside.
“Is this good baby?” Anthony asked, his voice tight and rough, clearly excited by what he was doing atop Aziraphale. “Is this good for you?”
“Oh yes. Yes, Darling, this feels very good. I won’t last long.”
“Me neither,” Anthony responded, thrusting against Aziraphale with deliberate precision, making sure his shaft glided against Aziraphale’s, just so, as Aziraphale canted his hips up against that slick friction.
He took Anthony’s face in his hands and kissed him, moaning his pleasure into Anthony’s mouth as Anthony hooked his hands under and around Aziraphale’s shoulders so that he could could anchor himself in order to thrust more surely against Aziraphale. Anthony sped up his movements, making little high pitched noises in his throat as his lovely hips worked them together. Aziraphale felt his orgasm approaching like a freight train, barrelling closer and closer. He whispered against Anthony’s lips.
“You feel so good darling. I’m going to come so hard with you moving like that. Oh fuck darling. Oh my dearest. Oh! Oh!” and then he felt himself explode, sealing his mouth with Anthony’s so that Anthony swallowed down his moans. He felt and heard Anthony coming with him, snapping his hips in swift thrusts as he jerked and spilled between them, moaning against Aziraphale’s mouth.
They stayed that way, letting the kiss carry them through their shared orgasm and out the other side. Eventually Anthony stilled the movement of his hips and just lay there, kissing Aziraphale lazily, sweetly, while they both caught their breath and came down from the high of their mutual climax.
Anthony broke the kiss first, looking down at Aziraphale with eyes full of love. “I’m so gone on you angel,” he said, kissing Aziraphale’s cheeks, his brow, his eyelids one at a time. “I’m so gone on you.”
Aziraphale rolled them over onto their sides, ignoring the very sticky state of their chests and bellies and held Anthony tightly against him. “I am too my darling. Head over heels.” He grinned into Anthony’s neck, then placed soft, tender kisses there. He felt safe and warm and happy and drifted off to sleep, wrapped in Anthony’s arms.
They both woke up some time later, groaning in dismay at the sticky mess that was now sort of gluing them together. Anthony gingerly disengaged from Aziraphale and they both crammed themselves into Aziraphale’s small, claw foot bathtub for a quick shower, accompanied by much petting and kissing. They ended up stroking each other off with soapy hands (“Have to take advantage of the soap and hot water, right angel?”), and were luckily able to clean up a second time before the water turned cold.
They crawled back into bed, it being past midnight at this point, and cuddled together under the covers. Aziraphale wrapped Anthony up in his arms and held him tight, reveling in the pure joy he felt just from the other man’s closeness. He’d never experienced love like this before. With someone who happily and completely returned his feelings. With someone who prioritized and found joy in his happiness. It was beyond wonderful. It was transcendent. He held Anthony tight and swore to himself never to let him go.
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Six months later, Aziraphale proposed. He would have done it sooner if he hadn’t thought it ridiculously too early to do so. Anathema went with him to pick out the ring, a circlet of obsidian, with a slender stripe of silver running down the center of it. He bought a simple gold ring for himself. No adornment. Nothing special. He was a traditionalist after all, but Anathema assured him that Anthony would be impressed by the black ring, and Aziraphale had to admit, It did suit his aesthetic.
He invited Anthony out to dinner at the Ritz. Anthony must have suspected something, because Aziraphale and he usually cooked at one of their places, or ordered take out. They were in that ravenous, delirious stage of their relationship, where dining in restaurants meant they couldn’t fall immediately into bed afterwards, and so they’d opted to keep their dates closer to home.
Aziraphale knew that it was early days. He knew that all couples were over the moon for each other this early on, but he also knew in his bones that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Anthony. They had endless conversations about all sorts of rambling topics, and kept finding new ways to delight each other, inside the bedroom and out. They’d even had a few spats, which were resolved using careful words and open communication. He felt confident that the relationship had a strong basis in far more than just sexual attraction. And frankly, he simply had to put a ring on Anthony’s finger. He needed this man to be bound to him as his husband. Needed it more than he’d needed anything. He wanted long, lazy Sunday afternoons spent reading with Anthony’s head in his lap on the sofa. Movie dates. Laundry. Grocery shopping. He even wanted the spats and fights. He wanted all of it, with Anthony, and he wanted to tell the whole world that he loved this man and wanted to be by his side for the rest of his days.
When they were seated, at a lovely table, by a window overlooking the park, Aziraphale ordered for both of them. He knew the kinds of things Anthony would like, and he wanted to spare no expense in making this a memorable meal. They spent an enjoyable hour or so eating succulent stuffed mushrooms and candied dates and roast duck so delicate that it almost melted in their mouths. Anthony kept grabbing Aziraphal’s hand under the table. He was always so affectionate, and Aziraphale soaked up the touch like a water starved plant. He gave back as good as he got, and Aziraphale was afraid they were shaping up to be that irritating couple who could never keep their hands off each other, but simultaneously couldn’t care enough to stop.
Eventually, when the plates were cleared away, and they were waiting for the check while nursing glasses of a very good white, Aziraphale casually placed the small, velvet box in front of Anthony when the man leaned down to get his dropped napkin. Anthony sat back upright and then, his eyes rested on the box, and his face went still. Aziraphale watched him with his heart in his throat. Anthony’s eyes (he kept his shades off more and more often now) flicked from the box to Aziraphale’s face, back to the box.
“Is this what I think it is?” he asked, his voice thick and low.
“Yes dearest it is.” Aziraphale placed a hand over Anthony’s, smiling through his sudden nerves. What if Anthony said no? The thought hadn’t occurred to him and he felt a sudden stab of fear lance through his gut. “I should have probably asked in a private place, but… well, I thought it would be more memorable here at the Ritz.” He let out a nervous giggle. “Marry me,” he said. “Marry me won’t you?” He picked up Anthony’s hand and brought it to his lips.
“Angel,” Anthony looked pale and Aziraphale could see that he was trembling. He took Aziraphale’s hands in both of his own and turned to face him. “Oh god angel, yes. Yes of course I’ll marry you.” As he said it, tears welled up in his eyes and tumbled down his cheeks. They kissed, and Anthony opened the box and cried harder when he saw the obsidian ring. “It’ll match all my clothes,” he said, laughing wetly through his tears and pulled Aziraphale toward him to place kiss after kiss to his lips and cheek. Some of the restaurant’s nearby patrons caught on that a proposal had just happened and burst into applause, and the server brought them complimentary champagne. Aziraphale’s heart was full to bursting and he couldn’t wipe the silly smile off his face until they returned home to Anthony’s flat and got him into bed.
_____________________________________
It was a lovely October wedding. Just a few days before Aziraphale’s birthday. He’d always adored the cooler weather and changing leaves of autumn. Anthony wore a black velvet suit, his hair pulled back into an intricate bun (thanks to Anathema’s clever skills at executing posh hairstyles), and Aziraphale wore a cream colored tuxedo, accompanied with a tartan bow tie. They invited their motley crew of friends. Anathema and Newt (serving as maid of honor and best man), the Youngs, several exotic dancers, several long time customers from Aziraphale’s shop. Anthony’s parents didn’t come, being that they disapproved of the marriage in general, and also because they were now in their 80s, but his sisters, their husbands and their combined five children were in attendance. Aziraphale was introduced to all of them and they greeted him kindly, receiving warm hugs from the sisters and their husbands.
Aziraphale’s parents as well would not attend. Anthony had held his hand as he’d called them, a few weeks prior to simultaneously come out of the closet to them, and invite them to his wedding. It was done more as a cathartic exercise than an actual attempt to make them accept him. He knew that if they were ever to even start to accept his orientation or his new husband, they’d need a long time to process and a lot of space. But it was a thing he’d been waiting forty-odd years to tell them, and it had to be said. Predictably, they’d been cold and hurt by his confession, had stiffly refused to come. After Aziraphale had rung off, Anthony pulled him into his arms and whispered soft condolences to him. Congratulating him on his courage and telling him he was loved so so much.
They held the ceremony at Anthony’s flat, which was spacious enough to accommodate everyone, and had a large kitchen that worked well for the catering company Aziraphale hired. Anthony pulled all of his plants out of the plant room and used them to create a makeshift bower, festooned with strings of white Christmas lights for he and Aziraphale to stand under while the minister, a striking trans woman with silver dreadlocks did the honors.
Afterwards, they drank and danced and laughed long into the night. Anthony kept calling Aziraphale’ “husband” at every possible opportunity.
“Husband? Would you pass me my wineglass? Thank you husband.” “Husband, I find myself in need of a kiss. I’d like to kiss my husband please.” “Would my beautiful husband like another drink?”
Aziraphale kept waiting to wake up and discover that it was all just a lovely dream. What had he ever done to earn such incandescent happiness? He wasn’t sure, and wasn’t sure he cared. He supposed the nagging feeling that he didn’t deserve Anthony would dissipate eventually. Or maybe it wouldn’t? Maybe feeling a little in awe of the fact that one’s partner is with one was a thing that kept a person deeply in love? Anthony walked past him on his way to the kitchen, and Aziraphale reached out and grabbed him, pulling him close.
“Hello husband,” he said, grinning at what was swiftly becoming a private joke. “How is my husband doing this evening?”
Instead of answering his question, Anthony simply smiled and kissed him. They kissed until Anathema came along and pulled Anthony away under the promise of tequila shots. Aziraphale watched him go, feeling his heart swell in his chest.
That night, after the last of the revelers, including a very drunk, horny Newt and a very drunk, horny Anathema had departed, they were alone in their wedding bed. They made love slowly, gently, taking the time to pull as much pleasure as possible from their bodies before pushing each other over the edge into orgasms that left them panting and boneless in each other’s arms. Anthony lay, curled around Aziraphale, face nuzzled firmly in Aziraphale’s neck as his fingers trailed absent, languid little patterns against Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale stroked Anthony’s copper hair, that had half come out of it’s intricate coiff during the course of their lovemaking.
“What would I have done if I’d never met you?” Aziraphale said, his voice leaking out of him like warm honey, his body tingling and loose. “What if I’d told Anathema that I’d rather not go to your club?”
“I’d have found you anyway angel,” Anthony mumbled sleepily against his neck. “Your light would have drawn me in somehow. Your halo.” And Aziraphale felt him smile into the warm place between his jaw and shoulder.
“Perhaps dearest. Perhaps. I’m ever so glad I said yes though.”
“Me too, baby. Me too.”
They honeymooned at a lovely cottage in the South Downs for a week. It had been an extravagant gesture on Aziraphale’s part, who wouldn’t accept any of Anthony’s money to help with the rent, but who gladly let Anthony purchase groceries and wine and help him cook.
“Who knew being a bookshop owner was so lucrative?” Anthony said, pulling Aziraphale to him while they waited for the pasta water to boil.
“It’s not the books I sell to the public that make the most money,” Aziraphale explained. “I also have international clients, collectors, who will pay quite a bit for rare first editions. And since I’ve relentlessly pursued the rarest first editions I could find for the past thirty years or so, well, I have something of a monopoly in the UK.” He then told Anthony how much he’d just sold Khalil Gibran’s 1923 first edition of The Prophet for, and Anthony almost spat out his wine.
“That’s it, angel. I’m a kept man from now on. I plan on quitting my jobs and becoming a devoted housewife.”
Aziraphale grinned and pulled him even closer. “I think you’d look darling in an apron dearest.”
“Ah, but instead of bringing you your pipe and slippers when you get home from work, I’ll get on my knees and suck your cock,” Anthony purred seductively, just before he placed a searing hot kiss to the front of Aziraphale’s neck, making Aziraphale breathless with want inside of five seconds. And so then, they had to turn off the water and put down their wine and go make love again.
After returning to London, there was the matter of where they’d both live. After some discussion, Aziraphale moved in with Anthony, hiring an assistant to help run the shop, renting out the small set of rooms upstairs with a decreased rate if the tennant would open up the shop in the mornings and keep an eye on things until Aziraphale arrived. He put an advert in the paper and it was answered by a grumpy person who called themselves Beezie. She was young-ish and had died black hair in an unruly mop and sleeves of tattoos, but she’d worked in her father’s bookshop for years, and knew a lot about the business. She needed a place to stay near the tattoo parlor where she worked and had plenty of time in the mornings to open up shop and make sure things were in order before being relieved by Aziraphale, who’d show up around 11. She had the added bonus of scaring away customers who weren’t dedicated to buying the books Aziraphale wanted them to buy with her scowl.
It was a good arrangement for the time being. Neither of them wanted to leave the city, and Anthony’s place was very spacious, in a nice neighborhood. It seemed a waste to buy something new. Aziraphale did insist on installing some new bookshelves and moving his favorites from his upstairs apartment into Anthony’s flat. He also insisted on cream colored curtains and a comfy, threadbare loveseat. He made pastries on weekends in Anthony’s kitchen and learned to cook passable chicken vindaloo. Anthony seemed perfectly happy to share his living space with Aziraphale. Aziraphale woke every morning to Anthony pressed against him, warm and horny. He went to bed every night, again wrapped in Anthony’s arms, usually after a session of love making that left them both a tangled, sweaty mess. They both had strong libedos, and had sex far more than Aziraphale had thought possible at his time of life. He was sure it would slack off as the years went by, but for the time being, they were both insatiable.
_________________________________________________________________
It was only a month or so later, while walking in the park that they spotted Gabriel. Aziraphale saw him first and gripped Anthony by the arm, dragging him behind a small group of trees to hide them both.
“Gabriel,” he whispered through clenched teeth, feeling his heart pound inside his chest, as unpleasant tingles made their way across his scalp. He’d almost forgotten the horrible man, what with the happiness and joy of their newlywed lives.
“Where?” Anthony, bless him, looked around very casually, trying to act as if nothing was wrong. He was wearing his sunglasses today, due to it being quite bright out and so Aziraphale couldn’t see the look in his eyes.
“Over there, on that bench, with that woman in the blue dress,” Aziraphale kept his eyes on Anthony’s face as the red haired man casually turned to look at the bench several yards from where they were standing, partially hidden by the small copse of trees.
“Oh. Yeah. There he is, the wanker.” Anthony’s posture was immediately on the defensive. “Lets go angel. We can just turn around and leave.”
“No.” Aziraphale stayed him with a hand to his arm. “No, I’m not running from that arsehole. He’s probably just as intimidated by us as we are by him, what with his fear of being outed.” Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. He wanted to give Gabriel something back for all the trouble he’d caused, and he thought he had the perfect thing in mind.
“Do you trust me darling?” he asked Anthony, who hadn’t stopped glaring at the large man on the bench.
“Of course,” Anthony turned his attention back to Aziraphale’s face, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Why?”
“Just come with me and follow my lead.” Aziraphale grinned at Anthony and took his hand, interlacing their fingers.
“You look like you’re about to cause some mischief. I like that,” Anthony responded as Aziraphale pulled him out from behind the trees and led him closer to where Gabriel was sitting next to his date.
Aziraphale appraised the situation as he and Anthony walked slowly closer to the pair. Gabriel’s date, yet another pretty blond woman, looking half Gabriel’s age, was talking animatedly about something, gesticulating with well manicured hands. Gabriel was half-listening while looking around the park, probably scoping out attractive strangers, while he hurmored his chatty companion. There were several shopping bags festooning the bench next to them and Aziraphale knew instantly that Gabriel had fallen back into his old patterns of behavior. Having a kept woman he could parade in front of colleagues and friends (if that pompous arse even had any genuine friends to speak of), while probably still seeing men on the side.
Aziraphale made sure to swing he and Anthony’s joined hands between them in a lazy, affectionate way and gave Anthony a saucy wink and a bright smile, telling him non verbally to act natural, to be affectionate. Anthony smiled back, clearly not sure what would happen next, but trusting Aziraphale as always.
As he grew closer, he pulled his new smartphone out of a pocket of his jacket. He’d finally caved under the constant insistence of Anthony and Anathema and had let them pick out the device for him, let them teach him how to use it. As they grew nearer, Aziraphale could see Gabriel’s eyes fall upon his face, could see the other man’s expression darken, his face going pale as he recognized the two of them. Not letting this slow him down or change his sunny expression, Aziraphale ignored Gabriel completely and addressed his date.
“Miss? Excuse me miss?” he asked gently. She looked up into his face and smiled politely, if uncertainly as he and Anthony, hands still clasped came to a halt a few feet away. Aziraphale knew that Gabriel had never told another living soul about him, or about Anthony, or about any of the horrible things he’d threatened them both with. He couldn’t. To do so would be to out himself. Just like he knew with utter certainty that Gabriel would not give away that he knew the both of them now. They had him in a very awkward social situation. One in which they had all the control and Gabriel had none.
“I’m terribly sorry to intrude miss, but would you please do my husband and I a favor and take our picture?” he said the word husband with just the barest emphasis. Easily missed by Gabriel’s lady friend, but likely very obvious to the man himself.
The woman’s face lit up. “Of course! Oh how lovely! Yes, of course I will,” she said with a large grin. Gabriel meanwhile was turning red, his eyes gleaming with suppressed rage at the happily grinning couple standing before him.
“Oh thank you dear!” Aziraphale exclaimed, hitting her with his brightest and most charming smile. “I know everyone is always taking those self pictures, but I want a proper picture of us, for the Facebooks.”
“Selfies,” corrected Anthony automatically. “Facebook, angel.” He grinned, catching on immediately to Aziraphale’s plan. “You are so charmingly old fashioned babe. It’s one of the things I love about you.” As he said this, he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist and placed a big kiss to his cheek, squeezing him tight. Gabriel may have made a choking noise, but Aziraphale ignored it, turning his head to catch Anthony’s lips with an affectionate peck.
“Oh! Aren’t you two just darling!” Gabriel’s date cooed, her eyes going all dreamy. They couldn’t have gotten a better reaction had they paid her to play this role. “Of course I’ll take your picture. For the Facebooks.” She winked at Anthony, who slid his sunglasses up onto his forehead and winked back, really getting into the theatrics of this little scenario.
Aziraphale opened his photo app and handed the mobile to the young woman, and then he and Anthony draped themselves all over one another and smiled the happiest, most in-love smiles they could manage. “Oh my, what a beautiful couple you are!” The woman exclaimed as she raised the camera, finding a good angle to take the shot. Aziraphale very pointedly did not look at Gabriel as she took a few pictures.
“Ohhh! One more, but this time, of us kissing. Is that OK?” Anthony asked excitedly and Aziraphale had to suppress a joyful laugh. He could see Gabriel out of his peripheral vision, shift uncomfortably next to the blond woman on the bench. Good. He hoped he was feeling as socially uncomfortable and angry and ignored as possible right now.
Anthony turned to him and they kissed, keeping it closed mouthed and polite, but tender and affectionate, and the woman happily snapped a few more photos with Aziraphale’s mobile. After that, Aziraphale decided that this little game had gone on long enough. “Thank you so much dearheart.” He took his mobile phone back with another beatific smile and, wrapping his arm protectively around Anthony’s shoulders, he bid her good day and the two of them walked off.
They stopped however, a few yards away, when Anthony pulled him into his arms and snogged him enthusiastically. “Just in case he wants more of a show,” Anthony murmured against Aziraphale’s smiling lips when the kiss ended.
“You’re a demon, you are,” Aziraphale whispered, pulling him back in for another swift kiss before they continued walking, hand in hand away from where Gabriel and his bubbly blond girlfriend were sitting. She was speaking just loud enough for them to overhear her ask why Gabriel had “that look” on his face and ask him what had gotten into him.
“I’m a demon?” Anthony replied with a sly smirk. “You angel, thinking up with that little revenge idea? It’s becoming clear to me that you might be just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.”
“And you dearest, deep down, you really are a good person.” Aziraphale knocked his shoulder against Anthony’s companionably as they continued along their walk. “I’m well aware that your bad boy routine is just an act.”
It was a beautiful day, and he had a beautiful husband and a beautiful life. He felt the last few vestiges of anxiety over seeing Gabriel again melt away in the warm grip of Anthony’s hand in his as they wandered off to go find someplace nice to eat.
Somewhere nearby, he could hear the sweet song of a bird, perched on one of the branches of the many shady trees that lined the walkway of the park. It’s song was light and lilting, joyful over simply being alive on a gorgeous day, the perfect soundtrack to Aziraphale’s own singing heart.