Okay guys, but imagine:
Gabriel and Beelzebub start sniffing around Crowley and Aziraphale again. The two of them are trying to figure out what to do, sitting in the back of Aziraphale’s shop. Crowley is alternately sprawled in an armchair or pacing, while Aziraphale sits at a desk facing him, hands steepled as he thinks.
They both agree that they need an alternative to the face swap. It’s not viable long-term, and sooner or later Gabriel and/or Beelzebub will catch on.
“We need a way for me to borrow your holiness,” Crowley starts,
“And for me to borrow your, ah, blasphemousness,” Aziraphale agrees.
“Yeah, at a moment’s notice.“ The demon throws himself back down on the chair in disgust, limbs pointing every different direction.
“Some sort of, connection, I suppose, that will work on all planes.” Crowley makes a noise of agreement.
For several long minutes, there is silence. Somewhere a clock ticks
Aziraphale thinks of it first.
“We could get married,” he offers hesitantly, suddenly nervous to look Crowley in the face.
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