“What?” said Crowley. And suddenly he had the odd feeling that Adam did know something, and, moreover, that it was something that had not really existed until Adam had told them he knew. He glanced at Aziraphale for help, and something fluttered in his heart, or perhaps his groin. As if on cue, the angel blushed.
“I think we need to talk,” said Aziraphale. “Er. Privately.” He smiled sheepishly at Crowley, who nearly screamed in terror when he felt his knees weaken.
Adam smiled like a feather-filled cat, and watched the two of them amble and saunter from sight.
“Southern pansies,” muttered Shadwell, who was not one to let a thing go.
There were things Anathema could have said. She could have said, “I think the polite term is ‘gays,’ you know,” and she could have said “If you mean south as in down, well, only one of them fits the bill, at least for now.” But Anathema was watching the demon and the angel, and trying to decide between disbelieving laughter or soppy smiles. She settled for both, and choked until Newt pounded her helpfully on the back.
There were things Adam couldn’t tell even the Them. Some of those things were dark and arcane matters fit not for the ears or eyes of mortals; some, like his secret stashes of Gundam Wing slash, ranged from dark to fluffy and were written with other body parts of mortals specifically in mind.
He’d come across slash by accident, and been delighted by what he found. As an Antichrist, he supposed he was expected to take an interest in such matters; as a somewhat sentimental human, he secretly though Heero/Duo rather endearing, and Trowa/Quatre was just so right. Adam liked slash. It was a little of Hell, and a little of Heaven, and quite a lot of Humanity.
. . . And he didn’t intend to meddle with the human world. That was a slippery slope. So with the beginnings of the sort of ideas that lead people to write things like “All you need is love,” Adam carefully tweaked reality. Just a little.
It wasn’t really necessary, but after a few moments they came up for air. Crowley managed to gasp, “What the hell is going on?” before Aziraphale gave him that dizzying smile. And then, before he could clear out the spinning in his mind, they were kissing again. Crowley remembered some of the very interesting things he could do with his tongue.
“I love you,” Aziraphale told him breathessly, another few moments later.
Crowley tried to say something, and halted, swaying, as he tried to erect some semblance of sanity. Instead he found himself touching Aziraphale’s cheek. “What . . .”
Aziraphale smiled like a sunrise. “Ineffable,” he said.
He tasted, thought Crowley, like apples.