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Chapter 1 - EdenIf push came to shove, Aziraphale would have (possibly) admitted that driving from Oxfordshire to London on a whim, and in a vintage car no less, wasn’t exactly the best idea he could have come up with.Still, after throwing his mobile out the window, but before entering the city, he had managed to convince himself, through the power of delusion and sheer spite, that he had everything under control. Why, if you didn’t count the blasted car fighting him at every turn and the kerfuffle he’d probably left behind, he would have found the drive through the countryside to be almost pleasant. Almost.Once he was past the city limits, though, it had taken him less than five minutes to have several consecutive realisations.First, there was a very good reason he had sworn off driving in London, especially after sundown. The traffic was something straight out of a circle of Hell and always, always managed to wear his patience extremely thin even when he wasn’t in such a foul mood to start with.Second, it was nothing short of astonishing, really, the amount of very rude, very inconsiderate people just roaming the streets at night. It’s like they were put on Aziraphale’s path for the express purpose of inconveniencing him. And they were doing a great job at it.Third, and perhaps most importantly, he had no idea where he was going or how to get to The Ritz.He had stopped a couple of times to ask for directions, but after getting shouted at (the first time) and losing his jacket (the second) without anything to show for it, he had come to the conclusion that it just wasn’t worth it, not with the car threatening to do as she pleased and leaving him stranded.So he drove in what he later realised had been aimless circles, muttering under his breath, cursing Eastgate’s Booksellers Limited, Uncle Matt, Sandy, Michael, and all that merry lot. Cringing every time he remembered bits and pieces from the party – Uncle Matt trying to pull him aside to remind him of their upcoming Super Important Meeting with the Shadwells. Of the importance of securing the Soho property before the company’s annual gala, his late Mother’s wishes and expectations, the promise Aziraphale had made upon Gabriel’s departure .And to add insult to injury, Michael had taken it upon herself to find him a partner – yes, a romantic one – citing optics, public perception and how much of an asset Aziraphale could be with the younger demographic had he been happily married (to a reputable, harmless husband of the family’s choosing, of course).So Aziraphale did what any other self-respecting man would have done in his place, and he had tried to thwart them all by improvising a magic show for his guests, just to keep them occupied. While his relatives had stayed back, no doubt lamenting Aziraphale’s incompetence in everything he did – including, apparently, the fine art of prestidigitation – everyone else had stared at him in puzzled embarrassment. Because why would a wealthy and accomplished businessman like him make a fool of himself like that?Aziraphale should have been used to it by now, but oh, how he hated the polite chuckles and the tight-lipped smiles they’d given him every time he fumbled a trick. They didn’t even have the guts to tell him he was terrible. Couldn’t risk getting on the bad side of a man so powerful he couldn’t even decide how to spend his birthday (reading in his cottage, with his phone blessedly forgotten. Or, better yet, lost and to be never found again).Well, at the very least, Timothy had seemed properly turned off. Not even Aziraphale could have come up with something more unsexy than a magician who can’t even make a farthing vanish.So he had bravely soldiered on for a couple of hours – but more like one and a half – and then left when no one was looking. He was good at that, going unnoticed. If nothing else, Gabriel’s birthday gift had come in handy.And now Aziraphale was so engrossed in his own misery, so exhausted, that he barely registered his surroundings until he caught a glimpse of a familiar bookshop in the rearview mirror and felt a corresponding pang in his gut.“Ah, splendid,” he said wryly, as soon as the sign had disappeared from view behind him, making it a little easier to breathe.He was in Soho.How on Earth did he manage to end up in Soho? Could it be that his conscience was so hell-bent on punishing him that it had led him here on purpose?The sky was dark, lamplights and neon signs casting the street in a soft, multicoloured glow. There were people milling around in small groups, girls laughing, young men playfully screaming at each other, a busker singing under the awning of a closed bakery.
It made Aziraphale realise how tired he was. So very tired.With a heavy sigh, he pulled over and turned off the engine, which seemed to let out a matching sigh of relief.“Don’t huff at me, old girl,” Aziraphale shot back. “I thought we had an understanding, you and I.”He rolled down the window to let the fresh air in, and found himself shivering in the mid-October chill. It wasn’t unpleasant, though. It helped to cool down his racing thoughts, made his heart beat just a little slower.Good news was, it certainly couldn’t get any worse than getting lost in your own city on the day of your fiftieth birthday. Honestly, how was anyone expected to keep up with the everchanging street regulations of such a big city?He felt a rant brewing, and then made the mistake of looking up at the blinking red light shining over him from the entrance of the establishment he had unwittingly chosen for his impromptu pity party. Eden, it garishly proclaimed. A night club of some sort, he supposed.The sight startled a laugh out of him.
“How very fitting,” he murmured between chuckles.Is this what his life had come to? Quite literally running away from a work event disguised as a birthday celebration just to get lost in central London in an impractical vintage car gifted to him by his no-show brother? The same brother who had thrown him in this predicament in the first place?For a moment, Aziraphale entertained the possibility of… well, of never stopping. He could keep running (figuratively speaking, of course. He would never be caught running, not even if his life was in danger – how unbecoming!). After all, that’s what Gabriel had done, hadn’t he? Put his happiness over everything and everyone else and drove straight into the sunset with the rudest person Aziraphale had ever met. And also, apparently, the love of his wretched brother’s life. A brother who was clearly feeling guilty about it, if the gift he had sent Aziraphale, the one he was currently sitting in, was any indication.He closed his eyes and couldn’t stifle another laugh.
Good Lord, he was pathetic. At the venerable age of fifty, he still had no idea how to get the life he wanted, or at least be content with the one he had. If only–“Look at you, you’re gorgeous.”The voice, brimming with adoration, made Aziraphale open his eyes and suddenly perk up, heat inexplicably blooming in his cheeks as he took in the black-clad figure standing on the sidewalk.“Oh, thank you,” Aziraphale blurted out, brain firmly closed for business and gratitude surging in his chest.It took him an embarrassing amount of time to stop staring at the redheaded man, and even more to realise that not only the stranger wasn’t looking at Aziraphale, he also hadn’t talked to him at all.In fact, he was still talking. Yes. To the car.Aziraphale sighed, his face flaming up, and prayed to God for either strength or a swift, painless death. The only reason he didn’t turn on the engine and make a run for it was that the stranger was paying him no mind, which meant he hadn’t witnessed Aziraphale making a complete fool of himself. Also, whatever remained of his pride wouldn’t have survived the car refusing to start.So he did the only thing he could. He silently contemplated the shameful conclusion to an already shameful day, while the stranger stalked around the car, hooing and aahing. When he was done, he circled back to Aziraphale’s side and plopped his crossed arms on the open window.“Oi, is this yours then?” the man asked him with the biggest grin on his face.Aziraphale, who was still clutching the steering wheel for dear life, finally gave the stranger a proper look and felt himself… well, relax of all things. Which was quite unusual, if you think about it. Not only did the man catch him at the worst possible time, he was also wearing sunglasses by night, something Aziraphale would have unfavourably judged anyone for.And yet… the sight was so far removed from his everyday life, that it gave him a strange sense of relief.Gosh, he must have been more distraught than he realised.“Not really,” he heard himself say, a hint of haughtiness in his voice, because of course he was driving his own car. Whose else could it be? “As a matter of fact, I stole it.”The man’s smile grew even wider, and even though Aziraphale couldn’t see his eyes, he was sure the stranger was looking him up and down. Strangest thing of all, instead of squirming under his scrutiny, Aziraphale returned the favour, maybe not entirely aware he was doing it.The man was in all black, wearing an oversized leather jacket over what looked like a very sheer black blouse with a plunging neckline that left his collarbones exposed. He had shoulder length hair of a vibrant shade of red – or maybe it was just a trick of the light – the top half tied into a bun in a way that was designed to look effortless but was probably anything but. Each errant strand of hair seemed to fall exactly where it was supposed to.He also had multiple silver rings on his hands, and judging by the lines on his face, which Aziraphale couldn’t appreciate properly because of the sunglasses, he must have been around forty. Maybe a little bit older.“Yeah, you have car thief written all over you.”“I’m sorry, are you implying something?”“Oh, I definitely am,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.Aziraphale tutted disapprovingly, though he couldn’t quite look away. “That’s not very nice.”“‘M not nice. Nice is a four letter word. Nothing worse to be, if you ask me.”“Well, I can definitely think of some things,” Aziraphale countered.The man considered him for a second. “That why you came to Eden with this beauty? Cause you’re in the mood for something nice?”“I’m afraid I stopped before I saw where I was.”The man laughed. “No need to make excuses, you know.”Aziraphale frowned, letting out an irritated huff. “It’s not an excuse,” he protested. “If you really want to know, I got lost.”“On your way to…” Another cursory glance, rings clinking on the rolled-down window. “The 1930s?”“Very funny, my dear.”“Thank you for noticing, angel,” he shot back as if… testing him? Was Aziraphale hallucinating this entire exchange?Well, thankfully for everyone involved, Aziraphale had already filled his daily quota of embarrassment and, he decided right there and then, he was way past caring about making a fool of himself in front of a handsome stranger. Who was teasing him. Goodnaturedly, it seemed.So he licked his lips and settled on: “This is Eden after all.”“Were there angels in Eden?”“The original one? Of course.”“Which makes me…?”Aziraphale gave him a once-over. “I reckon you’d make a great Serpent.”It seemed to be the correct answer, because the blinding grin was back, and Aziraphale couldn’t help a little smug smile in return, even though he had to make a conscious effort to ignore his own reflection in the side mirror, too afraid to confirm he looked as starry-eyed as he felt.So what if he needed a pick-me-up after the disastrous day he’d had? Would that be so wrong? Didn’t he deserve it? It was still his birthday, after all.“Where were you going before you got lost?”“To The Ritz, actually.”The man whistled. “Loaded, are we?”“That hardly makes for polite conversation.”“‘M not interested in polite conversation,” the man said. “But I could be persuaded to help you get to The Ritz, if you like.”“Have you been there before?”“Oh, all the time. Can’t you tell?”He gestured to himself, the leather jacket opening on his chest and leaving very little to the imagination. Despite his best intentions, Aziraphale looked and was quite sure he saw a nipple. Dear Lord, was the man just a few threads shy of naked?“I don’t judge people by their clothes,” he said, a touch defensively, while absolutely judging the man by his clothes.“No? What do you judge them by, then?”Aziraphale rolled his eyes, then schooled his expression into something hopefully more neutral. “I sincerely doubt you have that much time.”The stranger cackled, throwing his head back as if Aziraphale had just said the funniest thing in the world. As preposterous as it may sound, the idea made a pleasant warmth bloom in Aziraphale’s chest. It was no surprise, then, that he succumbed to the need of keeping the conversation going a little longer without waiting for the man to answer.“How would I go about persuading you?”The stranger tilted his head to the side, considering. “For starters, you’ll have to pay me.”Aziraphale scoffed. “You can hardly charge me for directions.”“I can do whatever I want, angel. I’m not the one who got lost, now, am I?”“Oh, you’re a serpent alright.”“Who, me? I’m nothing if not eager to please,” he said, leaning through the window in a way that Aziraphale would have called reckless and rude had there been anyone else in the driver’s seat.He caught a whiff of the stranger’s smokey cologne and had to suppress a full body shiver. Goodness. For the very first time since the man had accosted him, Aziraphale felt in danger. And, even more worryingly, he had no intention of letting that stop him from doing… whatever he was doing. Probably something extremely stupid.“Name your price, then,” he said, praying to God that his voice wasn’t as breathy as it sounded to his ears.The stranger clucked his tongue and looked at him appraisingly, maybe glancing at Aziraphale’s manicured hands on the steering wheel.“Let me drive your Bentley, and I’ll get you to The Ritz in no time,” he said after a long pause.“My what?”The man literally squawked, indignation suddenly flowing off of him in waves as he flicked off his sunglasses to aim his naked eyes at Aziraphale, who was too entranced by the peculiar amber colour of his irises to ascertain what was going on.One thing he did manage to notice, though, was that the man was definitely older than forty. Probably a tad closer to his age.“You don’t– I can’t– Ngk. Fuck. Do you even know what you’re driving?”“Of course I do. It’s a car,” Aziraphale said, clearly offended and somehow taking pleasure in the stranger’s indignation. He wasn’t completely oblivious, thank you very much. “It’s vintage,” he added, as if that made all the difference. And it’s unfortunately not yellow, he thought for good measure, because if he could have chosen a vintage car for himself, he would have picked a yellow one.Luckily for the stranger’s coronaries, Aziraphale was perceptive enough to know such a comment would have pulverised the poor man’s brain, and thus kept it to himself.“Fucking Hell,” the stranger cursed, letting his head drop down to his crossed arms. “You’re sitting in my dream car and you don’t even know what it’s called,” he continued, voice muffled by leather and shoulders shaking on a sigh.Aziraphale felt the urge to give his arm a comforting pat, which was rather shocking in itself. He usually didn’t touch people if he could help it.Could this be a… midlife crisis? And if that was the case, had there ever been a more punctual midlife crisis in the history of humankind?“It’s a car and it’s pretty,” he concluded with a little sniff. Would have been even prettier had it been yellow.“You’re really not helping your case here.”“Well, come on then.”Keeping himself from thinking too hard about it, Aziraphale opened the door and scooted to the passenger’s side. The stranger perked his head up, thin lips splitting into another blinding grin. Less mischievous and more joyful this time.“Wait, you’re serious? You’re letting me drive?”“Don’t make me regret it, please.”After a beat of hesitation, the man threw the door open and climbed inside, which, coincidentally, was the exact same moment Aziraphale realised he had made a terrible, huge, unforgivable mistake. Because, yes, the car might have been spacious enough for a single person, but now that there was someone else in there with him, he had to admit they were in quite close quarters. Their thighs were basically touching.While alarms cheerfully blasted through Aziraphale’s head, the stranger was getting acquainted with the car, brushing the dashboard with reverent fingers and making Aziraphale feel like he could add third-wheeling to the list of exciting things he’d done on his fiftieth birthday.“She’s exactly as I remember,” the man murmured, a little starstruck. He allowed himself another moment of silent contemplation before putting his sunglasses back on. “Buckle up, angel.”Aziraphale was quite literally too stunned to speak. Hearing zero complaints from him, the man started the car – which didn’t put up a fight as it had with Aziraphale (he took it personally, of course) – and took off, apparently unruffled by their close proximity. Get a grip, Aziraphale sternly commanded himself, trying to think of something to say. He decided to stick to the basics.“What’s your name?”“What do you want it to be?”Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him, entirely unimpressed. “Really?”“Really.”“Asmodeus, then.”“Asmo-wot?”“Too on the nose? Fine, then. How about Basilius? No, wait. Let’s go with Nicodemus. Or Vercinterogix, if you’re feeling historical.” He sighed in mock dejection. “There’s too many good options.”The stranger barked out a delighted laugh, eliciting another pleased smile from Aziraphale, who kept himself busy by admiring how slender and elegant the man’s fingers looked on the steering wheel. Like they were made to be there. Like whoever had designed that car had done so with his fingers in mind.Aziraphale may have not known what kind of car this was, but he wasn’t too far gone in his misery to know he shouldn’t be thinking about a stranger’s fingers that way. Or at all, for that matter.His working theory at the moment was that he’d had an accident on his way to London and was currently lying in a ditch somewhere, having what could only be described as a fever dream.“Oh, you’re a right bastard, aren’t you?”“You asked.”“Name’s Anthony, by the way. What’s yours?”“Aziraphale.”“Ha! So Asmodeus was, what, like a trauma response or something? Trouble-shared-is-a-trouble-halved kind of thing?”Aziraphale gave him a reproachful look, then glanced outside the passenger side window, hands clasped on his lap. “I didn’t think you’d believe me so readily.”“Nah, you do look like an Aziraphale.”“Met many Aziraphales in your life, have you?”“Oh, oodles of them. Can’t even cross the street without running into one.”Aziraphale huffed out a reluctant laugh, casting a sidelong glance at the man as they stopped at a red light. What was supposed to be just a little peek turned into something way longer when he found the stranger – Anthony, he reminded himself – already looking back at him.They held each other’s gaze for so long that it should have been, if not creepy, at the very least uncomfortable. And yet… well.“Could help you with more than directions, if you like,” the man offered in a surprisingly soft voice. His smile was still in place, only way less predatory and mischievous than the ones he’d given Aziraphale so far.To his great surprise, Aziraphale didn’t blush, didn’t even feel his heart stutter. You didn’t get to fifty without picking up a thing or two, after all. And if there was something he was objectively great at, it was reading between the lines.“You could start by watching the road,” he heard himself say, voice stern and unflinching. The light had turned green again.Unbothered by the horns angrily going off behind them, Anthony kept looking at him for a little while longer. And just as Aziraphale wished he’d take the dark shades off again, Anthony turned back to the road with a smile slowly spreading on his thin lips and resumed driving just a split second before the light became red again.Aziraphale was painfully aware he shouldn’t have been as fascinated as he was. He didn’t recognise it, this intoxicating feeling currently taking over his chest and travelling to his limbs, making his skin prickle all over. Was he reckless enough to do it? Did he have it in him?He forbade himself from looking at the situation too closely, to ignore the minutiae and focus instead on the ever burning need to keep the man exactly where he was, looking at Aziraphale exactly like that for just a little while longer.Because the truth of the matter was, Aziraphale couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this way – reckless, free, exhilarated, real. Like this stranger’s very presence had somehow changed the fabric of the world around him.Gosh, but it sounded stupid. And yet, as delusional as it may have been, as it certainly was, Aziraphale wasn’t ready to give it up.When he spoke again, he almost didn’t recognise the sound of his own voice.“How much would that cost me?”The stranger glanced at him. He seemed pleasantly surprised by Aziraphale’s boldness.
“Three hundred for an hour.”Aziraphale scoffed, anxiety promptly replaced by outrage. “Three hundred? Seems a bit stiff.”“Why, thank you. That’s exactly the point, I believe,” Anthony gleefully retorted. He was teasing him again, Aziraphale realised, mimicking his speech and all.
Only it was… Heaven help him, it was nice. Why was it so nice? It felt like a joke between them, not at Aziraphale’s expense (and he was quite familiar with those). Was he really so starved for meaningful interactions to count this weird, random encounter as one?Silence stretched between them, the night traffic swishing past, keeping them company. Aziraphale was almost positive the man was taking the long way to The Ritz, but rather than complaining about it, he felt grateful. He didn’t want the ride to end.For the rest of the way, he tried to convince himself to take the man up on his offer. He was an adult, he reasoned, he could do whatever he wanted with his time and his money. It was his birthday. He deserved it.It wasn’t long before he came to the foregone conclusion that he couldn’t say anything of the sort. Which is why he settled for trying to telepathically will the man to ask him directly again. Just a little push, that’s all Aziraphale needed, a sprinkle of plausible deniability.But Anthony didn’t insist and Aziraphale couldn’t find the right words to outright ask for what he wanted. Besides, if he was honest with himself, he had no idea what that was either. His feelings were bubbling all over the place, true, but he was quite sure he didn’t want to pay the man for sex. He wasn’t against the idea or anything of the sort, had sometimes even fantasised about it, terrible as he was at the whole dating business, but in this particular instance, he felt like it would have ruined the easy rapport they’d established between them. A discordant note in an otherwise perfect symphony.Which was – again – stupid, considering they’d known each other for a whole of thirty minutes. For all he knew, the man could be a serial killer looking for his next victim, and Aziraphale was making it exceptionally easy for him.Oh, but even if that was the case, wouldn’t it have been just perfect if Uncle Matt and the others woke up the next day having to explain to the press how their CEO had been found dead on some random road? The PR headache alone would have comforted Aziraphale in the afterlife.Lost as he was in his own petty musings, he didn’t realise they were almost there, and when The Ritz finally came into view, he felt a wave of sadness wash over him. Too bad all the words he could have said to prolong the evening were still stubbornly stuck in his throat.
Anthony pulled over and turned off the engine. “Here we are,” he said with an almost imperceptible sigh and a last, lingering touch to the steering wheel. Like a lover rushing to part from his beloved (the Bentley, of course) in a desperate attempt to quell the heartache, Anthony didn’t wait for Aziraphale to speak before stepping out of the vehicle.Aziraphale followed suit and, as soon as he joined him on the pavement, Anthony gave him back the keys with barely suppressed reluctance.The valet rushed outside to greet them, and just like that, their little, perfect bubble burst and Aziraphale’s ordinary life rushed back in.“Good evening, Mr. Fell. We were expecting you a couple of hours ago.”“Good evening, Thomas. I had a bit of a mishap. How are you? How’s the little one?”“Getting bigger every day, thank you, Mr. Fell. New car?”“Something like that.”Aziraphale passed Thomas the keys, feeling Anthony longingly staring – no, glaring – at them the whole time.“Be careful,” the man added, speaking directly to Thomas with a sudden edge to his voice, so much so that Aziraphale half expected him to throw himself on the Bentley and shield her with his body to prevent the valet from taking it away. (There may have been just a little bit of projecting going on on Aziraphale’s part.)Blissfully unaware of the tragedy unfolding in front of his eyes, Thomas nodded and disappeared into the car, leaving Aziraphale alone with Anthony, who seemed quite busy trying – and failing, by the looks of it – to stuff his hands in the very small pockets of his very tight leather trousers.Aziraphale broke the silence first, the words leaving his mouth unbidden. “Thank you for the ride. It was greatly appreciated.” His autopilot was a great bore, no surprise there.
“My pleasure.”“Let me call you a taxi, I’ll pa–”“No, I’ll walk, ‘s fine.”“Are you sure?”“Nyeah, fresh air and all.”“Alright, then.” Nothing more to say, Aziraphale told himself as his brain desperately scrambled for something, anything, appropriate to add, just to come up empty-handed. “Good night, Anthony.”“Good night, Aziraphale.” The man smiled, maybe a little disappointed, but not even remotely bitter, and turned around to head down the sidewalk.Aziraphale felt stupid, just standing there in the chilly night air, with no jacket on, watching the man leave, hips swaying in a way that couldn’t have been comfortable, or even anatomically correct, while Thomas was unsuccessfully trying to start the car and keep his panic to a professional minimum.No, not the car, the Bentley. His Bentley. The one Aziraphale couldn’t get to cooperate and that a stranger had seamlessly driven through the London traffic as if it was nothing at all. The car that had come alive under the hands of someone who knew what to do with it. That’s all she’d needed. Someone who knew her. Someone who got her.“Anthony, wait.”If Aziraphale hadn’t known any better, he would have thought he had screamed the words rather than gently raised his voice to make himself heard. His heart was pounding away in his chest and he felt sweat prickling his back despite the cold night air.Anthony stopped and turned back around, eyebrows raised, a questioning – hopeful? – look on his face.
Aziraphale didn’t give himself a chance to overthink.“I may need some help, after all.”
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Chapter 2 - The Ritz: Part OneAs far as daily affirmations went, I am a lucky bastard had never been on Anthony J. Crowley’s radar, not even as a joke. He could be a bastard alright, but never, in his forty-seven years of life, had he been lucky.And then everything had changed. Because what were the chances of him actually bagging someone staying at The Ritz? Someone who, despite his token protests, hadn’t even batted an eye when Crowley had asked for the ludicrous sum of three-hundred quid?
And that wasn’t even all, because this improbably-named angel also came with a 1926 Bentley and no qualms about Crowley driving it. He even gave Crowley his blessing when he volunteered to put the valet out of his misery by going to personally park the Bentley in the hotel’s underground garage, with Thomas delivering directions from the passenger seat.Whoever had remodelled the car had done a masterful job. There were still a couple of things Crowley would have done differently, but all in all it was perfect, well preserved, stylish to a fault and yet easy to drive… provided you knew what you were doing.If he hadn’t needed the money, he would have asked Aziraphale to convert the three hundred pounds in more driving time. Crowley was sure he would have said yes.But no, he needed to be smart about this. Only an idiot would ask the rich man who had miraculously fallen into his lap for anything other than cold, hard cash. And when you were used to get by on odd jobs and sex work well into your late forties, you couldn’t be an idiot, not with your livelihood on the line.Too bad his petty crime days were (practically) behind him, or he would have done something supremely stupid about it. Like tricking the valet into getting out of the Bentley with some excuse or other and then driving off without looking back. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that, in another life, this car would have been his pride and joy, while in this one, even in the unlikely event he could make it his, the Bentley would have been nothing more than a beautiful hindrance. Was “car-poor” a thing? Because that’s precisely what he would become.Besides, as hard as it was to admit it to himself, the guilt of wronging someone like Aziraphale would have eaten him alive. Which was simply infuriating. No man able to afford to sleep at The Ritz needed – let alone deserved – Crowley’s moral scruples.But Aziraphale… he seemed, well, different. Not that Crowley was naive enough to take him at face value.
Give it time , he kept reminding himself, and he’ll show his true colours. Everyone did, sooner or later. It wouldn’t be the first time Crowley’s interest in someone could be chalked up to a mere lack of information. That was usually the case for all of his past crushes (not that this was a crush or anything of the sort, he’d barely just met the guy!).No, despite his unconventional name and suspiciously harmless appearance, Aziraphale was probably a piece of shit, just like every other rich bloke Crowley had ever had the (fortunate) misfortune of meeting.And yet, when he rounded back to the entrance and saw that Aziraphale was still waiting for him outside, shivering in his shirt sleeves and amiably talking to the doorwoman, Crowley was once again overwhelmed by the sudden urge to somehow impress the man and parade around like a blasted peacock.He took a moment to give himself a pep-talk and really look at the man, searching for clues, cracks in his friendly façade.Pale blonde curls, soft features, stormy grey (or were they blue?) eyes. A three piece (minus one) brown suit paired with a light blue shirt and an honest to God tartan bow tie. He even had a pocket watch, probably an antique.
Should have looked ridiculous, really, but Aziraphale made it work. And it was precisely this soft, unassuming exterior that had made his unexpected bitchiness all the more intriguing.
The longer Crowley stared at Aziraphale chatting with the doorwoman, the more he noticed the strained quality to the man’s smile. He looked uncomfortable. So, not that much of a people’s person after all. Which, unfortunately, wasn’t enough for Crowley to dismiss him as fake. Look at you, he told himself, giving a john the benefit of the doubt. Wisdom really was a bitch sometimes.Crowley took a deep, fortifying breath, made sure his sunglasses were still in place, and went to join them – not to rescue him, he stressed to himself.The moment Aziraphale became aware of his presence, he turned towards him with a smile that was equal parts nervous and relieved.“Oh, Anthony. There you are.”“Hey, angel.”The doorwoman shot them a curious look before wishing them both a good night and resuming her position at the entrance of the hotel with a knowing smile on her face.Crowley ignored her – he already knew he and Aziraphale made for an odd looking pair – eyes never straining from the other man, who seemed uncertain on how to proceed.
“Did you leave your jacket in the car?” Crowley asked him, more to take Aziraphale’s mind off of whatever was preoccupying him than actual curiosity.“Oh, no. I… misplaced it.”“Misplaced it where?”“Well, I kind of… well, gave it away, as it were.”“To who?”“To whom.”Crowley flashed him a grin and leant towards him, hands uncomfortably tucked in his purely decorative pockets. “You know, you could just say you don’t want to answer.” Satan knew he had a habit of asking too many questions.Aziraphale pursed his lips, clearly irritated, but mostly embarrassed. Oh, but riling him up was just too easy.“If you really must know, I stopped to ask this girl for directions, and I couldn’t even get the question out before she burst into tears. On me. She had just found out her boyfriend had cheated on her, caught him in flagrante, you see, and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Or crying. Honestly, I don’t know which one was more off-putting.” He sighed and wrung his hands. “Anyway, she was wearing this skimpy dress and she was cold, and I felt bad for her, so I gave her the jacket and called her a taxi.”For Hell’s sake, you couldn’t make this stuff up.“And I guess you stayed with her until the taxi arrived?” Crowley asked, even though he already knew the answer to that one.“Well, of course I did!” Aziraphale retorted, eyes wide. “I’m not a scoundrel.”“A scoundrel,” Crowley repeated, unable to hide his amusement. “Was it a nice jacket?”This only managed to irk Aziraphale even more.“Why, yes, it was. I do have standards, you know.”“Oh, I bet you do.”For the sole purpose of making him fluster, Crowley took off his leather jacket and closed the distance between them to carefully drape it over Aziraphale’s shoulders. As expected, Aziraphale stopped shivering and started blushing at once.“Oh… oh, thank you,” he mumbled, a glorious shade of red taking over his face. “Though it’s hardly necessary,” he added, but grasped the jacket nonetheless, both hands tucked under his chin to keep it in place. He couldn’t quite hide how pleased he was either.“Why not? You’re cold,” Crowley pointed out.“And you’re…”Yeah, Aziraphale was clearly trying to refrain himself from staring at Crowley’s chest.
Still got it, he gloated to himself.“...half-naked.”“I’m fine.” He gestured to the entrance with calculated nonchalance. “Are you still sure?”“If you are.”“Don’t have to ask me twice.”
Any other day, and the eagerness in his own voice would have made Crowley cringe to an early death, but Aziraphale was already plenty embarrassed for the both of them.
After a beat of silence, the angel seemed to make up his mind and headed straight for the entrance, muttering something to himself that Crowley couldn’t hear.The doorwoman winked at Crowley as they entered the hotel, the lobby soon enveloping them in a riot of soft creams, warm lights, expensive carpets and vases full of fresh flowers, soft classical music unobtrusively playing in the background.Crowley couldn’t have been more out of place if Aziraphale had taken him to church. With his leathers, sheer blouse, scuffed snakeskin boots and silver rings, he looked like a murder hornet in a beehive.Oh, this was going to be fun.He smiled to himself as they made their way to the reception, where Aziraphale was greeted with the same familiar fondness already shown to him outside. Must be a great tipper, Crowley thought. He couldn’t wait to find out for himself.After a brief conversation – during which the staff politely pretended there was nothing unusual in Crowley being there, and Crowley kept smiling his predatory smile – they were shown to the lift by yet another footman, who seemed exceedingly glad to see Aziraphale. Definitely a great tipper then, Crowley reasoned to himself, one that leaves big, fat envelopes full of cash right when he leaves.On their way to the lift, they passed a group of men in suits sitting in the lobby with drinks in hand, and when one of them kept staring at Crowley’s sunglasses with a disdainful expression on his face, Crowley turned to him and kept walking backwards while he gestured to his nipples. “Oi, my eyes are down here, mister.”Aziraphale glanced back but didn’t say anything, which Crowley took as a challenge to be as annoying as possible.
So, when they got on the lift – which was as fancy as everything else, of course – he did his best to terrorise the nice old couple standing to the side by sprawling on the little padded couch by the back wall like the insufferable tempter he fancied himself to be.But again, aside from a few disapproving stares and little sniffs of what Crowley believed to be purely performative displeasure, Aziraphale didn’t comment on his behaviour at all. In fact, Crowley could have sworn he was more amused than anything.Once they reached the right floor and the right door, Aziraphale had a minor meltdown about key cards, which Crowley found even more entertaining than his previous terrorising. Several what-was-so-wrong-with-actual-keys-anyway’s later, they stepped into a suite all decked in creamy whites and light blues.“Ah, the angel’s nest,” Crowley announced as he passed the hallway to go straight to the living room. He snooped around, exploring every visible nook and cranny and touching everything as if he’d owned the place, then circled back to the hallway to inspect a vase full of blue delphiniums. Nothing said luxury like fresh flowers.Aziraphale had already dimmed the lights the staff had turned on anticipating his arrival, and was now hanging Crowley’s leather jacket on the coat rack by the entrance, right next to a tan raincoat. How rich did you have to be to have someone unpack for you in advance?Crowley, who was starting to think that maybe he should have asked for more than three-hundred pounds, put his sunglasses on top of his head and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.“Do you live here then?” he asked.Aziraphale may have been more unpredictable than Crowley had initially given him credit for, but whatever the angel wanted from him, Crowley knew he couldn’t just go straight to the point. He needed to put him at ease first, and conversation seemed to be doing just the trick.Aziraphale chuckled, as if the idea was simply preposterous. His cheeks were still flushed from his tirade against key cards. “Why would I live in a hotel?”“Why wouldn’t you? This place suits you.”“How?”“It’s old-timey, like you.” Most importantly, he could definitely afford it.“Well,” Aziraphale said, looking him up and down in a way Crowley couldn’t have missed even if he’d wanted to. “I do like old things.”Crowley barked out a laugh, thrilled by Aziraphale’s very polite insolence. “Should I say thank you?”“Better not.” Aziraphale smiled and passed him on his way to the living room, where he busied himself with the room service menu. “I do have a house, just not here in London.”“And you’re here for…”“Work.”The clipped tone took Crowley by surprise. So, whatever Aziraphale did for a living, he didn’t like it.An unwelcome thought suddenly crossed his mind. “Are you, like, a lord? Earl of Wotsitsbury or something?”Aziraphale fished out a pair of ridiculous little glasses from the front pocket of his trousers. “Hardly.”Crowley conveniently ignored how relieved he felt at Aziraphale’s denial.“Right. I think I would have remembered a Lord Aziraphale Fell,” he muttered, more to himself than the angel.Aziraphale opened his mouth as if to say something, but then thought better of it and went back to perusing the menu, a light flush still on his cheeks.Crowley stared at him for a little while longer, just in case Aziraphale wanted to make the first move. When enough time had passed and nothing happened, he threw himself on the couch in a sprawl that was supposed to be both enticing and obnoxious. Could you seduce someone by annoying them to death? This seemed like the perfect time to find out.“So, how d’you want to do this?” he asked.“Dinner first, I’d say,” Aziraphale replied without missing a beat. “Unless you’ve already eaten…?” he inquired, glancing at Crowley over the rim of his glasses.“Nah. But I could. Eat, that is.” He punctuated every word to make sure his meaning came across correctly. “Unless you had something else in mind?” he added, echoing Aziraphale’s words. “Anything you want.”Aziraphale promptly blushed, eyes flicking back to the menu, but the prim expression didn’t leave his face and his lips remained firmly pursed. After a moment of careful consideration, he handed Crowley the menu and removed his glasses.“Choose. I’m going to fetch my cheque book,” he said, before disappearing towards the next room.“A cheque? Are those still a thing?” Crowley ignored the menu and jumped to his feet to follow Aziraphale in – yes, this was the bedroom.
He casually glanced at the fluffy queen size bed, then did a double take when he saw what he thought were two bedside tables standing right next to each other, but later turned out to be one regular nightstand and a tower completely made out of books. Had it not been completely at odds with the rest of the decor, Crowley would have written it off as one of those modern interior design trends he absolutely despised.“You can wire me the money with your phone, ‘s fine,” he suggested, taking in the rest of the room. “Unless you have a gold bar on hand or something.” He wouldn’t have put it past him, he thought as he looked back at Aziraphale, whose affronted glare spoke for itself and crushed all his gold-bar-owning dreams on the spot. “Well, fine,” Crowley huffed. “No need to look at me like I murdered your firstborn child. The future earl of Wotsitsbury is safe with me, my lord.”
Aziraphale didn’t deign to answer, too busy rummaging in a drawer containing a suspicious amount of tartan socks and underwear.
“You do know you don’t have to wine and dine me first, right?” Crowley insisted after a rather long pause.“Yes, I do have a general idea of how this works,” Aziraphale deadpanned, throwing another chastising look in Crowley’s direction.“Then you know I’m a sure thing. You don’t have to impress me or anything. Also, not to be an arse about it, but the clock is ticking and–”“You said anything I want, correct?” Aziraphale interrupted him, waving his cheque book around in huffy impatience.Crowley looked at him warily, arms crossed over his chest. “Yes, I mean… unless you’re into some really weird shite.”Aziraphale blinked, as if taken aback by the notion, then smiled his little bastard smile. “Such as…?”“Well…” He definitely had a couple of disturbing scenarios in mind, but he didn’t want to come off as judgemental. After all, one person’s trash was another person’s kink, and Crowley firmly believed that freely given consent could open pretty much every door. That said, there were some things he would never consent to. Starting with all that tartan. “Let’s just say that if you’re about to show me an adult diaper and a giant pacifier, I’m going to bolt.” Especially if either of them is tartan.Aziraphale seemed to deflate.
“Oh.”
Crowley felt his stomach sink. Satan bless it, was that disappointment?
“But you said anything,” Aziraphale repeated in a small voice, batting his eyelashes and looking at Crowley with what could only be described as puppy eyes.Crowley stared back, smile slowly yet inexorably dimming on his face. Had he really clocked Aziraphale’s kink just like that? But no, Aziraphale didn’t seem like the type to… or even… well. Looks can be deceiving and blah blah blah, Crowley should have known that better than anyone.“Fuck, alright.” He heaved out a sigh and rubbed his face with both hands, trying to prevent his brain from concocting traumatising images of whatever they were about to do. For three hundred quid, he reminded himself. Very important detail, this one. So much for there being things he would never consent to.When he opened his eyes, Aziraphale was writing him a cheque with an obscenely expensive fountain pen. He signed it with a flourish, before blowing on it to make the ink dry, folding it and handing it to Crowley with a pleased little smile.“Or,” Aziraphale continued, gloriously unbothered, “you could choose something from the menu and let me buy you dinner.”Crowley stared at him for what felt like an entire minute before understanding finally dawned on him. At which point, he threw his head back with a snort.“For fuck’s sake, you are such a bastard.”“So you keep saying. You’d better start believing it too.” Aziraphale gave him a pat on the chest and went back to the living room, where he came to an alt by the phone to shoot Crowley a stern, meaningful look that couldn’t quite hide how smug he felt.Crowley huffed, massaging the spot Aziraphale had just brushed, and went to retrieve the menu from the sofa. “You’re so bossy.” He quickly went through the available options, then shrugged. “You choose, anything’s fine.”“You do know that there are people who would gladly kill to eat at The Ritz, right?” Aziraphale pointed out, a reproachful look on his face.
The angel was really good at those but, as he was about to find out, Crowley was a certified expert at being a nuisance and, as such, not so easy to thwart. So, when the only response Aziraphale could get out of him was a pout brimming with sarcasm, the angel had to resign himself to look up to the ceiling in a silent prayer.“Are you allergic to anything?” he asked, removing the receiver from its cradle.“Other than well-mannered angelic bastards? Nah, not that I know of.”“Mmh.”While Aziraphale ordered dinner for them both, Crowley went back to the hallway to put the folded cheque in the pocket of his leather jacket and check his phone. No calls, no messages. As usual.When he came back, he did so with a handful of condoms and packets of lube he gleefully scattered on the coffee table like confetti. Aziraphale, who had already hung up, eyed the bounty with an indecipherable expression on his face. At least he didn’t look embarrassed.Crowley watched him sit in the armchair closest to the phone. Maybe the soft light hiding the blush on the angel’s plump cheeks was making him look more self-assured than he actually was. With his arms on the armrests, thumb idly twisting the signet ring on his pinkie, his legs crossed and the pedantic expression on his face, Aziraphale looked like a time-travelling schoolmaster capable of being very strict and very understanding at the same time.On second thought, maybe the light had nothing to do with it. Maybe Crowley had just gotten the man all wrong to begin with.“I count eleven condoms,” Aziraphale observed. “That seems awfully optimistic.”“Are you trying to insult my stamina?” Crowley shot back, slumping on the couch with no regard for the luxurious upholstering. “I’m forty-seven, not six-feet-under.”“Only your time-managing skills, I’m afraid.” Then sternly added: “Shoes off, please.”“Foot fetish, then?” Crowley toed off his boots, without a care in the world for where they fell. He also couldn’t help the hopeful note in his voice. Loath as he was to admit it, Aziraphale’s reluctance in telling him what he wanted made Crowley suspect he was working up to an outrageous demand. And, well, in the grand scheme of things, he could do much worse than an old fashioned foot fetish.“This may come as a shock to you, but I rather like my furniture footprint-free.”“You’re no fun, angel.”And then a horrible thought crossed Crowley’s mind, completely out of the blue. “Wait. Are you having second thoughts because you thought I was younger?”A shy john he could handle – after all, he’d had his fair share of them during the years – but one who didn’t want to hurt his feelings by telling him he’d changed his mind because he didn’t find Crowley as attractive as he’d initially thought? Yeah, no. That’s what soul-crushing nightmares were made of.To his credit, Aziraphale remained unperturbed. “You don’t even know what my first thoughts were,” he pointed out. “And I did realise you were just a few years younger than me before inviting you here.”“I said forty-seven, not ninety-seven,” he quipped.“Thank goodness you don’t charge extra for jokes.”“What, you think I should?”“Not if you want to stay in business.”“I’m barely in business as it is.”A knock on the door cut Aziraphale off before he had the time to come up with a witty retort. “That would be our dinner,” he said instead, gently patting his thighs before standing up.Crowley sprang up from the sofa at the same time. “Let me get that.”“Nonsense.” Aziraphale raised a hand to stop him. “You’re my guest.” The look on his face seemed to suggest that any other option was simply inconceivable.Crowley dropped back to the sofa with a little whine. Suffice it to say, tonight was not going as planned. He checked the time on the ridiculous antique mantel clock in his line of sight, while he listened to Aziraphale greeting the waitress and inviting her in to set the table for two.Crowley was looking forward to the waitress finding him sprawled on the sofa in a most undignified position. He was idly thinking about undoing a couple more buttons on his blouse, when he suddenly remembered the condoms on the coffee table.
In what he would later consider one of his worst moments, he gave in to the urge to hide the little packets under the sofa cushions before the waitress could see them.
It took him a moment to realise what he’d done and label it as deeply troubling.For fuck’s sake, what had the world come to? Why had he done that? To preserve Aziraphale’s reputation? Blast it all. He was probably dizzy – he reasoned with himself – from riding in that fancy lift. The smell of luxury was getting to his head. Surely… right?Despite Crowley’s worst (best) intentions, Aziraphale and the waitress stepped back into the living room to find him sitting properly on the sofa, which was downright embarrassing. Anthony J. Crowley had never met a piece of furniture he didn’t want to defile with his terrible posture.Aziraphale didn’t notice, and if he did, he didn’t care. “I’m going to freshen up a bit,” he said, pointing to the bedroom. “I’ll be with you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”Crowley snorted and exchanged glances with the waitress, who was setting the table for dinner. “Rich geezers, am I right?”The woman didn’t say anything, busying herself with the dishes and what looked like a very expensive bottle of champagne. And were those strawberries? No, it couldn’t be.Was he being seduced? The thought was enough to make him throw up a little in his mouth. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath just as the telephone started ringing.
“Would you mind getting that?” he heard Aziraphale ask from the bedroom.Crowley glanced at the waitress, who was already glancing back at him. “I’m afraid he’s talking to you, sir.”“Wot?” No, he wasn’t.The phone kept ringing.“Anthony?” Aziraphale’s muffled voice again.“For fuck’s sake.” Crowley darted forward and reached for the receiver on the side table. “The angel’s nest,” he croaked, a bit breathless. “Anthony speaking.”“Aziraphale? Is this a joke? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours!” a female voice all but barked into his ear. “Uncle Matt is furious with you. Honestly, Aziraphale, what is your problem? It took us weeks to plan your birthday party, we went to great lengths to invite all of your three friends, and you just, what? Up and leave without telling anybody? And worst of all, you embarrassed me in front of Timothy! He’s a professor at Cambridge, Aziraphale. Cambridge! You could have made a little effort! You’re fifty, for God’s sake, and you’re not getting any younger. You should be grateful he took the time out of his very busy schedule to meet with you, instead of running away like a coward. I thought we’d decided that it would be beneficial to all of us, to your Mother’s legacy, if you could present yourself as more than an unmarried, anti-social hermit who just so happens to b–”Crowley hung up, head still reeling. He levelled an accusing stare at the phone. Maybe he was a little scared, because what the ever loving fuck was that?The waitress had left while Crowley was getting harassed on the phone, and Aziraphale came back right at that moment, waistcoat but not bowtie free. The sight rendered Crowley momentarily speechless because Aziraphale was wearing braces. Tartan braces. And instead of branding the sight as offensive as he should have, Crowley suddenly found himself wondering if Aziraphale was wearing matching sock garters as well.
The thought threw him for a loop.What the Hell was wrong with him? Thinking about sock garters of all things!“Who was it?” Aziraphale inquired politely, approaching the table to inspect their dinner with a newfound spring in his step.“A friend of Timothy’s, I think,” Crowley managed to say, still thinking about the sock garters.“Ah.”“Yeah, sounded quite worked-up too. I hung up on her.”Aziraphale stopped fussing over a plate of… was that couscous?
“You did?” he asked, practically beaming.“Nyeah. Hope it’s okay.”“Well, I hardly encourage bad manners, but in this specific instance… I’ll let it slide.”Crowley returned the smile and stood up to join him at the table, just as Aziraphale was pulling back a chair for him. The movement was so natural, so perfectly timed, that Crowley sat down without realising how ridiculous the whole thing was until it was too late.Was he really allowing himself to be wined and dined? Was Aziraphale actually trying to seduce him? Satan down below, Crowley couldn’t have come up with a more embarrassing scenario if he’d tried.He turned to check the time on the mantel clock.“You know, I hate to be the bearer of bad news” – debatable at best – “but it’s been half an hour already.”For his part, Aziraphale didn’t seem worried by the prospect of time running out on them before they could do… well, anything. “Do try the courgette flowers. They’re simply scrumptious.”“Did you hear what I just said? I don’t issue refunds,” Crowley insisted, forcing himself to skate over Aziraphale’s ridiculous vocabulary. “Or grant extensions. Or stop time on request.”Aziraphale stilled with the bowl of couscous in mid-air and not so subtly huffed. “Are you going to keep looking at the time until we’re finished?” he asked.“I’m not usually a stickler for punctuality, but we did say one hour, angel.” Yes, good. Firm boundaries, that’s what he needed.Aziraphale sighed, put the couscous down and daintily wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Very well,” he said before getting back to his feet and disappearing once again towards the bedroom.Crowley stared at the seat Aziraphale had just vacated with a dumbfounded expression. Was he supposed to follow him? Aziraphale did seem old-fashioned enough to expect things to happen on a proper bed, but he hadn’t–Thankfully, Aziraphale came back before Crowley could work himself in a tizzy, his cheque book in one hand and the obscenely expensive pen in the other. He put his little reading glasses back on and sat down.And if Crowley thought he was perplexed before, what came after wiped out all coherent thought from his mind.“How much for the whole night?” Aziraphale asked point blank, looking at Crowley as if it was no big deal at all.“Fuck. Wh– Are you serious? The whole night?”
Fine, he wasn’t ninety-seven and he still knew a thing or two about getting people off, not to mention he was good at what he did, but even he could barely fathom why someone would pay to spend the whole night with him. Unless…“Are you working up the courage to ask for the filthiest thing I’ve heard in my entire life? Is this you trying to… butter me up?”Aziraphale scoffed. “Hardly.”“The whole night is a long time, angel,” he heard himself say, and immediately regretted it. What the Hell was he doing trying to convince a client not to pay him?“Are you insulting my stamina?” Aziraphale volleyed back to him with a wry smile.
Despite his agitation, Crowley couldn’t help it, he laughed in surprise, and Aziraphale’s smile became wider, more genuine.
“I’ll tell you what,” Aziraphale continued. “Let’s agree beforehand that none of us will be expected to do anything he doesn’t want to do. And that we will be upfront about what we deem acceptable.” Crowley couldn’t help but think that it sounded more like an advice than a concession. “What do you think?”Fucking Hell, he was serious. Crowley stared at him, speechless, amazed and maybe a little bit horrified, mouth unspeakably dry. He couldn’t say no to more money, not to mention he didn’t want to say no, he just… Well, he was starting to get the feeling that the longer he spent in Aziraphale’s company, the more dangerous it was going to become for him. He was pretty sure the man wouldn’t try anything untoward, but that was part of the problem, wasn’t it?Aziraphale was intriguing, unpredictable, charming in his own way. And as much as it pained Crowley to admit, talking to him was fun. Or at least more fun than he’d had in a while. He liked the back and forth, he liked Aziraphale’s bitchy side and he loved to coax it out of him. And this, too, was a problem.The one thing Crowley needed to do his job was to feel in control. No matter what his clients asked of him, how vulnerable they wanted him, as long as he felt in control, he could do it.But here…? He didn’t feel in control, not entirely. He felt… comfortable. And comfortable was dangerous. Comfortable was what got you in trouble. And Crowley had already had enough trouble for two or three lifetimes.He let his eyes roam around Aziraphale’s face, looking for something, anything, that could convince him to say no. To thank him for the three hundred quid, and the fancy dinner he’d barely touched. Who knew, maybe he could even fit in a quick blow job if it wasn’t too late.
But no, he already knew Aziraphale would politely decline, probably tip him and send him on his way, saying something ridiculous like ‘mind how you go’. And then they would never see each other again, and maybe, just maybe, Crowley wasn’t ready for this to be over so soon. Fuck.“Alright,” he croaked after a beat of silence.Aziraphale’s answering smile was nothing short of blinding and Crowley suddenly found it kind of hard to breathe.“How much, then?”He said the first number that popped into his head. “Fifteen-hundred.”“I believe you’ve got yourself a deal.” Well, fuck indeed.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Chapter 2 - The Ritz: Part Two“Try a strawberry.”“Why?”It took everything in Aziraphale’s power not to roll his eyes. Again.The way things were going, he was rethinking all of his life choices, as well as his ability to make even the most straightforward of sensible decisions. And all because the man – no, demon – whose company had somehow convinced him, and in record time no less, to throw his usually cautious approach to life out the window, well… that demon was, simply put, insufferable.Not only had Anthony spent the entirety of their dinner picking at this food, inexplicably staring at Aziraphale sampling the vegetarian menu that had come straight from the kitchens of the hotel’s renowned restaurant (a courtesy, Aziraphale had pointed out, that the staff extended to a very limited number of guests) rather than tasting it himself, he also had done everything in his power to convince Aziraphale that he categorically did not need anything in order to spend the night. Aziraphale, who had made an art of overpacking even for the shortest of stays, had just as categorically refused to acquiesce.Anthony’s stubbornness had left Aziraphale badgering the man to try the gnocchi and maybe take a bite of the sour cherry soufflé, and what did he think of the heirloom tomato? And later, when dinner was over, Aziraphale had taken it upon himself to draw up a list of necessities, which he’d passed on to the concierge.Most disturbing thing of all, at no point during the night had Aziraphale felt actually irritated by the man’s constant huffing and puffing. And, just as shocking, he didn’t feel as drained as he generally did when he interacted with new people.On the contrary, Aziraphale was enjoying himself immensely. He could recognize Anthony’s prickliness, his incessant questioning, as a show and a challenge, one he oddly felt more than willing to take up.Which is why he plastered yet another serene smile on his face, handed Anthony the bowl of strawberries, and said: “Because it brings out the flavour of the champagne,” with all the patience he could muster.“Oh, groovy,” Anthony shot back with a wry grin, reaching for a strawberry to pair with his flute of champagne.After the waitress had come back to take away the spoils of their dinner, Anthony had moved the coffee table out of the way to make space on the rug, where he was currently lying on his stomach, occasionally kicking his socked feet behind him. An absolute menace, really.The man was almost fifty, for Heaven’s sake. You’d have to be a special kind of petty to lie on the floor and risk having back pains for the rest of the week just to irritate someone. Aziraphale, who secretly admired pettiness in all its many shapes and forms, had refrained from making any kind of remark about it.From the armchair he was sitting on like the proper adult he was, Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Nobody says groovy anymore.”This was met, of course, with unadulterated indignation. “Look who’s talking! I’ve watched you greet at least three different people by saying ‘How do you do?’”“Old fashioned is one thing, outdated is another.” And there was no doubt in Aziraphale’s mind about where exactly he fell on that specific spectrum.“Fuck’s sake, you’re such a snob.”When Aziraphale opened his mouth to issue a properly chastising retort, a strawberry was unceremoniously shoved between his lips. He bit into it for want of a better course of action, looking at Anthony as if to say ‘really, my dear, was that really necessary?’.
“Look how pretty you are with your mouth full,” Anthony said, grinning from ear to ear.Aziraphale choked on the strawberry, coughed for what felt like way too long, then did his best to pretend his face wasn’t as red as the fruit he had just swallowed down.
“Fiend,” he muttered.“Says more about you than it does about me,” Anthony remarked, as if Aziraphale wasn’t already aware. “Heh, ‘s not a bad thing,” he continued magnanimously, having noticed Aziraphale’s embarrassment. “I guess even an angel needs to let loose every once in a while. I won’t hold it against you… unless you ask nicely.”“Is that what we’re doing? Letting loose?”“Well, yeah. At least while we’re waiting for you to find the courage to tell me you’d like to fuck me while watching a documentary about giraffes or something equally disturbing.”Aziraphale wrinkled his nose, then washed down his irritation with a sip of champagne. “Why giraffes?”Anthony shrugged, then pulled himself up to sit back against the edge of the sofa. “They fit your colour scheme.”“I see.” Aziraphale threw a look at the dark tv screen, then another in Anthony’s direction, and was surprised to find a suspiciously sombre expression on the man’s face.“You know, we may not know each other, but all jokes aside, I’m pretty sure there is nothing you could ask of me that would make me cut and run.”Aziraphale pursed his lips and considered this for a moment. “I’m afraid I disagree.”Wait till he told him he just wanted to talk, spend some time together, pretend they were two old friends catching up, maybe be a little flirty with each other, just to keep things interesting.“Yeah, well, you’re wrong.” Anthony dragged a hand through his hair, before seemingly remembering he couldn’t ruin its careful styling. “Besides, I’m a professional. Have a little faith.”Aziraphale gave him a dubious onceover.“What if I asked you to play chess with me?”“It worked for Kirk and Spock, so… why not?” What did aliens have to do with it?“Or to listen to me reading Ulysses for the whole night?” Gosh, how he hated Ulysses.“I’d say your so-called standards do not extend to literature. It happens.” Splendid. Now he was even more attractive than just a few moments before.“Alright, what if I wanted you to hold me until I fell asleep?” Aziraphale challenged him. Then felt the need to add: “I suffer from insomnia”, because it seemed relevant to the proceedings.Instead of immediately replying with another rapid-fire answer, Anthony shot him a curious look, which did nothing to distract Aziraphale from the suspiciously pink hue spreading on his sharp cheekbones.“Big spoon or little spoon?” Anthony asked warily.“Big.”“Is that what you want?” His voice was low and soft. Perhaps a tad concerned too.“I didn’t say that.”
Something told him Anthony was more comfortable with the idea of Aziraphale, well, taking him while watching giraffes roaming the savannah than with the concept of spooning.Anthony looked thoughtful, worrying his bottom lip between two fingers. “‘S your birthday,” he said after a while. “You should ask for anything you want, even if what you want is a very expensive big spoon.”The mention of his birthday gave Aziraphale pause. It was already enough of a miracle that it hadn’t come up earlier in the evening. If the shame burning in his cheeks was any indication, Anthony wasn’t the only one who had issues with simple concepts such as spooning or birthdays.As the seconds ticked by, Aziraphale had to concede he couldn’t quite manage to hold Anthony’s gaze anymore.“Did Michael tell you?” he murmured, ashamed of how awkward he felt.Anthony seemed confused. “Who’s Michael?”“Timothy’s friend.”“Ah. Is she– Are they–”“She’s fine,” Aziraphale clarified. “My uncle, her father, was adamant his first born was going to be a son. So, Michael.”“That’s sick.”Aziraphale chuckled. “That’s one word for it.”“Fucked up family, huh?” He shrugged again, as if he knew a thing or two about that. “She mentioned your birthday party.” When Aziraphale didn’t volunteer any further information, he continued: “Was this Timothy so bad?”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes, forgetting his embarrassment for a second. “Don’t even get me started.” He wouldn’t go out with Timothy even if he was the last man on Earth.Anthony smiled and leaned towards him. “Do tell, angel. A stuffy old professor, was he? What did he teach? Arsholery of the British Empire?”“Oh, he wasn’t old. In fact, he was too young for my tastes. But quite versed in Arsholery, I think, considering the very first thing he did after shaking my hand was pat my belly.”Anthony stared at him, the very picture of affronted indignation. “He did not!”“He did!” Aziraphale exclaimed, feeling vindicated by Anthony’s outrage on his behalf. “He wished me a happy birthday, touched my belly and said I probably couldn’t wait to tuck into my birthday cake, then proceeded to talk about a book he’s been trying to shop around and…” He cut himself off with a start before he could reveal too much about what he did for a living. Or bore the man to death.His hesitation didn’t go unnoticed.Anthony shrugged. “It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”“It’s not that,” Aziraphale rushed to reassure him, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.It’s not that he didn’t want Anthony to find out who he was, it wasn’t supposed to be a secret. He just wanted – no, needed – to keep the fantasy of being someone else alive, even if only for a night.He stared at his hands, twisted the ring on his pinky, gold smoothed and polished by the habit, then dared to meet Anthony’s gaze again.“I don’t want to be dishonest,” he managed to say. “I think I would just like to… to pretend… that my life isn’t my life, I suppose. Just for tonight.”Anthony’s eyes bore into him for a couple of unnerving seconds, before softening once more.
“We don’t need to lie to pretend, you know. You just bend the truth a little,” he said with a shrug. “For example, I am Anthony and I work in customer service.”Aziraphale burst out in a surprise laugh, hands rubbing his thighs to soothe himself while Anthony’s eyes encouraged him to come up with a similar statement of his own.“Alright. My name is Aziraphale and I am a…” He hesitated for a second, then squared his shoulders and quickly made up his mind. “A bookseller.”“That why you have all those books in your bedroom?” he asked, visibly pleased with Aziraphale going along with this charade.“It’s not that many.”“Wh– Not that many? They’re, like, ten!”“More like fifteen,” Aziraphale mumbled. “A man needs variety.”Anthony seemed sceptical. “How long are you staying here in London, then? A month?”
Aziraphale frowned, genuinely outraged. “That is not a month’s worth of books! It’s barely a week’s!”Anthony looked at him wide-eyed. “You brought all those books for a single week?”
“As I said, a man needs variety,” he insisted, trying to tamp down the urge to justify himself.“Rich bastard,” Anthony muttered under his breath. “Are you sure you don’t want to fuck me with giraffes in the background?” he confirmed, as if it could somehow make up for his poor reading habits.Aziraphale rolled his eyes, annoyed. “Is that what you want, my dear?”Anthony tilted his head to the side, considering. “Giraffes aren’t really my style. Snakes, though? I could do snakes. In fact, I’ve always wanted to–”A knock at the door saved Aziraphale from entertaining whatever preposterous idea Anthony was about to hit him with.“Behave,” he warned him as he went to open the door.Aziraphale came back to the living room a minute later with two giant bags from Harrods. He placed them next to Anthony, who was still sitting on the rug, arms outstretched on the edge of the sofa behind him, long legs crossed in front of him, flute tucked between his thighs.“Did you send one of those poor sods down there to go buy me lingerie?” he asked, then frowned. “Wait, how did you even manage to shop at Harrods at this time of night?”Aziraphale refilled both of their glasses before sitting back on his armchair. “The perks of being a rich bastard, I’m afraid.”Anthony let out a whine. “I can’t believe you!” he snapped. “There better be some really outrageous lace panties in here.”“Do you have a preference for women’s underwear, then?” Aziraphale couldn’t help but ask, his eyes straying to Anthony’s trousers.“I have a preference for people who wear their sexual preferences on their sleeves.”“That seems terribly uncomfortable.”“But straightforward.” He clucked his tongue and rifled through one of the bags. “Also, do you really believe I could wear pants with these trousers?”Aziraphale arched an eyebrow. “I hope so,” he said a bit dumbly. Since he was feeling on the verge of an uncomfortable series of thoughts, he rushed to add: “You should go to the bathroom, make yourself comfortable.”This seemed to get Anthony’s attention. “Is that it? Do you want to fuck me in the shower?”“If I wanted to kill us both I would have simply poisoned the champagne.” Reckless behaviour in the shower was a far too undignified cause of death for his tastes.“Fair.” After a couple more cutting remarks about the contents of the bags, Anthony got back to his feet. “So, do I use your bathroom or…?”“Please.”“Fine,” he huffed, retreating towards the bedroom. “But if I find a stool in the shower, I’m waiting for you. Stark naked, to be precise. So don’t you go screaming at me if you decide to come see what’s taking me so long.”“Mmh,” was all Aziraphale said before the man disappeared from view.The moment he was gone, Aziraphale’s shoulders sagged under an invisible weight. He peered into his half-empty flute, wondering if Anthony’s presence was the only thing keeping Aziraphale-the-bookseller alive and Aziraphale-the-CEO’s responsibilities away.He heard the shower running, which only emphasised how oppressive the silence all around him was. He looked around the space, so familiar it might as well have been his house. It was strange to think that many other people, individuals Aziraphale knew nothing about, ate and slept in these very rooms when he wasn’t in town.He heaved out a sigh, emptied his glass and stood up. He turned on the tv for some background noise, then moved into the adjacent study, which was furnished in much the same way as the rest of the suite and also featured, as baffling as its presence was, a piano.
He rounded the Victorian style desk and opened the doors to the balcony to let the fresh air in. Well, as fresh as the London air could be.
He knew he should call Michael back, say sorry for leaving the party so abruptly, reassert that he had everything under control, that there was no need for her, or Sandy or Uncle Matt to worry about him. He knew what he had to do and he’d do it. As he always did… if he couldn’t help it. Because, ultimately, the company did good work. It provided jobs and saved small businesses and fundraised a ridiculous amount of charities, as many as Aziraphale needed to feel like he was making a difference.He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, in an attempt to centre himself. When he felt the threat of anxiety finally retreating, he picked up the phone on the desk and dialled his personal assistant’s personal assistant’s number.Muriel’s voice echoed through the line, excessively cheerful despite the late hour.“Hello, hello, hello!”“Hello, Muriel.”“Oh! Mr. Eastgate, is everything alright? Mr. Alphonse keeps calli–”“Everything’s perfectly fine, Muriel, thank you. You can tell Mr. Alphonse, or anyone else trying to contact me at this ungodly hour, that I’ll only take a call from my uncle. Tonight, if he thinks it’s necessary. He won’t be able to reach me on my mobile, but he knows where to find me.”“Of course.”“Once you’ve passed the message, turn off the phone. Get some sleep.”“Alright, Mr. Eastgate. Thank you.”“You can call me Aziraphale, dear,” he told them for what must have been the hundredth time.“Of course, Mr. Eas– Aziraphale .”“Thank you, Muriel. And good night.”“Good night, sir.”He hung up, chuckling to himself, and left the study to go back to the living room. Anthony was already there, lying on the rug and watching tv. He was wearing a black silk pyjama set, hair tied into a messy bun, feet and hands bare. His silver rings had been haphazardly left in a little pile on the coffee table, his socks shoved into the snakeskin boots he had taken off before.“There you are,” Anthony said, finally averting his eyes from the old tv show he was watching. “You were so silent, I thought you wanted to jump me into the shower à la Psycho .”“I’m afraid I forgot my wig at home. Is that black nail polish on your toes?”“No, I just can’t seem to stop stubbing my toes everywhere I go,” he deadpanned. “Of course it’s nail polish, what else would it be?” All of a sudden, his gaze went impossibly sharp. “So you do have a foot fetish.”“No, just a pair of functioning eyes.”“That’s not a no.”“That’s literally the first thing I said!” he pointed out, exasperated. “Didn’t I buy you slippers? I thought–”“I don’t do underwear and I don’t do slippers, angel. You’ll have to live with that. But thanks for the face cleanser, I could never afford that fancy stuff on my own.”Aziraphale went back to his armchair and tried to ignore the phone’s menacing presence on the side table.“What are you watching?” he asked to distract himself, even though he was more interested in how the silk shifted around Anthony’s legs than whatever was on tv.“Golden Girls. It’s like Friends but with old ladies. Also, this one’s fun.”“That sounds… controversial.”“Let me guess. You don’t know what I’m talking about.”“Well.”“That figures. Do you ever watch the telly?”“Sometimes…”“As in, once in a blue moon?”“...only documentaries about giraffes, though.”Anthony cackled as the phone started ringing, which elicited a weird cocktail of emotions from Aziraphale. Pleasure at the other man’s delight, satisfaction at being the one who had managed to make him laugh, dread at whatever his uncle was going to say to him in his very measured, very unassuming tone.Anthony glared at the phone. “Is that Michael?”“I wish.”“Do you want me to turn off the telly? Or leave?”Aziraphale shook his head. “No, please, stay.”Anthony would have probably rioted at the mere idea, but the truth of the matter was that his presence seemed to make Aziraphale bolder. And God knew he needed all the boldness he could get when talking to his uncle.“Here goes nothing,” he mumbled, finally bringing himself to pick up the phone. “Hello?”“Aziraphale.”As soon as his uncle’s voice filled his ear, Aziraphale closed his eyes, free hand moving to grip his thigh as if his life depended on it.“Uncle.”“Are you alright, dear boy? We were very worried about you. We couldn’t find you anywhere and we couldn’t reach you on your phone either.”Guilt slapped Aziraphale in the face without preamble, making it harder to breathe all of a sudden. He felt an icy fist squeezing his guts.“I-I am,” he stuttered. “I just… needed… some alone time, so to speak.”“Well, you gave us a big scare. You know, I’m not long for this world and I really hate the idea of any of you children leaving it before me.”“I know, uncle. I’m terribly sorry.”“I know you are, dear boy. It really breaks my heart to see you so disconnected from your Mother’s legacy. She would have never left you full control of the company if she didn’t believe it was the right choice for you and…”Just as Aziraphale was gearing himself up for the familiar, gruelling task of tuning out Uncle Matt’s very calm, very reasonable ramblings – ramblings Aziraphale could swear were specifically designed to hit him where it hurt most – he felt a soft, warm pressure on the hand still clasped on his thigh.He opened his eyes to find Anthony kneeling in front of him, and the picture he made threatened to punch the air from Aziraphale’s lungs.Apparently unaware of his astonishment, Anthony covered Aziraphale’s hand with his own and coaxed his fingers open one by one, easing the tension in his white knuckles.“Is this okay?” he mouthed without making a sound.He was close. So close. Aziraphale could only stare at him. His shiny, black silk pyjama shifting on his long limbs. His whiskey-coloured eyes glittering in the dim lights of the room. His lips curled in a smile. The graceful, enticing line of his now exposed neck.Aziraphale found himself nodding before he could even understand what he was doing.
Uncle Matt’s voice was droning in his ear about his upcoming meeting with the Shadwells, and why it was so important, the power of consistency, and what it meant for the company’s mission. Meanwhile, Anthony kept stroking the palm of Aziraphale’s hand with his fingertips until he felt him relax a little under his ministrations.
He was so beautiful, Aziraphale dazedly realised. So implausible. An unexpected black and red streak in his otherwise very beige, very safe life. A bold stroke that looked so much more vibrant, so much more real than Aziraphale felt. It was a strange sensation, floating between the coldness of his uncle’s polite demeanour, and the very real warmth of Anthony’s body pressed against his own.Through a languid haze of anticipation, Aziraphale watched as his legs parted, as if on their own accord, to make space for Anthony. The other man slipped between them right away, still holding Aziraphale’s hand in one of his own while the other was lightly stroking his leg through his trousers, fingers brushing over his ankle, his calf, inching their way up to his knee and thigh and no further than that.“Yes, I know,” Aziraphale heard himself say, vision going slightly blurry on the edges.He had no idea what Uncle Matt was talking about and he honestly couldn’t care less. He was too busy disentangling his fingers from Anthony’s to bring them up to the man’s cheek.“May I?” he whispered, eyes caught in the amber cage of Anthony’s gaze.Anthony nodded and leaned his face towards Aziraphale’s hand, as if to seek his warmth. How ludicrous it was, to believe that Aziraphale had any warmth to give. He was used to feel almost unsubstantial, more of a concept than an actual person. Most of the time he didn’t mind it that much. He genuinely liked his solitude, his books, and the tranquillity of his house in the South Downs. But every once in a while that feeling of tenuousness became so big, so terrifying, that he barely felt like a real person anymore, someone made of flesh and bone rather than an unnamed, detached entity watching life happen to other people.The thought ignited a spark of anxiety in his throat, which gave him the presence of mind to babble something in the receiver. Then, as if to keep the balance between two opposing forces, he lowered his hand to Anthony’s jaw and neck. He carefully dragged it through his hair, removing the hair tie and letting it fall to his shoulders.It was soft, softer than he’d expected, and the idea of Anthony brushing it with the hairbrush Aziraphale had bought for him made his insides tingle with pleasure.A part of him knew he should have stopped touching the man’s hair, but good Lord, he just couldn’t, and Anthony seemed to enjoy the attention, struggling as he was to keep his eyes fully open. He bent his head down to Aziraphale’s knee and started kissing his way up his clothed thigh, hands trailing behind his lips.Aziraphale blinked, and it was like taking a snapshot of the scene in front of him. Red hair spilling on his lap like the finest wine. Shiny, black silk against dull, brown wool. The wet imprints Anthony’s mouth was leaving on his trousers. The warmth of the other man’s breath setting his clothed skin on fire. His own parched mouth and the unadulterated hunger furiously swirling in chest.
He felt a not-so-sudden stirring between his legs at the same time he registered Uncle Matt’s voice prodding him at the other end of the line. Fuck.He stopped breathing altogether, tightening his grip on Anthony’s hair and gently pulling him backwards until he could meet his eyes. When he did, Aziraphale shook his head almost imperceptibly, eyes wide and hungry and scared. And yet, just as Anthony was making to move away, Aziraphale grabbed his hand to keep him where he was.“Aziraphale, are you even listening, dear boy?” Uncle Matt inquired, an edge of impatience finally creeping into his voice.“Y-Yes. Only it’s, well, quite late and I’ve had a long day,” he murmured, trying to focus on the warmth of Anthony’s hand under his own.“That makes two of us.”“Should we pick this up tomorrow morning, then?”“If you think it wise.”“Thank you for calling me, uncle.”“We’re all counting on you, Aziraphale. Don’t let us down.”“I won’t. I promise.”He made sure Uncle Matt had hung up on him before carefully replacing the receiver. His hands were trembling. He swallowed, feeling impossibly lightheaded, and turned back to Anthony.He wanted to study his expression, inspect every line on his face for any trace of relief or impatience or disgust, but he was too flustered to concentrate on anything.“Everything alright?” Anthony asked, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand.“Quite alright, my dear. Thank you.”Anthony peered into his eyes, looking for something of his own. “Are you sure you don’t—”“No, it won’t be necessary,” Aziraphale reassured him with a smile.“Doesn’t have to be necessary. You can just ask. For fun.”“I’m fine. Truly.” He took a deep breath, then glanced at the tv, which was still on. “Will you tell me about this show?”Anthony moved back a little so he could sit by Aziraphale’s feet, without letting go of his hand or breaking the contact between their bodies.
He liked it, Aziraphale realised. It felt grounding somehow.“What about it?”“Why do you like it?”“Do you really want to hear me wax poetic about Golden Girls?”“Please.”“You have the weirdest kinks, angel.”
“Or,” Maggie was saying the next morning over the phone, “you could just give them something, you know? To get them off your back, I mean.”“Such as?”Aziraphale loved Maggie, he really did. He had gone to great lengths to find a personal assistant he liked and who looked reliable enough to convince Uncle Matt and the others that he was not trying to sabotage the company, while also being grossly incompetent at the same time.Maggie had been the perfect candidate, the most perfect blend of harmless and inept, approachable and guileless, with her flowery planner always at the ready and her head constantly in the clouds. She knew everything about music and next to nothing about being a personal assistant.Aziraphale had seen the inside of that planner and he was proud to say that not even the most skillful of cryptologists could decipher her notes. More importantly, Maggie couldn’t either, and that’s how Aziraphale frequently found himself lounging in his house in the South Downs with a good book despite being scheduled for a very important meeting in the city (all of his meetings were Very Important even though most of them could have been an email. Or, better yet, a telegram).When Maggie’s professionalism had been called into question by Michael, Aziraphale had assuaged her worries by agreeing to hire a personal assistant for his personal assistant, provided he could choose the right candidate from a pool handpicked by Michael herself. And that’s how he was blessed with Muriel – he still had no idea how they ended up in Michael’s roster – who had started working for him and, in a way, for Maggie as well right away.Aziraphale was really happy to say that Maggie and Muriel put together didn’t make an entire personal assistant worthy of their salt. And he wouldn’t have had it any other way.All this to say, he loved Maggie, had even come to consider her a good friend, but he knew better than to trust her advice.“They are trying to set you up with someone, correct?” she insisted.“Unfortunately.”“So find yourself a date. Bring them to dinner with the Shadwells tomorrow, to the match on Friday and the gala on Sunday, and you’re all set.”Aziraphale wisely refrained from pointing out that the dinner was tonight, the match on Wednesday and the gala on Saturday.“Where would I even find someone worthy of their approval on such short notice?” he objected, barely hiding the disdain in his voice. He certainly didn’t want to be seen with anyone Michael would deem appropriate for him.“Who said anything about their approval? You just need to show them that you’re willing to make an effort, meet them in the middle. They want to make you a queer icon, right? Make them think you’re working on it.”Aziraphale felt a shuffling in the hallway, and when Anthony came into the living room, hair ruffled and eyes barely open, he was struck with an idea that would certainly get the others off his back.“Maggie, my dear, you are a genius,” he gushed.“I know,” she giggled. “Well, let me know if you need anything else.”“Will do. Thank you.”He replaced the receiver and stood up to greet Anthony at the breakfast table with a beaming smile on his face.“Good morning, Anthony.”“Morning, angel,” he drawled, wiping the sleep from his eyes.“Do sit down, please.”He pulled a chair back for him, but Anthony ignored it and hopped on the table instead, almost crushing a plate of scones in the process. While Aziraphale could admit that he made quite the adorable picture, with pillow lines on his face and voice still rough, he also couldn’t help throwing a disapproving look his way.“Really, my dear, there are three chairs right there.”“I’m not a chair person,” Anthony said with a shrug. “Is that coffee?”Aziraphale sighed and sat down, hoping to lead by example while also preemptively resigning himself to Anthony’s antics. He poured a cup of black coffee and handed it to him.“Thankssss.”
“Won’t you eat something?”“Not hungry.”As a concession to Anthony’s barely conscious state, Aziraphale decided not to press him. Although this didn’t stop him from preparing a plate with a couple of croissants and some fresh fruit and surreptitiously pushing it towards Anthony, who picked at it without a word. Aziraphale counted it as a win.They drank and ate in silence until the caffeine finally kicked in and Anthony looked slightly more awake.“Did you ever come to bed last night?” he asked, nose wrinkled in confusion, or maybe irritation.Aziraphale fussed with a tray of pastries just to keep his hands occupied. “There’s a perfectly suitable sofa in the studio.” And also a second bathroom. Besides, he wasn’t lying when he’d said he suffered from insomnia, especially when he was in London for work. He certainly wouldn’t have wanted to disturb the other man’s peaceful sleep (Aziraphale might have taken a peek earlier that morning when he’d gone to the bedroom for a change of clothes).“And there I was, thinking you may have been into somnophilia or something.”“Well, I’d definitely like to be able to sleep more than I do.” But that wasn’t what Anthony was talking about at all. “Also, that would require quite a bit of negotiating beforehand, don’t you think?”Anthony peered at him over the rim of his mug. “I really, really wish you had a foot fetish.”“I kind of gathered that already,” Aziraphale assured him.“Nyeah, I should probably shut up about it.”“That’s an idea.”“Don’t worry, I’ll finish this and I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”Aziraphale took a deep breath, sipped his tea for courage, then dabbed his lips with the napkin before smoothing it back on his lap.“Actually, I was thinking…” he began, as casual as anything.Anthony whined immediately. “Please don’t tell me you’re about to say what I think you’re about to say.”“How would I know what you’re thinking?”“I don’t know! But I saw you making that face last night. Twice. And both times you asked me to–”“I’d like to book your services for the entire week,” Aziraphale interjected before Crowley could have a chance to guess right.“Fuuuuuck.”“You can say no if you don’t want to, of course!” he rushed to say. “But I’d be paying you whatever sum you deem appropriate. Not to mention, I have some errands to run, and since I now have a perfectly serviceable car, I find myself in need of a… well, a chauffeur, as it were.”“Wait, wait, wait.” Anthony jumped off the table and started pacing the room. “Are you asking me to be your driver?”“No, I’m asking you to accompany me on a few work engagements as my date, and I’m saying that in exchange, on top of paying your rate, I’ll let you drive the car in an attempt to, how do you say, sweeten the deal.”Anthony stopped to stare at him, dumbfounded. Oh, but he looked so very fetching in that black silk pyjama. “Is this about Timothy?”Aziraphale blushed and clasped his hands in his lap to keep himself from fidgeting. “In a way…?”Anthony opened his mouth to protest, but quickly closed it without uttering a single word. He resumed his frantic pacing instead, muttering to himself all the while.Aziraphale anxiously followed him around with his gaze. It felt like being at Wimbledon. But better, because there was no tennis being played.After what felt like approximately six thousand years, Anthony came to an abrupt halt and turned towards Aziraphale, arms crossed over his chest.“Fine,” he blurted out. “But I’ll have to go home to get some clothes.”Aziraphale smiled like someone had just told him Gabriel had agreed to take back his position as CEO of Eastgate’s Booksellers Limited.“Well, my dear, what would you say to some shopping?”
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Chapter 4 - Slippery Little Suckers“What?!”Crowley pulled the phone away from his ear. “For fuck’s sake, Nina, don’t scream.” He stopped browsing the men’s suite section to look around and make sure Aziraphale was still busy with his own phone call by the entrance.Aside from the sales assistant staring at him with a suspicious look on her face and doing a terrible job at following him around in what she probably thought was a discreet manner, the coast was clear.“Sorry,” Nina said, lowering her voice. “Did you just say someone wants to pay you to keep you around for an entire week?”Crowley rolled his eyes and shrugged even though Nina couldn’t see him. He resumed his idle inspection of a very nice black jacket with a jet stone embellishment that made the fabric look like a star-studded night sky.“Yes, I know.” Crowley barely wanted to keep himself around for an entire week.“Who is this bloke anyway?”“He’s just…”He let his voice trail off, because where could he even begin to explain who Aziraphale was? To do that, he’d have to start thinking about stuff he was ignoring. He had dutifully roped off the area of his brain labelled as Aziraphale, closed it behind the highest barriers he could find, and was now shooing away any passing thought that dared to get too close. Move along, nothing to see here.
He just wasn’t ready for it. Not now, and maybe not ever.First and foremost, he couldn’t even tell Nina the basics, not even his name. It was too unusual, too peculiar. Unless Aziraphale had given him a fake one (which Crowley doubted), a simple Google search would have revealed the truth about who he was. Probably not that many millionaires called Aziraphale around and everything.Second, but strictly related to the previous point, Crowley himself still had no idea who Aziraphale was, and he kind of didn’t want to have one either. Because, while self-awareness may not have been his strongest suit, he knew he could have easily Googled the man himself, and yet he hadn’t. To be perfectly honest, the thought was enough to make his stomach churn. Take a rich man, barely scratch the surface and you’ll find the rot soon enough (see: things and feelings he didn’t want to look at too closely).Sure, he wasn’t completely useless. Some things he had definitely gathered despite his efforts to remain blissfully unaware, and they were as follows: Aziraphale was filthy rich, worked a job he hated, and had a strained relationship with his family, which was controlling him in some way. A social butterfly he was not, but he was kind to a fault and knew how to endear himself to the people around him, even cared enough to remember names and relatives he’d probably never met himself. Also, he had very weird reactions to good food and liked to hold hands (but, again, Crowley was not thinking about that. Awful things, hands. Especially with soft, thick fingers).Above all, according to Crowley’s superficial assessment of the man, Aziraphale was in desperate need of having someone in his corner. Which brought Crowley back to the fact that people finding themselves in this kind of predicament usually needed a friend, not a hooker.“...an angel, I know,” he drawled absent-mindedly over the clinking of glass from the other end of the line.“A what? Sorry, I was loading the dishwasher. I didn’t quite get that.”It wasn’t hard to picture Nina in the wasteland that was Eden at ten in the morning. Crowley had met her there a decade before, when Nina had started working at the bar and he was already spending all of his nights at the club, picking up clients for himself and doing odd jobs for the owner, Mrs. Sandwich, who’d been kind enough to rent him the small flat above the nightclub for a fraction of its market value. Just two rooms overflowing with plants, with a floor that vibrated with music well into the early morning hours.“Nevermind,” he was quick to amend, trying to shake off his pointless musings. “He just needs a friend.” He stopped to admire a single breasted black jacket with giant red flowers all over. He removed it from the hanger and moved in front of a mirror to place it against his chest and see how it looked (but mainly to annoy the sales assistant still eyeing his every move).“What does that have to do with you?”“‘S not easy, making friends at fifty.”Nina let out a noncommittal hum. “So, did you two shag or not?”“Not… as such.”He wouldn’t have been so out of sorts if they had. Shagging would have slapped a huge label on what they were doing. Blurred edges would have finally come into focus, and Crowley could have put on the appropriate hat for the occasion and act accordingly. But now, since they had not shagged at all – he couldn’t even begin to think about him kissing Aziraphale’s knee like a fucking lunatic without cringing on at least three different planes of existence – they were stuck in this… this limbo. A limbo where he wasn’t thinking about the look on Aziraphale’s face when he’d seen Crowley kneeling in front of him. Or Aziraphale’s soft fingers in his hair. Or how dark the angel’s eyes had suddenly become. Dark grey, like the sky before a raging storm.Nope, he wasn’t thinking about it. In fact, Crowley was putting a stop to this whole thinking business. For good.“D’you think he doesn’t want to?” Nina asked.“I’m not sure,” he muttered as he replaced the jacket.“What do you mean you’re not sure? Didn’t you ask?”“I mean I am. Not. Sure,” he snapped. Of course he didn’t ask. Why would he start acting like a proper adult at the ripe age of forty-seven? What next? Open communication? Please. “I thought he might not care about sex at all, but then… the way he looks at me sometimes.”“Like what?”“Like I’m…” Cool. Fascinating. One of a kind. “I don’t know. Like I’m dessert.”Nina gasped. “What if he’s a cannibal?”“Really?” Crowley huffed. Fine, maybe he wasn’t exactly sugar-baby material anymore, but pulling a cannibal?“Do you think you’d pair nicely with a bottle of Chianti?”“Why did I even bother to call you?”“Because you’re not an idiot, and you should never leave with a client without telling me where you are. At all times.” She paused, then continued: “And there’s something about this bloke that unsettles you. I can tell”.“Well… nyeah.”“So why did you agree to this?”Wouldn’t he have liked to know?“Because he has a 1926 Bentley, and it’s not like… I mean…” He cleared his throat. “You should see him, Nina. He’s harmless.” And charming and sweet, and also a snob and a complete bitch and there are worse things than being around him, I guess.The thought was so unexpected, so sickening, that he had to stop to close his eyes and take deep, calming breaths.Projectile vomiting, now that would have been a legitimate concern for the sales assistant.“Crowley.”“What.”“Do you…”“Please don’t.” He sighed. He knew what was coming.“Well, do you? Because last time–”“I know what happened last time. I was there.” Well, barely. “And I don’t. Like him, that is. Not that way.” He just felt sorry for him, that was all. Hey, maybe this was the dawn of his philanthropist era! Why not? Former demon finally takes a stab at redemption through charity work.Nina didn’t sound convinced, and with good reason. “Listen, I know that you need money for the down payment on that property in Tadfield, and that it’s taking longer than you’d like,” she argued with that measured tone Crowley absolutely despised. “But please, please don’t consent to things you don’t want just for the sake of it.”Before Crowley could come up with something to say, he heard another voice from Nina’s end of the line.“Is that Crowley?”Crowley huffed out in frustration. “For the love of all that’s unholy, don’t put Anathema on the phone.”“Sorry,” came Nina’s apologetic reply. “She’s gonna hex me if I don’t.”He heard some rustling and whispering, then Anathema’s voice came ringing through the line. “Crowley?”
“Ana.” He rubbed his eyes under his sunglasses in desperation.“Ah, so you remember.”
“Yes, I’m not geriatric yet.”
“I sent you a text this morning, didn’t you read it?”Not only did Anathema perform at Eden every weekend with a striking witch-themed burlesque number, she also fancied herself a proper witch (and was one of those people Crowley would have begrudgingly called a friend). She did tarot and aura readings, and now, apparently, had premonitions as well.“I did.”“Then why didn’t you text back?”“Because I read it.”This didn’t deter Anathema in the slightest. “I had a dream about you finding your prince charming.”“For Hell’s sake. You don’t need to tell me what you wrote in the text. I said I read it.”“I couldn’t see him clearly,” Anathema continued, unbothered, “but he was riding eighty black horses! I distinctly remember the horses, they were very shiny. Old but new at the same time.”“Fine. Got it. New, old, shiny horses. Eighty of them. One prince. I gotta go.” He fucking hated horses.“No, wait! I know you don’t believe in this stuff, but I’m telling you, it’s real. I had a vision. You’re going to meet your prince and it’s going to be life-changing.”“Cannibalism counts as life-changing, right?” he heard Nina interject in the background.“Cannibalism?” Anathema inquired, interest suddenly piqued. “Ritual or recreational?”“Yes, I believe that’s my cue. Gotta go. Please remember to water my plants. Instructions on the mini-fridge as usual. Ta-ta.”He hung up the phone and turned around just to find Aziraphale right behind him. Startled, Crowley stumbled back, then quickly tried to recover by placing an elbow on a nearby shelf and acting like he lived and breathed cool. Which he did, of course.“Sorry, did I interrupt something?” Aziraphale asked apologetically.“No. I was just telling Nina I won’t be coming home for a while.”Aziraphale blanched, mouth suddenly open in horror. “Oh… oh, I see. I didn’t even… Goodness, I didn’t even ask you if you had– Well, of course you do. I didn’t mean to imply– But I definitely should have, now that I think about it, and–”Crowley took a step forward. “Angel, breathe,” he said in the most soothing voice he could manage. He could be cool and helpful at the same time, couldn’t he? Philanthropist era, he reminded himself. “What are you on about?”Aziraphale blinked and turned pink, hands fussing with the lapels of his coat, then the pockets, then the lapels again. “If you have someone to go home to, I do not want to keep you. We could–”Crowley huffed out a laugh and didn’t wait for him to finish. “Who? Nina?”“You just said–”“Nina’s a friend,” he stated emphatically, which, in hindsight, was kind of embarrassing (as well as filed under: things I absolutely should not think about. Ever). “Also, the day she comes on to me will be the day I know aliens have abducted her and replaced her with a shitty excuse for a clone.”“Oh, alright.” Aziraphale attempted a smile, cheeks still dusted with pink. “If you’re sure.”“Pretty sure. I’m not that popular with lesbians. Not yet, at least.”“There’s always room for improvement,” Aziraphale offered helpfully, a tad more self-assured now that he knew that Crowley didn’t have an entire family waiting for him (see? You can totally acknowledge stuff without thinking about it).
“And disappointment too,” Crowley added. “So, how was your phone call?”“Perfectly fine, my dear, thank you. The maître at The Savoy has agreed to add an extra place to our table tonight.”As bewildering as it was, Crowley realised that he was now spending his time with someone who did things like asking the manager of a high-end design store if he could use their landline to call a five-star hotel to change his dinner reservation.“Is that why we’re here? Because you need a new outfit for tonight?” Was an outfit good enough for The Ritz not good enough for The Savoy, then? Crowley really did not understand rich people, he never had and probably never would. Hopefully.Aziraphale let out a gentle laugh, as if Crowley had just said the most ridiculous thing. “What would I want with this place?”“What is that supposed to mean?” Though, to be honest, the store didn’t suit Aziraphale’s style at all.“We’re here for you,” he said, visibly puzzled by Crowley’s confusion.Crowley could only stare at him. “Wot? I beg your fuck– I just– I can barely afford to breathe in here.”Aziraphale looked affronted. “Good thing I’m paying, you silly man.”And now it was Crowley’s turn to gape at him. “Absolutely not.” Despite what he said to Nina, he could live without being featured on Attitude as the first ever geriatric sugar-baby in existence.“But I asked you if you wanted to go shopping,” Aziraphale protested, and he was… was he pouting? It was intriguing and even kind of baffling, the way Aziraphale just kept flip-flopping between nervousness and absolute bastardry.“Nyeah, but I– I thought you meant like at Zara or Marks & Spencer.”Aziraphale gasped and physically recoiled at the implication. “Who do you take me for?”Crowley opened his mouth to protest, but the only thing that came out was a laugh. Slightly hysterical, but a laugh nonetheless. “Satan bless it. You’re insane.”Aziraphale pursed his lips, indignation slowly replaced by distress. “Did I make you uncomfortable? Does this… oh God, I should have asked. Properly, I mean.”“Yeah, you probably should have,” Crowley couldn’t help but agree. But hey, it’s not like they were routinely talking about stuff.He cast another look around the store, which, now that he really looked at it, was exactly the kind of place he’d be shopping at if he could afford to. The sales assistant clearly did not agree with him, as she was still keeping a wary eye on him. From the way she looked at him, you’d have thought Crowley was about to stuff an entire suit under his sheer blouse and make a run for it. Maybe he had untrustworthy-looking nipples (he wholeheartedly hoped so).He sighed and turned back to Aziraphale, who looked absolutely mortified.
“Can I keep the clothes?” Crowley asked. “After this is all over, I mean.” He could resell them, add whatever he could get for them to his savings.The most perfect little frown wrinkled the space between Aziraphale’s eyebrows. “Obviously.”“Obviously,” Crowley mocked him, both amused and irritated. Honestly, there were worse hardships than having someone buy you designer clothes. And yes, maybe he was more of a lavish-your-partner-with-gifts than a lavished-with-gifts-by-his-partner kind of person, but you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, right? (You don’t look at it at all, because a horse is a terrible, terrible gift.) “How many outfits are we talking?”“Well, there’s The Savoy tonight,” Aziraphale kept count on his perfectly manicured fingers. “The charity polo match, the annual investor–”“I’m sorry. Come again?”“The annual investor gala.”“No, the other thing.”“The polo match?”Crowley whined. There was only one thing he hated more than horses and rich people, and that was rich people on horses. “You are not taking me to a polo match.”“Certainly not dressed like that, I’m not,” Aziraphale agreed.“My clothes have nothing to do with it. Do I look like polo match material?” If he’d had a reputation to maintain, this would have tarnished it irreparably. Also, polo matches usually swarmed with the worst breed of rich people Crowley could think of, the pedigreed kind.Aziraphale looked him up and down. “You look quite dashing, if I may say so myself.”Crowley categorically did not feel his cheeks burn.“That’s not the point.” All of a sudden, he couldn’t remember what the point even was. “I hate horses,” he complained.“Why?”“They’re nasty. And hard on the buttocks.”“It rather sounds like you and horses might have something in common after all.”They heard a horrified gasp from somewhere behind them and the sales assistant scurried away before Aziraphale could spot her. Crowley ignored her hasty retreat, eyes fixed on Aziraphale, who turned back to him with that little bastard smile dancing on his lips.“I really don’t know how you can say such things with a straight face,” Crowley said. He was almost kind of impressed.“As Morty in the fourth form would always say, there’s nothing straight about me.”Crowley rolled his eyes. “Of course you’ve gone to school with someone named Morty.”Aziraphale was still smiling and Crowley had the sudden urge to mess up his hair, or his bow tie or something , just to inject a little chaos in his annoyingly neat appearance.“Didn’t take you for the horseriding sort of chap,” the angel continued.“Horses? No. But, funny you mentioned it, I ride all sorts of chaps. And, in one memorable occasion, a lady as well.”Aziraphale’s eyes raked over him, and the filing cabinet containing all the things Crowley was categorically ignoring shook itself open, inundating him with memories of the previous night.Aziraphale opening his legs to make space for him, his soft fingers in Crowley’s hair, stroking it first, then gripping it gently. The promise of Aziraphale’s warm skin through his trousers, the way he shuddered when Crowley had kissed his way up his thigh. The desperate look Aziraphale had given him when he’d asked him to stop. The pink spots in his cheeks, his slightly parted lips. The hunger burning in his eyes, the darkest he’d ever seen them up to that point.“You should have asked for a bbj and ended it there,” he said, voice a bit rough around the edges as he tried to seal that damn drawer before he could think about them holding hands for an hour. “Like all normal blokes.”Aziraphale looked at him, aghast, tension melting into affront. “Why? Is there something wrong with my derrière?”Crowley blinked. Then blinked again. The word derrière had just smacked him in the head like a giant cartoon hammer. “Wot?”“Why would I need a bbj for?” Aziraphale insisted tartly.“I can’t believe you just referred to your arse as derrière.”“Not everyone is as rude as you,” he remarked, irritated.“And there’s nothing wrong with it. Your arse, I mean.”“Then why the bbj?” Crowley just stared at him, uncomprehending, until Aziraphale huffed and, eyes-wide, added: “Brazilian butt job?”A second passed, then Crowley howled with laughter, shaking so uncontrollably that he had to prop himself up on the nearest stand not to fall over, which did nothing to placate Aziraphale’s outrage.“Now, now. That seems hardly necessary,” he complained stiffly.“I meant a birthday blow job!”“And, pray tell, how was I supposed to infer that?”“Why was a Brazilian butt job the first thing that came to mind?”“Actually, the first thing that came to mind was blueberry jam, but context clues sugge–” He cut himself off and huffed again. “Are you quite finished?”Crowley finally straightened, took a deep breath and removed his sunglasses to wipe the tears from the corner of his eyes. “Fine, fine,” he mumbled. “Just wish you’d finish me for once.”“What did you say?”“Nothing!” He turned to the black and red suit he was admiring earlier, and snapped his fingers at the sales assistant still lurking around somewhere. “I’ll need this one in my size. Oh, and the one with the stones too.”The girl ignored him and looked to Aziraphale for confirmation. He seemed perplexed by her hesitation. “Didn’t you hear him, dear girl?”The assistant had the good grace of blushing before scurrying away to do as she was told.“Talk to me about this dinner, then,” Crowley continued, because business talk was safe. Business talk was what he did. “Also, we need a plan for our little… arrangement.”“What kind of plan?”“Are we pretending to be a proper couple? Like a fake-dating situation?”Aziraphale gauged the feasibility of the idea with a thoughtful expression on his face. “Do you think it wise?”“Well, we could do without a complex backstory.” If his early escorting days had taught him anything, it was that too much information tended to complicate things. Especially because of his innate propensity for improvised embellishments. “Maybe we’ve just met. Love at first sight, blah blah blah.”“So we’re in love?”“You’re trying to piss off your family, yeah? They won’t be pissed if they think I’m just a fuck.”Aziraphale blushed again. “Quite.”“Who are we dining with tonight?”“Mr. and Mrs. Shadwell, their nephew and my lawyer, Sandy Alphonse.”“Fuck, that’s a wanker’s name if I ever heard one.”“The wankery doesn’t stop at the name, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale confirmed with a little sigh and a faraway look on his face. Crowley didn’t like it one bit.“What’s it all about?”“I’m trying– I mean, my company is trying to buy out Mrs. Shadwell’s business, but she’s quite stubborn. And so are we, apparently.”“So you’re treating them to a fancy five-star restaurant dinner?”“So it seems.”“Are you sure you need me there?”“The Shadwells are peculiar people. They don’t like to talk business, and if I show up alone with my lawyer, that’s what it’d look like. If you’re there, on the other hand…”“It’ll be like an informal outing or something.”“I suppose.”“Was this your idea?” He didn’t know why he’d asked when he already knew the answer.Aziraphale averted his eyes, pretending to inspect a row of crisp white shirts. “Didn’t even choose the restaurant. That Ramsay fellow… I don’t like him.”When the sales assistant came back, conspicuously accompanied by her manager, she addressed Crowley for the first time.“We’re ready for you in the changing room, mister…?”Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, then shrugged. “Mr. Fell ‘s fine.”He ignored the way Aziraphale’s eyes widened in shock, and if he felt a potentially dangerous warmth blooming in his chest, well, he’d just have to ignore it as he was ignoring everything else.
As he tried to stick the fork into the shell, Crowley was once again reminded of his firm belief that there was a special place in Hell for whoever had come up with the idea of eating snails, as well as for everyone that came after them and kept deciding, again and again, that it was perfectly normal.
If there was something anyone could agree on, it was that the French could not, under any circumstances, be trusted with food.The same could be said for Aziraphale’s French. Turned out that saying words like derrière (yes, Crowley was, despite his best efforts, still thinking about it) and escargots with enviable pronunciation (and in this second case, the most irritating of scandalised gasps elicited by Crowley calling them snails ) didn’t meant that Aziraphale could speak French, as it had become abundantly clear when he’d insisted on ordering for everyone… in French.
“If Mr. Ramsay wants to try his hand at modern French cuisine, he should, at the very least, speak the language,” he’d petulantly pointed out.Crowley, who in any other circumstance would have been worried about the waiter spitting in their food (it’s what he would have done), had come to the conclusion that not even a stranger’s spit could make snails any more disgusting than they already were. Besides, judging by Aziraphale’s (probably?) one-sided feud with the chef, there was a strong possibility that this Mr. Ramsay had already spat in Aziraphale’s food at least once before.Still, the snails and Aziraphale’s belief that he could, in fact, speak French weren’t the only sore spots of the evening.In his youth, Crowley had tried his fair share of drugs. The only time he’d taken mushrooms, though, he’d somehow convinced himself he was a demon stuck into a corporate job he absolutely despised. He’d woken up thinking no one appreciated his genius and attention to detail, and had realised he was surrounded by thousands of weird sigils drawn on the walls of the shitty flat he was renting at the time (that’s how he’d lost the deposit, by the way).
Well, until tonight, he’d never thought he’d have another hallucination as vivid as that one. But boy, was he wrong. Because whatever was happening right now could only make sense in the context of his wildest, most nonsensical nightmares, and the fancy restaurant and frankly disgusting food weren’t the only incriminating factors at work.
In fact, the company also left much to be desidered. It pretty much felt like Someone had personally hand picked their table companions from a catalogue of stock characters.The Shadwells were the most strangely assorted couple Crowley had ever met in his life. The Sergeant (because he apparently didn’t have a name) was a cantankerous old man who had dressed up for the occasion like someone (likely his wife) had forced him to make an effort and he had fought them every step of the way. When he spoke, which wasn’t often, Crowley could barely make out what he said. It had taken him less than a minute to decide that it was probably for the best.His wife Marjorie, on the other hand, was a hoot and had regaled the table with improbable stories from her youth, calling everyone love and lamb, and exuding a warmth that Crowley found, against his better judgement, endearing.Their nephew, a bespectacled young man called Newton, seemed like the concept of anxious ineptitude had suddenly decided to take human shape, but had still not quite grasped how to successfully blend in.But the three of them had nothing on the insufferable wanker that was Sandy Alphonse, Aziraphale’s lawyer. Honestly, Crowley had never wanted anything like he wanted to punch the man in the face and make him swallow that obnoxious gold tooth he had. He was a short, stocky man, who kept looking at Crowley like he either wanted to kill him or fuck him, and tried his very best to steer the conversation to the business side of things every chance he got.
Which, fine, that’s what they were there for in the first place, but there was absolutely no need to cut Aziraphale off like that so often and with so much venom. Not only was Sandy’s disdain for Aziraphale obvious, it was also clear that he didn’t feel like there was any need to hide it.
Crowley had bitten his tongue multiple times, but ultimately hadn’t said anything, not wanting to override Aziraphale’s softer approach, which consisted in smiling politely to everyone and making comments about the food or the wine every time there was an awkward pause or a pointed remark.The whole thing, Crowley had to concede, was incredibly nerve wracking.Having finally managed to stick the fork into the shell, he tried to unstick it with a tad too much force. After a brief struggle, the poor dead snail shot out in a spray of tomato sauce, and hit Sandy The Wanker straight in the face.The entire table fell silent, watching the snail slowly drag down the man’s forehead, leaving a red streak in its wake, and then flop to his plate with a pathetic little splat.“Oops, sorry,” Crowley was quick to say, apologetic smile swiftly in place and eyes thankfully hidden behind the dark shades he had worn citing a particular sensitivity to light. “Slippery little suckers.”He could have probably passed it off as an honest accident, had it not been the third flying snail of the evening. (Yes, he’d refrained from ripping the man a new one, but this didn’t mean he had to espouse Aziraphale’s turn-the-other-cheek philosophy either.)“Anthony, dear,” Aziraphale intervened (again), looking not even remotely mortified. “Are you sure you don’t need a hand with those?”“Quite sure, angel. Almost got it, I think,” Crowley reassured him, before turning to his new favourite target. “Sorry, Sandy.”“It’s Mr. Alphonse to you,” he grumbled, angrily wiping his forehead with his napkin, which already looked like a bloody battleground.“Yeah, sure.”Sandy, who seemed well on his way to pop a vein, turned to the Shadwells with a brittle smile on his face and a twitch in his left eye. “As I was saying, the market is ever-shifting, and if you keep delaying your decision, we may not be able to keep this particular offer on the table.”“Who’s we?” Crowley interjected, not at all casually.“Eastgate’s,” he replied through gritted teeth.Crowley brightened up, as if he had just put two and two together. “Oh, so that’s you, angel,” he said, glancing at Aziraphale.Amongst the ever-growing list of things Crowley was still trying to not think about was the fact that Aziraphale’s last name was in fact not Fell, but Eastgate, and that his connection to books was starting to make a great deal more sense (not that Crowley knew anything about books – or reading, for that matter – but he knew that their bookstores were pretty much all over London).Sandy was just about to pick up his grand speech to persuade the Shadwells to sell their bookshop, when the Sergeant looked straight at Crowley and barked out: “Are ye one o’ those Southern pansies then?”His wife gasped, horrified. “You silly old man, we’ve already talked about this. You can’t say stuff like that,” she scolded him.“Sorry,” Newton mumbled, as if he were the one who had spoken.Crowley grinned from ear to ear. “I was born in Glasgow, actually. Guess that makes me a Northern pansy, aye?”“Do try the Cornish turbot,” Aziraphale chimed in, addressed to no one in particular. “It’s perfectly mediocre.”Sandy cursed under his breath and Crowley was oh-so ready to deploy the fourth snail of the evening.“As I was saying, Mr. Alphonse,” continued Mrs. Shadwell, “our bookshop is a beloved spot in Soho, a bonafide historical landmark, and there are many people who’d like to see it preserved as is. Why, last year we even received a conspicuous donation from an anonymous donor.”At this, Aziraphale gulped down his wine and called the waiter to order another bottle.“Marjorie,” Sandy started to say, just to be immediately stopped by Crowley’s sharp remark: “It’s Mrs. Shadwell to you.”“Mrs. Shadwell,” Sandy began again, red faced and ready to burst, “we at Eastgate’s pride ourselves in preserving the authenticity of all the shops we’ve helped save during the years. You know as well as we do that you won’t be able to go on much longer, regardless of how many donations you may receive. We’ve already agreed to keep your nephew in our employment,” he said with a nod to Newton, “and our offer is really quite generous.” An ominous pause. “For now.”“Well, Mr. Alphonse, there are quite a few people out there who’d disagree with you,” Mrs. Shadwell informed him with a genial smile. “And to be perfectly honest, after seeing how you remodelled some of the bookshops you’ve acquired in the last few years, I’d be tempted to side with them.”“If you’re still not convinced,” Sandy insisted, almost sneering at this point, “I’d be more than happy to outline our–”“I need a smoke,” Crowley declared point blank and stood up without preamble. This reminded him of his teenage years, which was unacceptable. If he’d wanted to dig up the past in a fancy environment, he’d have gone to therapy.Aziraphale shot him an anxious look, reaching for Crowley’s hand without quite touching him. “Is everything alright, my dear?”“Sure, just need a bit of fresh air.” And maybe to stop hearing that wanker blather. “I’ll be back.” And then, not giving it a single thought, he bent down to kiss Aziraphale on the cheek.
Only when his lips made contact with Aziraphale’s skin and he smelled the sweetness of his aftershave, did Crowley realise what he was doing. He straightened up and muttered a nonsensical: “Erm, yeah,” before fleeing towards the exit.Despite his best intentions at hammering out the details of their brand new arrangement, Crowley had quickly resigned himself to the fact that any kind of serious discussion between him and Aziraphale simply seemed to slide off of them like water off of… well, whatever water slides off of. So, you see, they had not talked about physical contact, if it was welcome and in what measure, and even their attempts at coming up with a backstory for their little ruse had fallen through almost immediately. Which was both a relief and a headache.
As soon as he stepped outside, he took a few steps down the sidewalk to escape the claustrophobic feel of the hotel’s entrance. He took deep breaths, put his sunglasses up on his hair, which was tied back into a neat bun, and tried to ignore the question currently pounding in his brain.
What the Heaven am I doing?
“Are you okay, dearie?”He turned towards Mrs. Shadwell’s sickly sweet voice behind him and almost stumbled on his own feet. “‘M fine,” he blurted out. “You?”“I’m feeling properly pampered,” she said, rummaging in her purse for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “But also like a fish out of water,” she added. “Please don’t tell anyone, though.”“Quiet as a mouse, me.”She winked at him and offered him a cigarette, without pointing out that, despite his previous declaration, Crowley didn’t seem to have any of his own. He accepted the cigarette and let her light it up for him.The first puff took him back. It’d been years since he’d last smoked a fag.“So,” she began after a while, “did you two really meet in a garden?”Crowley briefly wondered if there was any way he could pull down his sunglasses without her noticing how suspicious it was. “Yeah, sure.” He’d already forgotten that’s what Aziraphale had gone with when Mrs. Shadwell had asked. “I’m a bit of a botanical enthusiast.” Which was true. And the original Eden was, technically, a garden.“Oh, hence the suit with the flowers,” Mrs. Shadwell said. She must have noticed his unease, because she quickly added: “You look very fetching.”“Thank you. You too,” he said, gesturing at her form fitting burgundy dress.“Such a charmer, you are. I can see why your angel likes you so much.” Her smile was sweet and coy, but not insincere. Which – not to be dramatic or anything – made Crowley want to throw up.“He’s not– I mean–” Aziraphale wasn’t his angel. He couldn’t be, Crowley had quite literally met him yesterday. (Bloody Hell, not even twenty-four hours ago. Why did it feel like twenty-four days?)“You two make a lovely couple,” Mrs. Shadwell pressed on.It took Crowley an embarrassingly long time to remind himself that it was fine because they were just pretending. That he was there to piss Sandy off and look handsome, and suave and dangerous. And, according to Mrs. Shadwell, it was working. He was doing what Aziraphale had asked him to do. No more and no less.“Well, I hope you’re not offended if I say I wish I could say the same about you and your man,” he countered with a sly grin, purposefully derailing the conversation away from him and Aziraphale. “I really don’t know what you see in him.”Her smile grew mischievous, and her eyes twinkled. “He has his moments, and he’s stood by my side when I needed him the most.” She took a drag from her cigarette. “I haven’t always been a bookseller, you know. Small businesses like mine are always on the brink of closure, especially an antique bookstore in Soho. But my Granny loved that place. It was one of the very first women-owned businesses in the city, way back in the 1800s, did you know that? So, you see, I couldn’t just throw in the towel. I had to make ends meet somehow.”When she glanced at him next, her stare was piercing to say the least. Crowley managed to hold her gaze even though he had the unpleasant impression that she was reading into his very soul, seeing right through him and the very expensive designer suit he’d never be able to buy for himself. Takes one to know one, her expression seemed to say.“Mr. S is a big grump, but his heart is in the right place,” she continued. “And despite his grumbling, he’s never left.” She shrugged, a naughty smile curling her red lips. “He just needs a kind word and a firm hand.”Crowley wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I was fine not knowing,” he said, because no one needed the mental image of the Sergeant caught in a compromising position.“And here I was, thinking that the angel was the other one,” she teased him.“Yeah, well–”He saw someone approaching out of the corner of his eye, and quickly realised he knew who it was.“Anathema?” he asked, flabbergasted. “What are you doing here?”For once in her life, Anathema looked properly dumbfounded as well. “Crowley? I’m here to meet the man of my life,” she explained, looking around for any men in the vicinity other than Crowley. “My aunt had a premonition.”“Ooh, interesting,” Mrs. Shadwell interjected, giving Anathema a once-over. She seemed to like what she saw – round glasses, lace sleeves, flowy skirts and all. “I once was a medium myself.”“Oh? Why did you stop?” Anathema asked.“Wait a second,” Crowley cut them off before the conversation could go any further. “I’m the only man here.”He was careful to focus on this particular detail because if he thought about Anathema finding out his location through witchcraft, he was going to lose it.“Did you and Nina track my phone?” he added, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice.“Don’t be ridiculous,” Anathema scoffed. “I’m here because my Aunt Agnes told me on her deathbed that I’d meet the man of my life in this very spot, right now.”“Yeah, because that’s not ridiculous at all.”Newton joined them at that moment, fumbling with the jacket he was trying to unbutton and rebutton the right way. “Aunt Marjorie, the Sergeant won’t be contained for much longe–” He looked up from his hands, noticed Anathema and promptly stumbled on his feet.“Alright,” Crowley said, dropping what remained of his cigarette on the ground. He stomped on it with his brand new Chelsea boots. “I’m going back inside.” The situation was getting out of hand.“I’ll come with you, sweetie. Let’s leave these two lovebirds alone,” Mrs. Shadwell said, linking arms with Crowley while Anathema helped Newton get back to his feet. “Better not leave your angel with those two brutes.” Yeah, Crowley thought, better not.And then he was hit by thought.“Ducks!” he proclaimed out of the blue. “That’s what water slides off of.”“Well, dearie, you may be right about that.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Chapter 5 - Melancholy BluesEvery conversation with Sandy was an exercise in disassociating. Aziraphale was used to it by now, and this time was no different. He could see the man’s mouth moving, forming words that didn’t quite reach Aziraphale’s ears, the spit shining on his lips as he kept droning on and on about how spineless Aziraphale was, and why didn’t he care about the future of the company, and wouldn’t his Mother be appalled by his lack of effort, and why couldn’t he just see that they were all doing their part to honour Her legacy and everything She’d stood for, all except him…
Aziraphale didn’t need to listen to know what Sandy was saying, because he’d heard it all before, countless times. From him and Michael, Uncle Matt, Uriel and even Gabriel before he’d lost his mind (or retrieved it, more like, if Aziraphale was honest with himself). The same well-meaning advice, the same harsh criticism, conveyed in different tones, different manners, but all boiling down to how unfit Aziraphale was to lead Eastgate’s, how tired they all were of tolerating him and his leadership, if it could even be called that.At this point, they needn’t have bothered at all. Aziraphale could talk his own ear off just as well, thank you very much.And tonight, exasperated by Anthony’s incessant jabs at dinner, Sandy was more crossed than usual. Aziraphale knew he should not have taken pleasure in his lawyer’s highly-strung irritation, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find it amusing.At least until he tuned back into the conversation, fully intending to wrap it up, only to hear something that made his hackles rise unexpectedly.“...and don’t even get me started on that blithering idiot you brought with–”“Beg your pardon?” he cut Sandy off, outrage suddenly simmering beneath the surface of his perpetually polite tone. He was used to people disparaging him, barely even registered it anymore, but hearing Sandy refer to Anthony like that made Aziraphale’s blood boil.Sandy frowned, taken aback by Aziraphale’s pointed tone. “That Anthony person. Where did you even find him? Who is he? You should have asked me to run a background check on him first.”“That’s simply uncalled for. Anthony is–”“What?” Sandy pressed him with a sneer. Of all the people working closely with him, Sandy was the least capable of hiding his disdain for Aziraphale. “Do you really think a man like him took an interest in you for your sparkling personality?”There was nothing surprising about Sandy’s casual cruelty, but his words still hit Aziraphale like a bucket of icy water, chilling him to the bone and making him feel too exposed, too vulnerable, like he’d just reached into him to point his finger at something Aziraphale thought was safely hidden.“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he heard himself say, too meekly even for his own tastes. “Anthony and I–”“He’s in it for the money,” Sandy said matter-of-factly, twisting one of the many knives already buried in Aziraphale’s soft underbelly.He must have looked more devastated then he’d realised because, next thing he knew, Sandy’s expression softened and he almost seemed ridden with guilt, which was simply unheard of. It suddenly occurred to Aziraphale that without Gabriel playing good cop to his bad cop, Sandy was left juggling both roles.“Listen, Aziraphale, I’m saying this for you, because I care about you, alright? That man is just not fit for you. He’s clearly using you,” he insisted, reaching a hand to touch Aziraphale’s shoulder.He was clearly trying to be comforting, but it came off as threatening instead. Despite his efforts to stand his ground, Aziraphale flinched and averted his eyes, hands firmly clasped in front of him.
“I know you think I’m being too harsh, but would you rather I lied to you? I’m your lawyer, Aziraphale, I have your best interests at heart, and I’m telling you: ditch him. That man is bad news. You get me?”Aziraphale felt Sandy’s fingers digging into his shoulder. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and gave the smallest of nods, the ghost of a smile curling his lips.“Thank you, Sandy,” he said. “Now, I think I’m ready to turn in for the night.”Sandy squeezed his shoulder one last time before letting his hand drop. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” He took a brand new smartphone out of his pocket. “Here, it’s all set up and ready to use. Michael told me you lost another one. Make this one last.” He handed it to him. “I’ll see you at the polo match on Wednesday. I have invited the Shadwells so we can try again, alright?”Aziraphale accepted the mobile with what he hoped was a good enough approximation of a thankful expression, and finally bade Sandy goodnight.On his way to the lift, he caught the pitying look of one of the waitresses serving cocktails in the lobby – Claudia, his brain supplied – who had probably overheard the entire exchange. He quickened his steps and held his breath until he was back in the suite.Once inside, he closed his eyes and leaned against the door to catch his breath, heart fluttering in his burning chest. He knew tonight was going to be a challenge, he knew he’d never had a chance of coming out of this dinner unscathed, and yet… No matter how many times he braced himself for the worst, Sandy and the others always found a way to surprise him, and never in a good way.He sighed, trying to ward off the unpleasant sensation swirling in his stomach, the unease prickling under his skin, the ever-present desire to flee from himself and just be done with all of it.When he opened his eyes, he was met with the dark splotch of Anthony’s leather jacket hanging on the coat rack in the dimly-lit hallway. It didn’t happen very often (almost never, actually), but, for once, knowing that he wasn’t alone brought him relief instead of more anxiety.He slipped out of his own coat and hung it next to Anthony’s jacket. The stark contrast between the two garments should have probably proved Sandy right about them being unfit for each other, but the bitter aftertaste in Aziraphale’s mouth still spoke of satisfaction. He had done something his family weren’t expecting, and their surprise made him feel more vindicated than anything else. For now, at least.He finally stepped into the empty living room and walked up to the coffee table, where the hotel’s staff had placed the champagne and strawberries he’d ordered as soon as they’d arrived because he didn’t want Sandy to get any wrong ideas about Aziraphale’s plans for the rest of his evening with Anthony. He didn’t need to know they’d probably share a drink and go to separate beds.The ice in the bucket had already started to melt, proof that Sandy’s little lecture had lasted longer than Aziraphale had previously thought. He took out the new smartphone from his pocket and dropped it in the icy water without hesitation. Hopefully, it’d be useless by morning. Disposing of these blasted contraptions was becoming harder and harder.“Anthony?” he called, confirming that the living room was indeed empty before going to check in the bedroom.
The bed was still untouched. No sounds or light coming from the bathroom either.Anxiety fluttered in his stomach at the sudden idea of Anthony being long gone, a surge of panic laced with the faintest hint of relief that Aziraphale acknowledged with undiluted loathing. Not for Sandy, who’d no doubt be pleased at the news that Anthony had left, but for himself, for his ever-present instinct to resort to the path of least resistance, for how humiliatingly quick it was to kick in.He went back to the living room and made his way to the darkened study. Through the open balcony doors, he could make out Anthony’s shape leaning on the rail, a plume of smoke curling in the night sky above him.Aziraphale stopped by the desk to look at him, feeling equally stupid and relieved at the warmth spreading through his chest and tingling all the way to his fingertips.Anthony threw him a glance over his shoulder, the burning tip of his cigarette finally coming into view. “I can feel you lurking back there, angel,” he said. “When you’re done ogling my flat arse…” He let his voice trail off to take another drag and patted the rail beside him in silent invitation.Aziraphale allowed himself a few moments more to admire the lonely figure Anthony cut against the night. His white shirt glowing in the soft lights of the streetlamps below, his jacket discarded on the little wrought iron table in the corner of the balcony. His sharp shoulder blades shifting under rich, white cotton. Eyes still hidden behind his sunglasses despite how dark it was.Anthony was all hard angles and sharp edges, and yet he moved like liquid, hips swinging, hands fluttering around him, feet hardly ever still. He was a live wire, electricity buzzing and crackling all around him at any given moment, tempting and dangerous at the same time. Aziraphale knew he shouldn’t have longed to grasp him with both hands – to be perfectly honest, he wasn’t sure he would even survive the shock – but he did. He did.Embarrassed by his idle musings, Aziraphale eventually forced himself to join Anthony on the balcony, careful to stand a few feet away from him, hands gripping the cold rail for dear life. The conversation with Sandy had him feeling all out of sorts, and he didn’t really trust himself.“It’s not that flat,” he said just to break the silence, a little smile playing on his lips as he glanced at Anthony’s profile. His crooked nose, his thin lips, the enticing curve of his Adam’s apple. Aziraphale forced himself to look away before he could do something embarrassing like sighing like a smitten fool.Anthony huffed out a laugh. “It’s so flat I should probably save to get a bbj,” he teased.Aziraphale tutted in mock-disapproval, but his mirth was short lived. Something was, not off, exactly, but different. It didn’t take long for the melancholic atmosphere of the night to cast its languid spell on him, and Anthony, who seemed to be sharing his mood, didn’t offer any distractions either.“I’m sorry for tonight,” Aziraphale said after a long beat of silence, wishing, and not for the first time, that he’d been strong enough to face dinner alone. He shouldn’t have dragged him into this.Anthony turned to him, expression unreadable. “Why?”“Well, I don’t even know where to begin. For–”“No,” Anthony cut him off. “Why would you be sorry?” He shrugged, then brought the cigarette back to his lips. Aziraphale watched the movement like a starved man, a lost sailor following the only star he could see in the sky. “The way I see it, you need a new lawyer.”“Don’t,” Aziraphale whispered. Even though Anthony’s tone had an edge of playfulness to it, he really didn’t want to hear all the things he already said to himself on a regular basis coming from someone else’s lips. “Please.”Anthony looked at him thoughtfully – or so Aziraphale thought; with the shades on, he couldn’t really be sure – before letting out a puff of smoke. “Alright.”“Thank you.”The words hung in the space between them, ringing amid the muffled noises of the night. Mayfair was right below them, but it felt like being on a different planet altogether, watching an alien species go about its day without a care in the world for the two strange individuals observing them from above.“Eastgate then, huh?” Anthony said after a while.Aziraphale took a deep breath, then reached a hand to pluck the cigarette from his fingers. “I did tell you I was a bookseller,” he murmured, bringing the cigarette to his lips.The taste of tobacco, nicotine and something sweeter filled his mouth and lungs, poisonous and familiar at the same time. Aziraphale watched the bright orange dot burning in the darkness for a few seconds before giving the cigarette back.He could feel the black pools of Anthony’s sunglasses aimed at his face. It was like being prodded by invisible, curious fingers.“I didn’t know you smoked,” Anthony said, voice a bit rougher than usual.“I didn’t know you smoked,” he countered. He’d been fairly sure it was just an excuse for Anthony to get a break from their disastrous dinner. Aziraphale wouldn’t have blamed him either way.“I usually don’t. Nicked them from Mrs. Shadwell and got bored while I was waiting for you, ‘s all.”“Well, that’s just rude.”“That’s me,” Anthony said with a grin, passing the cigarette back to him. “Rudeness personified.”Aziraphale reached for it, their fingers brushing in the process and sending a shiver down his back. He didn’t stop talking, hoping with everything he had that he could shake off this weird mood before he could do something stupid about it, something he’d no doubt end up regretting.“Smoked throughout my twenties,” he went on. He couldn’t smell tobacco without thinking of his university days. “Stopped when I turned thirty. Took me three years before it stuck. It’s how I got this,” he said, patting a hand on his stomach.
Whoever thought him kind and harmless hadn’t known him when he’d been trying to give up smoking. His mind had fought him tooth and nail, and his body had done its best to compensate. If there was one thing Aziraphale had learned in those three years, it was to steer clear from anything that could be considered even remotely addictive.
Well, almost anything, he thought, throwing a glance in Anthony’s direction.“It suits you,” Anthony told him, mumbling as if he’d tried his best to keep the words contained and was now chiding himself for letting them slip out.“The smoking?”“The softness,” Anthony clarified, attention focused on him.Aziraphale smiled what was probably his first genuine smile of the night. “I think so too.”Anthony paused, then shook his head and took his cigarette back. “Satan down below. Thank fuck for sunglasses,” he muttered to himself, half amused, half exasperated, feigning interest for the cars swishing past on the street down below.“Why?”“No reason.” He shrugged, then turned around to lean his back against the rail, elbows propped on it, ankles crossed, the picture of unaffected nonchalance. “So, did Sandy give you a right bollocking or what?”“Guess you could say that.”“D’you think Mrs. Shadwell will sell?”“I wouldn’t know, really.” He sincerely hoped not.“It’s that what your company does, then? You eliminate the competition by buying out independent bookshops?”Aziraphale suddenly stared at him in scandalised indignation. “That’s not what we do at all!”“It’s not?”“Of course not! You can certainly imagine how hard it is to run an independent bookshop in this economy. If it weren’t for us–”“You do realise it’s companies like yours that make it hard for them to stay open, right?”Aziraphale clenched his fists, then stole Anthony’s cigarette. This time, he didn’t give it back. “We could disappear tomorrow and the situation would be exactly the same. If not worse.”Anthony scoffed. “Yeah, right. Because it wouldn’t magically undo what you’ve done up until now.”“Don’t be like that,” Aziraphale snapped. “If it wasn’t for us, those bookstores would fail and close. This way, they stay open, people get to keep their jobs and–”“And Eastgate’s hold on the book market becomes stronger than ever.”“I don’t care about that.”“Sure you don’t.”In the face of Anthony’s restlessness, Aziraphale was growing increasingly more agitated. It wasn’t a new feeling, quite the opposite really. He was used to it, to the dark, rotten stain always lurking at the corner of his eye. A stain Aziraphale spent most of his time trying to ignore, to banish somewhere he couldn’t see it, to pretend it didn’t exist at all. And oh, how he loathed to be reminded that it was still there, always there. Still spilling over its confines, still squirming and pushing to be acknowledged.“We do good work. We run dozens of charity programs, we offer free English lessons to immigrants to help them enter the workforce, we promote reading in schools, and we donate books! So many books, entire libraries in some cases. We spread knowledge and we make sure it’s easily accessible to everyone.”“Yes, all out of the goodness of your little hearts,” Anthony bit back, an icy edge creeping into his voice. Aziraphale knew he could cut himself on it if he wasn’t careful.“These programs cost money, Anthony,” he said, trying to sound reasonable but only managing to come across as patronising. “And if we don’t perform well, we won’t be able to put them in place to begin with.” He realised with a start that he sounded just like Gabriel, or Sandy, or Michael.“Do you really think that’s the reason Sandy was walking all over you at dinner? The reason he’s so hell-bent on buying Mrs. Shadwell’s shop?”“W-Well, you have to see it from their perspective too. If we don’t–”“Yeah, won’t somebody think of the poor capitalist overlords?”“I’m not a–”“You know,” Anthony spoke over him. “When you think about it, we’re similar creatures, you and I. We both screw people for money.”Aziraphale gaped at him, heart furiously beating in his chest. He spoke before he could think about what he was going to say: “What I do is legal.”
The regret was immediate but it could do nothing to stem the rush of panic coursing through him.Anthony’s eyebrows shot over the rim of his glasses. “Sex work is legal too,” he hissed.“You were soliciting,” Aziraphale countered, hating himself for it the moment he felt the words leave his lips.Anthony sneered, all traces of friendliness wiped from his face. “Oh, so that’s where you draw the line?”He turned his whole body towards Aziraphale, a smile splitting his lips like a wound. He looked like a serpent ready to strike.“Consider this then: if I stop people on the street and ask them if they want to pay to fuck me, no one gets hurt. What you do, on the other hand, has consequences on a very different scale. It ruins entire cities, forever changes the face of historic neighbourhoods and makes sure places will eventually all look the same. It’s the reason you can’t walk two miles without stumbling on three different juice bars. It’s the reason people who aren’t as rich as you can only dream of living in the city if they don’t want to settle for a fucking cupboard under the stairs. It’s called gentrification – but hey, I’m glad you’ve got your little charity programs to help you clean up your conscience. What’s next? You get to decide which books get sold? Which knowledge deserves to be easily accessible and which is to be buried?”Aziraphale stopped breathing, but Anthony wasn’t done.“But you know all this already, don’t you? Even with the whole holier-than-thou schtick you got going on. Guess that ignoring it all is just more convenient, am I right?”“I–”“Yeah, you can save it. I don’t care.” He pulled back from the rail and went to pick up his discarded jacket from the table. “I’ll be in the shower, if you feel like breaking the law,” he added coldly, before leaving Aziraphale alone on the balcony.He stood there, still as a statue, heart beating wildly in his chest, until something burned his fingers, making him flinch. He dropped the cigarette, now nothing more than a stub, and watched the orange dot flicker in the darkness until it went out.
Crowley had no intention of going back to Aziraphale. Zero. None. Zilch.
In fact, he knew the sensible thing to do was leave. Pocket his two cheques, cut his losses and forget this whole thing ever happened.And yet, for some reason or other, he couldn’t quite resign himself to the bitter taste their last conversation had left in his mouth. Crowley knew he was right to be angry, he could feel it in his guts, but this thing between him and Aziraphale… it still deserved a better ending.He’d flung himself on the bed the moment he came out of the shower, and he was still lying there, plunged in the dark, in that ridiculous black silk dressing gown Aziraphale had bought for him, staring at the ceiling and trying to convince himself to get up and leave.That’s when he heard the music coming from the study.
It would have been easy to ignore had he not recognised the opening bars of a familiar song he hadn’t heard in a while. He kept listening until he heard the notes falter.Was Aziraphale… playing?It was no wonder then, Crowley tried to justify himself, that curiosity got the better of him in the end. That he finally got up to make his way to the study, bare feet light on the floor, and stopped in the doorway to take in the view.Aziraphale was indeed sitting at the piano, and despite Crowley being mad at him and everything he represented, the picture in front of him still made him dizzy with…Fuck, probably best he didn’t give it a name.But it was a losing battle, because – Satan fucking help him – Aziraphale was sexy. And worse still, he seemed to be glowing like a star in the softly-lit study.It occurred to Crowley that he must have been more out of it than he’d realised, because the first thing that came to his mind was walking into a cold house and unexpectedly stumbling on a crackling fireplace promising warmth, safety, rest.
He took Aziraphale in slowly, bit by bit, eyes raking over him with something akin to caution (fire could warm you, yes, and burn you just as well).Aziraphale’s cheeks were red from exertion, and he was biting his lips in concentration, eyes fixed on his fingers flying on the keys. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His braces gently digging into his shoulders. Bow tie loose and still hanging around his neck. The first few buttons of the shirt also undone, exposing the hollow of his throat, which was certainly more skin than Crowley was used to seeing when it came to Aziraphale. In fact, for the angel’s standards, he was practically in a state of undress.If only Crowley could stop the irritating voice inside his head from reminding him of all the things he was still not thinking about, maybe he’d have had half a chance to keep all his pieces together. As it was, he wanted nothing more than to convince himself that the music was the one and only reason he finally stepped into the study. That he only had the familiar notes to blame for walking up to the piano, and leaning against it with his elbows as he looked at Aziraphale playing.
There was no score, only a tumbler of whiskey placed within reach.“Can I sit?” Crowley asked in a whisper so as not to disturb Aziraphale’s concentration.The angel didn’t raise his eyes and didn’t stop playing, he simply nodded. Crowley silently moved around him to sit next to him. The stool was barely enough for the both of them, and when Crowley finally squeezed himself on it, their thighs were touching.Only then did Crowley realise there were a couple of things he should have definitely considered before succumbing to his stupid urges.
First, the memories of the previous night unsurprisingly flooding his head the moment he felt the warmth of Aziraphale’s skin so close to his own. Second, his nonsensical reaction to the sight of Aziraphale’s bare forearms and thick, manicured fingers brushing the keys. The way the tips of Crowley’s ears were burning, you’d think he’d just caught the man playing completely naked. Third, he had left his sunglasses on the nightstand and couldn’t hide any of it.He watched in silence for a few minutes, trying not to squirm and crumble under the weight of his own embarrassment, even though Aziraphale, as absorbed as he was in the music, seemed to be paying him no mind. Crowley knew next to nothing about playing a piano, but he could tell Aziraphale was a bit rusty. It was probably the reason why the man himself was so focused on his own hands.The more time passed, though, the more confident Aziraphale seemed to become. He’d probably played the same song twice by now.“Didn’t take you for a Queen fan,” Crowley said after a while.“Oh, I’m no monarchist, if that’s what you mean,” Aziraphale answered, voice low and a touch distracted.“That’s so not what I mean,” Crowley mumbled, chancing a peek at Aziraphale’s face. There was an unusual intensity to his expression, something darker, different. Crowley let his eyes drift further down, to the soft roll of flesh under Aziraphale’s chin. It would take nothing (just his dignity, to be precise) to lean forward and bite it. In fact, Crowley swore he could almost taste the bitterness of the angel’s cologne mixed with a faint hint of sweat directly on his tongue. Fuck.“Also, we have a king now,” Aziraphale added as an afterthought. “Ah, here comes the tricky bit.”Crowley tried to shake off this stupid, languorous mood (the music wasn’t helping) and chuckled instead, more at his own hopelessness than Aziraphale’s terrible jokes.“It’s been years since I last heard this song,” he murmured.There was a guy working at Eden, Eric, who once had a whole number about it, with a fake piano and everything. Crowley remembered hearing the notes filter through the floor of his flat on the rare occasions he went to bed before morning, back when working every night wasn’t a luxury and if he wanted a day off he had to bully himself into taking one before exhaustion could catch up with him.
“It’s the only one I remember from my childhood lessons,” Aziraphale said. “I’m an awful piano player.”Crowley could only imagine how he’d have reacted if Aziraphale had been a good pianist. Or maybe he was looking at this all wrong. Maybe it was precisely Aziraphale’s imperfect, yet persistent rendition of a song Crowley liked that made him so… well, attractive.Fuck, he was genuinely horny for the fussy angel, wasn’t he? How absolutely mortifying. Mid-life crises usually entailed brand new motorbikes or affairs with people half your age, definitely not crushes on a cream puff of a man that was making you reconsider the inherent sex appeal of a naked wrist.“My Mother wanted me to learn,” Aziraphale continued unprompted.“Were you close?” Good, yes. Asking questions to Aziraphale was loads better than questioning whatever the fuck was happening in his nether regions.“Depends.”“On what?”“The day I’m having.” His fingers stumbled once again, but he recovered quickly. “She was a good person, I think. But her mothering was on a par with my piano skills.”“Your father?” Crowley asked before he could stop himself.“He vanished the year after I was born. Not even Gabriel remembers him.”“Who’s Gabriel?”“My older brother. He’s the one who gave me the Bentley.”“Well, he’s got taste.”Aziraphale let out a soft laugh. “You’d hate him.”“Is he like you?” Crowley sincerely hoped not. He was a hundred percent convinced that the existence of two Aziraphales would result in his immediate death. Two Aziraphales meant at least four potentially naked wrists to reckon with.“Oh, he’s nothing like me.”“Pity. Does he work with you then?”“He was the CEO actually. If you think Sandy was insufferable tonight, you should have seen him team up with my brother. They were ruthless.”Crowley frowned. “What happened?”“He fell in love, I believe. Not with Sandy, of course. He’s my brother, he’s bound to have at least some standards.” Crowley snorted and Aziraphale chuckled with him.
“You’re joking.”“I wish I was. He met this person, had a whole epiphany about the true meaning of life and left the country without looking back.”“Is that how you became CEO?” When Aziraphale nodded, Crowley continued: “What were you doing before?”Aziraphale’s expression darkened almost imperceptibly. “I was in charge of the company’s charity programs. No one gave me the time of day back then. It was bliss, really.”“Why not leave? Why put yourself through it?” If it makes you so unhappy is what Crowley didn’t say. He knew a thing or two about suffocating situations and the urge to run away from them. He was quite good at that, actually, the whole running away business.Aziraphale turned to him for the first time since Crowley had joined him in the study. He looked a bit feverish, a bit mortified, and a whole lot of sad.“Some things are worth fighting for, don’t you think?” he asked, nothing more than a whisper, fingers still moving on the keys.“Some things are,” Crowley conceded. “Others aren’t, though.”“Yeah, well… it was either me or Gabriel. Those were my Mother’s stipulations before She died.”“She didn’t trust your family either?”“I don’t know. She moved in mysterious ways.”“So what? You’re stuck there? Can’t you, I don’t know, change the rules?”“And do what? Leave the company to Michael and Uriel? To Sandy? It’s what they want. Without me, they’d have free rein to do as they please.”Crowley grimaced. Sandy The Wanker shouldn’t have been in charge of a birthday party, much less a business as influential as Eastgate’s. But while Crowley could see why Aziraphale wouldn’t want to be the one to give Sandy more power than he already had, this was his life. He shouldn’t have to dedicate it to respecting his dead mother’s wishes or preventing his relatives from getting their grubby little hands on the family’s money-making machine.No, as far as Crowley was concerned, Aziraphale didn’t owe them shite.“Where does that leave you?” Crowley asked, disturbing the notes’ undisputed hold over the silence in the room. “Thwarting them by giving money left and right?”“Well, I would hardly describe philanthropy as–”“But it’s not just that, is it? The anonymous donor Mrs. Shadwell mentioned… it was you, wasn’t it?”Aziraphale stiffened for the briefest of seconds, seemingly debating with himself to decide how much he was willing to share with Crowley. Then he relaxed and shook his head. “It was a last ditch effort,” he murmured. “But that place is a money-pit.”“Does she know?”Aziraphale scoffed, as if the mere idea was laughable. “Of course not.”“Why did you do it, then? If it’s so hopeless, I mean.”“I had to try.” Aziraphale suddenly stopped playing to look at Crowley. As soon as his fingers left the keys, silence fell on them like a weighted blanket. “My Mother used to take me there, you know?”“To Mrs. Shadwell’s bookshop?”“Yes, it’s in Soho. On the corner of Whickber Street. You should go there sometime, before we inevitably buy it and transform it into something it shouldn’t be. Like a café. With books as props, an overpriced menu with avocado in everything, and sockets everywhere so people can bring in their laptops and write their awful little novels on them.”“Yeah, wouldn’t want all that subpar literature on your conscience,” Crowley teased him, unable to take his eyes off of him, to stop looking at the bow tie resting around his neck and the little vee of naked skin at the base of his throat that Crowley was doing his absolute best to ignore. What did he look like further down? Would there be a smattering of pale blonde hair on his chest? Would it tickle Crowley’s nose if he were to bite the soft curves he’d find there?“You should see it. It’s like stepping into a different time,” Aziraphale gushed, eyes sparkling in spite of everything, fingers idly sliding on the keys. “Old books and first editions everywhere, in no order at all. Overflowing shelves and cabinets and little tables, even sofas. Everything’s an antique, and it should feel like a museum, a mausoleum to a gone time, but it doesn’t. It’s cosy, and it’s welcoming, like something out of a storybook.”Crowley felt his heart skip several beats and had to clench his fists to prevent himself from reaching for Aziraphale. The man looked so… fuck . His eyes were like blessed stars. Crowley really, really wished he had his sunglasses on to shield himself from all that brightness.“You should take me there,” he said, horrified by how breathless he sounded. Fuck fuck fuck. “What’s it called anyway?”“A.Z. Fell & co.”Despite being busy fighting for whatever was left of his dignity, Crowley felt a smile bloom on his lips. “A.Z. Fell,” he repeated, trying the words on his lips. “Are you…?”“Am I named after a bookshop?” Aziraphale beat him to it, arching an eyebrow. “Why, yes, I rather think I am.”Crowley cackled. “Your mum did you dirty.”“Well, as I said, She wasn’t exactly the best of mothers.”“Pfft.” Crowley had his fair share of stories to tell about bad parents. “I ran away from mine as soon as I learned how to drive.”Aziraphale turned to him with a little smile. “Couldn’t get your licence fast enough, I imagine.”Crowley grinned from ear to ear. “What makes you think I have one?”Aziraphale just stared at him, dumbfounded, for what felt like an entire minute. “You’re a menace,” is what he finally settled on.“I do my best.”“Yeah, I expect you do.”
Aziraphale finally glanced away and took a deep breath as if to recenter himself, maybe coming to terms with the fact that there was the very real possibility that Crowley had driven him around with no licence to speak of in his possession.When he spoke again, his voice held more than a trace of uncertainty.“I’m sorry. About before. I truly am. I don’t know why I said what I said.”Ah, yes. The soliciting accusations, which were… well, technically correct, even if, to be fair, Crowley hadn’t really set out to pick up a client that night.“‘S okay.” In his line of work (and even more outside of it), he’d heard much, much worse.“It’s not,” Aziraphale rushed to say, with more firmness than Crowley would have expected. “I thought you’d have left by now.”“Honestly, so did I.” A part of him was still thinking he probably should.Aziraphale’s expression softened. “Why didn’t you?”Crowley shrugged and tried to ignore the heat prickling his cheeks. He could only hope the dim lights of the study were enough to hide his (totally nonexistent) blush. “W– It’s– I just… I realised Sandy made us leave before you could get dessert.”“Did you?”“Nyeah. That’s bound to put anyone in a bad mood.”
Besides, Crowley saw now that all the things he’d said to Aziraphale back on the balcony, Aziraphale already knew. It was probably the same reason he’d asked Crowley to refrain from making any comments about Sandy’s behaviour towards him. Because Aziraphale knew. He knew it was wrong and he knew he should have done something about it. He didn’t need to hear it from someone else. And if there was something Crowley could understand a little too well, it was the need to pretend just to get by without losing your blessed mind.
Not to mention, this whole thing between them had a set expiration date. If he set out to take money only from people he saw eye-to-eye with, he’d never get paid. He wasn’t here to change anyone’s views, he was here to work. To work and nothing more.“What do you do when you’re in a bad mood?” Aziraphale asked, going back to avoid Crowley’s eyes. He idly brushed his fingers on the keys of the piano as if in contemplation. “Other than lashing out against capitalist overlords, that is.”“I scream at my plants.”Aziraphale side-eyed him sceptically. “Really.”“Yeah, it works wonders.”“Not for the plants, I expect.”“Well, they still need to know who’s boss.”“What else?” the angel insisted.“Drink extraordinary amounts of alcohol.”Aziraphale pursed his lips in disapproval. “That doesn’t sound healthy.”“Well, I’d have said a blowjob, but they’re harder to come by than plants and drinks. Can’t really count on those to be available when you need them.”Something flickered in Aziraphale’s eyes, the grey of his irises darkening once more. Crowley’s heart began to beat faster.“Could look for a professional,” Aziraphale suggested, reaching for the whiskey he’d left on the piano to take a sip. This time, he held Crowley’s gaze.Crowley licked his lips, feeling a long-forgotten sensation humming under his skin. “Nah. It’s like fucking a colleague,” he said. And then, in a choked whisper: “I wouldn’t recommend it.”“No, I guess not.”The way Aziraphale was looking at him had him squeeze his legs together, hoping against all hope that the dressing gown – which, incidentally, was the only thing he’d put on after his shower – would hide anything that was best left unnoticed. Had he not been so entranced by the subtle shift in Aziraphale’s demeanour, he would have probably died of embarrassment. Sex was meant to be his job, his area of expertise. He was supposed to be directing this whole thing, not the other way around.“What are you thinking about?” Crowley heard himself ask, the eagerness in his own voice making him cringe.“That I haven’t had dessert,” Aziraphale said, as easy as anything. “Not yet.”Crowley swallowed, feeling himself flush all over. “Yeah? What you’re in the mood for?”Aziraphale hummed and gave him a slow once-over as if deciding which part he was going to bite into first. Then his hands slid off the keys to smooth over his own thighs, and the look in his eyes… it was like the fussy angel had disappeared entirely, replaced by the unflinching schoolmaster.“You should stand up,” he said, voice firm but still soft.Crowley practically jumped to his feet. Under normal circumstances, he would have gone and dug his own grave rather than admit to himself how fast he’d just obeyed what barely qualified as an order. It was a suggestion, and a mild one at that.Aziraphale spread his legs a bit, taking up more space on the stool, so Crowley could slip in the narrow space between. He did, without even waiting for a proper invitation. The piano keys pressed uncomfortably against his back and exploded in a graceless collection of mismatched, harsh sounds.
Crowley didn’t care one bit, and Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind either.Plus, there were more pressing matters to worry about, because now that he was standing right in front of the angel, in nothing but his flimsy silk dressing gown, he knew there was nothing he could do to hide how affected he already was.Any lingering fear of Aziraphale being put out by his involuntary display of eagerness was soon squashed by the look on the angel’s face. Hungry and a little pleased, but still perfectly composed. An eerie calm had settled over his features.“Is this the only thing you’re wearing?” Aziraphale asked, pinching the smooth, shiny fabric between his fingers. He hadn’t even touched him, but Crowley shivered as if Aziraphale had pinched his flesh instead.“Yeah.”“Mmh.”
It shouldn’t have been possible, really, the way that little hum went straight between Crowley’s legs with the efficiency of the filthiest of dirty talk.Aziraphale kept sizing him up and flicking the end of the dressing gown almost absent-mindedly. Of course he was a right tease, what did Crowley expect? It was all he could do not to beg him to hurry the fuck up.But no, he couldn’t. He still had a teeny, tiny sliver of dignity.“May I?” Aziraphale finally asked, a hand hovering over Crowley’s waist.“Yes, please. Fuck, yes.” Alright, maybe not even that sliver after all.When Aziraphale’s soft fingers finally brushed Crowley’s naked calf, they both held their breaths, gazes locked to one another. The angel grasped Crowley by the waist, while his other hand slowly, slowly, made his way up Crowley’s leg, idly scratching the sparse hair before dipping behind his knee to caress the soft skin he found there. He lingered on that same spot until Crowley felt like he was reaching his melting point.A doctor appointment was probably in order, because what the fuck was wrong with his stupid knee? Could erogenous zones migrate? Was he dying?“What do you like?” Aziraphale asked, voice as soft and warm as his fingertips.“A-Anything,” Crowley blurted out. “Anything you like.”Aziraphale’s eyes darkened even more, searching Crowley’s face. He licked his lips, seemingly bracing himself to press him for something a little less vague. But he didn’t. “Very well,” he said instead.And it was so fucking stupid, the way two simple little words could hold so much power and have such a devastating effect on Crowley, scrambling his brains and his senses until all he could do was stare helplessly at Aziraphale.
He quickly realised that if he wanted to remember this, he’d have to force himself to keep his eyes open, to be present, to focus on the invisible trails Aziraphale’s fingers were leaving on his naked flesh. He could have moulded him in whatever shape he saw fit and Crowley wouldn’t have minded one bit.Aziraphale looked so calm, so patient, so in charge, in no hurry at all. It seemed that all his fussing had abruptly stopped the minute he’d made up his mind. It reminded Crowley of their dinner last night, the way Aziraphale, as hungry as he may have been, had taken the time to admire each dish before savouring it, as if to honour the expertise behind its preparation. A pagan saying grace the only way he knew how.The realisation that Aziraphale was looking at him in the exact same way made Crowley’s head spin, all logical thought melting into a boiling puddle of desire. Because Aziraphale was honouring his body, enjoying the anticipation of it with something dangerously close to reverence. He was admiring it because he was about to sink his teeth into him with the unwavering conviction that he was going to enjoy it.Crowley watched in awe as Aziraphale’s hands unhurriedly climbed their way up his body, bringing his skin back to life as he went. He dutifully gave Aziraphale permission when permission was asked, repeating himself over and over again when he couldn’t quite form the words the first time. He felt the black silk slide against his hips when the knot keeping the dressing gown closed was finally loosened.And just when he thought he’d gotten used to Aziraphale’s touch, to his soft but firm hands on him, just when he’d managed to remind himself how to breathe properly, he felt Aziraphale’s warm lips on his sternum, the angel’s blond curls tickling his stomach, the upturned tip of Aziraphale’s nose softly pressed in the flesh above his navel as he diligently followed the trail of hair going down his belly.Holding fast on the edge of the piano with a white-knuckled grip that shattered the silence with more harsh notes, Crowley kept his eyes fixed on Aziraphale even when the warmth of his mouth reached between his legs and the angel’s fingers stopped their idle exploration to dig into his thighs instead. More to keep him upright and the silk out of the way than out of possessiveness, and Crowley was so far gone that even this stupid, little detail was enough to make a moan rumble deep in his throat.He hoped those thick fingers would leave a mark, so he’d have some tangible proof of what was happening.And here’s the thing: Crowley had been on the receiving end of a blow job more times than he could count, but he was so worked up that nothing, nothing , could have prepared him for the feel of the wet heat of Aziraphale’s mouth around his burning flesh, the way he felt his whole body straining towards Aziraphale, seeking more.More heat, more pressure. Just more.But it was no use, because the angel was taking his time. He just wouldn’t be rushed. Crowley knew he would savour him like he did anything worth savouring. Thoroughly and with care.And this, this was new. Feeling powerless and warm and safe at the same time.Crowley didn’t hear himself beg and curse in a never ending, breathless litany of broken sounds counterpointed by Aziraphale’s soft hums of approval and the discordant notes booming behind them every time Crowley moved, and squirmed and writhed despite Aziraphale’s hands still keeping him in place.
So, yes, Crowley had been on the receiving end of a blow job more times than he could count, but never, in his forty-seven years of life, had he been worshipped.He choked on the realisation as Aziraphale played his body with much more confidence than he’d done the piano, bringing him closer and closer to the edge of his resistance. Steadily and oh so fucking slowly that Crowley didn’t even notice the end was in sight until it was looming on him.As mesmerised as he was by the sight of the angel doing something so lewd and with such confidence without looking any less angelic, Crowley made a half-hearted attempt at warning him that he wasn’t going to last even though he already knew Aziraphale wouldn’t care.It lasted too long, and it didn’t last enough. It was too ruthless, too sweet. It was too much, and it wasn’t nearly enough.When his body finally took over his brain, both pleasure and relief rushed through him in a way he’d never experienced before, a way he already knew he’d try to chase for the rest of his life.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Chapter 6 - Horny Dolphins Are Real“Oh, good Lord!”In retrospect, Aziraphale probably shouldn’t have barged into the bedroom like that.Innocently enough, he just wanted to check on Anthony to make sure that the reason behind his tardiness at breakfast wasn’t a conveniently-timed century-long slumber to avoid Aziraphale after the previous night’s events-that-shall-not-be-named.The insufferable, rude little voice perpetually stuck in Aziraphale’s head hadn’t missed the chance to tartly point out that if fairytale-like-narcolepsy was the first explanation that had come to his mind when Anthony hadn’t shown up, it probably meant Aziraphale wouldn’t have minded a century-long slumber himself, and for quite the same reason.Honestly, was there anything worse than too much self-awareness, and so early in the morning too?All this to say, Aziraphale entered the bedroom taking any and every precaution to ensure his mind stayed carefully and blissfully blank, wiping out anything and everything even remotely resembling an expectation from his brain.So, you see, he was not expecting anything, let alone a naked Anthony sprawled belly-down across the bed, bare posterior left exposed by the sheets bunched up around his knees. Said posterior was perfectly lit by the streak of grey light filtering through the gap between the curtains, like a spotlight manoeuvred by God Herself (which was nothing short of blasphemous even for Aziraphale’s standards as someone who hadn’t stepped foot in a church in decades).Unaware of Aziraphale’s inner turmoil, Anthony lifted his head from the pillow he was hugging, and turned towards him with a sleepy and mildly annoyed expression on his face.“Bloody Hell, why are you screaming like a banshee?” he drawled, a yawn cutting him off before he could add anything else.Aziraphale winced. “Excuse me, I’m hardly screaming like a banshee,” he protested in a high-pitched voice, trying his best not to let his stare wander to Anthony’s behind (which was on the flat-side, true, but also quite nice, Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice). And then, not liking where his mind was going at all and in a desperate attempt to distract himself, he blurted out the first thing his brain managed to piece together: “Are you naked?”Well, how disappointing.Anthony mumbled something unintelligible and rubbed his eyes. “No. It’s just a very tight, anatomically correct pyjama,” he deadpanned. Which was quite impressive, considering the man was still half asleep.Aziraphale rolled his eyes (still better than staring at the poor man’s backside, if you asked him). “You should put some clothes on and come to breakfast,” he said petulantly, looking around in the hopes of spotting Anthony’s dressing gown, the one he was wearing when– “The pains au chocolat are simply scrumptious this morning!” he rushed to say (but more like cry) to silence his traitorous thoughts.Anthony whined, probably resigning himself to the fact that Aziraphale wouldn’t let him go back to sleep, and reached a hand behind himself to pull the sheets up. “I’m sorry, are you embarrassed by my naked arse? Is that it?” he asked, half affronted, half delighted. “My good sir, did you perchance miss the part where you had my c–”The black dressing gown hit him square in the face, muffling whatever his next words were going to be.Silly as it may be, Aziraphale felt unspeakably relieved, even when Anthony’s face came back into view sporting the most annoyed expression he’d ever seen from the man.“Are you being serious right now?” Anthony asked, less teasing and more annoyed, shoving his long arms in the dressing gown’s sleeves as if they had personally wronged him.Aziraphale tried (and, unsurprisingly, failed) to play it cool. “Sleeping in the nude is probably unhygienic.” It probably wasn’t. “These are not the Middle Ages, you know.” He wondered if he could derail the entire conversation by going off on a tangent about mediaeval sleeping habits.Anthony’s frown morphed into a wolfish grin. “Why do you care? Are you planning to sleep in this bed anytime soon?”Distracted by his efforts to try and remember something he’d once read about mediaeval people sleeping with their hair covered as a protection against parasites, Aziraphale was caught off guard by Anthony’s question. “Well, I just–”“You know what gets me?” Anthony went on. “You’re paying, what, probably thousands of pounds a night to sleep on a rickety sofa,” he pointed out. “Which may not be unhygienic, but it certainly falls somewhere on the psychopathic spectrum, if you ask me.”Aziraphale huffed, cheeks flushed. So much for parasites. “I didn’t, and I won’t. Ask you, that is.”Anthony pouted and slumped back on the pillows, arms outstretched and chest exposed in what Aziraphale believed was meant to be a seductive pose (suffice it to say, it was working).
“And while you’re in the study repenting for Satan knows what and trying your absolute best to hurt your back,” Anthony continued, “I am here, all alone, waiting fo–”“Do you want me to sleep in here? Is that it?” Aziraphale interjected, voice both panicked and flippant.Anthony stopped mid-taunt, his finger up in the air. “Come again?”“Actually, I never did,” he whispered to himself, but not so quietly for Anthony to miss.“And whose fault is that? I–”“I said,” Aziraphale interrupted, raising his voice in the hopes of derailing the other line of questioning, “do you want me to sleep in here?”He caught something flickering across Anthony’s features, a crack in his self-satisfied façade, and he couldn’t help a little smug smile in return. Oh, the tables were turning effortlessly this morning.Anthony grimaced. “I wouldn’t exactly put it like–”“You do, don’t you?” Aziraphale heard himself say, shocked by his own boldness. “Why, don’t tell me you like to c–”Something big, white and fluffy smacked him in the face, forcing the sounds that were about to come out of his mouth to a hasty retreat. When the pillow fell to the floor with a thud, Aziraphale didn’t even have the time to get his bearings before Anthony grabbed him by his tartan braces and tugged until Aziraphale’s knees were touching the edge of the bed.“Don’t, under any circumstance, use the c-word in front of me,” Anthony hissed. He probably would have come off as threatening had Anthony not been kneeling on an unmade bed, haphazardly wearing a silk dressing gown and glaring at him under a mop of ruffled red hair.Aziraphale stared at him, taking the opportunity to count the freckles on the bridge of Anthony’s nose, and the flecks of gold in his whiskey-coloured eyes (both pointless yet extremely pleasant endeavours, he rather found). He knew he was smiling, he could feel the stretch on his lips, but he could do nothing to school his expression into something a little less delighted.“It’s not that bad, as far as c-words go,” he offered, trying to sound reasonable.
Anthony’s sneer remained firmly in place. “Use yours and I’ll use mine,” he threatened, which was enough to wipe the smile from Aziraphale’s face.They stared at each other for some time.
Aziraphale was the first to crack.“No c-words.”“Fine with me,” Anthony concurred, apparently satisfied with the terms of their agreement. “Unless…”“No c-words,” Aziraphale insisted. “Now unhand me, you fiend,” he scolded, but made no move to increase the distance between them.Anthony finally released his hold on Aziraphale’s braces – snapping them on his chest to make him flinch, of course – and let his hands drop to his own thighs. If he didn’t fix that dressing gown, Aziraphale’s brain was going to be having some major issues.“We’re not going to talk about what happened last night, are we?” Anthony asked.Aziraphale stiffened for a second before producing one of his blinding smiles. “Did I mention the pains au chocolat?”Anthony scoffed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”“I’ll wait for you in the other room,” he added brightly, leaving the decadent sight before him to go hide into the living room.
Ignoring the erratic beating of his heart, Aziraphale busied himself with pouring a cup of black coffee for Anthony and setting it on the other side of the table along with the only remaining pain au chocolat. (They were extremely scrummy, okay?)When Anthony finally joined him for breakfast, Aziraphale welcomed him with a smile. “Good morning, Anthony,” he added for good measure, as if that whole thing in the bedroom had been nothing more than a passing hallucination.“Morning, angel,” Anthony drawled, slumping in the chair Aziraphale had already pulled back for him.Anthony had tied back his hair in a messy bun and was now wearing his sunglasses, the dressing gown more securely tied around his waist. This time he hadn’t forgone his trousers either. He gulped down his coffee looking like an overgrown dead starfish someone had casually dropped on the chair.
“So, what are we doing today?”Aziraphale took a sip of his now lukewarm tea. “Your schedule is free.”“Oh, I have a schedule now?”“Well, yes.” Other things Anthony had: striking features and a very nice neck Aziraphale couldn’t stop staring at.He tried to relax his fidgeting hands, as if to banish the memory of Anthony’s skin from his fingertips, but he could barely find the strength to keep them still. He switched tactics, and fussed with the cutlery for no reason at all, trying not to meet the dark circles of Anthony’s shades.This was ridiculous. In all likelihood, Anthony wasn’t even looking at him.“You can go back home, if you need,” Aziraphale blabbed. “I unfortunately have to stop by the office to review the speech for the investors gala.”“Sounds boring,” Anthony offered, tearing his pain au chocolat in two. “Is Sandy going to be there?”“Probably. But I’ll have to meet with Michael for the speech. She’s my PR person.”“‘S that Timmy’s friend?”“Who?”“Your aspiring suitor. Timothy, was it?”Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. “Ah, yes. I’m afraid so.” The day he would forget all about Timothy couldn’t come soon enough.Anthony leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table, and placed half of his pastry on Aziraphale’s plate. “Can I watch?”“You want to come with me?”Anthony shrugged. “I mean, I’d hardly say no to that, but that’s kind of an unrealistic expectation set by one too many improbable sex scenes in movies, don’t you think?”Aziraphale sighed. “Why did I even ask?”“You started it.”“Such a poorly-worded question. I really don’t know what came over me,” he kept saying to himself.“That I don’t know, but I could tell you who came in y–” The half pastry hit him between the eyes.“Behave,” Aziraphale scolded him, feeling his cheeks burn.“Behave? Me? You’re the one throwing expensive food around.”“That’s quite enough of that. Finish your breakfast so we can get a wiggle on.”Anthony scoffed and slumped onto the table, sunglasses doing nothing to mask his indignation. “A wiggle? Who even are you?”
Turned out that what Aziraphale had called “office” was actually an entire building in Westminster, with the company’s name sparkling obnoxiously in the middle of the recently renovated façade. Even though the outside had its architectural merits, the inside was blindingly white and sterile, as well as minimally decorated.Crowley couldn’t think of anything more unlike Aziraphale than this monstrosity of polished glass and white marble. It looked like the corporate version of Superman’s Fortress of Solitude.He considered telling Aziraphale as much, but ultimately decided against it. Not only the angel wouldn’t get the reference, he was also giving him the silent treatment after Crowley had evaded all of his questions about his alleged driving licence (it’s probably worth noticing that this hadn’t stopped Aziraphale from letting him drive the Bentley, but had unfortunately prevented Crowley’s actual driving style from really shining through. In fact, Aziraphale still didn’t know what Crowley was actually capable of, licences be blessed).The people roaming the hallways were dressed in a very limited palette varying from light beige to light grey with absolutely nothing in between. Crowley caught a glimpse of himself in one of the glass doors and was pleased to notice that, in his all black ensemble (courtesy of Aziraphale’s credit card), he looked like an inkspot marring a pristine white paper.Aziraphale noticed and, as they made their way towards the lifts, he interrupted his string of polite greetings and tight smiles every time they ran into someone he presumably knew just to chide him. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself. It’s undignified.” He stopped looking at him sideways only to get on the first lift available, which was thankfully empty except for the two of them.“Why shouldn’t I?” Crowley shot back, grinning from ear to ear. Besides, he and the concept of dignity weren’t on speaking terms since last Sunday night. “Who’s your interior decorator, by the way?” he asked gleefully. “An ice lolly with a stick up its arse?”Aziraphale scoffed. “Isn’t that the case for all ice lollies?”Crowley stopped to consider this. “You know what, angel, you’re right,” he conceded, reluctantly impressed. “They all have a stick up their arse. Now that I think about it, are you sure you’re not part angel, part ice lolly, then?”“Quite sure, thank you,” Aziraphale replied primly, inspecting the buttons on the wall, which weren’t actual buttons, merely numbers engraved on a glass panel. It took him a while to locate the right one (the highest, of course), and when he tried to push it, nothing happened. “If you really must know, this is my brother’s ghastly taste in interior design,” he muttered, fiddling with the uncooperating panel and quickly losing his patience. “This– I– By golly!”Crowley, who had zero intention to help him and deprive himself of such first-rate entertainment, snorted. “Please, tell me you’re doing this on purpose.”“Why would I ever do this on purpose?” Aziraphale shot back. “Were plain old buttons such a terrible idea?”Crowley ignored the misunderstanding (he was getting the impression Aziraphale was, in fact, doing it on purpose) and slouched against the back wall, arms crossed on his chest. “Funny thing is, you don’t even realise golly and wiggle are way more offensive than my c-word.”“Offensive to whom?”“Adults living in the twenty-first century?”Aziraphale rolled his eyes and stopped his frantic button-pushing to stare at him. “Do you mind?”Crowley smiled his predatory smile. “Say please.” He could help him, yes, but no one said he had to make it easy for him.Unfortunately, Aziraphale seemed to have gotten that very same memo, because a steely resolve suddenly glinted in his stormy grey eyes. That was his bastard face.“How about you say it for me?” he asked, innocently enough. “You make it sound way lovelier than I ever could.”Crowley’s mouth fell open, jaw lost to gravity, and he felt himself flush all over, painfully aware of how bright this blessed place was. The only way he could successfully hide how pink his face was to put his brand new, very expensive blazer over his head, which was, if possible, even more embarrassing than his stupid blush.“You can’t do that,” he said when he was sure his voice wouldn’t come out sounding too rough. He reached forward to push the floor number Aziraphale had been trying to select, and the glass doors finally closed. “We either talk about it or we don’t.”Aziraphale pulled back his shoulders with a defiant lift of his chin. “Stop teasing me if you don’t want to be teased back.”Crowley inched forward until Aziraphale had no choice but to step back. Before he could think better of it, Crowley crowded him against the wall, close but not enough to touch, and, for some inexplicable reason, he also had the terrible idea of removing his sunglasses.“You like to be teased,” he hissed, feeling the warmth of Aziraphale’s body very close to his own. He did his best to act like it was no big deal.
Because it wasn’t.
So what if Aziraphale had sucked him off against a piano like they were in some stupid movie? Stuff happened, it didn’t have to mean anything, even if you couldn’t stop thinking about it.Not that Crowley was thinking about it. Not at all. In fact, he had blissfully erased the memory from his brain and was going to live a long, happy life without remembering one of the many forgettable blowjobs he’d received during his time on Earth. Same went for the fact that he’d had to get himself off in the shower that morning just to banish last night from his head.No big deal, really. At all. Yeah.For his part, Aziraphale calmly returned Crowley’s stare, which was infuriating in itself. How could he go from fussing over everything and saying stuff like golly and wiggle to looking so smug and self-assured? As far as Crowley was concerned, it just wasn’t fair.The angel – who was looking more demonic by the second – licked his lips and once again squared his shoulders.“Well, I think you like it more,” Aziraphale said matter-of-factly.Crowley scoffed, face on fire. “You’re unbelievable.”“Why, thank you, dear.” The lift stopped. “I believe this is our floor.”They both turned their heads towards the glass doors sliding open on a stern-looking woman looking daggers at them. She looked so pissed, it was a miracle the daggers were only metaphorical.“Aziraphale,” she greeted him coldly, ignoring Crowley altogether.He recognised the voice at once. This was Michael then, Timmy’s friend.Before Crowley could come up with something to piss her off even more, he felt Aziraphale’s hand grasping his own and was suddenly reminded of how it felt to have those same fingers pressing down on his thighs to keep him still. His next breath remained stubbornly stuck in his throat. Fuck.“Michael, jolly good morning we have today, haven’t we?” Aziraphale said genially, tugging Crowley out of the lift and into yet another stark white hallway.“It’s about to be raining,” Michael pointed out blankly. Judging from the stiffness of her posture, her pearl grey suit could either be fabric or concrete.Aziraphale didn’t let her hostility deter him in the slightest. “Oh, is it? Maybe I’m just watching life through rose-tinted lenses then,” he said, turning to Crowley with the most saccharine smile he’d ever seen in his entire life. “La vie en rose, am I right, my love?”“Ngk,” was the only sound that came out of Crowley’s mouth before he began sputtering like a faulty tea kettle. He had just managed to push away the memory of Aziraphale’s hands squeezing his thighs, and now he had to summon it back because, as distracting as it was, it still felt loads safer than whatever this other thing was (my love ? Had the angel completely lost his mind? Was the air too thin up here?).While Crowley was hoping he didn’t look as flabbergasted as he felt, Michael was nothing if not disgusted.“So, Sandy was right,” she stated, not bothering to hide her disdain. She let her eyes rake over Crowley like someone else would do a giant pile of shite, then turned back to Aziraphale. “You’re late. Didn’t you get my message?”“Oh, I probably did, dear girl.”On the phone that Crowley had seen soaking in the ice bucket last night as he stumbled his way back to bed. Funny he’d noticed it, considering his legs were shaking so badly that he hadn’t even tried to ask Aziraphale if he wanted him to return the favour before the angel had sent him back to bed.And thank Satan he had, because what the Heaven would have happened otherwise? There was only one acceptable reason for a blowjob to make you cry, as far as Crowley was concerned, and that had everything to do with your gag reflex, and nothing with kind men in waistcoats rewiring your fucking brain.“Why don’t we meet in my office in ten minutes?” Aziraphale offered.Michael merely rolled her eyes and walked off, leaving Crowley to be dragged away from the hallway and into a spacious office nearby. Which, unlike everywhere else in the building, had a rug on the floor, furniture made of actual wood, none of that blinding white light and not one, but two people sitting behind the desk.“Good morning, Aziraphale!” said the blonde woman at the same time as the person next to her shouted: “Hello, Mr. Eastgate!”“Hello, my dears,” Aziraphale pleasantly returned their greetings and let Crowley’s hand go. “I rather think introductions are in order.”Crowley, who was still looking at his hand not quite understanding how he’d let Aziraphale hold it for so long without a peep from him, forced himself to focus.“Anthony, these are Maggie, my assistant, and Muriel, her assistant,” Aziraphale continued, pulling off his coat before doing the same for Crowley, still too busy meditating revenge against his traitorous hand to take stock of what was happening.Aziraphale went to hang their coats on the hooks by the entrance, as natural as anything. “Maggie, Muriel, this is Anthony, my–”“Wait,” Crowley cut him off, brain finally back online. “Your assistant has an assistant?”He finally took in the two people fiddling with the computer on the desk, each with a notebook in hand.“Very nice to meet you, Mr. Anthony,” said Muriel, practically beaming in their starched tan suit.“Anthony’s fine,” Crowley muttered. He would never admit it to a soul, but he kind of hated meeting new people. Thankfully, he’d put his sunglasses back on between the lift and Aziraphale’s office.“Oh, he’s very fine,” Maggie agreed, eyes sparkling. She was wearing orange and yellow, and her lips were fiery red. Crowley liked her instantly. “However did Aziraphale manage to find you?”“A summoning ritual,” Crowley heard himself say.“Kinky,” Maggie said, pleased as punch. “Now I see why Sandy was so distraught.”“Ha-ha!” Muriel cried out.“Did you find the right password?” Maggie asked, turning to them with hope in her voice.“No, but now I’m sure the right one isn’t on page three either. It’s still something, isn’t it?”“What are you doing?” Crowley asked against his better judgement.Muriel seemed to take his interest as the greatest of blessings. “Oh, we’re trying to recover Mr. Eastgate’s password. We’ve tried twenty-five so far, but we’ll get there eventually.”Crowley turned to Aziraphale to see how he’d react to such a clear display of staggering incompetence, but the angel was practically wiggling with pleasure. (For fuck’s sake, did he just think the word wiggling? Unprompted?)Aziraphale caught him staring and smiled. “I truly don’t know what I’d do without them,” he said without a hint of sarcasm.Michael marched into the office right then, a slim laptop under her arm and the enthusiasm of a dead, sour-faced swan with a bone to pick with the world at large. She also wasted no time before going back to glare at Crowley. He grinned at her, as wide as he could, hoping to touch as many nerves as possible.“How’s professor Timmy-boy?” he asked, baring his teeth as he let himself drop on a settee that was probably five times older than any other piece of furniture in the entire building.“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she informed him. Hell’s sake, she was so rigid she was probably at risk of snapping herself in two everytime she sat down.“I believe he’s talking about your friend Timothy,” Aziraphale supplied from behind Maggie and Muriel, probably doing his worst to help them retrieve the right password.Michael remained unfazed. “Now that you mention it, there’s someone else I’d like for you to meet, Aziraphale. She’s an MP–”Maggie gasped in horror and Crowley was grateful someone had already had the appropriate response to such a ridiculous proposition before he had the chance to spew his own venom.
“Miss Eastgate, you wouldn’t!” she cried out.“Why not?” Michael shrugged. “Are you even sure you’re actually gay, Aziraphale? We haven’t seen you with a man since– well, since ever. You never bring anyone around at Christmas, or to any of our family gatherings. Maybe you’re not as gay as you think. Also, pansexuality is gaining popularity among the younger generations. We could rebrand you. Food for thought, I say.”“That’s not very nice,” Muriel whispered, barely lifting their eyes from the keyboard as though Michael was a wild animal they didn’t want to anger.Aziraphale, on the other hand, didn’t bat an eye, which meant he was used to it, to be treated like this, to be pushed around like a silly encumbrance. It really was remarkable, considering Crowley was seething and gnashing his teeth after less than five minutes in her presence.“You should ask Anthony how gay I am,” Aziraphale said, as if Michael hadn’t said one of the most offensive things Crowley had heard in a long while (and he’d heard Aziraphale say by golly just a few minutes before).Michael turned to Crowley with a frown, and was no doubt just about to tell him that there was no need for anything of the sort.“Oh, he’s very gay,” Crowley rushed to say with relish. “He’s gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide.”Michael grimaced. “What does that even mean?” she mouthed to herself, confused and slightly troubled.“Think of an ice lolly,” Crowley continued gleefully. “And the stick it’s got up its arse. That’s how gay Aziraphale is.”“Is he–” She caught herself before she could ask the question. “Wait, nevermind.”“What do you think?” Crowley challenged her anyway, not giving her the time to respond. “He’s the stick, obviously. Have you met him?”This genuinely shocked her, and not because Crowley had somehow offended her delicate sensibilities. “No way.”“Way,” Crowley insisted intelligently, holding her gaze even though she couldn’t have known he was looking at her for sure, what with the sunglasses and all. He sure hoped she felt just a little bit unsettled by the threat of his unwavering attention.“W-Well…” She shivered and cleared her throat, before turning back to Aziraphale. “Can we go over the speech for the gala now?”“Oh, absolutely,” Aziraphale said with a smile. “We just need to access my personal computer first. I’m sure it won’t take a jiffy.”The computer let out a sound that didn’t bode well for Michael’s schedule. Aziraphale’s smile widened even further.“We should probably order lunch though, just to be safe. Maggie, dear, the menus please!”
It took one hour to retrieve his password and forty-five minutes to boot up his computer, which seemed to be plagued by all kinds of viruses and bugs.In the meantime, Aziraphale offered to buy lunch for everyone, including Michael, which gave them all a chance to watch her try to eat her salad while sitting on an improbable designer chair she’d dragged from her office for that specific purpose.But the best part of it all, in Aziraphale’s opinion, was that he technically didn’t need the computer to go over the speech Michael had drafted for him. (No, this was a lie. The best part was Anthony hovering behind him and casually touching his shoulders or his neck everytime Aziraphale asked for his opinion on this or that turn of phrase. Anthony’s only purpose was to irritate Michael, surely, but no one said Aziraphale couldn’t enjoy it.)By the end of it, the draft had significantly changed, and it was only a miracle Michael didn’t leave his office screaming bloody murder. She was way too proud to crack in front of Aziraphale, which he could respect since he was always trying to do the same, and never quite as successfully as his cousin.When it came time to leave, it was already four in the afternoon. Maggie accompanied him and Anthony downstairs talking up a storm, while Muriel stayed behind to tinker some more with the computer (when it came to making it unusable, Muriel was worth their weight in gold).Having said their goodbyes to Maggie, Aziraphale insisted they stop at a nice tearoom he frequently went to when he was in London. Anthony whined and huffed about not being cut out for high tea, because he wasn’t a blessed Regency spinster, but eventually relented and begrudgingly tried the little sandwiches Aziraphale kept pushing his way every once in a while. Anthony didn’t seem to mind them, but he certainly didn’t enjoy them as much as the dainty décor surrounding them, which he gleefully and colourfully disparaged the whole time.Aziraphalr was far from being offended by Anthony’s grumpiness. In fact, he rather enjoyed it, especially when the man’s alleged bad mood cracked under his enthusiasm for a certain topic of conversation.It occurred to Aziraphale that, in a way, they really were similar creatures. They both had a front and, although they probably served much the same purpose, they happened to be the polar opposite of each other. Even stranger, Aziraphale had no memory of ever feeling so at ease in someone else’s company.The late afternoon gave way to the evening without them noticing, and when the waitress came to shoo them away, a few minutes after closing time, Aziraphale apologised profusely and left a generous tip for each member of the staff, then resumed his conversation with Anthony as soon as they stepped out onto the pavement.As they lively debated Anthony’s opinions about books he swore he hadn’t read, they ended up in St. James’ Park by mutual yet silent agreement, and walked aimlessly around the lake glittering in the soft light of the lamp posts.
By the end of the first lap, Aziraphale had learned that the only thing he needed to make Anthony sputter in outrage was to come up with a really preposterous statement, it didn’t really matter about what or if Aziraphale himself agreed with it. And so he did, several times, enjoying Anthony flinging his arms in the air and quickening his step to put enough distance between himself and Aziraphale’s awful opinions.Every time, without fail, Anthony would turn back to him and walk backwards, hands in his pockets as he listed all the egregious faults in Aziraphale’s reasoning.Anthony had probably reached the same conclusion about Aziraphale, because he claimed he had no idea that Jane Austen wrote books, then went on a tangent about her actually being a diamond robber, which kept them occupied for the better part of an hour.The sun had already gone down when Aziraphale stopped in his tracks and announced he was feeling peckish. He eventually persuaded Anthony to accompany him out to dinner at his favourite sushi restaurant, where they kept talking about the most inane things, like the size of a whale’s brain or the true nature of dolphins (evil, according to Anthony).An argument about narwhals – Aziraphale staunchly refused to believe they were real, while Anthony tried to convince him otherwise – got heated enough to earn them a reprimand from the maître. Properly chastised, they exchanged a look, then dissolved into fits of laughter when Anthony repeated: “Horny dolphins are real,” under his breath.After too much sake and ridiculous conversation, they made their way back to the car. At which point Anthony attempted to kill them both (and a few pedestrians to boot) by forgetting all of his driving skills, in a truly shocking case of selective amnesia.It was only natural, then, that they both resumed their drinking as soon as they were back at The Ritz – sherry for Aziraphale, to erase the memory of his recent brush with death; whiskey for Anthony, to wet his mouth, parched from too much cackling at Aziraphale’s distress.They ended up on the sofa in the living room, Anthony completely slouched against one end, Aziraphale trying his best to sit properly on the other, but slowly losing his battle against gravity.“Was Michael right?” Anthony asked after a beat of silence. He was leaning on the armrest, one foot propped on the back of the sofa, the other resting on the floor, sunglasses discarded on the coffee table next to the half-empty bottles of alcohol.Aziraphale, who was still reeling from their previous conversation about the morality of grave robbing in the late nineteenth century, blinked into the dim lights of the room. “She tends not to be,” he mumbled, taken aback. “About what?”“About you not bringing anyone around.”That sobered Aziraphale up real quick. “Oh.” He took a sip of his sherry (the third, or maybe the fourth glass? He’d lost count again). “She was.”“Mmh,” was the only comment Anthony offered on the matter. “No wonder.”“No wonder what?”“No wonder you came looking for me.”Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply, and maybe point out that he technically hadn’t gone looking for anyone, but he didn’t. Instead, he sagged against the back of the sofa with a heavy sigh. Because Anthony was right. There was a reason he valued his solitude so much, and he was related to it.“There have been people,” Aziraphale said after a while, a distant look in his eyes. “Men, I mean. But the only reason I’d bring them to meet my family would be to get rid of them, and I usually don’t need any help in that department.”That’s why he’d given up on dating altogether. People gave him more headaches than anything else, and since he already had a job he hated, Aziraphale could certainly do without adding more to his plate.No, he preferred his solitude, and the occasional encounter with like-minded men with no expectations. There were others like him in his circles. Lonely, faceless men in expensive suits looking to exchange pleasure and nothing else, no strings attached. Aziraphale didn’t indulge very often, only when his hunger threatened to grow into something he couldn’t quite sate on his own, and he’d become better at that lately.“Yeah, you’re all kinds of unbearable,” Anthony agreed with a slight smile on his face.Aziraphale returned it. “High praise, coming from you,” he murmured. “What about you?”“Oh, unbearable expert, me.”“No, I meant, do you date?”Anthony scoffed so hard he almost fell off the sofa. “Date? Me? Who do you take me for?”Aziraphale considered him for a moment. “Is it because of your job?” he inquired carefully.“Pfft. Nah.” Anthony shrugged it off like it was nothing, but didn’t elaborate further.“Can I ask you something?”“Sure. Just don’t expect me to answer.”“I’d never presume,” Aziraphale assured him, not believing him for even a second. Or maybe it was the alcohol sloshing around his brain and making him smug and optimistic. “You’ve said before that you’re barely in business,” he said, referring to one of their earlier conversations.Anthony stared at him, unmoving, for quite some time before throwing his hands up in the air. “So? That’s not a question, angel.”“W-Wh– I mean– It wasn’t, you’re quite right.” Aziraphale licked his lips thoughtfully and tried again. “I guess I was… I rather think I was trying to ask you what you meant by that.”Anthony pouted. “I meant exactly that. I’m not sure you noticed, but I’m forty-seven.”“So?” What did that have to do with anything?“So, I’m too old to be doing this job.”“You’re not that old.”“I am. And the older I am, the harder it gets.”Aziraphale had to clamp his mouth shut to stop himself from blurting out the first thing that had popped into his head. This was a serious conversation – or as serious as conversations ever got between them anyway – and he wanted to honour that.Anthony obviously noticed and grinned from ear to ear. “You can say it, if you want.”“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”“Right.” He smiled, eyes sparkling, clearly enjoying Aziraphale’s embarrassment. “I’d say it.”“I know you would, because you’re a demon of a man.”“And you’re an angel.”Aziraphale sniffed. “You’re the only one who thinks that.”“That’s okay. My opinion’s the only one that matters.” He dragged a hand through his hair and let his eyes wander towards the ceiling, smile slowly dimming on his lips. “The sex part actually gets easier with time. Or at least that’s my experience,” he said. “It’s the pretendy-part that fucks with you after a while.”“Pretendy?” Aziraphale repeated.
He could do nothing to ignore his sinking heart. Of course Anthony was pretending, there was no reason to be so upset about something so obvious, something Aziraphale should have known from the very start of their arrangement. Something he knew . It was no one’s fault it was so damn easy to forget.“Nyeah,” Anthony continued. “There’s always a certain degree of pretending when you deal with other people.” Well, Aziraphale could definitely agree with that. “When I was younger, I guess it just came easier. It made me feel… invincible. Powerful. For a long time I didn’t do anything else. I didn’t have anything else.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it’s not that it came easier before. It’s always been easy and it still is, in a way. Pretending, I mean. It’s the cost of doing it that’s higher. It starts to have consequences, and sooner or later they catch up with you. You can run away from them, obviously, but they kind of mess with your head anyway. They certainly messed with mine. It’s… lonely.” He sighed, grimacing. “It just occurred to me that I may be bad at this job.”“Do you now?”“Do I what?”“Have something else.”Anthony let out a mirthless little laugh. “I guess.”He would have probably left it at that, had Aziraphale not reached forward to brush his fingers on the man’s knee to get his attention. Anthony flinched and lowered his eyes until he met Aziraphale’s, then gulped down what remained of his whiskey and pulled himself up so that he was sitting next to him, their shoulders almost touching.Aziraphale had never felt as grateful as he was for those few remaining inches between them.Anthony took his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and fiddled with it until he found what he was looking for. It was a picture of a small, dilapidated cottage surrounded by overgrown shrubs.“I’m saving up to buy a little property in the countryside,” Anthony confessed, suddenly very interested in the bottom of his tumbler. “I’d like to open a nursery.”Aziraphale couldn’t hold back his surprise. “I didn’t know you liked kids.”Despite his embarrassment, Anthony looked at him, bewildered. “A nursery… for plants,” he explained, carefully enunciating the words, which probably meant he also was drunker than he looked. “I told you I have a thing for plants, right?”“Ah, yes. You’re root fetish,” Aziraphale confirmed intelligently, then tried with all his might to contain his delight when Anthony howled with laughter.Yes, Aziraphale thought, not for the first time. It was way too easy to forget.They remained silent for a while, allowing Anthony to calm down and wipe the tears from his eyes.“Who knows,” he said eventually. “Maybe at the end of the week I’ll have enough money for the down payment.”Aziraphale tried to ignore the erratic beating of his heart at the reminder that this was all going to end in a few days. The thought shouldn’t have scared him so much, but it did.“Will you go live in the countryside, then?” Aziraphale asked him, just to take his mind off of things he really didn’t want to acknowledge.Anthony shrugged. “I guess. I’ve been doing odd jobs for a while now. Hopefully, I can manage on my own until the nursery thing takes off.” He chuckled, but he didn’t seem amused. “If it ever does.”“Why wouldn’t it?”“Because maybe it’s just a pipe dream. People like me don’t go around starting businesses. You know how many people I met who have burned through their savings trying to do something similar? Best case scenario, they fail and they move on. Worst case scenario, they barely get by and end up struggling their whole lives because they can’t let go.”Aziraphale frowned. He wanted to comfort him somehow, tell him to believe in his project, in himself, that he couldn’t know until he gave it a try, but something told him it wouldn’t be welcome, not from someone like him. Someone who had the privilege of trying and failing countless times.“It all feels so pointless sometimes, this… never ending struggle,” Anthony continued, staring at the dark tv with a faraway look in his eyes. “What. Is. The. Point,” he said, punctuating every word.The urge to touch him was so strong Aziraphale had to clench his fists and focus on his breathing to distract himself from the longing brewing in his chest. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, Anthony was staring at him, cheek resting on the back of the sofa.He was so close, it would only take the smallest of shifts for their lips to meet, Aziraphale realised. He felt a well-known heat prickling his cheeks, and he couldn’t quite stop staring at Anthony, at features that shouldn’t have been so familiar. Not so soon.“Aziraphale?” Anthony asked, barely a whisper, but enough for him to smell the whiskey on his warm breath.They were drunk, Aziraphale reminded himself. This was an arrangement, a pleasant one, but still nothing more.So, going against every instinct in his body, Aziraphale cleared his throat.“You should go get some sleep,” he said, voice soft and sadder than he would have liked.“Yeah… I prob’ly should,” Anthony agreed, but didn’t move, not immediately.The longer he waited, the stronger Aziraphale’s urge to tell him to stay, to keep him company for a little while longer. So much so that when Anthony finally placed his empty tumbler on the coffee table and stood up, Aziraphale let out a sigh of relief.He swayed on his feet, but managed to steady himself before Aziraphale could offer to help.
“Well,” Anthony drawled as he stumbled towards the hallway leading to the bedroom. “Good night, angel.”Aziraphale watched him go. He knew he should have probably followed him to make sure he wouldn’t crash against the nearest wall, but it’s not like he was faring any better.“Good night, Anthony.”The man made a vague gesture with his hand before coming to a sudden stop in the doorway. He remained still for a couple of seconds, then turned to look at Aziraphale over his shoulder. He wetted his lips with a flick of his tongue, took a deep breath, and seemingly made up his mind about something.Finally, he shrugged and said: “Name’s Crowley, by the way.”Aziraphale blinked, confused by the declaration. “Y-Your last name?”“No. I mean… yes, technically. But it’s what I like to be called,” he explained. “Anthony’s for relatives I hope to Satan I won’t see ever again, and for… y-you know…” His voice trailed off into an unintelligible mumbling. “Alright?”Aziraphale didn’t understand, but it still felt momentous.
“Alright,” he whispered, grateful for something he hadn’t quite grasped yet. “Good night, Crowley.”A sleepy smile bloomed on the man’s thin lips. “Good night, Aziraphale.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Chapter 7 - Nasty Four-Limbed Monsters“Isn’t this lovely?” Aziraphale gushed, breathing in the balmy October air.
The champagne he’d promptly gulped down as soon as they’d sat down, in an admittedly clumsy attempt to recover from Crowley’s awful driving (because yesterday’s stunt wasn’t an isolated accident apparently), was making him feel pleasantly buzzed. If he closed his eyes, tuned out the tinny voices of the commentators over the loudspeakers and concentrated on the cool breeze rustling through the trees, he could just about pretend he and Crowley were alone, enjoying a nice picnic in the countryside. And that was a Thought down to its capital T, wasn’t it?Too bad Crowley didn’t seem to be sharing the sentiment.In fact, so frequent was his huffing and puffing, Aziraphale was seriously considering adding a steam locomotive to his idyllic picnic scenario.“Nyeah, nothing I love more than eating overpriced food while watching grown men waving sticks and riding horses,” Crowley grumbled.Aziraphale opened his eyes to look at him, and was once again struck by how good Crowley looked in his forest green linen suit, loose red locks brushing his shoulders, long legs stretched on the plaid blanket Aziraphale had brought for the occasion, and a perpetual scowl etched on his angular face.The day had blessed them with an unusually sunny weather, which, as well as being pleasant, had made Aziraphale realise a couple of things: first, if the sight in front of him was anything to go by, Crowley was simply made to lounge under the sun like a very dashing and grumpy lizard; second, Aziraphale had never seen Crowley’s hair catching the golden rays of the sun before. The red bright and vibrant, the few streaks of grey turned into silver.Aziraphale, who had always been quite happy to remain on the reading side of poetry, was now entertaining the possibility of the occasional foray into the other.Which was ridiculous. Unthinkable. Not to mention, all kinds of embarrassing, and for several reasons too. Poetry at fifty! And about a man who was giving him the time of day and indulging him solely because he was paid to.This reminder, Aziraphale had learned, did wonders for his silly fantasies (as in, it could crush them to death in no time at all).“It’s called a mallet, actually,” he finally remarked.“It’s called a mallet, actually,” Crowley parroted back in a terrible impersonation of him. He was prickly and moody, possibly still hungover from the previous night. “I know what it’s called, I just refuse to accept polo. As a concept, I mean.”“Alright.” Against his better judgement, Aziraphale smiled. (The problem with the aforementioned reminder was that, if not periodically renewed, it had the life expectancy of a pedestrian recklessly crossing Crowley’s path.) “Have you tried the chocolate éclairs?” After all, food was probably the main reason why the extraordinary amounts of alcohol they’d drunk weren’t affecting Aziraphale as much as Crowley.“Nah, I don’t like sweets,” he brushed him off, shaded eyes fixed somewhere beyond the field where the players were showing off for the crowd.
At this point, Aziraphale knew better than to take Crowley’s most drastic declarations at face value, so he rummaged through the picnic basket The Ritz had kindly provided for them and arranged a little plate of pastries. When he was satisfied with the end result, he nudged it towards him without acknowledging what he was doing.
Sure enough, Crowley took a chocolate and raspberry tartlet without even looking at it, swallowing it down in a single bite.“Why are we here again?” he asked, speaking with his mouth full.“It’s a charity match sponsored by Eastgate’s,” Aziraphale replied patiently, as if Crowley hadn’t known that already. Then he touched a finger to the side of his nose. “You have a little bit of chocolate right here.”Crowley stiffened. “No, we’re not doing that.”“Do what?”“The whole clean-the-food-from-my-face and stare-lovingly-into-my-eyes thing from the movies,” he explained with approximately fifty percent more hand gestures than necessary.Aziraphale smiled and reached forward to wipe the stain away with his thumb, then put the thumb in his mouth for good measure. “Mmh. The maître chocolatier working for The Ritz really is something else,” he said with a happy wiggle.Crowley snorted, cheeks as red as his hair. “You’re sick. Go watch porn like everyone else,” he squawked, busying himself with the champagne bottle.
While Aziraphale had felt better the moment they’d arrived at the polo club (mainly because that meant not having to endure Crowley’s driving anymore), Crowley had started to crumble under the weight of his bad mood the second they’d parked the Bentley. And although he was making a valiant effort to feign nonchalance, Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice that this time around, unlike their dinner at The Savoy, he just couldn’t seem to shake it off.
And maybe it was the pleasant warmth of the day, the smell of cut grass or the champagne fizzing in the back of his throat, but Aziraphale was feeling happy and brave, which is why he decided to ask instead of skirting around the issue altogether.“Is something the matter?”Crowley didn’t reply immediately, chugging the champagne straight from the bottle instead, which all but confirmed that there was indeed something wrong besides the hangover and his innate hostility towards polo and romantic movies.“We can leave, if you want,” Aziraphale offered. Sandy and the others would reprimand him for that, but what else was new? It’s not like he wasn’t used to it by now.“Nah, ‘s fine. It’s just…” Crowley shrugged and looked around. “What if someone recognises me?”“Why would they?” He made his voice sound as gentle as possible, as though approaching a scared, wounded animal. Which was ridiculous. Crowley was not scared, he was not wounded, and if there was someone who could effortlessly navigate any social situation, that was him… right?It suddenly occurred to him that that might not be true at all.Crowley finally turned to Aziraphale, who saw himself mirrored in his sunglasses and had to repress the urge to look away. Crowley was about to say something – maybe something significant – but, in the end, he just shook his head and shrugged. “‘S nothing, you’re right. Don’t worry about it.”Before Aziraphale could press him for an answer, he heard Maggie’s voice and turned to see her standing over them in a floor length flowery dress. She looked like the very personification of Spring.“Good afternoon, fellas,” she quipped. “I see you’ve got yourselves quite the nice little set-up here.”“It’s tradition,” Aziraphale explained with a smile.“I know. It’s just odd that no one got the memo except you,” she said, looking at the guests milling around the shaded patches of grass. To be fair, some did have picnic baskets and blankets, but they were mostly sitting at the dainty white tables provided by the polo club and eating from the buffet that was being served under the light blue tent emblazoned with Eastgate’s logo.“That’s rich people for you,” Crowley chimed in. “They only like to pretend to be easy-going enough to sit on the grass like us paupers.”“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Maggie agreed, sipping her champagne. She sighed and turned to Aziraphale. “I came to tell you that the Shadwells have arrived.”Aziraphale felt his smile dimming. He went to great lengths to forget about his work commitments, but they had the annoying habit of always catching up to him in the end.“Thank you, Maggie.”“Where’s the other one?” Crowley asked her.“Oh, Muriel? They’re back at the office. There was some problem with the antivirus software. And they’re allergic to horses, so…” She let her voice trail off, watching something in the distance. “Word to the wise, Sandy, Michael and Uriel have also arrived.”“Don’t tempt us with a good time,” Crowley muttered.Aziraphale huffed. “I’ll come talk to them in a little while.” He’d rather play polo on a toy horse for all the world to see than deal with them. “Thank you, dear. Off you go now, enjoy yourself.”Maggie gave them her brightest smile and walked off towards the refreshments.“So…” Crowley continued as soon as she was out of earshot. “D’you want me to snog you here on the blanket? Make Sandy and Mickey seethe until their heads explode?”Aziraphale felt himself blush and made a conscious effort to put the blame on the warmth of the sun on his face (the fact that he was technically in the shadow was neither here nor there). “That’s hardly appropriate.”“Did you miss the part where there are people on horseback chasing around a ball?”“It’s polo.”“Yeah, and it’s barbaric. What’s next? A footie match?”The umpire whistled to signal the end of the second chukka and Aziraphale’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh, it’s half-time!”
He jumped to his feet and offered his hand to a baffled Crowley, who, despite his confusion, didn’t hesitate to take it. Aziraphale’s traitorous brain dastardly decided to point that out, while also making him aware of how familiar the sensation of Crowley’s spindly fingers between his own had become.The thought made him feel warmer than the sun ever could.“Where are we going?” Crowley complained.“To stomp divots.”“The stom– Wh– No, absolutely not!”
“It’s tradition!”Crowley huffed and whined as the guests, spurred on by the commentators, swarmed the playing field to stomp the divots that had been carved out during the game. Aziraphale dragged Crowley along, unbothered by the man’s many, many protests, and demonstrated how to go about the aforementioned stomping.“You look like a twat,” Crowley informed him. “Are you… are you dancing?” he asked with mounting horror.“No one says I can’t add a little flair,” Aziraphale chided, as he kept at it, ignoring Crowley’s bad mood entirely. He may have been afraid of many things, but looking silly had never been one of them.
Before long, Crowley was so busy looking at him and teasing him, that he eventually forgot to complain, gleefully stomping around while holding both of Aziraphale’s hands in his own in an awkward kind of dance. He even challenged a nearby group of kids to a divot-stomping competition. “Watch and learn, you little hellions!” he thundered. “Come on, angel! Let’s show ‘em how it’s done.”Aziraphale let himself be dragged into the impromptu showdown without making a fuss, though he didn’t really care about entertaining the kids. He had eyes only for Crowley, who was laughing and smiling the most boyish smile Aziraphale had ever seen from him.He was painfully aware that seeing Crowley act so carefree shouldn’t have made his heart pulse so fast, but it did, and he couldn’t get enough of it.When the spectators finally began to return to their seats under the shade, Aziraphale invited the kids back to their blanket and, making sure they had their parents’ permission, offered them the remaining pastries with a side of magic. Truth be told, he wasn’t particularly fond of kids (he didn’t know how to talk to them, and that had been true even when he’d been a kid himself), but he did love a good magic show.“I know what you’re thinking,” he said to his enraptured audience. “Is he here to amaze and befuddle us all with his prestidigitation and jiggery-pokery?”“I can guarantee you no one’s thinking that,” Crowley muttered under his breath, equal parts charmed and horrified by whatever was about to come.The pastries turned out to be a hit, the magic show not so much, and after Aziraphale’s third failed attempt at making his farthing disappear, Crowley mercifully intervened to put him out of his misery and let the kids scatter for a game of hide-and-seek.“Hell’s sake, angel, you really, really suck at that,” Crowley said. His verdict about Aziraphale’s skills as a magician was ruthless, but his face couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to be amused or offended.“I’ll have you know I have studied with professor Hoffman, one of the most esteemed professionals in the country,” Aziraphale informed him, chin high and lips pursed.Crowley was visibly trying to stifle a laugh. “I’m genuinely afraid to ask.”“Then don’t, you fiend. I certainly don’t expect you to understand the craft.”“Actually, I’m quite good with wands and rabbits, you know.”Aziraphale looked at him through narrowed eyes. “I’m not sure what you mean.” His smug expression was definitely suspicious.Crowley grinned. “And thank Satan for that. Just don’t quit your day job.” He seemed to think it over. “Or do. You’d look good in sequins. I know I do.”Aziraphale let out a little, scandalised huff, which only managed to make Crowley cackle even more. He was just about to break down himself, when someone cleared their throat beside them, sending a shiver down his spine.Speak of the devil…He turned towards Sandy with his smile miraculously still in place, albeit not as sunny as before. “Hello, Sandy.”“Aziraphale, we are waiting for you to join us so we can discuss our strategy for the Shadwells,” Sandy said, foregoing any kind of greeting. He also didn’t acknowledge Crowley’s presence in the slightest.Unfortunately for Sandy, the silly demon had no intention of making it easy for him.“When you say it like that, it sounds like you’re planning a full-scale abduction,” Crowley remarked, deciding it was as good a time as any to lie down with his head in Aziraphale’s lap. “Should I call the MET?” he asked as he made himself comfortable.Sandy sneered, but Aziraphale was too busy trying to convince his heart not to burst out of his chest to worry about him. The proximity was surprising, yes, but not at all unwelcome, and the sight of Crowley’s red hair spilling on his lap was just as mesmerising as the first time he’d laid eyes on it at The Ritz. It was only natural, then, that before he could fully understand what he was doing, he began stroking the man’s hair, and Crowley – in what was surely an attempt to raise Sandy’s hackles even more – practically purred in response.“Aziraphale,” Sandy repeated, voice laced with disgust. “If you’re not coming, we’re going to take matters into our own hands.”His words chilled Aziraphale to the bone, irritation surging inside him. “Are you threatening me?” he asked, slowly lifting his head to return Sandy’s glare with one of his own.“It’s just a fact. If you don’t do your job, someone else will have to do it for you.”Crowley let out a veritable snarl at that and shifted in Aziraphale’s lap as if two seconds away from springing up and confronting Sandy right there and then. Aziraphale was quick to touch his shoulder and gently push him back down before he could do any of that, eyes never leaving Sandy’s.He allowed himself a couple of seconds to calm down until he could plaster a good enough approximation of a smile on his face. “Thank you, Sandy. I’ll be there in a minute,” he said with steel in his voice.When Sandy made no move to leave, staring at Crowley with an intensity that could have turned a person into a pillar of salt, Aziraphale added: “I said I’ll be there in a minute.”Sandy bared his teeth, gold tooth glinting in the sun, and walked off cursing under his breath.“Wanker,” Crowley muttered.Aziraphale didn’t comment, annoyance still buzzing under his skin. In a bid to push all Sandy-related thoughts from his mind, he resumed stroking Crowley’s hair with way more focus than necessary. He couldn’t quite figure out if he wanted to pacify Crowley or soothe himself. Maybe both. Maybe he didn’t need a reason.“Don’t you think it’s a little odd?” came Crowley’s drowsy voice after a little while. “The way they’re so fixated on that bookshop?”Aziraphale, who had spent the past minute admiring the lines on Crowley’s face and wondering if asking him to remove his sunglasses would come across as rude, was too distracted to properly ponder the question. “How so?”“It’s suspicious, ‘s all. Maybe it’s about tax cuts. Hasn’t Mrs. Shadwell said it’s an historical landmark?” he asked idly. “Who knows, maybe they’re in cahoots with a crooked politician who owes a favour to a big shot real estate developer,” he drawled. “Money laundering is also an option.”That last one finally snapped Aziraphale out of his reveries. “Well, that’s just preposterous,” he rushed to say, troubled and even a little bit offended by Crowley’s speculations. “They’re not nice people, I’ll give you that, but criminals?”He felt Crowley stiffen in his lap and made no move to stop him when he pulled himself up to put some distance between them.“Yeah, everyone knows rich people and crime don’t really go together, aye? The proverbial camel is jumping through the eye of the needle like a lion at the circus,” he said with a wry smile. “I’m going to see if they’ve got something else to drink other than this bubbly piss.”Aziraphale watched him sashay away, feeling both guilty and annoyed at his reaction, then got back to his feet to join Sandy and the others as he’d reluctantly promised. Might as well get this over with, right?He found his lawyer talking to a disgusting looking fellow wearing a stained morning suit. Aziraphale vaguely remembered him as a duke of some kind. Hastings, maybe?Thankfully, Sandy said his goodbyes before Aziraphale could reach them, so he didn’t have to go through the mortifying ordeal of being kind to someone he didn’t like and wasn’t even related to.“Well,” he began tartly. “Where are the others?”Sandy grimaced. “They’re networking. You may be here to have a picnic with your boyfriend, but we are here to work.”“It’s a charity event,” Aziraphale tried to object, ignoring the little thrill he felt at the word boyfriend. “I’m sure we can all take a breather.”Sandy chuckled. “You really know nothing about running a successful business, do you?”“And yet I run one. I wonder how that’s possible,” he shot back, irritation simmering in his bloodstream.Sandy shook his head, a tirade no doubt ready on the tip of his tongue, when something behind Aziraphale caught his attention. “Oh, I see.”Aziraphale turned around and saw Crowley talking to Mrs. Shadwell under the shade of the trees several feet away. He really was exceptionally beautiful, Aziraphale couldn’t help but think, which was probably not the right thought to have while your lawyer was about to bite your head off.He cleared his throat and turned back to Sandy. “What is it that you see exactly?” he asked with a tight smile. For the first time since Gabriel had left the company, he truly felt like his patience was wearing dangerously thin.
“I’ve known you your whole life, Aziraphale,” Sandy began, using what he thought was his amiable voice. “Do you think I wouldn’t notice? The way you’ve changed in the last few days? It’s that man. I don’t know what he’s promised you, but he certainly seems quite cosy with the woman you’re supposed to be schmoozing.”“Excuse me, what are you insinuating?”“I’m just saying. Maybe he’s been whispering in your ear all along to convince you to let this deal drop on behalf of Mrs. Shadwell.”Aziraphale could only stare at him in disbelief. “Wait a minute. Are you implying that Mrs. Shadwell has asked Anthony to seduce me so I wouldn’t buy her out?” Well, this was the most ridiculous and appalling thing he’d ever heard in his life (and he’d once sat through the entirety of The Sound of Music ). So much so that he found himself chuckling despite how crossed he was. “He’s not a spy, I can tell you that.”“How can you be so sure? You’ve only just met him.”“I may not know him well, but I know he’s not a spy,” Aziraphale insisted.“They seem quite chummy for two people who don’t know each other,” Sandy pointed out, gesturing towards them.“They met at dinner the other night. You were there, remember? They’re just being friendly,” he replied, trying not to snap at him. Because of course Sandy, detestable as he was, didn’t know what friendliness looked like.“So you’re saying it’s just a coincidence?”“Yes!” Aziraphale cried out in exasperation. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”“Fine, tell me what he does for a living then. What’s his last name? I can run a background check and we’ll know soon enough how trustworthy he is.”Aziraphale blushed and hated himself for it. “He’s in customer service,” he blurted out.“Doing what?”“I’m not sure about the specifics, but–”Sandy cut him off before he could keep digging himself into a hole. “You don’t know, do you? Goodness, Aziraphale, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re paying the man.”The accusation was so unexpected that it caught Aziraphale completely off-guard, giving him no chance to school his expression into something more neutral and less upset. Sandy, who was watching him like a hawk, didn’t miss it.“You are…?” he asked slowly, disbelieving.“A-Am I w-what?” Aziraphale stammered, feeling his stomach drop between his knees. He was rapidly losing control of the conversation, not to mention too agitated to snatch it back. At this rate, he could only watch himself from the outside as he made a complete fool of himself.Sandy looked at him wide-eyed, but his surprise soon morphed into amusement. “Heaven’s sake, you are! You are paying him!” he cackled. “What is he? A failed actor?”Aziraphale surrendered to his bad habits and forced himself to smile. He didn’t need a mirror to know it looked brittle and unconvincing at best, crazed at worst. “Don’t be silly, h-he’s not an actor.”“What then? A hooker?”The worst part was that Sandy had said it like a joke, like the idea was too absurd to even entertain. If it weren’t for the dismay so clearly telegraphed by Aziraphale’s face, he would never have taken it into actual consideration.
Yes, the worst part was that Sandy had guessed right and Aziraphale was too distraught, too useless to put up a fight and convince him otherwise.Sandy burst out laughing. “Are you kidding me?” he wheezed, clearly having the time of his life. “You’re paying a whore to be your date?”The term made Aziraphale cringe, shame burning in his cheeks, mouth as dry as the desert. “He’s not a-a-a whore. H-He’s… h-he…”“It’s okay, Aziraphale, we’ve all been there,” Sandy said, reaching a hand to squeeze his shoulder in a display of camaraderie that made Aziraphale cringe. “I didn’t know you had it in you, mate. I just hope he’s not on the company’s payroll.”Aziraphale scoffed, affronted and embarrassed. He was so frustrated, he felt on the brink of tears. “Of course not! I-I-I would never.”“Great. We already have enough on our plate as it is.” Sandy seemed relieved and delighted by the news. “I can’t wait to tell Michael,” he all but giggled. “Wait here, I’m going to call the others so we can sort this deal with the Shadwells once and for all.”Aziraphale watched him go, heart beating erratically in his chest, sweaty hands clenched into fists, face on fire and stomach churning.He’d pay all the money in the world to have a redo of his conversation with Sandy. He’d give up all of his books, his beloved cottage near the sea, his favourite vintage coat. Anything.But not even the most skilled of magicians could take back the words he’d said and the ones he hadn’t managed to say at all.
Mrs. Shadwell found him as he was leaving the refreshments station with a cold beer in hand.“Well, well, if it’s not our Anthony.”“Mrs. Shadwell, fancy meeting you here,” he greeted her, returning her warm smile with a devilish grin.Despite his foul mood, it was nic– not terrible to see a friendly face in a sea of rich, nasty four-limbed monsters. And don’t even get him started on the horses! Or the angel who lacked any semblance of talent in the magic department, but had somehow managed to keep Crowley’s bad mood at bay by stroking his hair before making it a thousand times worse. Two miracles for the price of one.“Where’s the Sergeant?”“Oh, somewhere in the stables with Newton and Miss Device. She wanted to check on the horses’ names.”Crowley frowned. That was the very last thing he’d expected her to say. “Ana’s here?”“Yes,” Mrs. Shadwell confirmed, as easy as anything. “And what about your lovely angel?”Crowley tried his best to ignore his stupid heart’s reaction every time she had the brilliant idea of calling Aziraphale his angel . It was laughable to say the least, not to mention factually incorrect. “Around here, somewhere. ‘M not sure.”“It’s that bad, huh?”“What is?”Mrs. Shadwell smiled her knowing smile, which was as charming as it was infuriating. Whatever she had in mind, Crowley knew better than to try and convince her that she was way off course. Instead, he gulped down half of his beer in one go. Alcohol wasn’t always the best answer, but it was an answer and Crowley couldn’t exactly afford to be picky right now. Plus, his head was still pounding from last night, so not too much harm was done.Mrs. Shadwell gave him a comforting pat on the arm, sipping from the glass of champagne she was holding in her free hand. “Is this the first time, then?” she asked softly.
Crowley raised his eyebrows in confusion and the vague hope that she’d relent and change the subject. Unfortunately, he had no such luck (when did he ever?).“That you fell for a client, I mean,” she added, not mincing her words.Crowley had the horrible feeling that the beer was just about to come right back up. “Ngk. I don’t know– I’m not– Fuck.”“It’s okay, take your time, dearie.” She squeezed his arm in what was probably supposed to be a comforting gesture.To Crowley’s dismay, it actually worked. Or, at the very least, he didn’t feel like he was two seconds away from becoming a human draught beer dispenser. He took a couple of deep, fortifying breaths and relaxed his shoulders as much as he could.“You’re wrong,” he finally managed to say.Mrs. Shadwell eyed him sceptically, but didn’t offer a retort. “Alright.”Crowley bristled. “Alright? What’s that supposed to mean?”“I may have misread the situation, what with the way he looks at you and the way you keep gravitating towards him.”“I don’t gravitate,” he blurted out, offended by the implication. “And if I did, I wouldn’t gravitate towards him.” Right now, for example, he would have very much liked to gravitate somewhere near Alpha Centauri. Or a black hole ready to swallow him whole before his dignity could be obliterated once and for all.“Alright.”Crowley snarled. “Stop saying it like that!”“Like what, dearie?” Mrs. Shadwell asked, feigning innocence.“Like you don’t believe me.”“Oh, shush. I rather think you’re projecting.”“I’m not,” he insisted. “I don’t fall for clients, I’m not an idiot.”“It’s not the smartest thing you can do, I’ll give you that. But it’s not like you can control it either, can you?”Crowley looked away, unable to hold her gaze a second longer. She was too perceptive for her own good.“I can. And it’s not.”“It’s not?”“It’s not the first time it happens,” he heard himself say, nerves finally getting the better of him. “Mind, I’m not saying it’s happening a second time,” he rushed to clarify. “But it happened once before, and it was…”“...hell?” Mrs. Shadwell supplied.Crowley shook his head. He’d kill for a cigarette right now. “It was Heaven, actually.” For fuck’s sake, was he really talking about Luke to a woman he barely knew?“It always is at the beginning.”“Yeah.”“It’s the after part that fucks you up.”Crowley huffed out a mirthless laugh, surprised to hear her swearing. “You could say that.”Mrs. Shadwell sighed and patted him on the shoulder. “It’s not all bad, you know. You’ve been through it once before–”“And I’ve barely come out the other side.”“But you have. You’re here, and now that you know the signs, you won’t make the same mistakes twice.”It was a nice sentiment, but Crowley didn’t know if he shared it. “There’s just one problem.”“If it’s just the one, then things are looking better than you think, dearie,” she said with a comforting smile.“I am an optimist.”“Ha. That’ll get you.”“Every fucking time.”They stood in silence for some time, sipping their drinks and observing the people in suits and knee-length dresses milling around. There must have been a limit to the amount of rich-people-laughs you could hear in a single day, Crowley thought, wondering how long it’d take him to banish that syncopated ha-ha-ha from his head, until another familiar face, accompanied by two more Crowley didn’t recognise, sidled up to them.His sneer was immediate. “Hello, Mickey,” Crowley greeted her, mockingly bowing at her for good measure.Michael wrinkled her nose to signal her displeasure, but otherwise refrained from any open show of hostility. You could tell she wasn’t dressed for work because she’d paired her pearl grey suit with a white shirt with ruffled cuffs instead of regular ones.“Mr. Anthony,” she acknowledged him with ice in her voice, before turning her attention to Crowley’s companion. “Mrs. Shadwell, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”“Oh, the pleasure’s all mine, Miss Eastgate,” she gushed back in a way that made Michael uncomfortable and Crowley snicker.“May I introduce you to my colleagues?” Michael continued. She didn’t wait for Mrs. Shadwell’s permission to go on. “This is my sister Uriel, she’s our CMO,” she said, gesturing to the black woman on her left (Crowley idly wondered if they were wearing matching outfits on purpose, like the twins from The Shining). “And this is Sarah Kelley, business analyst and one of Eastgate’s long-time collaborators,” Michael continued, turning to the woman on her right, who was sitting on a very fancy-looking wheelchair. “Sarah, Uriel, this is Mrs. Shadwell, the current owner of A.Z. Fell & Co.”Mrs. Shadwell shook both of their hands and politely said nothing about Michael referring to her as the current owner of her bookshop. Crowley couldn’t figure out if he was more enraged by Michael’s gall or amused by how transparent she was.After introductions were made, there was an awkward pause as both Uriel and Sarah turned to Crowley expectantly.Michael grimaced. “And this is Anthony, Aziraphale’s…” She made a vague, dismissive gesture with her hand. “Something.”“The word you’re looking for is partner,” Crowley clarified, showing off his most charming smile. He offered his hand to both women, who shook it back with very different reactions. “Charmed, I’m sure.”Sarah smiled. “Aziraphale seems to have done really well for himself.”“Why, thank you.” Crowley grinned back at her.Uriel wasn’t as convinced. “You don’t seem like his type.” She gave him a sceptical once over, arms crossed on her chest. “Are you trying to atone for something?”“Oh, no. Big fan of sin, me,” Crowley was quick to clarify. “As a matter of fact, I’m mainly using him for sex.”Uriel and Michael didn’t bother to hide their disgust, while Sarah seemed nothing short of delighted by his cheek.“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Crowley continued, handing his beer to Michael (who was too surprised to refuse it) and linking arms with Mrs. Shadwell. “Mrs. Shadwell and I are going to look for her husband before he starts asking one too many questions about horses and how many nipples they’re supposed to have.” He personally didn’t know and was okay with that.Michael blinked. “Wait, we’re actually–”“Oh, we’ll be back, dearie,” Mrs. Shadwell reassured her. “It’s such a lovely day, business can wait a bit longer, don’t you think?”They left before Michael could come up with an excuse to keep them there, and they headed for the stables, giggling between themselves until they reached their destination and Crowley’s horse-radar went off like crazy.“The only way I’m going in is if you drag my dead body inside,” he said, stopping in his tracks outside the building just as Anathema was coming outside.“Crowley,” she said, as if her presence at a charity polo match sponsored by Eastgate’s made perfect sense.“I’ll let you young people catch up,” Mrs. Shadwell announced, disappearing into the stables in search of her husband and nephew.Crowley glanced at Anathema. “Do I even want to know what you’re doing here?”
She narrowed her eyes in contemplation. “Probably not,” she concluded with her usual solemnity. “But don’t make any plans for the first Saturday of September next year.”“Why?”“I’m getting married.”Crowley gaped at her. “You wot?! Did you ask the poor lad to marry you already?”“Don’t be absurd,” she scolded him, pushing her glasses on her nose. “He’s going to do it, and soon, according to my predictions.”Well, there was no sensible way to comment on something like that, was there?“But you’ve already picked the date,” he said against his better judgement. He’d learned, at his expense, that it was best not to engage Anathema about any and all witchcraft-adjacent matters.“Of course. There are things you simply cannot leave to chance.” She clucked her tongue. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a peek inside?”“Never been so sure of anything in my life.”“But there are horses.”“Exactly.”“What about my premonition?”Crowley scoffed. “Are there eighty black horses in there? Is this the TARDIS of stables?” he insisted, gesturing to the building which, while not small in any sense of the word, still didn’t look like something that could house that many horses.Ana crossed her arms on her chest and pursed her lips in that frankly intimidating manner of hers. She had a way of looking at you that made you feel like you’d inadvertently forgotten all of your clothes at home and you’d only just noticed. “Mmh.”“Mmh what?” Crowley asked, uneasiness slowly creeping up his spine.“Someone’s calling you.”He took his phone out of his pocket just in case Aziraphale was trying to reach him. “You’re witchy radar’s off, I’m afraid.” No one was calling him and he had perfect reception.Ana’s face grew impossibly serious as she let her gaze roam all around them. Crowley didn’t want to know what she was looking for.“It’s not. But be careful,” she warned him ominously. “Something’s interfering with the ley lines.” She headed back inside without another word.Well, that wasn’t disturbing at all, Crowley thought, trying to shake off the prickling sensation from his fingers. He huffed out a disbelieving laugh – at Ana’s antics and at himself for being so impressionable – and turned around to go back to their picnic. He wasn’t ready to face Aziraphale again, but he knew the angel would come looking for him there.He walked away from the stables, noticing a solitary man coming in the opposite direction. He was wearing a suit so dirty that Crowley wouldn’t have been surprised to discover he’d fished it right out of the trash just before leaving his house.He’d barely just passed the man when the stranger called him a name Crowley hadn’t heard in almost thirty years. A name he would have liked to continue not hearing for a hundred more.He stopped breathing, an icy sensation washing over him until he felt both numb and shaken at the same time. His head was screaming at him to keep walking and ignore the man, but he quickly found out that his feet were pretty much frozen in place, his heart stuck in his throat.
Going against his every instinct for self-preservation, Crowley turned around to look at the stranger, and that’s when he recognised him. Someone he’d known in another time, another life.“Is that really you?” Hastur said incredulously. He stepped closer to take a better look at him and his black eyes widened in shock. “It’s really you!” he shouted. “Still the same flash bastard you were in school, I see.”Trying his best to ignore the blood roaring in his ears, Crowley stuck his hands in his pockets as Hastur kept babbling about how long it’d been, and was it true that he’d run away from his parents’ castle never to be seen again, and was he aware that most of their former classmates firmly believed he was actually dead?“Don’t use that name ever again,” Crowley hissed when Hastur finally stopped talking, heart pounding away in his chest. He knew he wasn’t half as cool as he pretended to be, but fainting in front of Hastur was really not on.“Why not? It’s your name.”“Not anymore.”Hastur’s smile turned vicious. “So it’s true. I’ve heard the rumours. Ligur told me, but I didn’t believe it. You didn’t think the past would come calling sooner or later?”“Well, I’d really like to stay and chat about the good old days, but I–”“How the mighty have fallen,” Hastur continued undeterred, not bothering to mask his satisfaction.
“I didn’t fall,” Crowley muttered, more to himself than Hastur. “I merely… sauntered vaguely downwards.” And he didn’t regret it one bit.“To think you could have been a duke.”Crowley forced himself to return Hastur’s shit-eating grin with one of his own. “Not without a triple fratricide, which I’m sure is nothing for the likes of you.” He sure as fuck didn’t like his older siblings, but he kind of drew the line at cold-blooded murder. “Besides, if all dukes are like you, I think I’m fine where I am.”Hastur scoffed. “You’re just as arrogant as you were back then, going around in your Granny’s rickety old car and thinking you were king among us.”“‘Cause I was.”“A whore is what you are. What you’ve always been.”“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Hastur. Not that you’ve ever been right about something.” Much like the people Crowley had grown up with, Hastur lacked any kind of imagination. “Those things aren’t mutually exclusive, you know? I can be a king and a whore. In fact, I could fuck my way through the House of Commons and I’d still be loads better than you.”
Hastur snarled. “You never were and you certainly aren’t now,” he growled.“Yeah? Prove it, then.”Before Hastur could come up with a witty reply (which, in Crowley’s experience, could take quite some time), Crowley heard footsteps behind him. His mood plummeted into the icy depths of Hell as soon as he realised who those footsteps belonged to.“Already looking for your next client?” Sandy sneered. His beady eyes were glowing with malicious intent and Crowley suddenly found it even harder to breathe than a second before. How did he find out?“As if,” Hastur was quick to say. “I don’t even know who this arsehole is,” he loudly informed Sandy, scurrying away from them to further prove his point. He couldn’t have looked more suspicious if he’d issued a press release stating: I don’t know who this whore is.
Lucky for Hastur’s reputation (or lack thereof), Sandy had eyes only for Crowley.“How much do you want?” Sandy asked point blank.“Whatever you think you can give me, you can keep it, Sandy.” He tilted his head to the side and tried to look as unaffected as humanly possible, even though his heart was still going a mile a minute. Sandy looked like a predator who had finally managed to corner his prey – no, not a predator, Crowley thought, but a vulture waiting for his prey to fuck up and die on its own.Hell’s sake, he knew coming to this thing was a mistake. Why did he let Aziraphale talk him into this? Why did he let himself be talked into this?“I can pay you, double whatever Aziraphale has promised you, you just have to leave him alone.”Crowley was really about to throw up now. “What did he tell you?” He was horrified by how thin his voice was despite his best efforts to sound like he didn’t care at all.“That you’re a whore.”Crowley knew he was in big trouble. He’d known it from the start. He knew that whatever he was doing with Aziraphale was dangerous, and he’d naively thought that going into this thing with his eyes fully open would spare him the heartache. But he was wrong – fuck, he always was – because hearing the disdain in Sandy’s words
felt like being punched in the face a thousand times over. Was that the way Aziraphale had said it?“Maybe I could even add a little extra,” Sandy continued, brushing a hand on his shoulder.Crowley flinched and took a step back. “Don’t fucking touch me.”Sandy’s delight turned back into rage. “You’d be wise to take the money and leave.”“You can’t tell me what to do.”“Oh, you think you’re settled for life, don’t you? You think you’ve found the perfect fool to sink your claws into, and that your whoring days are suddenly behind you. Well, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, mate, but that’s not going to happen. We won’t let you.”Crowley snarled back. “You know what, Sandy? I don’t know how you do it.”“Do what?” he spat back.“Look more and more stupid every time you open your fucking mouth.”Sandy gritted his teeth. “Listen to me–”“No, I’ve heard enough. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He made to walk past him, but Sandy grabbed him by the arm to hold him back. A long-dormant instinct suddenly kicked in. “Let me go, or you’ll spend the next two hours digging in the ground to find that horrid gold tooth of yours.”Sandy growled and finally let go of him. “You’ll regret this,” he shouted after him.Well, joke was on him.Because Crowley was regretting it already.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Chapter 8 - Eat The RichSomething was terribly wrong.Aziraphale had gathered that the moment he’d found Crowley sitting on the blanket with his back unusually straight, and his suspicions had been confirmed when they’d left to go back to London just for Crowley to drive like a person whose sole purpose in his life wasn’t to fill a bingo card of traffic violations.After Aziraphale’s admittedly weak attempts at talking to him had failed, they’d remained in complete silence the entire ride back to The Ritz, tension uncomfortably buzzing between them.Now, as they stood on opposite sides of the lift, Aziraphale kept going through the list of very sensible reasons he’d come up with to explain Crowley’s bad mood. He’d been nervous from the start. He was still hungover from last night. He didn’t like rich people. He hated horses… Perfectly logical reasons that had nothing to do with Aziraphale himself or his disastrous conversation with Sandy.And yet, the nagging voice inside his head begged to differ. Because Crowley’s silence felt pointed, and Aziraphale’s delusions could only go so far.When the doors slid open, Crowley bolted immediately ahead, leaving Aziraphale to share an awkward smile with the footman operating the lift before following him to the door of their suite.He opened it with trembling hands, equally worried and irritated by Crowley’s very loud silence. They were both adults. Surely they could talk about it? Sort it out before it could fester into something even worse? You know, maybe Aziraphale was reading too much into it. Maybe Sandy hadn’t talked to Crowley at all, maybe he was tying himself in knots over nothing.Problem was, he couldn’t be sure if he didn’t ask.Determined to be the bigger person and salvage whatever was left of their day, as soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Aziraphale mustered up his last shred of courage and asked: “Are you sure you’re alright?”“I said I’m fine,” came Crowley’s sharp, swift reply. He disappeared into the hallway and went straight to the bedroom before Aziraphale could respond.Annoyed and mortified, Aziraphale recognised the sour taste of guilt at the back of his throat and couldn’t quite contain his nerves anymore.
“Fine, that’s good,” he muttered, going after Crowley because, clearly, there wasn’t an ounce of common sense left in him anymore. “Seven fine’s since we left the match. You could, at the very least, do me the courtesy of trying some synonyms, just for variety’s sake. Okay. Splendid. Dandy.” He stopped for a second, as if in deep contemplation, then cried out: “Tickety-boo!”Crowley, who was still wearing his sunglasses, threw the bathroom’s door open with an obvious sense of urgency. “Arsehole,” he hissed, barely looking at Aziraphale. “There’s a word.”Aziraphale tried to breathe around the lump in his throat, and was so flustered he actually pretended to look for a specific book from the pile next to the nightstand just to convince himself he was, in fact, perfectly capable of putting up with Crowley’s unreasonable wrath. “I think I liked tickety-boo better.”The bathroom door slamming shut made Aziraphale wince, and he jumped again when it was flung open in a matter of seconds.“You know what? Just tell me one thing,” Crowley said, angrily shoving his toiletries in one of the Harrods bags they’d come in. “Why’d you make me get all dressed up, huh?”Aziraphale couldn’t take his eyes off of Crowley’s hands and their frantic movements. He knew what Crowley was doing, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. He couldn’t.“Well, for one thing, the clothing was appropriate,” he forced himself to say, sounding more prissy than ever.Crowley stopped, lips pursed into a tight, white line. “No,” he spat. “What I mean is, if you were gonna tell everyone I’m a whore, why didn’t you just let me wear my own clothes? A heads-up would have been nice, I would have known what to expect and I’d have acted accordingly.”The icy fist of guilt closed its grip around Aziraphale’s insides, making him gasp in horror. His irritation, no more than an abominable coping mechanism, turned into anxious fretting.“I– I– I didn’t,” he stammered. He knew he had to explain himself, but he couldn’t come up with the right words – or even the wrong ones, for that matter. It felt like someone had just unleashed an entire swarm of angry, scared bees inside him, and they were now trying to break free from the confines of his body.“Sure you didn’t,” Crowley said through gritted teeth. “Wanna tell me why that wanker lawyer of yours came up to me and tried to outbid you, then?”The idea was so ludicrous, so unthinkable, that it almost threw Aziraphale physically off balance.“H-He what?”“Don’t look so shocked, angel,” Crowley shot back, the endearment turned into a weapon. “He said you’d told him, and he came running to me, offering me double whatever you’re paying me as long as I leave you alone. Oh and, since he was feeling generous, he also came on to me.”Aziraphale gaped, dizzy with guilt, rage and jealousy.“He d-didn’t. I didn’t, I– He took me by surprise, I couldn’t– Goodness, I just– He t-thought you were a spy for the Shadwells, and it was such a ridiculous notion that I–”Crowley suddenly took a step forward, removed his sunglasses and looked straight into Aziraphale’s eyes. Disappointment was etched in every single line of his face, plainly visible in the fire burning in his whiskey-coloured eyes.Aziraphale’s insides twisted painfully, guilt sinking its sharp claws into him.“Did you or didn’t you tell him that I’m a whore?” Crowley repeated, anger simmering under the surface of his voice.Aziraphale desperately tried to hold his gaze. “T-Technically, I d-didn’t. But he guessed it, and I was… Oh, Crowley, I was too nervous and I couldn’t deny it!”“Don’t say it like that,” Crowley barked. “Better yet, don’t fucking call me Crowley.”“My dear–”“Stop it!”Aziraphale flinched and stiffened, grasping for petty details in a desperate attempt not to collapse under Crowley’s righteous fury. “But you are a sex worker, and despite what you may think of me, I’m not ashamed of that.”Crowley snarled. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Aziraphale.”“It’s not a lie!” Aziraphale shouted, promptly losing all of his fragile, newfound cool.“Of course it’s a lie!” Crowley threw the bag on the bed and went to the armchair where he’d left all of his clothes, carefully folded on the seat or draped on the back to avoid any creases. “I have eyes, you know?” He gathered his things into a haphazard pile precariously balanced over his right arm.“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Aziraphale heard himself say in the smallest of voices. “Where are you going?”“You’ve gotten yourself into this stupid arrangement because you were bored and wanted to get back at your family, and now you say you’re not ashamed of me when you obviously think I’m beneath you!” Crowley snapped, ignoring Aziraphale’s last question. He was too busy collecting his clothes to even glance in Aziraphale’s direction.“That’s preposterous.” He was not ashamed of Crowley and he desperately wanted to make it loud and clear. “I d-don’t think you’re beneath me.”“Of course you do,” Crowley continued bitterly, still avoiding Aziraphale’s gaze in his quest to gather all of his stuff and the Harrods bag without dropping anything. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, and I know you want me. I’m not stupid. But you’re not going to come here and get me, are you? Because I’m not worthy of you and your blasted moral standards.”The venom in Crowley’s voice sent a shiver through Aziraphale, painfully torn between the heat flaming in his cheeks and the cold fist viciously squeezing his chest.“T-That has nothing to do with you, Cro– dea– Anthony.”Crowley huffed out a mirthless chuckle and finally looked at him. Even through the barrier of his sunglasses, the intensity of his stare made Aziraphale squirm.“Do you really expect me to believe you? After how cheap you’ve made me feel today?”“I swear to God, I didn’t tell Sandy! I was just too– too–” Too stupid to come up with a quick denial. Too weak to tell him off. Too soft to put my foot down. He tried to catch his breath, flustered. “I am terribly sorry, I know you don’t believe me, but you have to. The reason I don’t–”“The reason you won’t fuck me even if you want to?” Crowley snapped, cutting him off. He took his sunglasses off and clenched his jaw. “Come on then, let’s hear it.”Aziraphale flinched. “There’s no need to be so crass.” His uneasiness finally got the better of him, pushing him to flee the bedroom with a random book clutched to his chest like a lifeline. His eyes dropped down to the title. The Man Without Qualities. He winced at the sight and forced himself to put it on the coffee table to avoid its silent accusation.Crowley’s footsteps followed him immediately, giving him no respite.“Why not?” Crowley pressed on behind him, almost thrilled by Aziraphale’s show of weakness. “I’m just a hooker, a whore, I sell sex. What did you expect?”“Stop it.”“Say it.”Aziraphale suddenly turned on his heels to face him. “I won’t say it because it’s not true!” he cried out, more angrily than he’d have liked to.Crowley’s lips parted in a vicious sneer. “Why not then?” He’d left his sunglasses somewhere in the bedroom and Aziraphale cowardly wished he would go back for them.“I don’t want to talk about it.”They stared at each other for a long minute, both panting and red-faced until Crowley decided he’d probably had enough. Of the silence between them. Of Aziraphale’s greedy eyes trying to commit every inch of his face to memory because the deepest part of him had already given up, and Crowley had probably caught up with that.“Fine, then,” Crowley hissed with an air of finality.That’s all it took for Aziraphale’s irritation to surrender to fear. “Where are you going?”“I’m leaving. I’m taking my brand new clothes, my fancy face cleanser, and I’ll also take my cheque. Go and fetch that blasted pen of yours and start signing.”Aziraphale dragged in a breath as if he’d just been punched in the face. He stared at Crowley for a little while longer, trying to convince his reeling mind to come up with even a single idea, a way to convince him to stay until the end of the week as per their original arrangement. He didn’t want to give up. He didn’t want to feel the sick sense of relief that would probably wash over him as soon as Crowley was gone.But his mind remained fastidiously blank and, in the end, the only thing he could do was to go back to the bedroom, where he wrote Crowley a cheque for the full amount they’d agreed upon.When he was done, he threw an accusing stare at the damned piece of paper and went back to the living room, only to find Crowley already in the hallway, clearly itching to leave, clothes scattered and abandoned in his wake.Aziraphale couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that Crowley was about to disappear from his life. For good. Forever. It didn’t feel real.He handed him the slip of paper. “Here you go.”“And good riddance,” Crowley muttered. He clumsily shoved it into the front pocket of his trousers before he could lose any more clothes, then tried to open the door with his hands full.The unexpected complication, and the ridiculous notion that fate might be on his side after all, finally managed to dislodge some of the words currently clogging Aziraphale’s throat.“Go if you must, but I won’t have you thinking that the reason I didn’t…” He stumbled on his words and blushed furiously. “W-well, that the reason I didn’t is that I think you’re beneath me.”Because he wasn’t. Crowley was better than him in so many ways, Aziraphale couldn’t even begin to list them all. He was brave, bold, and unapologetic. Everything Aziraphale was not, everything he longed to be.Crowley huffed, something more vulnerable than anger and annoyance finally creeping into his voice. “You can’t even bring yourself to say it. You’re fucking embarrassed, and you know what? ‘S fine. Do you know how many repressed men are out there? And how many of those get themselves off every night dreaming of fucking someone like me? Someone they could really get wild with? Only difference is that you’re rich enough to make the fantasy a reality, and too much of a coward to actually make it happen.”Aziraphale steeled himself, an angry frown knotting his eyebrows. “You’re being cruel.” His pride couldn’t take any more blows.
Shame flickered across Crowley’s face, shining through his unaffected façade like the sun breaking through a torn, black curtain. “You look at me like you want to devour me,” he insisted, as if to remind himself of all the reasons he was in the right. “I saw it before and I’m seeing it now. But you can’t bring yourself to do it, because you’re just a stupid, entitled prick who thinks he’s too high and mighty to fuck a blessed whore!”Aziraphale’s eyes hardened, his breath now coming in harsh puffs. They were so close that the hallway felt claustrophobic, the walls closing in on them.
“That’s quite enough of that.”“Well, I’m not done!” Crowley cried out in frustration.
“Oh, I rather think you are.”“Fuck you, angel,” he blurted out. “Fuck you, and your blessed suite and your stupid fucking che–”“It’s because I want you to want me!” Aziraphale shouted, flushing all over, hands clenched and eyes squeezed shut. His words echoed in the stifling stillness of the hallway, amplifying the unexpected silence falling all around them.He didn’t say anything more for a few seconds, trying to catch his breath and convince himself to stop trembling like a damn idiot.When he was sure he had enough of a grip on himself, he opened his eyes and returned Crowley’s baffled gaze.“It’s because I want you to want me,” he repeated, more calmly but piqued. “Alright? Are you happy now? It’s that what you wanted to hear? I want you to want me.” He took another deep breath, words coming faster now. “No, actually, I don’t want you to want me. I need you to want me. The thought of you doing any of this just because I’m paying you makes me want to crawl out of my skin.”Crowley frowned, anger draining out of him to be replaced by bewilderment. “That’s the job, Aziraphale.”“So what? Do you know how many things I do that I don’t want to because of my job? How many meetings I attend, how many investors I talk to, how many events–”“It’s not the same.”“It’s exactly the same.” Different jobs, same thing. “I know how it feels to tolerate things, and I know how it feels to be tolerated. My whole life, people have treated me like a burden. Like I’m some kind of odd encumbrance they have to work around, and the idea of you–”“But you’re still paying me to stay with you, to talk to you,” Crowley objected defensively. “What’s the bloody difference?”“I know you like staying with me. I know you like talking to me… I can see that. But anything more–”“I wouldn’t do anything I don’t want to do. That was the deal, remember?”Aziraphale huffed. Goodness, was Crowley stubborn.“What about the pretendy part then?”“Ngk.” Crowley choked on whatever he was about to say, seemingly disconcerted by the question. “That has nothing to do with–”“You thought I was about to ask you to change my diaper and you were still going to say yes, Crowley!” Aziraphale cried out in exasperation, not wanting to lose his advantage. He knew he wasn’t being unreasonable.
“So I have no self-respect, is what you’re saying.”“No, for God’s sake, that’s not what I am saying at all, you silly man. You’d do it for the money, because you need it, and I don’t fault you for that. In fact, you should be free to make your choices, and I hate having all this power over you, it’s not fair!”“So glad to be here for your anti-capitalist awakening,” Crowley muttered bitterly.Aziraphale ignored him and bravely soldiered on. “I enjoy our time together, and I don’t think I’m being overly confident if I say I know you do as well. But as for… for the rest… I can’t do it. Because…” He sighed, still flustered. “Because, you see, I’m afraid I really, really don’t want you to pretend. I want you to want me. I need you to want me.”Crowley looked at a loss for words, but his confusion lasted only a second, quickly replaced by sheer irritation.“Are you being daft?” he asked. “Were you there when I could barely keep it in my pants because you were playing a fucking piano? And not even that well, if I may add! Do you know how embarrassing it is to be so fucking turned on by a mediocre piano player wearing tartan braces?”Aziraphale’s mouth fell open. He was so flabbergasted that the only thing that came out of his mouth was: “Tartan is stylish.”“Yeah, no, it’s really not.”Aziraphale pouted, thoughts furiously chasing each other in his head. “But– You didn’t even touch me.”“Because I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to!”“Oh.”“Yes, oh. Fucking Hell. You were there! I can’t believe you didn’t– I just– Fuck!” he snapped. “You’re so clever! How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?”Aziraphale pursed his lips. “That’s not very nice.” He could barely hear his own words over the blood pounding in his ears.Crowley literally growled. “Yeah, because I’m not,” he hissed, a different kind of restlessness buzzing all around him.In a matter of seconds, the pile of clothes and toiletries was dropped to the floor as Crowley stalked forward to close the distance between them.Aziraphale impulsively took a step backwards, eyes widening in surprise when he found himself pressed against the wall.Crowley stopped right in front of him, so close that their chests were almost touching, and braced his hands on either side of Aziraphale’s head. Slender as he was, he looked taller than him, but there were only a couple of inches between them. And yet, as Crowley crowded him against the wall, Aziraphale had the impression that he was everywhere. Over him. Around him. Somewhere inside his chest, riling up his stupid heart.He could feel Crowley’s gaze boring into him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up. No, it was too much. He could barely breathe as it was.So he closed his eyes and licked his lips, desperately trying to hold back the hunger simmering under his skin. Oh, he so despised this side of himself. The way he could go for months, even years without acknowledging it, and how quick he was to succumb to it the moment he’d so much as allow himself to become aware of its presence. The smallest of tastes, that’s all it took for it to turn voracious.“Look at me,” Crowley said curtly.He must have tilted his head down, because Aziraphale could feel his warm breath on his burning cheeks.“Aziraphale,” Crowley repeated, voice low and smooth. “Open your eyes, angel.”He was being tempted, Aziraphale realised, and he’d never been very good at resisting temptation. And this… this was very undignified.So he licked his lips, took a deep breath, relaxed his shoulders against the wall and lifted his chin in defiance, bracing himself for whatever he was about to be faced with.When Aziraphale finally opened his eyes, all he saw was amber and fire. All he felt was the warm promise of Crowley’s body, the tension running through him. Through them both.“Will you let me show you?” Crowley asked, almost softly now. He lowered one of his hands and when he raised it again, Aziraphale recognised the folded cheque between his fingers. “On the house.” He slid the piece of paper in the front pocket of Aziraphale’s jacket, then replaced his hand on the wall.“Crowley,” Aziraphale heard himself say in a last ditch attempt at being reasonable, although, to be fair, he couldn’t remember what he was trying to avoid exactly.“Tell me what you want,” Crowley continued, greedily watching his face for any sign of discomfort. Aziraphale recognised what he was doing because he’d done the same thing countless times.“Crowley…”“Tell me what you want, angel. I’ll do anything.”“I don’t–”“I’ll make you feel so good. I promise… I promise.” Something cracked in Crowley’s voice. “Just let me… please, please, let me.” He sounded wrecked.“Is that what you really want?” No, it couldn’t be… could it?“Bloody Hell, do you want me to beg? Is that it?” Crowley snapped, leaning his forehead on Aziraphale’s shoulder in exasperation and maybe the urge to hide from him.That was all it took. The smallest of contacts.“Well…”“Please,” Crowley insisted, voice muffled against Aziraphale’s neck. “Please, angel. Let me make you feel good. Just tell me how. T-tell me and I’ll do it… I’ll do anything… anything…”His whispered pleas soon turned into a trail of shallow kisses on what little was left exposed of Aziraphale’s neck. Crowley pressed his nose under his chin, gently biting the soft flesh he found there before slowly climbing his way up to Aziraphale’s jaw. He dragged his lips on his cheek, still saying please over and over again, and dipped them behind Aziraphale’s earlobe. He nuzzled and bit him there too, gently, making Aziraphale shiver and burn all over.It was torture. It was bliss.Aziraphale didn’t even realise he had turned his head towards Crowley until their lips met in the slowest, laziest sliding of mouths.
Aziraphale marvelled at the sensation. It was almost startling, foreign. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d kissed someone.Crowley let out a little whine – in surprise, relief, or maybe both – and closed whatever distance still remained between them by melting against Aziraphale, who had to push his back against the wall to keep them both upright. He wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist – for stability, he told himself, nothing else.It was no use, though, because it still felt like a dam collapsing.As if he’d just been granted permission to touch, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s face with both hands and his kisses suddenly became deeper, more focused, more ravenous, snuffing all of Aziraphale’s worries, all of his rational thoughts, until they were no more than a tangle of limbs pinned against the wall of the hallway, greedily exploring each other’s mouth with lips, teeth and tongue.Crowley tasted like beer, champagne, raspberry and chocolate, and Aziraphale was struck by the sudden desire to taste all kinds of delicacies directly from his lips.When he wasn’t kissing him, Crowley kept begging him to be told what to do in a never ending stream of broken pleas and soft moans, and Aziraphale couldn’t quite believe that the man shuddering in his arms was the same grinning demon who’d leaned into the window of his car just a few nights before.Crowley was touching him everywhere. His arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders, his fingers buried in his hair or grabbing him by the nape of his neck, one of his slim thighs sliding between Aziraphale’s so they could slot their legs together.With their bodies pressed so close, Aziraphale didn’t need to wonder if Crowley was faking the whole thing. But it wasn’t that, the physical proof, that did it for him, because that could be explained in a number of ways. No, it was the realisation that no one had ever held him quite that desperately. It made Aziraphale dizzy, struck him dumb for a second, wiping out whatever doubts he was still harbouring.
Bolstered by that knowledge, he pulled their bodies even closer, raising a hand to touch Crowley’s face and meet his gaze.Crowley looked drunk, cheeks ablaze, eyes glassy. Aziraphale knew he probably wasn’t faring much better, and for once he absolutely didn’t care. He licked his lips, Crowley following the flick of his tongue like he’d die if he didn’t, and finally made up his mind.“I want you to fuck me,” Aziraphale said, voice surprisingly firm and collected. Yes, he wanted to be held and touched everywhere.He heard a surprised moan rumbling in Crowley’s chest as the man’s pupils dilated, black almost taking over the gold surrounding it. “Anything,” Crowley whispered back.“Are you sure?”“Yes.”“Are you sure you’re sure?”Crowley rolled his eyes. “Ask me again and I’m going to shag you against this wall like we’re two horny teenagers.”Aziraphale pursed his lips and his voice took on a petulant note. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to do it in a proper bed.”“Of course, I wouldn’t presume to defile you against a humble wall, Your Majesty.”“Good.”“Good.”Crowley disentangled their limbs and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand, pulling him along to the bedroom in a hurry.Aziraphale scoffed, more amused by Crowley’s eagerness than anything. “And here I thought I was being romanced.”“Romanced? Who said anything about romance?” Crowley shot back, pushing Aziraphale towards the bed and turning on the lamp on the nightstand. “Take off your clothes.” He didn’t wait for Aziraphale to give him a similar direction, nor was he aiming for a grand seduction plan, apparently, because he just started to shed his clothes like he was terribly late for something.“Is this how you seduce your clients?” Aziraphale unhurriedly pulled off his jacket and went to hang it in the closet because he wasn’t a slob (he was, but not with his clothes).“You’re not paying me,” Crowley reminded him, jumping on one foot to take off a sock. Aziraphale looked away for a mere second, but when he turned back around, Crowley was already down to his trousers. “You’re getting the real deal.”Aziraphale gave him a onceover as he carefully unbuttoned his waistcoat. He had to concentrate really hard to suppress a smile and remember how buttons were supposed to work. “Yes, I can see that.” At that moment, Crowley was whatever the opposite of cool was, and Aziraphale had never wanted him more.“Don’t be all schoolmarmy with me,” Crowley scolded him. “I hate it.”
He pulled off his dark green trousers and he was naked in all of his long-limbed, freckled glory. Aziraphale couldn’t have averted his eyes even if he’d wanted to, heat and desire engulfing him from head to toe. He wanted to say something about how beautiful he was, but Crowley didn’t give him the chance, letting out a loud whine as soon as he noticed Aziraphale was still dressed.“Bloody Hell, how are you so slow?” he protested, rushing to him to help him with his bow tie. “I hate this stupid bow tie.”Aziraphale let him, too distracted by all the naked skin on display to reproach him properly. “You hate a lot of things.” It was almost like he didn’t hate them at all.“That’s me. Full of bitterness and resentment,” Crowley agreed, throwing the bow tie on the armchair next to the bed as if it were personally responsible for everything wrong in his life.“You’re lucky it’s not one of my favourites,” Aziraphale chided, because apparently he could be fussy and aroused out of his mind at the same time.“You’re lucky I didn’t leave it around your neck like you did when you were playing that stupid piano,” came Crowley’s prickly reply. “‘Cause I’d probably try to strangle you with it, that’s how unfair you looked.” He pulled down Aziraphale’s braces so that he could push the shirt off his shoulders. Then he gasped. “Is that an undershirt?” he asked, horrified. “Are you my Grandpa?”Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I sincerely hope not.” That would have brought the concept of embarrassment to a whole new level.Crowley didn’t waste a second before removing the offending garment, much to Aziraphale’s annoyance.“This is the worst seduction I’ve ever been subjected to,” he complained for the sake of complaining.“Yeah? So what’s that in your pants? War and Peace?”Aziraphale scoffed as Crowley made quick work of his trousers. “Crowley, my dear, have you ever seen a naked man before?”“A couple, yeah. Never seen you naked before, though. You’re so bookish, anything’s possible.” He crouched down in front of Aziraphale to pull down his trousers and pants, then choked on a curse. “Ngk. I knew it!”Aziraphale, who was hanging his shirt in the closet, looked down, suddenly worried he really had Russian literature in his pants.But no, Crowley was squawking unintelligible nothings at his sock garters while also untying his brogues. Well, the man could definitely multitask, Aziraphale could give him that.“Is everything alright?” he asked, leaning on the closet as Crowley helped him step out of his shoes and whatever remained of his clothes.“Nyeah. We’re just going to leave the socks and the sock garters on,” Crowley informed him.“Why?”“Because I hate them, and I hate you, and this way I can snap them whenever you annoy me.” He gave a demonstration, earning himself a glare, but otherwise not so much as a peep.“You’re being very charming,” Aziraphale deadpanned.“You’re welcome. Now get on the bed.”“Say please.”“You’re starkers, you can’t tell me what to do.”“I don’t see how being naked has anything to do with proper manners,” Aziraphale lamented, climbing on the bed on all fours before turning on his back and making himself comfortable on the pillows.Crowley was on him in the blink of an eye, kissing him – if Aziraphale had to make a guess – to stifle any further complaints straight from the source. For once, though, Aziraphale didn’t have any, not at the ready at least, and kissed him back as Crowley’s hands resumed their frantic exploration of his body.It was probably worth noticing that none of their bickering had managed to soften their respective interests in the proceedings. On the contrary, it was having quite the opposite effect, and that was just about the last rational thought Aziraphale managed to come up with before Crowley pushed their naked bodies together.What happened next was a feverish collection of touches, kisses and bites, of hands grabbing all they could reach. Aziraphale barely registered when Crowley lurched off the bed and disappeared only to come back with the condoms and lube he’d probably dug up from under the sofa cushions. Then it was a blur of cold, slick fingers, and Aziraphale petulantly complaining about how Crowley could have at least warmed them up first (“Common decency dictates…”), even though he could scarcely remember what his name was.Then, despite being both drunk on arousal and anticipation, they struck up an argument about the proper technique to prepare someone. Crowley bit on whatever inch of Aziraphale’s flesh was closer every time his annoyance flared up (which was fairly frequent), while Aziraphale proved himself to be quite apt at delivering harsh criticism while also being barely coherent.“It’s a wonder you’re not still a virgin,” Crowley said, taking his frustration out on Aziraphale’s left nipple.“How so?” Aziraphale asked. Or at least he hoped the moan that came out of his mouth was close enough to the words he’d meant to say.“You complain so much, you’d make the Eiffel Tower go limp.”The outrageous allegation brought back some semblance of sense to Aziraphale’s thought process. “Excuse me, you don’t seem to be having any such problems.”“Nyeah, ‘cause I’m a professional. I know how to stand up in the face of life’s hardships.”“You’re so full of yourself, it’s unbecoming.”“Gimme a second, and you’ll know exactly how that feels.”“Poetry, I’m impressed.”“You’re welcome,” Crowley shot back. “Before you ask – no, I don’t have a tartan condom. You’re going to make do with this one. It’s strawberry flavoured.”Aziraphale scoffed. “My love for tartan doesn’t go that deep.”Crowley burst out in a surprised cackle. “Fuck, don’t make me laugh.”“You’re the only one finding this funny, my dear,” was Aziraphale’s huffy reply, even though he was most definitely trying not to laugh.Then came the hottest, most perfect sensation Aziraphale had ever experienced. And yet, as much as they were both in awe at the reactions their bodies were capable of pulling out of each other, they still couldn’t stop bickering, nor giggling between kisses and bites and curses (Crowley’s) and innocent, very helpful suggestions on how to improve one’s lovemaking technique (Aziraphale’s). Crowley almost lost it when he realised – much to Aziraphale’s smug satisfaction – that Aziraphale was bendier than he looked. For his part, Aziraphale almost forgot he was trying to pace himself when he tugged on Crowley’s hair and found out that he could coax some very delicious sounds out of him.Instinct took over only by the end of it, when they couldn’t do much more than move, and sweat and pant and moan and pull pleasure from each other’s body like they’d been doing nothing else for years, until Aziraphale finally reached his limit and Crowley gave himself permission to fall right behind him.
“That’s the filthiest, most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Crowley said, making a face.Aziraphale side-eyed him sceptically. “Somehow, I doubt it.”Of course the angel believed that there were worse things than having dinner in bed, especially if said dinner involved crêpes straight from the kitchens of The Ritz.Crowley had been treated to a ten-minute monologue about why they were the best in London, with an additional five-minute detour about where to go if you ever found yourself in Paris and were feeling suddenly peckish. Which, you could almost say, was a daily occurrence in Crowley’s life.Crowley would have complained about it hadn’t Aziraphale been the very picture of perfect debauchery, not to mention the delighted hums and tiny moans those stupid crêpes had caused. Shockingly enough, finding himself in competition with crêpes of all things didn’t feel like hitting rock bottom, which was probably a testament to how delirious he was.There were many things to blame for his current state. The aforementioned crêpes and the subsequent noise pollution, as well as the picture it came with.Because Aziraphale had put on a light blue, fluffy dressing gown (not tartan, thankfully) and his ridiculous reading glasses to fuss over the room service menu, even though he probably knew it by heart by now. His cheeks were still flushed from their previous exertions (and also his improvised love letter to crêpes), and his soft curls in disarray. He still looked like he’d won the award for Most Pedantic Bastard fifty years in a row, but also – Satan help him – sexy as fuck.In fact, Crowley was starting to think that Aziraphale actually had some secret magic powers, and that he’d used them to scramble the chemicals in his brain, because the whole thing was nothing short of puzzling, not to mention embarrassing.If Crowley ever needed to faint on command, he’d only need to count the times he’d said please tonight.Yeah, that would do it. A swift, albeit not painless, fall into blissful unconsciousness.He groaned and reached forward to take a bite from Aziraphale’s plate – just to spite him and silence his stupid thoughts – then slumped back on the pillows with his mouth full. “You don’t eat in bed and you don’t eat in the car. That’s what civilised people do.”“What would you know about civilised people?”“Dealing with uncivilised people makes you extremely qualified to recognise the civilised ones.” He threw him a look. “And you’re not it, angel.”“I wear sock garters,” Aziraphale objected.“Exactly.”“Exactly.”They exchanged wary looks, trying to interpret what the other had meant. If nothing else, it was clear that their exactlies were very different.“You’re such a hedonist,” Crowley huffed, as if Aziraphale were behaving like that for the express purpose of inconveniencing him. “With your curly little… and your neat light blue…” he mocked him, making stupid faces for good measure.Aziraphale didn’t look impressed. “So what if I am?”“Nothing. It’s just embarrassing. For you, I mean.”“I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”“I wonder what your previous lovers think of you… if there are any.” Yes, Crowley, very subtle.Aziraphale stopped with his dainty little fork in mid-air and a smug smile on his still swollen lips. (But who wanted to think about kisses of all things? Certainly not Crowley. Actually, given the fact that he was running the risk of producing significant thoughts about today’s events, both recent and less recent, he’d wisely elected not to think about anything at all.)
“Does that make you my current lover?”Crowley sputtered a weird string of unintelligible sounds, heat blooming in his cheeks. “Wh– I– No! Lover my sorry arse! I just shagged you, ‘s all.”“Alright, thanks for clarifying.” Aziraphale dabbed his lips with the napkin, then put the almost empty plate on the nightstand. Crowley eyed the discarded spoils of their dinner with contempt. “I wouldn’t know what they think and, to be perfectly honest, I also don’t care. I don’t usually concern myself with others’ opinions of my lovemaking after we’ve parted ways.”Crowley pretended to throw up. “Stop calling it lovemaking, that’s disgusting.” He squirmed on the bed, trying to tamp down the urge to flung himself back on Aziraphale (bless him, he was insufferable as he was irresistible).
He counted to ten (barely), then he surrendered to his curiosity. “So… how many are we talking?” he asked, in the most pathetic attempt at coming off as uninterested.Aziraphale shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Why?”“You don’t know because you’ve lost count?” I mean, if it were a small number, he’d have remembered it. Aziraphale probably knew the name of every single person working at The Ritz, for Hell’s sake.“Well, I am what you may consider mathematically challenged,” Aziraphale conceded.Crowley looked him up and down. “You’re a slut, aren’t you?”Aziraphale’s eyes widened in shock and indignation. “I beg your finest pardon!”“Yes, you are. I can’t believe it took you so long to sleep with me.” Not just that, Crowley was also a hundred percent convinced that whatever the filthiest fantasy he’d ever had might be, it didn’t even come close to Aziraphale’s filthiest fantasy.“I’ve told you already, it’s different.”Crowley latched on the glimmer of vulnerability he saw flickering across Aziraphale’s face like a shark smelling blood. “Yeah, because you have a thing for me.”Aziraphale’s blush did nothing to soften his outraged expression. “I don’t have a thing for you. In fact, I don’t even like you.”Crowley grinned, delighted by his embarrassment and the frankly poor attempt at derailing the conversation. “You dooo!”“I don’t.” Aziraphale sniffed, lips pursed. “Whatever gave you that impression?”“Context clues,” he mocked him. “Also your hard c–” He almost choked on something soft and sweet that Aziraphale thought was a good idea to push into his open mouth. Crowley chewed and swallowed, looking daggers at him all the while. “Did you just try to kill me with a cream puff?”“Merely to shut you up, my dear.”“I’ll shut you up.”He made good on his threat and threw himself on Aziraphale, straddling him, stark naked (he wasn’t as depraved as Aziraphale, with his stupid dressing gown), but Aziraphale grabbed him by the waist and pulled him back before Crowley could crash their lips together.“Wait.”Crowley stilled immediately, both worried that he’d somehow overstepped and ashamed of his own impatience, but as soon as he tried to put some distance between them, Aziraphale held him in place, soft fingers digging into his naked waist before slowly climbing up his back.The angel took a deep breath, bracing himself for something. He looked serious too, which Crowley didn’t like one bit. Serious faces meant serious conversations, and he hated those with a passion. Not to be dramatic, but they made uncomplicated things very complicated and generally ruined everything that was good in life. What was so wrong with keeping things surface-level? The surface was great! When you stay on the surface, everyone’s happy and nobody drowns. It was the sensible thing to do.“I’m sorry for today,” Aziraphale said, solemn and contrite.Crowley rushed to nip the whole thing in the bud. “‘S okay, angel.”“It’s not okay. I should have told Sandy off. And I will.”Great. Talking about Sandy Alphonse while naked in bed should have been, at the very least, an offence punishable by eternal damnation.
“I should have been better prepared to answer his questions, and I don’t like that he came to you like that,” Aziraphale continued, looking genuinely affronted on Crowley’s behalf. “It was rude and disrespectful.”Crowley felt a slow smile spreading on his lips. “My, my, angel. Are you jealous?”Aziraphale rolled his eyes and removed his spectacles with a huff. “Hardly.”“Hardly, he says. We could do other things, hardly, instead of talking about that wanker.” Besides, why rush to ruin things yourself when you could just wait for life to do the job for you?Aziraphale looked sceptical. “Can you go again? So soon? You barely ate. You need sustenance.”“Well, maybe I’m about to get some right now. First lesson in your anti-capitalism education: eat the rich.” He threw the covers off. “Here, I’ll demonstrate.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Chapter 9 –
The Duke of WotsitsburyMr. Knightley was confessing his love to Emma for the third or fourth time since Aziraphale had opened the book that morning, when Crowley woke up with a jolt and a confused grumble.Aziraphale carefully removed the hand he’d been dragging through Crowley’s hair (which, as he’d just found out, was a sure-fire way to reduce all of his brain functions to a pleasant, warm hum, as well as the reason he’d been re-reading the same page over and over again) and forced himself to remain perfectly still.Couldn’t risk spooking the serpent, you see.Because, while Aziraphale was half-sitting up with his head against the headboard, Crowley was tucked under his left arm and curled up against his chest, long arms holding onto Aziraphale like he was afraid he was going to sneak away in the middle of night. (Which, to be fair, Aziraphale had thought about. However, the twinge of guilt he’d felt every time the thought crossed his mind had finally made him desist.)No, Aziraphale had reason to believe that Crowley wouldn’t have been happy to find him gone (as for the nature of that reason, it didn’t bear thinking about). Which was not to say that Crowley was going to be happy to find him there. In fact, Aziraphale was quite convinced that the peacefulness of his morning hinged entirely on Crowley remaining blissfully unaware of their current… arrangement.“What time ‘s it?” Crowley drawled, voice still rough with sleep.“Almost seven.”He whined, evidently displeased at being up so early. “Ssseven?”“You’re welcome to go back to sleep,” Aziraphale promptly offered. He didn’t mind a bit of extra time to stroke Crowley’s hair and pointlessly re-read the same page of Emma over and over again.If he were the kind of man prone to flights of fancy (which he absolutely wasn’t), he’d say that this was really quite nice and that he wouldn’t mind doing it again. And again. And, dare he say, again. Lazy mornings with a lazy snake, who’d turned out to be of the constrictor kind.Crowley hummed, eyes still closed. “Nyeah, ‘s a good idea.” He adjusted his hold on Aziraphale and let out a contented sigh. “So soft,” he mumbled.Aziraphale felt his body relax against his own and was just about to go back to caressing his hair when Crowley startled awake once again, this time practically flinging himself on the empty side of the bed.His eyes were wide, mouth agape, expression outraged.“What are you doing?” Crowley asked, a hand flying to his hair. “Were you…? No, you wouldn’t. You sick bastard.”Aziraphale feigned innocence. In fact, he didn’t even look at Crowley once, attention entirely focused on his very interesting book instead. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”He felt Crowley’s eyes on him like burning lasers.“You were,” Crowley accused him. “You were touching my hair like the depraved lecher you are.”Aziraphale rolled his eyes, lips pursed in annoyance. “I did no such thing. You just happened to be sleeping next to my hand.” He chanced a glance at him. “And my everything else too.”Crowley gasped at the implication, the dreaded c- word looming on him with all its nefarious might. “I wasn’t!”“Of course you weren’t. You were just resting your arms, and head, on the nearest surface available.” Which happened to be me, was the bit he wisely refrained to add.“Shut up,” Crowley barked.Aziraphale couldn’t suppress the urge to gaze at him any longer. He did so just in time to follow the slow spread of Crowley’s blush down his neck and chest. With no clothes in sight, nothing was stopping Aziraphale from letting his eyes drop even further down.
“I was probably trying to wank you in my sleep,” Crowley continued gruffly. “Multitasking ‘s what that was.”“Ah, yes.”Aziraphale allowed it (he was feeling quite generous this morning) and finally looked away from Crowley’s very naked body. Nothing could beat good old Jane Austen, he reasoned with himself, not even the enticing trail of hair going from Crowley’s navel to that delicious spot between his legs. It’s not like Aziraphale was longing to trace it with his mouth or anything. It’s not like he’d done that already, so he knew exactly how it felt.He pushed the thought away and cleared his throat to add an unnecessary: “That’s probably it.”“Or squeezing you to death.”“Another sound hypothesis.”“Erotic asphyxiation, ‘s a whole thing.”“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Aziraphale agreed with a polite smile. “Oh, and my breath as well, of course.”Crowley narrowed his eyes, lips pressed into a straight line. “That’s what I thought.”
He turned to his own side of the bed and almost flinched when he realised his pillow looked untouched. Not even an indentation, like he’d never rested his head on it, not even once.
While Aziraphale was auditioning for the riveting role of Man In The Background Completely Engrossed In His Book, Crowley punched the pillow a couple of times before slumping on it. He pulled the covers up to his waist for good measure, still looking delightfully pink.“So you slept here,” he mumbled after a while.“I did.” For the few hours he usually managed to sleep at night anyway.Crowley grumbled. “I don’t remember falling asleep.”“You were tired.” The night had certainly been livelier than what Aziraphale was used to.“I was not. I can go all night, it’s on my resumé.”“Oh, be sure to forward it to me.”Crowley scoffed. “As if you ever read your emails.”“Precisely.” Aziraphale smiled and closed his book with a soft thud. “I think I’m going to take a bath,” he announced. “You are welcome to join me.”“Why?” Crowley snickered. “D’you want me to wash your hair like we’re in a stupid romantic movie?”Aziraphale got up and stood next to the bed, fixing his plush dressing gown around his equally plush body. “That’s curious,” he said conversationally.“What?”“Romantic movies seem to be always on your mind. Besides, I was thinking of different activities altogether, but since that’s the first thing that came to your mind–”Crowley predictably bristled. “Only because I’m trying to think mushy thoughts like you! I would never even think of taking a bath with you.”“Of course.” Aziraphale’s answering smile was so blinding, Crowley almost recoiled, touching the top of his head repeatedly as if in search of his sunglasses. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have asked. Goodness, I don’t know what came over me. I can’t think of anything more annoying than taking a bath with a vicious serpent like you.”Crowley huffed. “My point exactly.”“We’re in agreement, then.”“Weirder things have happened.”With one last beatific smile, Aziraphale disappeared into the bathroom and busied himself with the task of preparing a nice, relaxing, bubble bath for one, which involved a disconcerting amount of essential oils.He had just slipped into the hot water with a happy wiggle when Crowley sauntered into the bathroom without a care in the world, confirming Aziraphale’s belief that serpents could, in fact, be baited.Crowley was wearing his black silk pyjama bottoms, the waistband sitting dangerously low on his slinky hips. “Used the other bathroom, but my toothbrush is here,” he explained with ill-disguised satisfaction. Being a nuisance made him so happy, it was honestly precious to see, Aziraphale thought but didn’t say because he didn’t particularly feel like being drowned in such a nice bath, not after taking so long to prepare it.Unsurprisingly, Crowley didn’t say sorry for barging in uninvited, he simply strutted to the sink to retrieve his toothbrush, then proceeded to brush his teeth right there, like this was a thing they routinely did in each other’s presence.
For his part, Aziraphale was definitely not thinking about how domestic it all felt, or how nice it was to have someone act like that around him. In fact, he was terribly, terribly annoyed at having his privacy so rudely invaded. Not only that, he’d never been quite so outraged by anything in his entire life.Crowley turned towards him, mouth full of suds, and whatever he saw on Aziraphale’s face, he clearly didn’t like it, because he scrambled to spit in the sink and angrily rinsed his mouth. “Stop smiling like that!” he barked. “You look deranged.”“I do?” If the stretch he was feeling in his face was any indication, Aziraphale’s smile had just become even wider.“Yes!” Crowley couldn’t seem to be able to stare at Aziraphale for too long. “You’re all soft and– With the bubbles– And the smile–” He looked about two seconds away from barfing, but he wasn’t done. “Like a stupid angel on a stupid lavender-scented cloud.”Far from being offended by the suggestion, Aziraphale made a half-hearted attempt to come across as sympathetic. “That does sound quite awful.” He sighed and looked up as if invoking a show of divine mercy. “I can’t really think of anything that would make this picture slightly less angelic.”Crowley leaned on the edge of the sink, hip cocked and arms crossed on his naked chest. “Why only slightly?”“You see, evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction. It is ultimately negative, and therefore encompasses its downfall even at its moments of apparent triumph. No matter how grandiose, how well-planned, how apparently foolproof of an evil plan, the inherent sinfulness will by definition rebound upon its instigators. No matter how apparently successful it may seem upon the way, at the end it will wreck itself. It will founder upon the rocks of iniquity and sink headfirst to vanish without trace into the seas of oblivion.”Crowley grimaced. “Bollocks.”“Of course, it’s just a theoretical assumption as we can’t really–”“Theoretical my flat arse,” Crowley muttered, pulling off his pyjama bottoms in a graceless tangle of limbs, before climbing into the bathtub and plopping himself opposite Aziraphale. Still not satisfied with the amount of havoc he’d wreaked so far, he propped a sudsy leg on the edge of the tub, water unceremoniously sloshing on the floor. “There, done. Evil has just sunk headfirst into this stupid bathtub,” he announced with a wide, pleased grin.Aziraphale adjusted his position to make space for him and tried not to smile too fondly. “I do hope evil doesn’t mind smelling like lavender.”Crowley stopped grinning at once, glaring at the bubbles surrounding him instead. “Fuck.”“It’s not that bad. Not that different from fire and brimstone, if you think about it.”“Nyeah, well…”“Naturally, I won’t tell a soul.”Crowley muttered something Aziraphale couldn’t even begin to decipher. “You can tell Sandy. His pressure would skyrocket and he’d probably die, so some proper good can still come of this.”“This being…”“The complete destruction of my reputation.”“Ah, of course.”With the matter of the true severity of what was happening finally settled, they remained in a companionable silence for a while.Despite his huffing and puffing, Crowley relaxed, arms stretched around the edge of the tub, head tipped backwards and eyes closed. The foot he’d left in the water was moving slowly up and down the outside of Aziraphale’s thigh, something they were both very careful not to acknowledge.Problem was, the list of things Aziraphale was trying to ignore was becoming too long for the ignoring to be done properly. Things were slipping by left and right. Despite his efforts to stay in the moment, to enjoy the present and avoid any thoughts about what they’d done the previous night, how he felt about it and what it meant, he couldn’t stop his mind from racing in every direction.
He let his eyes wander to Crowley’s slack, relaxed face and realised with a start that he now knew what pleasure looked like on it. The shape of his mouth when he moaned. The eager, desperate look in his glassy, heavy-lidded eyes.
Aziraphale felt his cheeks burn at the memory, but didn’t glance away. He needed the reminder that they’d both enjoyed it.In his late night musings, with Crowley asleep next to him, Aziraphale had come to the conclusion that Crowley wasn’t lying when he’d told him that he was nothing if not eager to please. What Aziraphale had initially considered a professional courtesy or an occupational hazard at best, was starting to look like a personal inclination after all. And though it probably had nothing to do with Aziraphale specifically – some people simply derived their pleasure from the pleasure they brought to others – he couldn’t stop himself from thinking… from hoping …“I can hear the thoughts rattling around your pretty little head, angel,” Crowley murmured, voice low and kind of drowsy, eyes still closed.Aziraphale spoke before he could quite decide what to say, or at least prevent his brain from voicing a thought chosen completely at random from the messy tangle currently crowding his head.“Did I really make you feel cheap?” he asked, not exactly surprised by how small he’d just sounded.
Among the many things he was trying not to look at too closely was the fact that, while he’d been busy worrying about Crowley not actually wanting him beyond a basic willingness to do his job, Crowley had mistaken Aziraphale’s reluctance for disdain. Which was, well… Aziraphale didn’t know if he could forgive himself for that.Crowley cracked an eye open. “You said you didn’t tell him.”“I didn’t,” he confirmed. “But I didn’t protect you either. I couldn’t–”“‘S okay. There’s only one kind of protection I need and it’s not yours, angel. Don’t worry about it.”Aziraphale didn’t like how nonchalant Crowley was about the whole thing. “I should have told him off.”Crowley opened both eyes, still idly caressing Aziraphale’s thigh with his foot. “I mean, yeah, but only because that wanker needs to be told off as much as possible. Nothing to do with me, really.” He shrugged and tipped his head back against the edge of the tub. “He’s the one that made me feel cheap. Him and Hastur.”Aziraphale frowned. “Who’s Hastur?”Crowley waved his hand in the air, a grimace on his face. “Name’s Lawrence Hastings.”“The duke?” Aziraphale felt his heart leap in his chest. How many things had happened when he wasn’t paying attention? “What did he do?”“‘S nothing.” Crowley shrugged, but he didn’t look so nonchalant anymore.“Crowley.” This time, Aziraphale’s tone allowed for no evasiveness. “What did he do? Did he hurt you?” He suddenly remembered Crowley’s fear of being recognised at the polo match and something akin to rage – at himself, at Hastur – surged inside of him. Could it be…? “Do you–”“It’s not like that, okay?” Crowley cut him off before he could ask the question, a cold edge in his voice that made Aziraphale flinch. Crowley must have heard it too because his face fell almost instantly. “It’s not like that,” he repeated, more calmly this time. “I do know him. From… Before.”He suddenly looked like a completely different person. Gone was the sly grin, the impossible slouch of his sharp shoulders, the devil-may-care attitude of someone who’d never asked for permission in his entire life.
Aziraphale felt his breath catch, protectiveness alighting inside of him like a wildfire. For the first time since they’d met, Crowley looked genuinely uncomfortable, and Aziraphale was torn between the urge to soothe him and the need to let him know that he didn’t have to talk about it, not if he didn’t want to.But Crowley beat him to it.“We went to school together.” He wasn’t looking at him, but Aziraphale could tell that he was making a conscious effort to make it sound like it was no big deal. In fact, Aziraphale was so focused on the change in Crowley’s demeanour that he only belatedly realised what he’d said.When he did, Crowley finally looked up at him, and the wry smile on his face spoke louder than words ever could. He didn’t volunteer any other information, but he didn’t need to, did he? Sure, Aziraphale had no idea where Hastings had gone to school, but he knew what kind of school a duke would send his children to and he could make an assumption or two as to why Crowley would have been studying there as well. I think I would have remembered a Lord Aziraphale Fell, that’s what he’d said the night they’d met, relief flooding his expression when Aziraphale had told him that no, he wasn’t an earl or anything of the sort. He’d also mentioned leaving his family when he was just a teenager, as well as his fear of running into someone who could recognise him at the polo match… it all made sense now.“There’s no… dramatic backstory or anything,” Crowley continued, almost absent-mindedly now, a faraway look on his face. “Got two poncy parents I didn’t like, three older siblings I had nothing in common with. We more or less tolerated each other until I was… around fourteen, I think.”“What happened?” Aziraphale dared to ask, making his voice as small as possible.“I was always different, questioned a lot of things that weren’t supposed to be questioned, but it’s around that time that I became a little too different. The queer thing also didn’t help. So they pushed back, and I did too. Found myself some new friends outside of school, brought some of them home. My family didn’t like them, said I was hanging around with the wrong crowd. It got to the point where we couldn’t exchange two words without screaming at each other.” He was playing with the bubbles now, trying to mould them into some kind of shape. “And I realised they were right. I was hanging around with the wrong crowd, and I was related to them. So I left. I was seventeen. I eventually changed my name and never looked back.”Aziraphale felt something like pride and awe and sadness swell inside his chest. He knew Crowley was bold and fearless, but this… this was something else entirely. To fend for himself at such a young age, with no support system to speak of. Oh, how he hoped some of the friends Crowley had mentioned had helped him along the way.“Do you miss it?” he murmured. “That life.”Crowley’s answer came immediately: “No.” He let out a long sigh, more bored than pained. “I miss Scotland, and my nan’s car.” He smiled and looked up to meet Aziraphale’s gaze. “And here I am, with a man who wears tartan, talks like my nan and has the same car. Only she knew how to drive it. She’s the one that taught me.”“Must be very dangerous to be a pedestrian in Scotland then.”“Especially if I don’t like you.”Aziraphale was surprised to realise how overwhelmingly grateful he felt. “Thank you,” he said before he could think better of it. “For telling me.” He chanced a small smile at Crowley, heart beating faster than necessary.Crowley scoffed, downplaying the momentousness of his confession. “Nyeah, sure.”Aziraphale arched an eyebrow. “Should I address you as ‘My Lord’ then?”“Fuck no.” He took a deep breath and bent his head this way and that to relieve the tension he was clearly holding in his neck and shoulders. “Besides,” he added as an afterthought, “it’s technically ‘Your Grace’.”Aziraphale couldn’t suppress a laugh and, before he knew what was happening, Crowley had joined in, equal parts amused and embarrassed. Which meant – if Aziraphale had learned a thing or two – that he’d soon do something to divert Aziraphale’s attention from the whole matter.“If you care so much about good deeds, you also know that actions speak louder than words.”“Oh?”Crowley pulled himself up on his knees and slowly crawled towards Aziraphale’s end of the bathtub. “Yeah, all these bubbles won’t save you, angel. Not now that I know what you’re hiding underneath.”Aziraphale gasped in mock horror. “You wouldn’t, you fiend!” His dramatic appeal for his virtue to be spared was somewhat ruined by him reaching for Crowley’s waist to pull him closer.
Aziraphale leaned forward, as if to kiss him on the mouth, but he stopped before their lips could meet, startled by his own gesture. He felt his stomach churn and a stab of self-consciousness as he aimed for Crowley’s stubbled cheek instead.Were casual kisses okay? Was that something they did now?He had no idea, and if he asked now he’d come across as too greedy.And he’d been greedy enough, hadn’t he?So he pressed his lips behind Crowley’s ear, more to hide from his amber eyes than anything. “Can’t believe I’m taking a bath with the Duke of Wotsitsbury,” he whispered.Crowley shook with laughter in his arms, and his reaction was so surprising, so genuine, that Aziraphale couldn’t quite catch himself on time before he let his mind wander towards everything he’d been carefully ignoring.The truth of the matter was, he was seriously starting to worry he’d never want to let him go.
It took them almost two hours to get dressed, and not for lack of trying, at least on Aziraphale’s part. True to his nature, the angel had been doing his absolute best to thwart Crowley’s demonic attempts at derailing his plans to go out for breakfast, and maybe have a pleasant stroll in the park in the hopes of stumbling into a nice, little hole-in-the-wall restaurant just in time for lunch (his words, not Crowley’s).As for Crowley, things had gotten so out of hand, that when they finally managed to step outside The Ritz, he was bone-tired already, muscles aching and joints sore. He had no idea where he’d found the strength to (begrudgingly) put on one of the more casual all-black ensembles Aziraphale had bought for him, or how he hadn’t succumbed to the need to take a nap on the little sofa inside the lift on their descent to the ground floor.Turned out that using sex as a distraction when you’re past your early thirties didn’t come highly recommended, especially when you used said distraction to avoid thinking about the many things you probably shouldn’t have said and the foolish feelings you definitely shouldn’t be having about a man who still was, technically, your client.At this rate, Crowley was seriously considering getting that crucial little morsel of information tattooed on his hand, or his arm, or somewhere he could easily see it when needed.
As they took off down the sidewalk, he glanced at Aziraphale – who was prattling on about his favourite parks in London, their merits and flaws – and suddenly decided that the best course of action was kidnapping the angel, dragging him to a tattoo studio and getting the information tattooed directly on his forehead. Sure, black block letters would probably clash with his style, but at least Crowley would be reminded of the nature of their relationship every time he looked at him.Being so obviously fucked, Crowley had taken steps to ensure he would not be disgracing himself any more than he’d already done. So he’d wondered if muzzles for hands were a thing, then realised those would be called handcuffs, which had in turn elicited a completely different set of fantasies. After that, he’d wisely resigned himself to trap his wayward hands in his blessedly tight pockets.But that wasn’t all, because once they were out in the fresh October air, another harsh truth dawned on him, namely the fact that while dark sunglasses prevented people from knowing what he was looking at, they did next to nothing to protect Crowley himself from that very same knowledge. And he knew – Satan, he knew – he couldn’t take his eyes off Aziraphale, especially now that he knew what lay underneath the gazillion layers the angel wore every day. Not to mention how soft he was. How sturdy. How insatiable. And how easy it was to make him moan like– well, fuck.“Are you even listening to me?” Aziraphale asked, stopping in his tracks with an annoyed huff.Crowley blinked. “No.”“Now, that’s just rude.”“You woke me up at seven. Don’t talk to me about rude,” he grumbled. “You don’t have to work, we could have stayed in bed all day.” Peak rudeness, as far as he was concerned.Aziraphale arched an eyebrow. “And let you wear yourself to death?”“Yes, to many, many little deaths.” They did wonders for his pesky self-awareness issue, and also his skin apparently. What use did he have for fancy face cleansers and introspection when he could just flood his body with endorphins… repeatedly?“Any more of them and you would have been upgraded to the big one, my dear,” Aziraphale chided, betrayed by the glint in his eyes that meant he was not-so-secretly pleased. “You’re not twenty anymore, you have to pace yourself.”“You’re older than me.”“Yes, but I know my limits.”“That’s easy for you to say, you’re a pillow princess.”This seemed to leave Aziraphale nonplussed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”“It means you let other people do all the dirty work for you.” In this specific instance, (a very eager, very willing) him.
“It’s not my fault you kept throwing yourself at me like a flying squirrel,” Aziraphale pointed out, the very picture of saintly primness.“A wot now?”“A flying squirrel,” Aziraphale repeated, petulant and smug at the same time.This was unacceptable.
“Besides,” the angel continued, “if you wanted to c–” He jumped, a hand flying to his delectable arse, eyes going impossibly wide. “Did you just pinch my backside?” He chanced an affronted look around. “In broad daylight?”Crowley pouted. His temporary hand-muzzles were not that foolproof after all. “Sorry, next time I’ll wait for the sun to go down like all proper gentlemen.” A pause. “And handsy vampires too, I guess.”Aziraphale looked a little outraged, a little flattered and very pink. “I’m starting to think you’ve never met a proper gentleman before.”“Probably not. But I did meet a vampire once.”Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I have no doubts about that, you demon.” He gave a firm tug to fix a non-existent crease in his waistcoat and set off for whatever dainty establishment he’d chosen for breakfast.Crowley grumbled and complained, but still followed, because what was he to do, really? It was so easy, teasing Aziraphale, but so was indulging his every whim. In Crowley’s experience, most rich people tended to take things for granted, used as they were to have whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, no questions asked. To them, gratification was never up for discussion.Aziraphale was different. As obvious as his penchant for the pleasures in life was, so was his gratitude, as well as the astonished delight that flooded his face whenever he was granted pleasures both big and small. As though he couldn’t quite believe how lucky he was.Downright annoying is what it was.So, of course they had breakfast in a nice little café with the angel holding court, talking about this and that, flashing beaming smiles at waiters, cashiers and fellow customers alike.He was in high spirits, Crowley realised, livelier than he’d ever seen him. Something had changed, like a burden being lifted. Sure, Aziraphale had been witty and friendly from the start, but he’d also withheld some parts of himself, the ones he was used to keeping under lock and key because he was ashamed of them. And yes, it definitely had something to do with the hunger Crowley had seen burning in his eyes the night before, but it was also a matter of how much room Aziraphale allowed himself to take.And today, much to Crowley’s satisfaction, he was taking all the room he needed. That morning, it felt like a dam had collapsed, leaving him relaxed and happy and almost giddy, and the idea that he might have contributed to his good mood in any way made Crowley feel disgustingly tingly inside.In an effort to even things out, he tried to be as contrary as possible. Unfortunately, Aziraphale took his grumblings in great stride and, worse still, he rather seemed to enjoy them.Something must have gone terribly wrong for a near-stranger to be able to see right through his snark after less than a week together. And for Crowley to feel so at ease, so safe in his presence, to the point of spilling secrets he’d sworn to take to his grave. It was worrying, there was no other word for it.And yet, even though a not-so-small part of him would have given anything to go back to when the most shocking thing Aziraphale could see of him were his exposed nipples in a sheer blouse, there was another who wouldn’t have changed this for the world.Which was worse than worrying – it was fucking scary. Like every step could be the one to make him slip and fall.So they had breakfast, a long stroll to nowhere in particular, as well as many pointless conversations and arguments about the most varied subjects. The ethics of acquiring magic tricks instead of coming up with your own, the demonic nature of the London traffic, their favourite music – which resulted in Crowley sputtering his way across two entire neighbourhoods after Aziraphale had asked him what he liked to listen to and then made an attempt on his life by referring to The Velvet Underground as be-bop.Seduction by annoyance was a thing after all. Crowley had no more doubts about it because he was being subjected to it. Be careful what you wish for and blah blah blah.They had lunch in a tiny family-run Italian restaurant, where Aziraphale waxed poetic about his favourite Italian authors (all dead and buried, obviously) and Crowley, still trying to get back at the angel for that be-bop nonsense, pretended that the only Italian poets he knew were called Gucci and Ferrari.
They walked some more after leaving the restaurant, with Aziraphale watching him like a hawk, convinced as he was that drinking six espressos at once would surely result in a heart-attack. Crowley complained about his fussing and obnoxiously called him mommy for good measure. What he didn’t say – because he wasn’t a thirteen year old schoolgirl writing the name of her crush in her diary – was that he’d been having heart-attacks since the moment he first stepped foot into The Ritz.They eventually ended up in Soho, and Aziraphale promptly proceeded to drag him to Mrs. Shadwell’s bookshop. To be absolutely honest, Crowley didn’t remember much of Aziraphale’s description of the place, considering what was going on when the angel had talked to him about it (that night, the pianofortes of the world had collectively lost their innocence). But when he followed Aziraphale inside, some things came back to him after all.The cosyness, the storybook feel to it – Aziraphale was right about that and, if the sparkle in his eyes was anything to go by, he adored this place.Mrs. Shadwell popped her head from the backroom and smiled delightedly.
“Mr. S, look who’s come to visit!” she announced, coming to meet them and kissing them both on the cheek. “To what do we owe the pleasure? It’s not a business matter, is it?” she asked, turning to Aziraphale, who was too busy admiring the nearest shelves to heed her warning look.“Nonsense, my dear lady. I just wanted to show the place to Crowley– is that a new incunabulum?” He didn’t wait for an answer before sidling up to the ancient book displayed on a little side table.Mrs. Shadwell left him to his devices and turned to Crowley instead. “Crowley, is it?” she asked a little too knowingly for his tastes.“I think the word ‘incunabulum’ was loads more worrying than my last name,” Crowley replied, feigning interest in his surroundings.He then made the grave mistake of looking at Aziraphale, who had put on his little reading glasses and was inspecting the book that had practically stolen his attention. He was also murmuring to himself as he carefully flicked the thin pages, and letting out little cries of delight at whatever he found, which made Crowley’s heart skip several beats (maybe the angel was right about the six shots of espresso after all).Point was, Aziraphale’s mom had definitely done him dirty, what with the whole naming-her-son-after-a-bookshop thing, but she’d definitely been onto something as well, because Aziraphale was in his element, like he and the bookshop were one and the same, like one day he’d simply popped out from behind that shelf in the corner, with his three piece suit complete with a tartan bow tie and a pocket watch, and his stupid spectacles.And don’t even get him started on the pure, unadulterated joy radiating off of him right now. One pair of sunglasses wasn’t enough anymore. As a matter of fact, Crowley was starting to think that he needed sunglasses for his whole body. An armour, more like. Something that could stave off Aziraphale’s beaming presence and preserve whatever was left of his sanity.So mesmerising a sight it was, that Crowley didn’t realise Mrs. Shadwell was still talking to him until she lightly touched his arm to get his attention, making him jump.“Come on, dearie. He’s going to be there for a while. Let’s get you something to drink.”She ushered him into the backroom, where Mr. Shadwell was sitting on an ancient sofa polishing an improbable looking antique rifle with a dirty tea-towel. Crowley must have been more out of it then he realised, because Mrs. Shadwell gently pushed him to sit on a flowery armchair and even put a glass of unidentified liquor in his hand without him putting up a fight.That slipping sensation he’d felt earlier… it was starting to become too intense for comfort.He took a sip of whatever was in his drink, grimaced at the too sweet taste of it, then took another. When he came back to his senses, Mrs. Shadwell was gone, and her husband was looking at him suspiciously.“Does that thing work?” Crowley asked him, tipping his glass towards the rifle.The man grumbled something along the lines of: “No, or she wouldna let me keep it.”“Can I hold it?”Solely based on Mr. Shadwell’s reaction, you’d think Crowley had just asked him to be served his first born on a silver platter. Crowley grinned. Pestering the Sergeant was much, much better than thinking about bookshop-angels shining like stars or something equally stupid.“I’ll be very gentle,” Crowley promised, sitting on the edge of the armchair to place the empty glass on the coffee table between him and Mr. Shadwell, who grunted and narrowed his eyes even further.“How many nipples y’ve got?”Yeah, Crowley was just wondering how long it would take for the Sergeant to bring it up.“I can show you…”“Go on then.”“...for a fee. It’s five quid. Per nipple.”Mr. Shadwell looked supremely disgusted – which was quite the feat, considering how filthy that tea-towel of his was – but, in the end, he carefully put the rifle on the sofa next to him, and rummaged through the pockets of his coat until he found what he was looking for, which happened to be his wallet.He slowly placed two five-pound notes on the coffee table, then lifted his gaze to Crowley, a challenge in his eyes.Crowley didn’t move to take them, he just made a gesture as if to say ‘well?’ and, after a beat of silence fraught with tension, Mr. Shadwell took out another five-pound note and placed it with the others. He did it slowly, holding Crowley’s gaze all the while, as though giving him ample opportunity to stop him.The Sergeant looked down at the three notes, lips tight and eyes flashing with a very peculiar mix of rage, fear and scorn. And still, Crowley didn’t take the notes and just waited, as if expecting more to come.
At this point, Mr. Shadwell was struggling to keep his expression under control. Although it must be said, to his credit, that when he picked a ten-pound note from his wallet and put it with the others, his hands were barely shaking.Crowley glanced at the twenty-five quids, trying not to look like someone who was having the time of his life. “You’re still a bit short, mate.”Mr. Shadwell let out a sound that was half-grunt, half-whine and looked at the rifle next to him out of the corner of his eye, as if calculating how much of a chance he had of grabbing it before Crowley (and his many nipples) could make a move.He must have felt particularly brave today, because while Crowley was giving it his all not to grin and let his amusement show, Mr. Shadwell took out a fifty-pound note and, eyes wide as saucers, added it to the little pile.Crowley clucked his tongue, smiled his least threatening smile… and waited.Some time later, when Aziraphale and Mrs. Shadwell finally joined them in the backroom, the Sergeant had emptied the contents of his wallet, two small jewellery boxes, a hidden safe and – unbeknownst to his wife – the till directly on the coffee table. He was very pale, not to mention sweating profusely.“What are you boys doing?” Mrs. Shadwell asked, perplexed by the little fortune lying between Crowley and the Sergeant.Crowley turned to Aziraphale. “Hey, angel, do you mind lending a hundred quid to Mr. Shadwell so he can see my nipples? It’s five quid a nipple.”Aziraphale arched an eyebrow and glanced at the valuables on the table. “And how many nipples is that worth, exactly?”“Fifty-five,” Mr. Shadwell wheezed. He was probably about to pass out.Aziraphale pursed his lips, then took out his own wallet and placed two fifty-pound notes on the little pile. “There you go, dear,” was the only thing he said before resuming his negotiations with Mrs. Shadwell about that incunabulum.That’s when it happened.That’s when Crowley’s blessed filing cabinet, with its drawers upon drawers overflowing with things he wasn’t supposed to think about, came crashing down on him.That’s when he knew that whatever he’d been doing since Sunday night wasn’t slipping, not in the slightest.
No, this is what free-falling felt like.
“That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” Aziraphale asked as they were leaving the theatre.Crowley shrugged, hands tucked in the front pockets of his absurdly tight jeans. “Nyeah. I liked the part where the curtains closed,” he conceded. “And the one where we both forget that I’ve let myself be dragged to see Romeo and Juliet.”Aziraphale huffed. “It’s Shakespeare! A timeless tale of–”“What? Teenage love ending in a double suicide?”“No, that’s a common misconception. The play is about the foolishness of their families and their inability to stop feuding with each other to realise their kids are being kids, and ultimately resulting in–”“...a double suicide?”He was right about that. “Yes, fine. But it’s relatable, is it not?”Crowley huffed, the glow of the streetlamps setting fire to the red of his hair. Aziraphale had to make an effort not to stop and stare. He’d realised, earlier in the day, that he’d been doing that a lot, and with a little besotted smile on his face he couldn’t even begin to keep at bay.“What would I know about being head over heels for someone who’s supposed to be my hereditary enemy?”“I’m not sure.” Well, he got him there.“There’s a Dire Straits song of the same name. It’s five minutes instead of five acts, and it gets the message across just as plainly. It’s also not as gloomy.”Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Dire straits indeed.” With a name like that, at least they were upfront about the quality of their content.“Besides, I prefer the funny ones,” Crowley muttered under his breath. Then he stopped, as though it had just occurred to him that he didn’t know where they were supposed to go.There was something different about him. Aziraphale couldn’t quite put his finger on the reason why, but it hadn’t escaped his notice that Crowley had been more quiet than usual, and that his silence couldn’t be blamed on how crossed he was at having (conveniently) forgotten his bounty in the backroom of Mrs. Shadwell’s bookshop. Or, at least, not entirely.Something was different, but not wrong, which was why, rather than bombarding him with questions, Aziraphale had suggested the theatre.Judging by Crowley’s token complaints about Aziraphale’s play of choice and the fact that he’d never removed his sunglasses, Aziraphale had been sure he would sleep his way through it. He’d been wrong, though, because Crowley had stayed awake for the entirety of the play. Which still didn’t mean he’d watched it, since every time Aziraphale had turned to check on him, Crowley had seemed to be too busy staring at him.
Maybe he was just tired, he mused. It had been a long day, after all.“Should we head back to The Ritz?” Aziraphale asked, earning only a shrug in response. “We can order room service.”Crowley shook his head, a tad distracted. “‘S fine with me, angel.”“Very well. Let’s find ourselves a taxi.” He turned to the road, ready to raise a hand towards any incoming black car, when Crowley muttered something behind him. “What was that, dear?”Crowley let out an exasperated sigh, hands thrashing in his pockets. “I said, d’you want to go back to mine?” he all but snapped.He was nervous, so much so that when Aziraphale didn’t immediately respond, too stunned to speak as he was, he rushed to take it back.
“You know what, nevermind. Forget I asked,” he drawled, taking off down the sidewalk to go only God knew where.Aziraphale shook himself with a start, hurrying in Crowley’s wake until they were side by side again. “I’d love that,” he blabbed. “To go back to yours, I mean.”
Crowley didn’t stop, but he did throw him a sideways glance. “Are you sure?”“Yes.”“Are you sure you’re sure?”“Really, my dear, why wouldn’t I be sure?” Unless his home was located in the seventh circle of Hell, he’d probably be fine.Crowley’s lips curled into a sly smile, then the man himself raised a hand and let out a deafening whistle to stop an incoming taxi, which promptly swerved to pull up next to them. It was annoying and also one of the sexiest things Aziraphale had ever seen with this own two eyes, but he wasn’t going to tell that to Crowley (the man was big-headed enough as it was).The reason behind Crowley’s smile became apparent when the taxi dropped them under the red glow of the neon sign of Eden.“Do you live here?” Aziraphale asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice, not to mention a kaleidoscope of very irritating butterflies from fluttering in his stomach. This was where it all began.“Yeah, there’s a little flat above the club.” For the first time since they’d left Mrs. Shadwell’s bookshop, Crowley took off his shades to look Aziraphale straight in the eye. “Are you still sure?”It was a challenge, a test of some sort. Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to pass it with flying colours.“I am.”
Crowley sighed, he looked both relieved and annoyed. “Alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”He grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and dragged him inside. They bypassed the bouncers – two identical women with the broadest shoulders Aziraphale had ever seen – who’d clearly recognised Crowley, and dodged the clusters of people waiting to be let in.Aziraphale’s experience with nightclubs was limited to his uni years, back when he was still trying to impress people he didn’t really like and convince them he wasn’t the fuddy-duddy they all thought. So, yes, he had a general idea of what they looked like as well as a vague aversion to them.As far as he was concerned, though, Eden wasn’t that bad. For starters, it had a vintage feel to it – quite a lot of velvet going around –, the music wasn’t obnoxiously loud and the lights cast a soft, intimate glow on the smattering of little tables in front of the old-fashioned stage, where three people were performing a number from Cabaret in different states of undress.Aziraphale was just about to ask Crowley if he’d ever performed himself (categorically forbidding himself from conjuring up any subsequent images), but Crowley kept pulling him along towards the bar, where he asked the man behind the counter for something, which turned out to be a bunch of keys.
“Come on, angel,” was the only thing Crowley said before taking off towards the back of the club, past dark, narrow corridors where dancers waiting for their turn greeted him, throwing friendly yet curious glances in Aziraphale’s direction.They climbed two rickety flights of stairs, rounded three more corners and stopped in front of a door Crowley made quick work of opening to finally usher Aziraphale inside.The flat was dark except for the red glow of the neon sign filtering through the window, which was surrounded by what looked like a veritable garden, a truly staggering amount of shades of green that caught Aziraphale’s attention the moment Crowley turned on the floor lamp next to a modern-looking sofa.“Oh, my,” he said, going straight for the plants. There were so many, and all different. Some as tall as Aziraphale, others so small he didn’t immediately notice their presence among the lush foliage hiding them.Only when Crowley mumbled something did Aziraphale realise they were still holding hands.“Bedroom is this way,” Crowley said, dragging him away from the plants and barely giving him the time to take in the kitchenette, the small sofa, the three shelves holding twice the books they were made for, and how tidy it all was.The bedroom was smaller than the other room, but still full of plants, one even dangling from the ceiling.“Oh, Crowley, these are gorgeous,” Aziraphale couldn’t help but gush, letting go of his hand to inspect them properly.Crowley followed him and grumbled something unintelligible. “I’ve asked Nina to water them, but they’ve clearly been slacking off. When the cat’s away…”“Whatever do you mean? They’re beautiful, Crowley! And so well-kept. You should see the garden I have at home, you’d probably weep in desperation.”Crowley scoffed, hands back in his pockets. “I don’t weep.”“Of course,” Aziraphale allowed magnanimously. “You’d do the cool equivalent of weeping, I’m sure.” Whatever that was. “I can only imagine how much care they need. And they’re all different!”“It’s not care they need,” he countered. “It’s discipline.”Aziraphale, who was brushing his fingers on a giant, green leaf, turned to Crowley with a beaming smile. “I’m sure they do. They’re very pretty.”Crowley huffed and whined, and maybe the red glow of the neon sign wasn’t the only cause behind the pink in his cheeks. “Stop coddling them.”“But they are!” he insisted. “I think you’ve done an excellent job.”“Ngk.”Ah, yes, he was definitely blushing. “Well, you did, my dear.”“Aziraphale,” Crowley warned him, arms crossed on his chest as if to protect himself from all that praise.Aziraphale pursed his lips and turned to the plants. “Well, I’m sorry, but you did.” He couldn’t help another smile. “Turns out there’s an actual garden in Eden after all,” he said. And how lush and perfect it was!“Fuck’s sake, angel,” Crowley complained. “Shut. Up.”Aziraphale dared to look at him and was about to say something – he had no intention to let all this rudeness slide – when Crowley grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and pulled him in for a kiss.It started as no more than two closed mouths smashing together, but quickly turned into something slower and less annoyed as soon as Crowley parted Aziraphale’s lips with his tongue, letting out a small surprised moan, as if he hadn’t been the one to initiate the kiss at all.Aziraphale had done such a great job at tucking away the memory of last night’s kisses in the innermost recesses of his mind, that he had successfully managed to trick himself into forgetting they ever happened.So it felt new. Different. And maybe it was.But the shock was short lived, the warmth soon spreading inside of him both welcome and overwhelming. It made him dizzy and unspeakably happy at the same time.When he felt Crowley melt against him, hands still clenched around the lapels of his coat, Aziraphale rushed to encircle him with his arms to pull him closer and keep him upright. Crowley immediately took advantage of that, moving his hands in his hair and trying with all his might to escalate the kiss into something more.Though he wasn’t even dreaming of stopping what they were doing, Aziraphale didn’t let him, licking into his mouth like they had all the time in the world. Crowley whined and pulled back, eyes glassy and lips already swollen red.“Why not?” he complained, keeping the distance between them to a minimum.Fondness smacked Aziraphale right in the face. He smiled and placed a chaste kiss on Crowley’s cheek. “Because you’re exhausted, and so am I.”“‘M not. I’ll do everything.”“No,” Aziraphale said, voice both soft and firm. He’d have said yes, had he been sure Crowley wasn’t pushing his body to its limits to distract himself from how vulnerable he felt. He didn’t blame him (Aziraphale knew where he was coming from), but he didn’t want to enable him either.Crowley cursed under his breath and buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck. He didn’t let him go, true, but he didn’t try to further persuade him either. “I don’t want to go back to The Ritz,” he whispered against Aziraphale’s skin.Aziraphale shuddered and closed his eyes. “We don’t have to.”“We can stay here,” Crowley continued. “I have a spare toothbrush.”“Alright.”“I can find something for you to wear, and the bed is comfy–”“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, pulling back and raising a hand to Crowley’s cheek to tilt his head up. Their eyes met briefly, despite Crowley doing his best to look elsewhere. “I said it’s okay. I’ll stay.”“Only if you like.”“I do.”Crowley cleared his throat and let Aziraphale go, jumping back into motion to retrieve clothes from the built-in wardrobe and toiletries from the little bathroom.“Don’t get any weird ideas,” Crowley warned him. “It’s just so I can fuck you into the mattress as soon as I regain my strength. Or the other way around. Whatever you want.”Aziraphale removed his coat. “Of course.”“Besides, I still haven’t shown you the really weird things I can do with my tongue. I’ll make you scream into the next century.”“Well, one always needs something to look forward to.”“Exactly. I can also order dinner while you’re in the shower. So you can regain your strength too.”“For the whole fucking into the mattress thing, I suppose.”“Now we’re talking, angel.” He pulled out his phone and started typing. “What would you like?”“Anything’s fine with me.”“Let’s go with pizza. So we can eat quickly and I can go back to blow your mind.”“And not just that, I infer?”“Great minds…”Aziraphale smiled. “As you wish, dear.”They did eat pizza for dinner. No one was fucked into the mattress, and if Crowley curled up in Aziraphale’s arms and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, well, Aziraphale wasn’t going to tell on him, and his plants probably wouldn’t either.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Chapter 10 –
Selling FantasiesThere were better things in life than waking up with downy hair on a soft belly tickling your fingers.Crowley was just having some trouble remembering what they were at the moment. They would come back to him later, he was sure of it. For the time being, though, he was too busy snuggling against Aziraphale’s back, nuzzling the nape of his neck, and letting his hands soak up the angel’s warmth to care.Aziraphale hummed in his sleep and gently pushed back into him, soft hands finding purchase on the arm Crowley had draped around his middle sometime during the early morning hours, under the oversize Queen t-shirt he’d dug up from the depths of his closet to give Aziraphale something to sleep in.
And oh, what a picture the angel had made, stripped of his many, many layers, down to a pair of beige tartan boxers and a dark blue t-shirt with A Kind of Magic written on it. And he’d been so smug about it too, calling the coincidence ineffable, what with him fancying himself a professional conjurer (his words, not Crowley’s).It was because of the shirt, and the memory of Aziraphale in it, that Crowley finally opened his eyes, blinking in the semi-darkness of his bedroom.Drunk on exhaustion as he’d been last night, he hadn’t fully appreciated how strange it was to be back here after almost a whole week spent at The Ritz. It was slowly coming back to him now, though, as he was reminded of Aziraphale standing among his stuff like a beacon, sitting on his bed, touching his plants – it felt disorientating, but also kind of comforting, because it was proof that it was real.
All of it was.The thought was enough to make him shiver.Crowley looked over his shoulder to check the time on the clock on the nightstand.A little past eight.The blinds were almost completely drawn, keeping daylight at bay, but he could hear the rain pattering on the window and the familiar noises of the Soho traffic. He wondered how much of a chance he had of convincing Aziraphale to ignore his work commitments and stay in bed with him all day.He rubbed the sleep from his eyes to look at the man resting in his arms, and that’s all it took – one look – for Crowley to decide that he’d do anything to make it happen, even let Aziraphale eat in his bed (no crumbs, though, he still had some brain function left).The angel looked so relaxed, so peaceful, snoring softly with his lips gently parted, the upturn of his nose making him look fussy even in his sleep, the enticing softness under his chin left on display by the wide, frayed collar of Crowley’s t-shirt, the skin between his eyebrows unusually smooth, and…Most surprising thing of all, was the five o’clock shadow dusting his plump cheeks.
It suddenly occurred to Crowley that he’d never seen Aziraphale wake up, not even the morning after their first night sharing the same bed. He wondered if the angel had shaved while he was still asleep, and if he could grow a beard.He couldn’t stop himself from brushing his fingers on Aziraphale’s cheeks to feel the scratch of his stubble under his touch. It was way too easy to picture the angel with a full beard – curly like his hair, but more grey than blonde. A bit ruffled and unkempt, yet surprisingly soft to the touch.The image slammed into Crowley without any warning, making him shudder all over. In that same breath, a couple more things occurred to him.The first, that Aziraphale wasn’t soft because he couldn’t be anything else; no, it was something he actively chose to be. And wasn’t it brave? Striving to be soft and kind in a world that was anything but? A world where Crowley had learned to survive by making himself as prickly as possible?The second and no less troubling thought he had was that he desperately wanted to see Aziraphale with a full beard. Not just that, he couldn’t accept the idea that a bearded Aziraphale was something he could only ever hope to picture in his head, because after the gala on Saturday night – or Sunday morning, if he was lucky – they would never see each other again.Sure, there was no guarantee Aziraphale would ever want to grow a beard. Maybe Crowley would never get to see him with one even if they didn’t part ways once and for all, but it wasn’t the same thing, was it?A possibility, or no possibility at all.
It made all the difference in the world.He could just see himself making a few innocent, pointed comments here and there, maybe challenge him to a beard-growing competition, and the angel would indulge him. Crowley knew he would, because he was stubborn and proud and he loved to be right.But he couldn’t do it if they stopped seeing each other, now, could he?He was so lost in his thoughts, so distracted by the erratic beating of his heart increasingly upping its tempo, that he didn’t notice the angel stirring in his arms.“It’s impolite to stare, my dear,” Aziraphale’s gruff voice chided him.Crowley blinked and tried to keep his breathing under control, but to no avail. His stupid heart wouldn’t calm down either.“Angel,” he heard himself say, and fuck, he knew he was about to babble out something he would later regret, but he couldn’t (wouldn’t) find the strength to stop himself, so overwhelming was the need to know he could still have a chance to see Aziraphale with a beard some day, to see him go through all the small and big changes brought about by time.Aziraphale turned his head towards him, a worried look on his face – and there it was again, the little wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Is everything alright?”Crowley tightened his hold on him, erasing whatever wisp of space still remained between their bodies. “This doesn’t have to end,” he blurted out, practically breathless.Aziraphale’s eyes widened just slightly, the light from the window making them look grayer than usual in the semi-darkness. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out. Fuck. Could it be that he had misread the situation? That he’d let his stupid optimism colour his outlook on this… this thing between them?Crowley felt dizzy with mortification, mouth dry and heart thumping like it was two seconds away from bursting out of his chest to go hide somewhere safe, or at least safer than this lanky idiot who just couldn’t seem to keep his blessed mouth shut.“I-I-I mean,” he stammered. “I-If you like. Or not. ‘S fine too, you know. Clean break, big fan of those. Unless you’d like to– I mean, I think I would like to spend–”Aziraphale put a hand on his face, cutting off the stream of nonsensical words he was spouting in a desperate attempt to take back what he’d said, but not completely, just in case the angel wasn’t ready for this to be over yet too.“Do you mean it?” Aziraphale asked, and oh, it was so unfair how collected he’d just sounded, perfectly capable of asking a simple question without freaking the fuck out.Crowley took a deep breath, trying to focus on the armful of angel he had instead of how embarrassed he felt. Thank Satan Aziraphale hadn’t fully turned around and couldn’t quite look him in the eye. “Do I mean what?”“That this… that it doesn’t have to end,” Aziraphale repeated, sounding… hopeful? Or was this more wishful thinking on his part?As much as he hated it, Crowley knew there was only one way to find out. Forty-seven years on this planet and he still couldn’t accept the fact that sometimes, in order to get the things you want, you must be able to ask for them. Using your words. Which was… blergh . Unacceptable, really. A real travesty. An I-want-my-money-back kind of deal. Mortifying at best, life-ending at worst.“I mean it,” he whispered, and cringed so hard he was sure the ground would open up and swallow him. Which didn’t sound so terrible compared to the very real possibility of Aziraphale saying he wasn’t interested.Crowley was just about ready to spiral into a panic attack, when Aziraphale smiled the most blinding smile he had ever seen, and who the fuck cared if it was raining outside? The sun had just broken through the clouds in the middle of his bloody bedroom.“Well,” the angel said, caressing Crowley’s cheek. “If that is the case, we can definitely think of something.”Crowley huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you sure?” Forget about his stupid heart, the entirety of his being was about to burst like a blessed supernova.“Indeed.” Aziraphale couldn’t stop smiling. “But first–”“First…?” Anything. He would give the angel anything he wanted.“Breakfast. I’m a bit peckish.” Of course. What else?“Tell me what you want.” Pain au chocolat? Done. Buttery croissants? Also done. Apple crumble? Done and done.“Tea, I think. And a tart, maybe.”“Tea is in the kitchen. As for the tart, I’m looking at one right now.”Aziraphale arched an eyebrow, a familiar mix of outrage and smugness glimmering in his eyes. “I rather think you’re forgetting yourself.”“Maybe. But I still have eyes.” The angel turned over and pinched his arse, making him jump. “Ouch! That hurt!”“Oh, I’m so very sorry, dear fellow,” Aziraphale apologised like the pompous prick he was. “I forgot that, while decidedly flat, it is still not numb.”Crowley gaped at him, and Aziraphale pinched him again, looming over him like a very menacing fluffy cloud wearing a faded Queen t-shirt.“Don’t you dare!” Crowley warned him.“There’s a very easy way to avoid any unpleasantness, you know.”“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”“You could go and buy a delicious tart for the exquisite tart in your bed.”Crowley huffed towards the ceiling, the very picture of inconvenienced irritation. “You’re unbelievable,” he complained, but still got up, more to escape Aziraphale’s angelic wiles than any real desire to indulge him (sure, let’s go with that).He straightened the white t-shirt he was wearing over a pair of grey sweatpants and stepped into the nearest pair of shoes he could find (so snakeskin boots didn’t pair well with sweatpants, but who the fuck cared, he was on a mission). He put on a denim jacket, picked up his keys and wallet from the nightstand and pointed two fingers at Aziraphale.“I’ll go get your nibbles,” he announced, “but, just so we’re clear, then I’ll get mine.” He sure hoped Aziraphale had had the foresight to insure that soft roll of flesh under his chin, because… well. There was a very strong chance Crowley would nibble at it until he lost consciousness, and Aziraphale would be forced to go to the hospital with a grown man stuck to his chin like an oversized crab.“That seems fair,” Aziraphale allowed, making himself comfortable on Crowley’s bed. “I’ll wait for you,” he said primly.At which point, Crowley very wisely decided to flee his own flat before he could do something really bloody stupid. Like throw himself on his knees and swear he’d fulfil all of the angel’s tart-related desires until they’d both shrink up and die.He closed the door behind him, and ran downstairs, slipping out of the club’s emergency exit to go get breakfast.
He came back less than fifteen minutes later with a pink box containing thrice the necessary pastries. He rushed back inside, walking the empty corridors and climbing up the stairs at a completely normal speed, until he came to a stop in the hallway just outside his flat, where a familiar face was waiting for him.“Nina?”
She turned to him with a worried expression on her face. “I don’t want to alarm you or anything, but I think there’s someone in your flat.”“It’s okay. I know,” he was quick to reassure her, but he couldn’t do much for the uneasiness inexplicably creeping on his skin. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you I can take care of the plants today.”Nina must have sensed something, because she gave him a cautious once-over. “Did you sleep here last night?”“Evidently,” he said, gesturing to his attire while doing his absolute best to avoid her eyes. He was being defensive. Why was he being defensive?“I thought you’d be away with your client until Saturday.”“Yes.”“What do you mean, yes?”Crowley couldn’t help but scoff. “What do you think it means, Nina?” He touched his face to fix his sunglasses and realised he wasn’t wearing them. He’d left without them. Fuck .“Did you bring him here?” she asked warily. Crowley kept his mouth shut, but whatever she saw on his face gave her all the answers she needed. “Holy shit, you did!”“Fuck’s sake, Nina,” he groaned, taking her by the elbow to pull her away from the door. He didn’t want Aziraphale to find them there, talking about him of all things. “I’ve got everything under control, okay?”Nina looked sceptical at best, probably because he was acting like a thief who had just been caught red-handed. “You never bring your clients here,” she insisted. “What is going on?”“Nothing!” he hissed. “Nothing’s going on.”That’s when Crowley looked into her eyes and saw all of his own doubts staring right back at him, spelled on her face. Mocking him.He had brought a client to his home. He’d let him sleep in his own bed and they’d done nothing that could give him even the tiniest sliver of plausible deniability. No, they’d slept and held each other all night.Might as well have cut his own chest in two and showed him all the broken bits still beating inside.That was the problem with not thinking about the important stuff. You couldn’t put it off forever, and before you had a chance to realise what was happening, you just found yourself drowning in everything you’d been so carefully ignoring.“It’s not like that,” he whispered, trying to sound reasonable even though he was most definitely panicking now.
Which was stupid! Aziraphale had just told him they could think of something to keep this thing going, which meant…Fuck, what did it mean?
“It certainly looks like that from here,” came Nina’s reply from somewhere near him. Crowley couldn’t bring himself to look at her.“He’s just a client,” he lied, grimacing at his own words, because Aziraphale wasn’t just a client. Satan down below, he’d stopped being a client some time ago. Maybe he’d never even been one in the first place.The thought left him reeling, cold sweat prickling behind his neck.When Nina reached forward to touch his arm, Crowley flinched back and immediately felt guilty. Rationally, he knew she was just trying to be helpful, but he didn’t want to hear it. He wanted to stay exactly where he was, in the fragile, nebulous space he’d cut out for himself, where he could just enjoy this thing with Aziraphale without looking at it too closely, without asking too many questions, without admitting to himself that he’d been falling for a while. Doing anything he could do to stave off the moment he would inevitably come crashing down to the ground.“I’m just pretending, alright?” he heard himself say, voice flat and detached. “It’s what he likes. The romance. ‘S what he asked, and I’m giving it to him, because he’s paying me a lot of money.”“Crowley, listen–”“No, you listen,” he hissed. “This is nothing like Luke, okay? I’m not an idiot, I’m not letting anyone else fuck me over like he did. You can be sure about that.”“Alright, but–”“It’s make-believe, alright? It’s a fantasy, ‘s what I sell.”He finally looked up at her, a box of pastries in his hands and a lump in his throat making it harder and harder to breathe. He would not break down in front of her.Nina met his eyes and her lips curled up in an apologetic smile. She was about to say something, but the pipes rattling in the walls beat her to it, making her start. It was the noise they always made when someone was using his shower.It was a reprieve, even if only a short-lived one, because Nina was onto him and she didn’t even have the decency to hide it. Of course she didn’t believe a word he’d just said, and Crowley felt grateful. It saved him the trouble of saying it out loud.“You should talk to him.”Well, what a groundbreaking suggestion.“I already did,” he muttered.“Yeah? And what did he say?”“That we’ll find a way to keep seeing each other.” Or something like that, his thoughts were all over the place right now.“How?”“I didn’t ask.”“You should.”“Alright, Miss Obvious, stop with the cheap wisdom, would you?”Nina rolled her eyes. “I’ll stop when you actually listen to it.”“Don’t hold your breath then.”“Figures.” She glanced at the door down the hallway. “Can I meet him?”“Better not,” he rushed to say. “Not yet. I really like this one, you know.” There it was. Ugh .“Ha. Don’t want me to scare him off, do you?”“Something like that.”Nina swatted him on the arm. “You’re a bloody idiot.”“That’s my middle name,” he quipped. “Now go, nothing to see here.”“You just don’t want me to hear you being all lovey-dovey with your man.”Crowley wrinkled his nose and finally moved past her. “Don’t say that to me ever again.”She raised her hands in surrender and walked towards the stairs. “Alright, big scary man. I’ll see you later.”He watched her disappear and waited to hear the telltale creak of the last step to make sure she was really gone, before finally letting himself inside his flat.
The first thing he registered was the smell of tea in the kitchenette and the steaming mugs on the coffee table. He placed the pastries next to them and moved to the other room.“Angel, I’m back!” he called to make himself heard above the water running in the shower.For a moment, Crowley thought about joining him, but rattled as he was by his stupid reaction to Nina’s line of questioning, he ultimately decided against it.So he took off his boots and returned to the other room to sit on the sofa, and he waited for Aziraphale while sipping his tea.When the angel finally joined him, he was back to wearing all of his layers, including his brogues and bow-tie, skin still pink from the shower. Crowley felt his heart somersaulting in his chest along with the unwavering certainty that he wanted to see Aziraphale come out of the shower many, many times over.“There you are, dear,” the angel said without looking at him, a tight smile plastered on his face as he went to retrieve his coat. “I’m afraid I overestimated the time at our disposal. I have some work calls in less than half an hour. I’ll better get back to The Ritz before someone comes looking for me.”Crowley jumped to his feet, taken aback by the angel’s hurry. “What about breakfast?” he asked, gesturing to the pink box waiting for him on the coffee table.Aziraphale looked at the pastries, but not at Crowley, which was… worrying, right? Did he change his mind already? Fuck, was that a terrifying thought…“I’ll bring them with me,” he said eventually.“Alright, gimme a moment to put some real clothes on and–”“Oh, there’s no need,” Aziraphale cut him off, hands fidgeting in front of him. “You could stay here and relax, you don’t have to–”“No, I want to come with you.” The words came out of him in a rush, straightforward enough to make them both flinch. They hung in the air between them, impossible to ignore.Aziraphale, who had avoided Crowley’s eyes until then, finally met his gaze, smile dimming until the only thing left was no more than a grimace. The angel searched his face for only Satan knew what… then sighed.“Alright,” he finally relented. “Just hurry up, please.”Crowley smiled and tried very hard not to panic. “I’ll get a wiggle on,” he said, but it rang hollow.
He was good. He was better than good. As a matter of fact, everything was fine and dandy. Absolutely tickety-boo.That’s what Aziraphale had been telling himself, over and over again, since they’d left Eden, even though he could not, for the life of him, stop fidgeting nor wringing his hands, and whatever was going on with his stomach couldn’t be good. As it was, he was sure he’d never eat anything ever again. The mere thought was enough to make him sick.
It’s what he likes. The romance. ‘S what he asked, and I’m giving it to him, because he’s paying me a lot of money.
But he sure was good. Better than good. Fine and dandy. Absolutely tickety-boo.
It’s make-believe, alright? It’s a fantasy, ‘s what I sell.
Crowley was talking beside him, but Aziraphale didn’t hear a word of it. He could only nod and hum every once in a while, a reflex from all the conversations he’d tuned out at work, as was the tight smile uncomfortably stretched on his lips. He knew he must look deranged, but he couldn’t stop it even if he’d wanted to.Everything was fine. And dandy, yes. Can’t forget the dandy part. Absolutely tickety-boo.And so what if he fumbled with the electronic key for way longer than necessary, and dropped the damn thing no less than three times before Crowley took pity on him and opened the door himself?It’s not like he was teetering on the edge of an anxiety attack or anything.In fact, he was… fine.He dashed into the suite, Crowley’s voice trailing behind him. Aziraphale couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, what with the ringing in his ears and the blood hammering in his temples. He mumbled something in response, hurrying into the study to shed his coat and get rid of his bow-tie.
It was kind of hard to breathe. Why was it kind of hard to breathe?
I’m just pretending, alright?
He undid the bow-tie and the top two buttons of his shirt, then squeezed his eyes shut, hoping against all hope that he could block out the words thrashing around in his head, pluck them out of his stupid brain and throw them as far away as possible.He forced himself to take a deep breath, then another – he knew how to deal with this sort of thing, thank you very much – and he’d just managed to keep his nerves in check when a hand touched him on the shoulder, making him jump and open his eyes with a start.Crowley was next to him, eyes full of worry, hurt flickering across his face at Aziraphale’s reaction.“Angel, are you alright?” he asked. He’d taken off his sunglasses, and no – he wasn’t just worried. He also looked… scared. Which didn’t make any sense.Because if Crowley really…If he… Fuck.Aziraphale felt a twinge of guilt at the realisation, which was completely at odds with the barely contained panic still churning in his stomach. He couldn’t make sense of it any more than he could explain the strange mix of relief and sadness washing over him when Crowley took a step back to put some much needed distance between them.His amber eyes were wide and frantic, his face lined with tension, shoulders hunched up to his ears.
“I-I-I’m alright,” Aziraphale stammered, overwhelmed by the urge to make it better. “Don’t worry about me.”
He looked around, taking in his surroundings as if he’d just noticed where he was. The sofa he’d slept on. The balcony he’d smoked onto. The piano he’d played with his clumsy hands.These things had happened, they were real, he hadn’t imagined them.“In fact,” he continued, moving behind the oak desk to straighten some papers and make himself look busy, “you should take some time for yourself. Relax, order some room service, if you want. Watch one of those television programs you like.” Oh, what would he give to run away from his foolish thoughts.
“Angel.”Crowley’s voice was so soft. Still scared. Aziraphale couldn’t help looking up from the pens he was tidying up for no reason at all to meet his gaze.
I’m just pretending, alright?
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Crowley insisted.“Nothing’s wrong, my dear,” came Aziraphale’s swift reply.“Don’t lie to me.”This made him bristle. “I’ve never lied to you!”Crowley stared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he shot back and, much to Aziraphale’s growing distress, he started pacing around the room in a restless tangle of limbs.“It means what I said.”What had Crowley to be so nervous about, Aziraphale wondered. Why was Crowley freaking out when it was Aziraphale who had overheard things he wasn’t supposed to hear?Crowley came to a sudden stop in front of the desk. “You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you?” he hissed, and it wasn’t lost on Aziraphale how much effort he’d just put into making it sound like he didn’t care either way. “I knew it.”Aziraphale huffed and shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”“You said we could find a way to keep this thing going,” Crowley pushed on. He looked agitated, angry and almost desperate. “But you’ve changed your mind.”“I haven’t changed my mind,” Aziraphale rushed to clarify before he could think better of it.
It’s make-believe, alright? It’s a fantasy, ‘s what I sell.
And the worst part of it was, he actually hadn’t changed it. Which was foolish, because he knew what he’d heard, he knew what it meant, and yet… he couldn’t quite fit the words that were still ringing in his ears with all that had come before them, with everything happening right now, with everything he was feeling.And yes, maybe if there were anyone else in his place (or someone other than Crowley in front of him), they would go on and tell themselves that Crowley was freaking out because he was about to lose his cash cow. But no. No . Aziraphale knew what it felt like to be disliked, to be barely tolerated, to be suffered as a burden even when people made an effort to be polite, which made him uniquely qualified to recognise the times he was genuinely liked.As much as he would have loved to be, he wasn’t oblivious.Crowley swallowed down his nerves. “Tell me what you meant, then.”Aziraphale didn’t miss how breathless Crowley had sounded or the renewed urge to soothe him that filled his chest in response. Problem was, he knew all of these things, and he knew what they meant, but they did not make up for the fact that he’d been hurt. That he was still hurting.He’d need to be absolutely reckless not to protect himself to at least some degree.So he pursed his lips and clenched his fists, mouth unbearably dry. “I-I-I told you about my garden,” he began to say, scrambling to edit the stupid fantasy he’d been concocting since the moment he’d woken up. “It’s in a state of disrepair, a-awful really. You see, I… well, suffice it to say, I have a black thumb. I don’t know the first thing about gardening, so I wouldn’t know where to begin. To care for it, I mean. So I was… I was wondering…”Crowley’s expression was nothing short of horrified. “Are you offering me a job… as your gardener?” he asked, outrage simmering beneath his words.Aziraphale gaped at him, guilt and hurt swirling inside him. It wasn’t what he’d initially meant to offer, but now… he wouldn’t know if…“W-well, I know you already have a r-retirement plant– plan, not plant of course, that doesn’t make any sense. I just– I thought… I thought that if you’d like to–”“I don’t want to be your bloody gardener,” Crowley hissed.“Tell me what you want to be then!” Aziraphale cried out, frustration finally getting the better of him. He was breathing hard, hands sweaty and heart beating furiously in his chest. And yet, he still couldn’t help but notice that Crowley wasn’t faring any better.He didn’t look like someone who didn’t care. In fact, he looked like someone who cared too much.Crowley dashed forward to lean on the desk, a serpent caught mid-strike, whiskey-coloured eyes locked on Aziraphale’s face. He opened his mouth to say something… but nothing came out. Only a little sigh. Then his shoulders deflated like a popped balloon.
“You know what, angel?” he whispered with so much bitterness that Aziraphale could almost taste it in the back of his own throat. “Nevermind. ‘S my bad.”“Fine,” Aziraphale whispered back, properly angry now, because Crowley didn’t even put up a fight. Not only that, he was acting as if Aziraphale was being unreasonable, that he had no right to be upset.“Fine.” It’s all Crowley said before turning his back to him, ready to storm out of the study, perhaps to be never seen again.The thought chilled Aziraphale to the bone.“Who’s Luke?”The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and you know what? He actually didn’t mind that they had.Crowley stiffened and turned around, mouth slack and panic etched in his face. It was enough for Aziraphale’s anger to give way to exhaustion and disappointment, and even relief, because no matter how distressed and nervous he looked, Crowley was still here.“Angel, did you–”“Yes, I did,” he confirmed with a little sniff.He’d gotten out of bed to get a start on their tea so it’d be ready by the time Crowley would come back with their breakfast. He’d barely put the bags in the hot water when he’d heard voices in the hallway, and the walls were surprisingly thin and… well. He’d listened for a while, then wisely decided to go take a shower, which had done approximately nothing for his clarity.To be honest, he didn’t even know how he’d gotten from Crowley’s bathroom to his study at The Ritz.“Fuck.” Crowley rubbed his face with both hands, a slight tremor in his voice. “Fuck, angel…”“Please, don’t.” It hurt enough as it was.“I didn’t mean it, alright? I– fuck. I was just freaking out! This whole thing… it’s bloody mental, and you know that. How long has it been? Six days? Feels like six thousand years and– This… t-this isn’t normal. I s-shouldn’t feel this way.”“I know.” The moment Aziraphale said it, he knew it was true, which went a long way towards keeping his nerves at bay. It wasn’t much, but it was a semblance of firm ground nonetheless.“Nina was worried and I was trying– for fuck’s sake, ang– Aziraphale, I was freaking out, but I didn’t mean it.” He dragged a hand through his hair, pulling it back in a way that couldn’t be comfortable. He searched Aziraphale’s eyes with his own. “You know I didn’t… right?”He did look scared, Aziraphale thought, and probably so did he. Because Crowley was right, this was scary. And special and precious. And Aziraphale wasn’t ready to let it go.“I know,” he repeated, trying to infuse his voice with all the conviction he could muster. “I know you didn’t.”Crowley bent down his head, hands holding his slim hips in a white-knuckled grip as tension gushed out of him like blood from an open wound. “F-Fuck. Okay. Okay, I’m a-alright,” he drawled, seemingly more to himself than Aziraphale. “We’re alright.”Were they? Aziraphale wasn’t so sure about that.
He carefully took a seat on the leather armchair behind the desk before his knees could fail him. “I think…” he said softly, “I think we should take a break.”Crowley’s head snapped up. “A wot?”Aziraphale raised a hand to pacify him. “Yes, just a little break. It’s as you said. This is… well, this doesn’t happen very often, does it? Not to me at least.” He tried to smile, to come across as reassuring, for Crowley’s sake as well as his own. “We’ve spent quite a lot of time together and maybe… maybe we haven’t given each other enough space to process what’s happened. Maybe the proximity is… warping our perspective.”“My perspective is just fine,” Crowley countered, lips curled up in a sneer.“I’m sure it is,” Aziraphale conceded. “Let’s just… let’s just take a few days to get our thoughts in order, what do you say?”“I don’t need a few days,” Crowley insisted, anxiousness shining through every twitch of his expressive face. It hurt Aziraphale to see it, but he was determined. As stubborn as ever, he’d already made up his mind. “Do you?”“Forgive me, my dear, but I think we do. This has been confusing for both of us. We need some time apart. It’s not gonna be forever, I promise.”Crowley grimaced. “You’re just trying to get rid of me.”“I’m not.”“Nyeah, sure,” he muttered. “What about the gala then?”Right, the gala. “I’ll attend on my own, don’t worry about it. I’ll have your things sent to your flat. And…” He opened the first drawer of the desk and took out the folded slip of paper he’d put in there the morning after the polo match. “This is yours.”Crowley looked down at the cheque, baring his teeth. “I don’t want it.”“Don’t be silly, take it. It’s yours.” It’s what they’d agreed upon.Crowley scoffed. “You’re getting rid of me. Just bloody come out and say it.”“I’m not, unless that’s what you want,” Aziraphale snapped, impatient now. “Take it. It won’t change your life, but it’ll help you with your projects, and I won’t let your pride get in the way of that.”“Fuck you, Aziraphale.”He pursed his lips and shrugged. “Maybe I’ll let you. Next time, with no cheques involved.”“There won’t be a next time. You’re just too much of a coward to say it out loud.”“You could at least do me the courtesy of believing me.”“Why should I? You didn’t believe me.”“I did.”“And yet you’re sending me away. What do you think you’re doing? What kind of bullshit is this? If you love something let it go, if it comes back it’ll be yours forever? ‘Cause if that’s what you’re thinking about, I won’t be coming back, you hear me? We either settle this now or we’re done. Over.”“I’m sorry, this is what I’m capable of right now.” This was too overwhelming, too intense, too much, too soon.“Such a good offer for the poor little whore…”“Stop it!” Why, oh why did he have to be so damn mulish? “I’m just asking your for some time–”“I don’t need time!” Crowley cried out.“I think you do.”“Don’t tell me what I need.”“Crowley.”“Fine! Fine, Jesus, fuck,” he rushed to say, darting forward to snatch the cheque from the desk. “Guess I’m just not worth fighting for, am I?”He spun around and stormed out of the study cursing under his breath.Aziraphale remained painfully still, frozen in place. He heard the front door slam open and shut, making him flinch, until the only thing keeping him company was the most awful silence he’d ever experienced, Crowley’s last words still ringing in his ears.What the Hell had just happened?A shiver ran through him, then another, and one more still. He took his head between his trembling hands and tried to control his breathing, to convince the panic squeezing him in its vice-like grip to relent. He had everything under control.He was fine. Fine and dandy, actually. Absolutely tickety-boo.So, really, there was no need for him to jump to his feet when he heard a knock at the door. No need for him to rush out of the study and into the living room towards the hallway, heart pounding away in his chest and hope surging inside of him at the idea that Crowley had come back. Which was foolish and ridiculous, really, since Aziraphale had been the one to ask him to leave.But no matter, he’d take it. He’d say sorry and and wrap him in his arms and never, ever let–He flung the door open, but it wasn’t Crowley on the other side.It was Muriel, their presence made even more baffling by the two uniformed police officers standing behind them.“Hello, Mr. Eastgate,” Muriel greeted him with an apologetic smile. They fished something out of the inside pocket of their jacket – a police badge? – and showed it to him, though he could barely register what he was seeing. “I think we need to talk.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Chapter 11 –
A Whole Thing™Muriel – or rather Detective Sergeant Constable (talk about being aptly named), as Aziraphale had recently come to think of them – left The Ritz a little after midnight.
Aziraphale was still reeling from the amount of information he’d learned in the last few hours, not to mention angrier than he’d ever been in his entire life. With everything he was feeling right now, he wouldn’t have minded being an actual angel, of the avenging kind to be precise, the ones who smite sinners and bring the wrath of God upon them.“Aziraphale.” Maggie’s voice shook him out of his tired, resentful musings, to meet her kind gaze. She looked about as exhausted as he felt, her red lipstick almost completely faded. “Do you want me to stay the night?”“No, thank you, dear.” Aziraphale gave her a faint smile. “Call yourself a taxi, and go home. It’s late, and tomorrow is going to be a big day. We need our beauty sleep.”She sighed and stood up to collect her things from the debris scattered over his desk – contracts, printed emails, letters, dirty plates, two bottles of water, empty glasses, colour-coded folders, a bunch of grainy black and white photos.Aziraphale let his eyes wander over them, nerves oddly muted. He didn’t know if it was the shock of finding out what Sandy, Michael and the others were using his company for, what his brother had helped them set up before scarpering, or if he really was as calm as he felt.Sure, there was anger burning under his skin, but with nervousness out of the picture, it had a stillness to it. The calm before the storm.Or maybe it just paled in comparison to how upset he still was about the way things had ended with Crowley.“How are you feeling?” Maggie asked him, pulling on her coat.“I’m afraid I have no idea.” It felt like everything and nothing at the same time.“It’s understandable. It was a lot.”Aziraphale huffed out a laugh. That was one way of putting it. “Yes, I rather think it was.” He looked at her, a sudden, overwhelming gratitude washing over him. “Thank you for being here, Maggie.”“Don’t mention it.” She smiled and picked up her shoulder bag, casting one last look around the study. “What are friends for, right?”Aziraphale returned her smile and got up from his armchair to show her to the door. He opened it for her, catching the sleepy eyes of the footman standing guard next to the lift as a courtesy to him. Aziraphale had done everything in his power to convince the director of the hotel that it wasn’t necessary, but she wouldn’t hear any of it, apologising profusely on behalf of the entire staff for letting the police go up to his suite without warning him first. Aziraphale didn’t blame them in the slightest, of course. Everyone working at the hotel knew his real name, anyway; at this point, Aziraphale used Mr. Fell as an alias just to indulge one of his many whims. Besides, he wouldn’t have acted any differently even if he’d been warned.“I’ll need you to do something for me tomorrow,” he said, turning back to Maggie. “Then I’ll understand if you want to hand in your resignation.”Maggie reached for him, grasping his hands with both of her own. “You had nothing to do with this, Aziraphale.”“It’s not like I did anything to stop it either.”“You can’t stop what you don’t know is happening,” she countered.“I’ve been careless, though.”He couldn’t stop thinking about Crowley’s suspicions that the others’ interest in Mrs. Shadwell’s bookshop belied something more nefarious than a simple move against the competition. He’d barely had a single conversation with Sandy and one with Michael, and yet… he’d noticed straightaway that something didn’t add up. And Aziraphale had simply refused to listen, like the stubborn fool he was.“Your inattention doesn’t justify their crimes,” Maggie continued. “You’re a good man, Aziraphale. I have no doubts about that, and neither should you. If you weren’t, Muriel wouldn’t have come to you with all this information.”“Maybe you’re right,” he reluctantly conceded. He didn’t feel particularly good tonight.“I know I am. We will fix it, I promise,” she said with steel in her voice. “Good night, Aziraphale.”“Good night, Maggie. Mind how you go.”She waved her hand in greeting one last time before disappearing into the lift along with the footman. Aziraphale lingered on the threshold for a few moments, then retreated into the suite.Crowley’s leather jacket still hung on the hook in the hallway. What was once a tangible sign of his presence had become a painful reminder of his absence instead. Aziraphale brushed his fingers on the cool leather, closing his eyes on a deep sigh.Truth was, he’d never felt so lonely. He didn’t mind being alone and he genuinely valued his time by himself, but this wasn’t the solitude he was used to. No, this felt like someone had carved a piece out of it. His solitude was full of things – books, long walks on the beach, classical music played on his trusty turntable, visits to the local bakery to stock up on his favourite pastries and make idle chit-chat with his neighbours.This hollow thing pressing over him… it wasn’t his solitude. It was something else entirely.A long sigh came from his chest. Well, he’d better get used to it because it was the only thing keeping him company at the moment.So he prepared for bed, steering clear of the bedroom and the master bathroom in favour of his little sanctuary in the study. Whatever this thing around him was, it got worse where he just couldn’t ignore the Crowley-sized holes in it.Crowley curled up among the rumpled sheets on the bed, kneeling in the bathtub with a predatory smile on his face, slumped on the sofa in the living room…No, study it was.Aziraphale was busy plumping up the pillow when the phone on the desk rang, the sound nothing short of jarring, almost unnaturally amplified by the silence around him. He grimaced and rushed to pick it up just to make it stop.“Hello?”“Hello, Mr. Fell, I have Mr. Anthony on the line,” the female voice on the other end of the line anxiously informed him, making his skin prickle all over. “I tried to explain him that it’s late, but he wouldn’t stop calling, and he’s threatened to keep at it until morning, so–”“Put him through, dear, thank you,” he forced himself to say.He heard a click, then faint, muffled music playing in the background.“Crowley?” he croaked as he lowered himself on the armchair where he’d spent most of his day, one hand clutching his fluffy dressing gown, right next to his heart.Crowley didn’t say anything, at least not right away, but Aziraphale could hear him breathing, and even this was enough to bring him some degree of comfort. In fact, he wouldn’t have minded staying on the phone the whole night, reading a book to keep his insomnia at bay and listening to Crowley breathe as if he were right there, by his side. Like nothing had changed at all.Well, whatever distance they’d put between them had apparently made him creepier than ever, which was a disheartening thought to have, especially considering he’d been the one insisting on it.“He was a client,” Crowley’s voice started trickling into his ear, no more than a whisper.It was so easy for Aziraphale to picture him in his bed, surrounded by luscious plants whose names he couldn’t even begin to guess, bathed in the red glow of the neon sign just outside his window, the faint music of the club seeping through the floorboards.Coming to terms with his desire to be there with him right now – that wasn’t easy at all.“Luke, I mean,” Crowley continued. “Met him when I was thirty-eight. He found me through my website. I was going through a rough patch, and he was… well, he was charming and handsome. Not like you, though. In a scary sort of way. He was sharp, probably dangerous, I don’t know.”Aziraphale licked his lips and closed his eyes. “What happened?”“He kept coming back. Bought me gifts, told me I was pretty… spewed nonsense that made me feel valued. Special. He paid me well, paraded me out and about. I was so fucking gone, I didn’t even care about going places where people could potentially recognise me. He once brought me to Rome on his private jet.” He laughed bitterly. “Can you believe I fell for such a twat?”“Did you love him?” Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself from asking. Things must have gotten out of hand for his friend Nina to be so worried about him.“Yeah, I guess… I mean, I loved the version of him that lived inside my head, but Luke was a piece of shit. He was a bitter man who thrived on having people wrapped around his fingers. I think he got off on it. The idea that he could break down people’s defences, render them vulnerable and weak, have them hanging on his every word.”“Crowley–”“I should have seen it,” Crowley cut him off before Aziraphale could offer what probably wouldn’t amount to much more than empty platitudes. “But I didn’t. Two years I let myself be duped by this wanker. I did the worst thing I could do. I allowed myself to stop pretending, and I was too stupid to realise he never did. Not even for a second.”Aziraphale tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. “I’m terribly sorry, Crowley.”“Nyeah, so am I.” He clucked his tongue, sheets rustling in the background. “Took me a long time to come back to myself after that. It made me… cautious, so to speak. Or maybe scared as fuck is more fitting.”It wasn’t difficult to read between the lines.“I’m scared too,” Aziraphale confessed before he could think better of it. “And I miss you.”An intake of breath, a soundless gasp. “I miss you too, angel.” Then a pause. “Do you reckon middle aged men are supposed to be this sappy?”Aziraphale huffed out a surprised laugh. “I think middle aged men can be as sappy as they need to be.”“That’s worrying.”“Is it?”“Yeah. Not sure there’s a limit, you know.”“Well, I won’t tell anyone.”“I know you won’t.” Crowley sighed. He sounded tired.Aziraphale’s chest tightened. He knew how hard it must have been for Crowley to share that particular piece of himself. It sure didn’t come easy to him, and yet… he seemed to have called for that reason alone. In some small way, Aziraphale realised, he’d come back to him, even after the way they’d parted that morning.Crowley gently shook him from his wistful thoughts.“What did you do today?”“Ah, well. I had an interesting day. Turns out I may be in a spot of trouble.”Crowley’s voice went from pensive to sharp in a matter of seconds. “What sort of trouble?”He heard more rustling, as if Crowley had sat up and was ready to bolt out of his bed. Aziraphale knew that if he’d asked, Crowley would come to him at the drop of a hat, and that knowledge made him feel warm all over. Treasured. There was another word for it, but… only the greediest of men would dare speak it into existence after what had happened today.“You were right about Sandy and the others,” he murmured.“Angel–”“I’m going to be fine, dear. I’ll take care of it.” Once and for all if necessary. “I’m just sorry I didn’t listen to you.”“Yeah, well… It’s not easy to believe the worst about people you’ve known your entire life.” Crowley let out a little huff. “Even though Sandy the Wanker is basically a walking red flag. Don’t know how you missed that one, angel.”“That he is.” Now that he was on the other side of it, he couldn’t quite believe how much leeway he’d given him. “I’ll apologise properly.”“Yeah? What do you have in mind?”“I’m not sure yet.”“I have some ideas, but they’re usually very different from yours.”Aziraphale smiled to himself. “How about a little dance?”“Yeah, exactly,” Crowley said with a chuckle. “Is the gala still on tomorrow?”“I’m afraid so.”“D’you want me to be there?”He did, but what would be the point besides making himself feel better? “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”Who knew what Sandy and Michael would do in retaliation? He didn’t want Crowley to be caught in the crossfire. Besides, Muriel and their agents had asked him about Crowley as well, showing him pictures of him and that awful Hastings fellow at the polo match. Aziraphale had assured them Crowley had nothing to do with the washed up duke, but still… a little distance sounded wise, didn’t it?“You sure? I don’t get in trouble, you know, it’s trouble that gets in me– wait, that came out wrong.”Aziraphale giggled. “I got the gist.”“I bet you did.”“You’re tired, you should rest,” he said, even though the last thing he wanted was to hang up. “Will you call me again tomorrow? Same time?”“Are you sure?”“Please. I’ll tell you what happened at the gala.”“Alright.”“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then.”“Fine. Good night, angel.”“Good night, dear.”
Crowley was startled awake by his phone ringing up a storm on the nightstand and someone incessantly honking down in the street. He grumbled under his breath, determined to turn over and go back to sleep (wakefulness could do nothing for him at the moment), when a thought suddenly made him sit bolt upright.It could be Aziraphale calling.As he frantically reached for his phone, it occurred to him that it couldn’t be the angel because he didn’t have his number, and the caller ID put the final nail in his little fantasy’s coffin.“Nina,” he groaned, voice still rough with sleep.“You’re alive.”“Yeah, no need to rub it in.” He was already painfully aware of it.“There’s a woman here for you. Peggy.”“It’s Maggie, actually,” someone cheerfully remarked in the background.Crowley jumped off the bed. “Wait there.” He didn’t stop to wonder why Aziraphale’s assistant had come looking for him at Eden. He was just desperate to hang on to whatever connection he still had with the angel. So he ended the call and quickly put some clothes on before hurrying downstairs.He stepped outside as he pushed his sunglasses on his face, because yes, he was eager and desperate, but not completely reckless.Whatever composure he’d managed to gather disappeared as soon as he noticed Maggie and Nina standing next to the Bentley. The moment he laid his eyes on the car, he almost gave in to the urge to run back inside and pretend none of this ever happened.“Hello, Anthony,” Maggie greeted him before he could run away with his tail between his legs.Itching for a distraction, he decided to focus on how pink Maggie’s cheeks were, her eyes flicking to Nina with suspicious frequency.“It’s Crowley,” he clarified, though he definitely could tell her attention was elsewhere.Maggie cleared her throat, a dreamy smile stuck on her red lips. “Crowley then. It’s good to see you.” Too bad she wasn’t looking at him at all. In fact, her crush on Nina could probably be seen from outer space.For her part, Nina seemed both puzzled and pleased by Maggie’s dazed interest in her. “Why don’t you tell him what you’re here for, angel?”Crowley flinched at the endearment, but the other two were too taken with each other to pay any attention to him, so no harm done really.Maggie giggled. “I– Yes, of course. Silly me.” She turned to Crowley and tried very hard to focus on him. “Aziraphale has asked me to bring you your staff.”Crowley felt a sudden tightness in his chest. So much for keeping some kind of connection between them. Why, oh why did he get his hopes up? Did he really think a single phone call and a sprinkle of honesty would sort it all out?“Alright,” he croaked, stepping close enough to the Bentley to notice the stuff in the backseat. A couple of garment bags, a box full of toiletries, three different shoe boxes, and his leather jacket. “Just gimme a sec. I’ll bring everything upstairs, so you can take the car.”“Oh, no. Take your time, the car’s yours too.”Crowley stopped dead in his tracks, grateful for the sunglasses shielding his eyes and the insane amount of blinking going on behind them. “Excuse me?”“Aziraphale said to leave the car with you,” Maggie explained with a gentleness that made Crowley wonder if Aziraphale had told her what had happened between them.He didn’t have the presence of mind to feel self-conscious about it, though, because he couldn’t quite believe his ears.“He… wot?”Maggie smiled patiently. “He said the Bentley should be with someone who appreciates her,” she explained. “His words, not mine. I’m personally against gendering things.”“And for good reasons too,” Nina chimed in, making Maggie blush.Crowley was quite literally floundering. Aziraphale must have been completely out of his mind. “I can’t take the car!” he cried out, more shrill than he’d have deemed respectable for a grown man as stylish and as cool as him.Maggie looked perplexed. “Why not?”“It’s a vintage car. One of a kind!” It wasn’t something you went around gifting to people you barely knew, now, was it? I mean, just look at her! All black, and shiny and perfect under the rays of the late morning– early afternoon– Wait a second.
Crowley checked the time on his phone and realised it was actually past five in the afternoon. Satan down below, wallowing in self-pity really was a time-consuming endeavour.“Ah, yes,” Maggie agreed, bringing Crowley back to the conversation. “I actually looked it up because the breakdown lorry I called to move it asked for the specifics.” She cleared her throat and prepared herself to rattle off what she’d apparently learned: “It’s a 1926 Bentley, restored and remodelled to fit the current standards and regulations, of course. The original boasted a six point five litres inline six-cylinder engine, 80 horsepower, solid front and live rear axles with leaf springs, top speed of ninety-two miles per hour, dual carburetors and… something else I can’t quite remember right now.” She looked at Nina. “I actually don’t know what half of that even means.”“It was 160,” Crowley heard himself say almost mechanically. He knew his nan’s car inside out.“What was?”“The horsepower. It was 160, not 80.”Something stilled inside of him, the words hanging in the air in all their random poignancy, somehow swallowing up all the noises of the busy Soho afternoon, until the only thing ringing in Crowley’s head was the most ridiculous realisation he’d ever come to in his entire life. 80 shiny, black horses. Old but new at the same time.It had not been a prince riding them, though, but a very fussy pillow princess.“Fuck!”A laugh suddenly burst out of him, making him buckle under its quite impressive strength. Crowley was so shocked, he couldn’t even begin to put up a fight, and so he kept cackling like a mad man with no hope of ever stopping, hands braced on his knees.Maggie’s smile turned slightly worried. “Is he alright?” she asked Nina.Nina looked like someone who had been through that very same scenario dozens of times before. “I think he’s just having a moment.”“Should we do something?”“Don’t worry. He’s going to snap out of it.”Nina was right, though it took longer than usual for Crowley to recover a modicum of what could pass for sanity. When he did, with dishonest-to-Satan tears to his eyes, mouth dry and abs sore from too much laughing, he straightened up and did his best to steady his breath.“Fuck’s sake…” he mumbled to himself. He’d better start thinking about a wedding gift for Anathema, and soon too. He wouldn’t want to find himself on the bad side of an actual witch.“Is everything okay?” Nina’s dry voice forced him to focus.“Not really, no.” But maybe it would be? He turned to Maggie. “Aziraphale said he was in some kind of trouble.”“Unfortunately, yes,” she confirmed before coming out with a very confusing collection of words. “Turns out that Muriel is actually DS Constable. They’ve been working undercover to expose the illicit side-hustles going on at Eastgate’s.”Crowley’s eyebrows shot to the sky. “Wot?”“Yeah. Apparently, Gabriel was using his political connections to buy old bookshops located in buildings about to be listed around London, so he could renovate them and make them… let’s say, slightly less historical. He was taking a lot of money from shady real estate developers banned from acquiring new properties in the city with the promise he’d resell the stores to them in five or ten years time.” She shrugged as if it was no big deal. “When he left, the others took on the operation, but they weren’t as charming as Gabriel was, so they met some… difficulties, so to speak. Sandy was in the process of enlisting the help of this shady bloke, an impoverished duke of some sort, who now makes a living renting out his henchmen to intimidate people and send them a message.”“Hastur?” he all but screamed.“Something like that? Sandy wanted him to persuade Mrs. Shadwell to sell.”Crowley wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to pick up his jaw from the floor. “Did they arrest him?”“Oh, Aziraphale? No. Muriel finally convinced their superiors to involve him in the investigation so he could help from the inside. He struck some kind of deal with the MET, but I kind of forgot the details.”“What about the gala?”“Oh, this is the exciting part! The police are actually going to wait for everyone working at Eastgate’s to be there so they can search the main office with fewer people around.” She turned to Maggie. “Feels like a movie, doesn’t it?”“Where is it?”“The main office? You’ve been ther–”“No, the gala.”“Oh, at the British Museum in– wait.” She rummaged into her patchwork bag to fish out a planner with a flowery cover. She flipped through it. “Well, according to this the gala is in a little over twenty-four hours.” She frowned. “No, that doesn’t sound right. I’m pretty sure the gala is today.”Crowley threw open the door of the Bentley and reached towards the back seat for the garment bags. He zipped them down until he found what he was looking for.“What are you doing?” Maggie asked.“If I’m going to a gala, you can bet I’m going to be dressed for it.”
Aziraphale was nervously pacing the little room he’d been swiftly ushered into by Muriel’s colleagues – disguised as stewards and waiters for the occasion – as soon as he’d arrived at the British Museum.Final touches were currently being added to the round tables dotting the large hall where the event would soon take place. Michael, Sandy and the others would be arriving any second now, right before the first guests.“Any news?” he asked the young police woman sitting on the desk with a bored expression on her face.“For the umpteenth time: no.”“No words from–”“No words from the office, no words from the main entrance either,” she rushed to clarify, just as she had every other time he’d asked. “Just chill, mate.”Aziraphale scoffed. “Thank you for the heartfelt advice.”“Don’t mention it,” she said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm, which Aziraphale had kind of grown accustomed to – and, dare he say, even fond of – after a week in the company of a certain someone.“You’ll go far, my dear girl.”
“Don’t patronise me,” she snapped. “Wish you would go far… away from here specifically,” she muttered under her breath.Whatever Aziraphale was going to say in response to that was cut off by the ringing of her mobile phone. Aziraphale perked up, pulse skyrocketing.“Calm down, old man, or you’ll pop a vein,” she warned him before picking up the phone. “Moonchild speaking.”Whatever she heard on the other end of the line made her frown almost comically, which, in turn, made Aziraphale dizzy with worry. He was starting to wonder what those black spots in his vision were, when Constable Moonchild handed him the phone.“Don’t ask me how or why, but it’s for you,” she said dryly.“Who is it?”“A pompous prick named Gabriel?” She shook the phone under his nose. “Come on, I haven’t got all day. Put him on speaker.”Aziraphale took the phone in his trembling hands. “How do I–”She rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Of course you don’t know how to put someone on speaker,” she scoffed, taking the phone back to do it for him.He didn’t need to ask her if he was good to go because Gabriel’s cheery voice suddenly boomed all around him.“Sunshine? Can you hear me?”Aziraphale closed his eyes and let out a shuddering sigh. Talk about someone he wasn’t looking forward to hearing from anytime soon, especially at such a distressing time. “Yes, Gabriel, I’m right here.”“Listen, little bro–”“No need for vulgarity, you know,” he felt the need to interject, much to Constable Moonchild’s amusement. Not only had Aziraphale never understood Gabriel’s fascination for the United States of America, he also found it terribly irritating.“Ha! You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”“It’s been less than a year, Gabriel.”“Really? Wow, time really flies when you’re having fun, huh?” He chuckled as if they were just two regular brothers catching up for the sake of it, and not two people in the midst of a police investigation about the company bearing their name.“Is there a point to this call?” Aziraphale couldn’t help but ask, then remembered the whole thing was confusing at best. “How did you even know where to reach me?”“Oh, Bee knows someone at New Scotland Yard. Many someone’s actually. They’re all scared of them. Let me tell you, it’s quite sex–”“I don’t need to know that, thank you.”“Alright, no chit-chat then,” he said jovially. “What crawled up your ass, huh?”“I don’t think you need to know that either.” That would fall well beyond the scope of brotherly politeness, much like this ridiculous phone call. “Gabriel–”“Alright, alright. Listen, we found out about the investigation, and I guess I just wanted to call to say I’m sorry. For leaving you in that situation, and for everything that led up to it. I know I haven’t always been a good brother to you.”Aziraphale pursed his lips. His scepticism may have been harsh, but not unwarranted. “If you’re so sorry, you could come back and face the music.”Gabriel chuckled. “Yeah, not a chance. Bee tells me that the fugitive life isn’t that bad. I’m actually thinking of changing my name. How does Jim sound?”“I don’t think you want me to answer that.”“Maybe you should think about it too.”“Don’t be ridiculous, Gabriel. We can’t be both named Jim.”“No, I meant about the fugitive life.”“Well, while I’m certainly glad you’re having a swell time, Gabriel, I’m afraid I’ll need to stay here and fix your mess.”“You’re more qualified than I am to do that, that’s for sure.”“I think I’m more qualified than you to do a lot of things.”“You’re right.” Gabriel sighed, more sombre now. “I don’t expect you to forgive me or anything of the sort, but… I was really unhappy, Aziraphale. I know I put up a good front and all, what with my chiselled jaw and striking appearance, but I was. I think I was trying to fill a void inside of me.”“Could have tried carbs before you resorted to crime,” Aziraphale tartly suggested.“That may work for you, but not for me. Besides, I like my abs, and so does Bee.”“Good for you.”“It’s all about Bee, you know? The moment I met them, nothing else mattered anymore.”
The warmth Aziraphale could feel in Gabriel’s voice gave him pause. He realised, probably for the first time, that Gabriel was genuinely in love with Bee. Much as it pained Aziraphale to admit, that love also seemed to have made Gabriel a slightly less terrible person, and he couldn’t completely fault him for holding on to that happiness, even if that meant absconding from the law and almost framing his own brother.“You know what it’s like when you don’t know anything at all,” Gabriel continued, still trying to explain himself, “and yet you’re totally certain that everything would be better if you were just near one particular person?”Aziraphale was just about to tell him that no, he had no idea what that was like, but it was a lie, wasn’t it? He did know, because he’d spent the past week with such a person. A person with slinky hips, gentle fingers, a very sharp tongue and a heart of gold, however buried under several layers of snark and swagger.Crowley had made everything better just by being there, hadn’t he? As a matter of fact, his presence had been enough to make Aziraphale bolder, to make him feel like a real person, and not just an oddball to be tolerated or worked around.For the first time in a very long time, Aziraphale had felt like he wasn’t alone on his own side anymore, and that he didn’t have to be if he didn’t want to.“As Mother always said, some things are worth fighting for,” Gabriel concluded, oblivious to Aziraphale’s epiphany. Guess I’m just not worth fighting for, am I? Crowley’s voice hissed into his ear, unbidden, and Aziraphale realised, with a painful tug to his chest, that he’d given him no reason to believe otherwise. He hadn’t pushed for Crowley to understand, hadn’t insisted or run after him.No, Aziraphale had let him go, and Crowley, as heartbroken as he may have been, had still called him to explain himself. He always came back to him, no matter how angry or outraged he was.And Crowley deserved someone ready to run after him too – only metaphorically speaking, of course. Aziraphale wouldn’t run even if his life depended on it.“Gabriel,” he said breathlessly. “I need to go.”“Alright, sunshine. Good luck with everything.”“Same to you. Toodle-oo.” He waited for Constable Moonchild to hang up the phone she was still holding, then he straightened his waistcoat and fixed his bow tie to steel himself for what was about to come. “I need to go,” he informed her, not waiting for an answer before marching to the door.“With a brother like that, I sure hope you’re going to see a therapist,” she said, following him to the door, “but I’m afraid that will have to wait. I can’t let you go.”“Well, I have to. It’s a matter of the utmost importance.” He looked her up and down. “Come with me. We’ll be back before I have to give my speech.”“Where are we going?”“To a nightclub.”Constable Moonchild huffed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, but only because I don’t think you’re that sound of mind at the moment, and this seems like fun.”“You’re a very disrespectful young lady, you know that?” he said over his shoulder as they left the office and navigated the museum’s many hallways to reach the back exit.“I make a point of rebelling against all authorities.”“You work for the police,” he objected.“Exactly, and I’m going to take it down from the inside.”Aziraphale, who just happened to be on the brink of his very own rebellion against everything he’d been taught, gave her a nod. “You know what? Good for you.”As soon as they reached the pavement, he looked up and down the street in the hopes of catching sight of a taxi. Not wanting to leave anything to chance, he kept walking, and shouting and waving his arms towards any black car coming their way.Not a single car approached, of course. Some literally swerved to increase their distance from him, but a young man coming down the pavement did stop to offer his help.“Sir, are you having a stroke? Do you want me to call an ambulance?”Aziraphale bristled, nothing less than outraged. “Goodness, what’s wrong with the youth these days?!”He walked around the very helpful, very rude young man, and resumed his frantic motions towards the oncoming traffic, unbothered by how silly he probably looked. Only one thing mattered at the moment, and it sure as hell wasn’t his pride.Despite his determination, he was just starting to lose all hope and turn to Constable Moonchild to do something reckless, like asking her what an Uber was, when a black car finally pulled over.
“Oh, thank goodness!” he cried out with such an overwhelming sense of relief that he barely recognised the car and the man who climbed out of it wearing a black jacket with a jet stone embellishment over a pleated skirt of the same fabric.In fact, so distraught was Aziraphale’s brain, that the first thing it registered was how handsome the lanky man was. Quickly followed by how familiar the suit looked, as
though he’d seen it once before, and how striking the contrast between the deep black fabric and the man’s vibrant red hair.Maybe he was having a stroke after all, because when he finally put two and two together, letting out a breathless gasp, Crowley was already in front of him.
And then they were hugging, holding on for dear life.
Crowley’s heart was going a mile a minute, thumping so furiously it would take a miracle for Aziraphale not to hear it beating against his own chest. And while there was still a not-so-minor part of Crowley that rebelled at that – at the idea that they were hugging, of all things – this time it wasn’t so hard to push it back.Because the angel was so soft and solid and real in his arms, and Crowley felt a little bit like crying in relief (well, maybe more than a little bit, but let’s take it easy with this whole honesty thing, alright? Microdosing was the best he could do right now).Things got much worse (better) when Aziraphale put his arms around him, and Crowley’s legs decided it would be a good idea to fuck off for an impromptu vacation. If it weren’t for Aziraphale, he’d have collapsed onto the pavement in an undignified, yet well-dressed tangle of limbs.The angel did that a lot, Crowley realised in a moment of clarity. Aziraphale was always there to hold him up when he was about to crumble. Even more importantly, Crowley trusted him enough to do that, which was probably the reason why he kept making a fool of himself in front of him. He knew, he felt it in his bones, that he could allow himself to be vulnerable around him.And that was it, really.He would never let the angel go. Aziraphale was never getting rid of him. Ever. They would have to pry him from his cold, dead hands. A beast with two backs, that’s what they were now. Family-friendly, pathetic middle-aged men edition (Aziraphale would definitely appreciate the nod to Shakespeare).Crowley had every intention of sticking to his guns, when he realised it wasn’t him shivering in their embrace, but Aziraphale.So he pulled back a little, putting his sunglasses on his hair and his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders just to make sure he was okay.The angel looked kind of flustered and a little bit out of breath, as if he’d just seen a ghost, but otherwise unharmed. Crowley couldn’t exactly blame him, seeing that his own heart had started screaming bloody murder the moment he’d spotted Aziraphale running up and down the pavement, flailing his arms like the hopeless lunatic he was.“Angel, are you alright?” he heard himself ask.“I… I think so,” Aziraphale stammered, eyes wandering all over Crowley’s face, as though checking that nothing was amiss. “Am I dreaming? Where’s that disrespectful young lady–” He turned around to glance at the young waitress standing just a few feet away from them.“You’re not dreaming, old man,” she supplied helpfully, nose wrinkled in disgust at whatever was going on between them. (Crowley couldn’t blame her either. In her place, he’d have done the same thing. Probably much worse.)“That’s good to know,” Aziraphale blabbed, turning back to Crowley. He still looked a bit dazed, cheeks dusted with pink and eyes glassy. “What are you doing here?”Well, there were many ways to answer that question, none of them conducive to Crowley keeping his dignity intact, especially the one about his witch friend having had a premonition about Aziraphale being his Prince Charming.It was the stuff of nightmares, really. Crowley was much closer to retirement than adolescence, and yet here he was, thinking about his very own Prince Charming.Thankfully, his reputation wasn’t his top priority anymore. At this point, they could take the bloody thing and turn it into pink confetti for all he cared.Which is why he all but blurted out: “I came for you.”There. Straight to the point, and with only a minimal urge to throw up all over himself.Aziraphale tried to kill him by giving him the softest of smiles in response, and Crowley’s stomach did something it usually never did. No butterflies though, they didn’t fit his aesthetic. Moths or bats – he could definitely get behind those.“Yes, you do like to do that,” Aziraphale said in a clumsy attempt at defusing the situation. It didn’t last long, though, as his expression faltered immediately after. “Oh my dear,” he continued, a bit breathless. “I was just coming to look for you myself. I rather hoped I could, you know, make a grand gesture, run after you. In a manner of speaking, of course. I don’t think you actually want to see me run anywhere.”Crowley felt his heart miss several beats. The poor sod was working overtime today. “You were? ‘S that why you were waving your arms like a man fighting a swarm of angry bees?” Sure had made spotting him easier. “I’ll show you how running works, if you like. I’m really good at it.”When it came to running away from things, you could say he was a little bit of an expert. On the other hand, running towards something, that was uncharted territory even for him.“Yes! Oh, I was trying to hail a taxi, but those awful things are never there when you need them,” Aziraphale complained, like the fussy bastard he was. “The idea was to come to you and tell you that–”Aziraphale abruptly cut himself off, eyes growing impossibly wide. He took a sudden step back, letting Crowley’s hands slide down his arms. He then closed his eyes, took a deep breath and… regrouped. That’s what it looked like to Crowley.When Aziraphale finally chanced a glance at him, he seemed slightly more self-assured, but still nervous. The angel clasped his hands together and cleared his throat, like a man about to give a bloody speech.“It has recently come to my attention that I may have not made my intentions clear with you,” Aziraphale began pompously, and Crowley realised with a start that this was going to be A Whole Thing. “And I’m terribly sorry for letting you leave the other day without doing everything in my power to remove all possible doubts.”Crowley, who was already on the brink of a heart-attack, was now genuinely fearing for his life. Because Aziraphale looked… well. Solemn? Was this what being confessed at felt like?No, it couldn’t be. This could not be happening.Not to him.“Ngk. Those are a lot of words–”“Yes, and there are more coming. I’m kindly asking you to shut up, my dear,” Aziraphale scolded him, putting a finger to his mouth, which turned out to be enough contact to render him rather useless. Crowley was so nervous, he couldn’t even squirm properly!“I rather like my solitude, you know?” Aziraphale continued. “It’s never been loneliness before I met you. And I… I rather think you and I agree that people aren’t all that they’re cracked up to be. As a matter of fact, at least in my experience, when you meet people, there can be only one of two outcomes: if you’re unlucky, they make everything worse, and if you’re lucky, they leave things exactly as they were before they came into the picture.”“Angel–” His vision was all blurry. Why was it all blurry?“Please, just let me finish, dear.” Aziraphale licked his lips and looked straight into Crowley’s eyes. “You, however– Well, I’m afraid you have the really annoying habit of making everything better, Crowley,” he said, voice cracking a little at the end. It went straight to Crowley’s heart. “More than that, you make me better.”“I don’t make things better,” Crowley growled, face on fire and brain firmly turned to mush.Aziraphale scoffed. “That’s not how I meant it, you silly demon. No, you make me better at being myself, and I…” The angel gave him a little, embarrassed smile that Crowley felt the urge to grab and put in his pockets for the next rainy day. “I rather think I need that. I need you.”Crowley could hear some weird noises in the background – random consonants crackling in the air – and it took him a while to realise they were coming out of his own blessed mouth. The rate things were going, he would have to figure out how to survive with soup for brains and overcooked noodles for legs.“F-fuck, angel,” was all he managed to come up with.
Aziraphale took a step towards him to bridge the small gap between them. “I know, dear. It is terribly embarrassing. Just bear with me for a second, alright?”Crowley whined. This was torture. He was going to remember every single word for the rest of his life. (Hopefully. Maybe he could ask the girl to record this? So he could later pinpoint the most embarrassing bits? No other reason, of course.)For his part, Aziraphale steamed full speed ahead with his improvised speech, like a very pretty, very annoying 1920s train. “Where was I?”“You need me?” Crowley croaked.“Ah, yes, thank you, dear.” Aziraphale daintily cleared his throat. “I need you, and I also want you, very much so. It occurred to me that I don’t care if a week isn’t enough time to get to know someone. You see, I just found out that in some instances, not even multiple decades are enough to really know someone’s character. So, maybe it’s not about the amount of time at all. Maybe it’s about the person. And I would really like to continue our acquaintanceship, in whichever way you deem appropriate, if you’ll still have me. What do you say?”Crowley wanted to die. And then come back to life. Hear the whole thing again, then probably die a second time.“Ngk.”Aziraphale chuckled. “I’m afraid I’ll need something a bit more… you know, verbal than that.”And Crowley, well. In for a penny…“I love you.”They both startled at that, two pairs of eyes going as wide as saucers as they stared into each other, as if the words hadn’t come out of Crowley’s mouth at all, but rather spoken by a secret, third person hiding between them. Crowley was so shocked, he couldn’t even bring himself to take it back. So much for microdosing , that was enough honesty for a lifetime!Unsurprisingly, Aziraphale was the first to recover, his mouth falling open on a gasp.“Oh, Crowley .”
And that right there was one of the many reasons Aziraphale should have been arrested and taken straight to jail, Crowley thought. Because who in their right mind would go around terrorising people by saying their name like that?Aziraphale looked dangerously close to tears too, and there must have been something really wrong with Crowley’s sympathetic nervous system, because he felt a bit like crying himself. (Sure, it’s not like he’d been two seconds away from tearing up from the moment he’d seen Aziraphale waving his arms in the air or anything like that.)There was no skirting around the issue here.They were two middle-aged men almost-crying in the street, for everyone to see. If Crowley saw the same scene play out on the telly, in a movie or a tv show, he’d consider it downright offensive. Would probably pen an angry letter to the television channel and stalk them on their social media too. Trolling was one of his true passions, after all. A very exclusive club, which also included: plants, the Bentley, good wine and now… the soft-looking angel in front of him.“I don’t have a big speech like yours or anything like that,” Crowley heard himself mutter. He had no idea what he was going to say, or how he could still form full sentences after everything Aziraphale had put him through in the last five minutes. But he wanted to make an effort.
“I like… us ,” he said hoarsely. “And I would really like to be… a team, a group… a group of the two of us, I mean…”“I think that’s a couple,” Aziraphale whispered.Crowley ignored him. “For a little while longer. Just to see how it goes and everything. Maybe forever, but no pressure at all. I know I can be a lot–”Aziraphale took his hands in his with a smile that could probably light up a small town all on its own. “You know as well as I do that I can be insatiable. It’s the perfect fit.”Crowley grumbled, and if he intertwined his fingers with Aziraphale’s, it was by pure chance. “Can you please stop it with this sappy nonsense?”“I don’t think I can, dear. I’m terribly sorry.”“No, you’re not.” The bastard was still smiling like a newborn star.“No, I’m not.”“Hate to disturb two older gentlemen finally figuring out what emotional intelligence is,” the girl interjected, reading something on her phone, “but if your frontal lobes have finished developing – better late than never, I guess – the event is about to start.”Aziraphale scoffed. “You could start by developing some manners.”“No can do.”The angel turned to Crowley with a disbelieving frown, but Crowley was laughing. “Oh, I think I like her.”“Of course you do, you absolute menace.”“We really have to go now,” the girl insisted, gesturing for them to follow her towards the back of the museum.
They both did, still a bit dazed, still holding hands.“Are we still pretending to be together?” Crowley couldn’t help but ask.Aziraphale glanced at him sideways. “I’d rather stop pretending and do it for real, if you don’t mind.”Did Crowley mind? Did the sun mind rising in the East? Did grass mind being green? Did Sandy mind being an absolute wanker?“I don’t mind,” he confirmed gruffly, putting on his sunglasses.“Splendid.”What followed was a whirlwind of handshakes and polite smiles (Aziraphale’s), as well as devilish grins and inappropriate jokes (Crowley’s). In less than an hour, the British Museum was teeming with people in fancy suits, glamorous dresses and very expensive jewellery, hair coiffed and make-up on point, surrounded by security and camera flashes.When he wasn’t busy talking to investors or avoiding his family, Aziraphale brought him up to speed on the recent developments in bits and pieces – the man had never met a tangent he didn’t want to go on, which made for very interesting, yet very long conversations – and Crowley felt vindicated (Aziraphale allowed him five whole minutes to brag and get all of his I told you so ’s out of his system).
As baffling as it may have been, it wasn’t that much of a stretch to think they might be in the company of thieves, what with the museum being a literal shrine to the long-standing British tradition of having rich gits stealing stuff and putting it on display. They were certainly consistent, Crowley could give them that.When one of the stewards finally ushered them to their table, they found themselves seated with the angel’s family. Luckily, Sandy, Michael, and the others were too busy schmoozing their guests to torture them with their company for more than five or ten minutes at a time. As a matter of fact, the Eastgates – all decked out in their finest evening wear, which was the same as their day-to-day wear, except Sandy had polished his gold tooth extra carefully and Michael’s updo looked extra sculpted – seemed to be doing their absolute best to pretend Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t exist.In a bid to impress their investors, the company had spared no expense for the soirée, as was made evident by the five-star dinner served with a side of boring speeches, one awful PowerPoint presentation, as well as a stand-up comedy routine from a known queer comic who was way too woke to earn more than tight-lipped smiles and trademark syncopated laughs from these posh mummies. It’d do wonders on their socials, though, which was probably the reason why Michael had chosen her.At the end of her routine, Aziraphale clapped enthusiastically, while Crowley whistled and cheered to make up for the rest of the audience’s anaemic applause.Then came the awards for the year’s best-selling books, which gave Crowley the opportunity to study Aziraphale’s uncle, who was tasked with giving out the awards. Matthew Eastgate was an older man with white hair and a soft voice who’d probably look harmless if his eyes didn’t have a malignant glint to them, especially when he aimed them at Crowley.Well, joke was on dear old Uncle Matty, because with his sunglasses on and his hand securely held between Aziraphale’s fingers, Crowley could weather pretty much anything.For his part, the angel was doing his best to contain his nerves. It took him the better part of an hour to stop fretting and anxiously staring at the agents disguised as waiters waving around the tables, but he did manage to calm down sometime after the comic’s routine. So much so that when it was time for his speech, he looked poised and collected.“Go get ‘em, angel,” Crowley whispered to him as Aziraphale stood up to make his way towards the stage, accompanied by a polite round of applause.As he did so, he crossed paths with Michael, who had just introduced him. She whispered something in his ear, gesturing to the podium (probably something about the speech they’d painstakingly edited together just a few days ago) and he nodded. Michael reclaimed her seat and met Crowley’s gaze for a second, before pursing her lips and averting her eyes when he responded with a toothy grin, further draping himself over the back of his chair.Whatever was going on at the main office, he reasoned, they were still blissfully clueless.“Good evening, distinguished guests,” Aziraphale began with a tight, nervous smile, hands gripping the sides of the podium. “I know my speech comes right before dessert, so I’ll keep it short.”
Crowley heard a few chuckles here and there while Aziraphale searched the audience for something.“As you all know, this has been my very first year as the CEO of Eastgate’s,” Aziraphale continued. “I’ll be honest with you, following in my brother’s footsteps hasn’t been easy. In fact, I think it’s safe to say Gabriel and I have very different approaches, much to the good-natured irritation of my esteemed colleagues, who have tirelessly put up with me in the past few months.”Michael leaned towards Sandy to tell him something. She must have caught up with the fact that this wasn’t the speech she and Aziraphale had drafted together. No, for the second time today, Aziraphale was improvising.The angel fussed with the papers in front of him. “I have never really understood why my Mother was so adamant the company must be run by either me or my brother. I’m not exactly CEO material, as my family would attest, and I have the terrible habit of being really stubborn while also doubting myself every step of the way.”Aziraphale’s eyes found Crowley’s in the audience. “Come on, angel,” Crowley muttered under his breath, earning a scoff from Uriel.“Don’t get me wrong– generally speaking, a certain degree of doubt is always desirable, even healthy, but in my case… well, in true Aziraphale fashion, I think I’ve been over-indulging in that department as well. So I listened to the people around me, their advice and their teachings, I tried to see things from their perspectives and to act accordingly, because I honestly, truly believed they simply knew best.” He cleared his throat. “So sure I was of their competence and their good faith, that I let myself take a back seat, so to speak, and the experts do what they supposedly do best.”He smiled his bastard smile, which made Crowley feel all types of ways, while Sandy brusquely stood up to make his way towards the stage. Crowley was ready to spring to his feet and tackle the arshole to the ground before he could even think about harassing Aziraphale, but Sandy stopped in his tracks to take out his phone, which was lighting up with a flurry of notifications.“Here’s something I learned,” Aziraphale went on. “Every good leader must listen to the people around them, but, and here comes the tricky part, if you’re not careful enough, all those voices will cover up your own, and in the end you’ll barely be able to listen to yourself.”Aziraphale looked up and whatever he saw at the back of the hall made his eyes sparkle and a smile bloom on his lips. Crowley turned to follow the direction of his gaze and he spotted Muriel entering the room with a bunch of other agents.“I really want to share something else I’ve learned this year with all of you,” Aziraphale continued, suddenly more sprightly, even giddy. “Surround yourself with people worth listening to and be sure they, too, are capable of listening, and not merely enamoured of the sound of their own voice.” His smile widened at the whispers creeping around the tables as people gradually noticed the newcomers. “Another thing I learned: when confused, a fresh pair of eyes will go a long way in clearing up your doubts, but only if you’re willing to question your beliefs.”By now, the whispers had turned into grumbles and complaints as the police swarmed the hall to proceed with their arrests. If the alarmed gasps multiplying around the room were anything to go by, people were finally catching up with what was about to go down.“Now, I know some of you here tonight have conspired with my family and resorted to crime to spice up your lives and make some extra money, but as the kids say, the jig is up.”“No kid has ever said that, angel!” Crowley shouted gleefully from his seat at the table, unable to contain himself any longer.“Darling, please, I’m making a speech,” Aziraphale huffed out in irritation before addressing the audience once again. “Please, if you see a police person approaching, let yourself be arrested and be sure to file out of the room in an orderly fashion,” Aziraphale instructed with all the pomp he could muster.Crowley snickered and was just about to shout something else, preferably about Aziraphale’s perfect arse, when a hand grabbed him by the shoulder and basically dragged him to his feet.“It’s your fault!” Sandy all but screamed into his face, bloodshot eyes and lips slick with spit. “You damn wh–”“Excuse me!” A soft hand promptly pushed Sandy away and, before Crowley could understand what was happening, a slightly winded Aziraphale stepped between them. “Address him properly or don’t address him at all, and be sure not to touch him again either, you absolute reprobate.”Crowley had never needed a knight in shining armour, and he certainly didn’t need one right now. No, he’d always been quite happy to rely on no one but himself. People couldn’t let you down if you didn’t give them a chance to do it. Not just that, the mere thought of needing protection from anyone made his blood boil.
So it came as a great shock to him that when he took in the light grey, fluffy cloud that was Aziraphale standing between him and Sandy, he also realised he’d never been so bloody aroused in his entire life. Not even the use of the word reprobate could ruin this for him. This was the complete opposite of whatever his personal Hell was.Sandy snarled and angrily pointed a finger at Crowley. He had turned purple with rage and he was sweating profusely, which was a joy to see. “You let yourself be swindled by this sl–”Aziraphale’s punch came out of nowhere. The angel clocked Sandy square in the face, much to everyone’s surprise, including Aziraphale himself, judging by the angry gasp that he let out.As for the state of Crowley’s hormones, the scene was tantamount to pouring gasoline on an open fire.Sandy grumbled and took a step backwards, holding a hand to his face, eyes wide with shock. When he opened his mouth, something gold and bloody fell from his lips and clinked to the floor.“I’d leave it there, if I were you,” Crowley suggested cheerfully as they all stared at his gold tooth. “I doubt they’ll let you keep it in jail anyway.”At that point, a couple of agents sidled up to Sandy and asked him to confirm his name. The wanker was too dazed to keep his bloody mouth shut (literally!).“Let’s go, darling,” Aziraphale said, taking Crowley’s hand. “I rather think the evening is drawing to a close.”Crowley registered his words through a haze of exhilarated arousal. This darling nonsense needed to be stopped immediately, before it could get out of hand. He’d tell Aziraphale later – it’s not like they were in a hurry or anything – after they sorted out other, more pressing matters.“Angel.” Crowley flipped off his sunglasses.“Yes?”“Whatever we’re doing from now on, I want sex to be a part of it.” This was a slight understatement, as he was about two seconds away from stripping naked in the midst of a police raid to jump his bones, so… yeah. They could be acquaintances with benefits. Acquaintances who reluctantly held each other’s hand, and that sometimes spooned by accident and blurted out ‘I love you’ in the heat of the moment.Aziraphale didn’t waver. “And romance too?” he inquired.Crowley huffed and whined. “If we really have to.” (It was Aziraphale that had brought it up, nothing to do with him, really.)“That can definitely be arranged then.”“Great. Can we start now?”They passed Muriel who greeted them both with the brightest of smiles and an apologetic shrug that seemed to say: sorry for the kerfuffle .
“You’re an absolute legend!” Crowley cried out, momentarily distracted.
“Oh, thank you,” they said with a bashful smile.“If I didn’t have a date with Aziraphale, I’d let you arrest me, officer. I’d come quietly too!”Aziraphale scoffed. “You’re such a terrible liar.”“It’s just a joke, angel. I wouldn’t be caught dead on a date.”“No, I was referring to the other part. I’m not sure you’re capable of coming quietly.”Crowley squawked. “How dare you?”
“Just like that.”“You know, I think we should add the word come and all of its iterations to our list of banned c-words. You can’t be trusted with them.”Aziraphale gave a little sniff. “Goodness, you’re so sensitive.”“No, I’m not! I’m hard as– wait.”They stopped outside the museum where several police cars were blocking the way, their blue lights flashing in the dusk. Crowley was just about to put his sunglasses back on, when Aziraphale took his hands and looked up to him with blessed stars in his eyes.At this very moment, Crowley thought a bit dumbly, he really looked like an angel.“Darling,” the angel said very angelically, “what would you say to being fucked into the mattress?”Crowley spluttered out something that might have been words in some obscure, dead language before remembering how English was supposed to sound. “I hope you’re ready to run to the Bentley, that’s what I say.”“As I’ve told you already, I do not run.”“Well, then you’ll be dragged the whole way. You can’t say things like that and not expect me to dash to the car and then drive ninety miles per hour to get to The Ritz in time.”“Yeah, I suppose I can’t. Thank God I’ll have all the time in the world to learn how this works.”“Thank Muriel, you mean.”“Them too. Oh, and Crowley?”“What now?”“I love you too, darling.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Epilogue
One year later
“And this… this is my most prized possession,” Crowley was saying to Anathema and Mrs. Shadwell (well, it was Marjorie at this point), waving his wineglass around. “Aziraphale gave it to me, said I’d appreciate it, and he was right about that. Which is surprising when you think about it, because he’s almost never right. About anything.”“I heard that,” came Aziraphale’s stern voice from the kitchen.Crowley scoffed. “Don’t listen to him,” he said conspiratorially. “We all know who the brains of this household is.”Aziraphale joined them in the hallway, holding a tray of tea sandwiches with a variety of fillings. He offered them to Anathema and Marjorie, but his eyes were locked on Crowley’s. “And pray tell, what would I be then?” he inquired with a polite smile that promised retaliation later.Crowley flashed him a toothy grin. “The arse, of course.”Marjorie chuckled, while Aziraphale tutted in disapproval. “Really, my dear, only because your derrière is so flat, doesn’t mean you don’t contribute anything in that department.”Bastard had just used the word derrière as ammunition, and was now waltzing towards the living room, where Maggie, Nina and a few people from the village were currently absorbed in a game of fictionary.Aziraphale had been banned from playing after the first three rounds – the man knew every single obscure word in the English language, and wasn’t afraid to use them to annoy Crowley to death – and was now playing host instead, fussing around everyone and acting like he wasn’t loving every second of it.It was hard to resent him for it, though, since today was his fifty-first birthday, and the party had been Crowley’s idea. The parlour games as entertainment were not , but a year wasn’t nearly enough time to help Aziraphale develop some real taste, or even make him slightly less stubborn. And Crowley’s powers of persuasion weren’t exactly to be blamed here: even six thousand years wouldn’t be enough to accomplish such a feat.“Where were we, ladies?” Crowley asked, turning back to Anathema and Marjorie.“I believe you were telling us about your most prized possession,” Marjorie supplied. “To be honest, love, I don’t really understand what it is.”Aziraphale passed them again on his way to the kitchen with two empty bottles of wine. “It’s Sandy’s gold tooth,” he said, and disappeared once more.“Why did you put it in a glass case?” Anathema wondered. She still looked a bit dazed by the mystical energies she was supposedly detecting in their cottage, and was now tracing her fingers on the wall in complicated, unfathomable patterns.“Because it’s priceless, Ana. Doesn’t it make you happy just by looking at it?” Crowley still had no idea how the angel had gotten his hands on it (probably something to do with his brother’s scary partner), but he sure was grateful for it.“Some would say it’s rude to take pleasure in other people’s misfortunes,” Marjorie chimed in, a mischievous glint in her eye that suggested she wasn’t of the same idea.“You and I both know you should take pleasure wherever you can,” Crowley argued. “Besides, I wouldn’t say I take pleasure in other people’s misfortunes. I’m merely… celebrating… facts.”It was hard to believe him, considering they were standing in front of a wall covered in pictures and news clippings about the Eastgates’ legal troubles. His personal favourite was a picture of Sandy and Hastur screaming at each other in court, foaming at the mouth like characters in a cartoon. The two of them were now in jail, currently awaiting their appeal. That particular thought never failed to bring a smile to Crowley’s face.In the wake of the investigation that had brought their misdeeds to light, Aziraphale had somehow managed to salvage his Mother’s company and his own reputation after a thorough restructuring that had turned Eastgate’s into an employee-owned company. He’d bought back all the shares (seizing the ones owned by his family and the investors involved in their schemes), gave them all away, then stepped down as CEO and took on the role of president instead, overseeing the decisions taken by the employees and ensuring he had trusted people, like Sarah Kelley, to periodically report back to him and make sure everything was running smoothly.He had also appointed a diverse committee to make sure no publisher, author or book were unjustly banned from their stores, and he was still involved in the company’s philanthropy efforts. He had recently launched a program meant to help out historical bookstores (including Marjorie’s), so they could stay open and independent by fostering collaborations with schools and universities.Crowley’s advice may have been sought for many of these decisions, but who was keeping track anyway?“I told him it was in poor taste,” Aziraphale said from behind them, another tray of canapés in his hands like he was miracling loaves and fishes back there. The kitchen would be a bitch to clean later.Crowley snorted. “ You chose the frames and you collected the clippings. Double copies of ‘em.”The list of things Crowley had learned about Aziraphale in the past year was impressively long, in the sense that it was impressive that Crowley still hadn’t dumped him.
The list included several items, such as: the fact that, while Aziraphale could barely sleep in the city, not even a war cannon could rouse him from their bed in the South Downs; that the three-piece suits he’d worn during their first week together were a compromise between Aziraphale’s own tastes and Michael’s criteria for what a respectable CEO should wear, and that the angel’s actual wardrobe comprised soft, well-worn vintage garments, mostly mismatched (but, unfortunately, the same amount of tartan); that he was a hoarder, unfailingly collecting tchotchkes and knick knacks from their many day trips, and that clutter followed him wherever he went, much to Crowley’s unending irritation; that he liked long walks on the beach (embarrassing), slow dancing in the living room (even more embarrassing), drawing Crowley’s portraits
(nothing short of life-ending), that he kept a diary (Crowley had teased him for an entire week until he’d found the saucy bits, then hadn’t felt like laughing anymore) and that he was a scrapbooking enthusiast (hence the newspaper clippings).“For archival purposes only, you fiend,” Aziraphale protested. “You had taped them to the wall like a sloven!”Crowley turned to Marjorie. “It took him a month to find the right frames,” he went on undeterred. In fact, there was no animal quite as feral as Aziraphale once he was let loose in an antique shop, and Crowley knew it firsthand because he’d been dragged to dozens of them for those blasted frames.“Because I’m thorough.”Crowley shared a glance with Marjorie, who seemed to be enjoying the show. “I once dared to suggest a trip to IKEA and we didn’t speak for two days.” But they had shagged each other’s brains out to let off some steam that same night, to the point that Crowley was compiling a list of equally triggering shops to deploy when he felt particularly horny. He was saving McDonald’s for his fiftieth birthday.Aziraphale bristled. “I have standards.”“Issues is what you have,” Crowley countered. “Many of them.”“As a matter of fact, I do, because it just so happens that I collect vintage magazines,” Aziraphale shot back, irritated.“Sounds like you should get a life.”“I have a life. With you, if I’m not mistaken.”Marjorie laughed delightedly. “Things seem to be going swimmingly between you two. Come on, let’s join the others, shall we?”“You guys go ahead, I have to finish here,” Anathema said, her attention still focused on the wallpaper (hopefully, it’d turn out to be haunted, so they could replace it with something less… my great-great-great-aunt died here).Aziraphale left some vegan canapés on a napkin on the side table next to her, then leaned into Marjorie, who was giving him a puzzled look. “She’s going to be there a while, might feel a bit peckish.”“Remember when she was late to her own wedding to inspect our mudroom?” Crowley reminded her.The day after he’d finished fixing up the greenhouse, Anathema had called to inform him that she and Newt would be getting married in their garden on the first Saturday of September. Crowley had grumbled but ultimately said yes, because he still believed you shouldn’t antagonise a bonafide witch if you can help it. Besides, they’d just made up after the big falling out they’d had earlier that year, when Crowley had told her he wasn’t interested in her late aunt’s dilapidated cottage in Tadfield anymore (he only needed a place for his nursery, he didn’t care where, and Aziraphale had plenty of space to spare), and Anathema had proceeded to tell him that the cottage didn’t exist. Apparently, she’d found a random listing on Google and showed it to him because she’d had a hunch based on his aura.While outrage had initially prevailed over gratitude for her friendly concerns, after a month of radio silence Crowley had been willing to forgive her (but Aziraphale was never going to know about this).“Alright,” Maggie was saying when they came into the living room, jazz music unobtrusively playing in the background. “Next word is gorgonize.”“Isn’t that an Italian cheese?” Mr. Brown from the carpet shop asked. “The smelly one?” He looked to Aziraphale for approval (to be fair, the man seemed to be looking at Aziraphale for a number of reasons, which was why he frequently found himself the target of several mysterious pranks. Harmless enough… for now).“That’s gorgonzola,” Aziraphale supplied, placing the canapés next to the other trays on the coffee table. “Now, gorgonize on the other hand–”“Don’t say it!” Maggie cried out.“Use it in a sentence,” Nina offered him to soften the blow.“Ah, very well.” Aziraphale cleared his throat and turned to Crowley. “Crowley, your eyes are simply gorgonizing.”Crowley, who was already half-draped over the back of the sofa, grimaced. “Ugh. I hope it’s not pink-eye.”That spurred a lively debate, until the Sergeant startled awake on the armchair he’d claimed for himself the moment he’d arrived, just to announce that gorgons were mythological witches whose many nipples could turn people into stone. It was a foolish claim – completely fabricated , as Aziraphale pointed out, as pedantic as ever –, but it did help the others to eventually come up with the right meaning.“Does anyone feel like dancing?” Aziraphale asked, as he was busy refilling everyone’s wine glasses. “I recently read a very interesting book about Regency dances–”Crowley scoffed so hard he almost dropped to the floor. “Don’t let him drag you into this!” he warned the people at large. That slow dancing he mentioned earlier? It wasn’t always inspired by dances from the twentieth century (and you certainly couldn’t ask the angel to dip his toes into the twenty-first, now, could you?).“Don’t be such a spoilsport,” Aziraphale chided. “What would you suggest?”“I could sing Flower of Scotland for two hours straight and it’d be more entertaining than Regency dances,” Crowley whined.Aziraphale gave him a little smile. “Would you?”“Would I what?”“Give us a taste of your lovely singing voice?” Such a bastard. “‘M not drunk enough.”“That’s what I thought.” Aziraphale clapped and looked around excitedly. “How about a little magic then?”“Oh, no!” Crowley complained immediately. “Not your magic act, angel. Please, please, I’m actually begging you.”But it was too late, Aziraphale was already taking a penny out of Nina’s ear, much to everyone else’s delight (except for Mr. Brown – the arshole was hiding his disdain for Crowley under that stupid moustache of his).“Darling, would you fetch me a turnip from the garden?” Aziraphale asked distractedly. “I’ll take care of the inkwell, don’t worry.”Crowley, who most certainly wasn’t worrying about any blessed inkwell, huffed and whined and complained, but still rolled off the back of the sofa to exit through the French doors leading to the garden and the greenhouse beyond. (Fine, he was physically incapable of actually saying no to Aziraphale, but the bastard would have to wait a while for that turnip.)He came to a stop when he found Muriel and Newt outside, huddled together over a notebook. “What are you two doing?”Muriel, who had recently moved up the ranks and was now Inspector Constable, looked up with a beaming smile. “Newt is teaching me all about hacking computers.”“It’s not exactly hacking per se…” Newt muttered. “It’s like they hack themselves whenever I’m near them. Does it make sense?”“Perfectly,” Muriel said, just as Crowley was blurting out: “No.”“Where are you going?” Newt’s voice followed him on his way to the garden.“To get a turnip!”Yeah, these are things he said now.
His life had certainly taken a turn, he mused, placing the wineglass on the dry-stone wall surrounding their vegetable garden, lush and quiet in the chilly October air. He admired his handiwork and pretended, as he often did, that the emotion filling his chest was not pride but something else entirely.Annoyance. Relief. Devilish satisfaction. All of the above.Aziraphale wasn’t lying when he’d told him his garden was in a state of disrepair. Taken over by overgrown shrubs, ridden with weeds, and with the wall hardly visible, it had barely resembled a garden, while the greenhouse had been no more than a depressing, yet sturdy structure abandoned to itself. So neglected it had been, that the first time Crowley had seen it, he’d genuinely felt like weeping.It had all happened so fast.After the gala, the angel had extended his stay in London to deal with the immediate fall-out of the investigation against Eastgate’s, and since his suite at The Ritz had already been booked by another guest, Crowley had invited him to stay at his place. Aziraphale had said yes, which had given them the chance to bicker for seven days straight (as well as other things) and confirm that no, this thing between them was no flash in the pan since no one had tried to strangle the other.So when the MET had given Aziraphale permission to go back to the South Downs, Crowley had followed him for what was supposed to be a short visit just to see where the angel lived.It was a cosy-looking, medium-sized cottage just a stone’s throw away from the sea. Everything about it screamed Aziraphale: its cosiness, its quirkiness, the warmth it seemed to give off, the perpetual mess inside and all around it.
And Crowley, well… It had been so easy to let himself be wrapped up into it like in a warm, soft blanket that smelled like Aziraphale’s cologne.He’d started to fix the garden in those first few days, just as a lark to keep himself occupied while Aziraphale was doing whatever Aziraphale did when he was on his own. Next thing he knew, a month had passed and he’d barely been back to London.At the two months’ mark, when he’d brought his plants from the flat above Eden to keep an eye on them, he’d suddenly realised he’d moved in with Aziraphale.Neither of them had acknowledged it of course, and when Aziraphale had started talking about the greenhouse as the perfect place for his nursery, Crowley had merely let out an incomprehensible string of consonants… and that’s how his business had started.It wasn’t easy, screaming to that many plants on a daily basis, but someone had to do it, and Crowley was up for the challenge.He’d used his savings and the money he’d earned at The Ritz to get started. He’d then taken down the website he’d used as a sex worker, changed the domain and revamped it. He’d called it Eden – because he was a pathetic, sappy bastard – as a nod to where he came from, the same place where everything had changed on a random October evening. He hadn’t told Aziraphale the name before showing him the business cards he’d designed, and the angel had smiled so tenderly Crowley’s heart had almost given up on him right there and then.The angel had also volunteered to help, appointing himself as Crowley’s secretary, something Crowley had agreed on solely because it sounded kinky (seemed reasonable at the time and it had led to some interesting times…). Aziraphale hadn’t lasted long though, as he’d turned out to be bloody terrible at it, regaling whoever called Crowley’s work number with long-winded talks about Crowley’s green thumb, his passion for it, and, in one baffling occasion, how good his red hair looked under the sun and how fetching he was with his new haircut (turned out that long hair can be annoying as heaven when you spend the majority of your day with your head bent down).While the angel barely tolerated his own work calls, when it came to waxing poetic about Crowley’s nursery he could put a bloody town to sleep with all that talking. He was the in-person equivalent of a food blogger writing an entire essay about how they’d unearthed their nan’s delicious apple tart recipe instead of getting straight to the point (Crowley knew because he’d been baking a lot since he’d come to stay with Aziraphale).Now, after nine months of work, the nursery was still relatively small and not exactly profitable, mainly doing business with the nearest village and the neighbouring ones, but it was good work, and he liked it a lot.He liked to spend the day outside with his hands in the soil, to make things grow and whip them into shape against all odds. He liked to disappear inside the greenhouse for hours on end and then come back to the house to find lunch waiting for him on the kitchen table with a pointlessly long note next to it in a frilly handwriting. He liked to be surrounded by all that green, by the sounds of the birds, the wind and the sea nearby, and he liked to come back in the afternoon, scrub himself clean in the shower, then lie down on a soft lap and take a nap before dinner. He liked to take the Bentley and spend the day with Aziraphale too, but there was something special about being left to his own devices all day and then come back to find the angel exactly where he’d left him, with a book in hand and a record softly playing in the background.Not to be sappy or anything, but it felt like home like nothing ever had before.So now the cottage was less cluttered and dusty, and more tidy than it had ever been, the appliances in the kitchen more modern (they had an airfryer now, which had almost broken them up at some point, before Aziraphale had dramatically changed his mind about it); the turntable didn’t play only Vivaldi or Shostakovich anymore, but also music made by people who still hadn’t kicked the bucket (a genre Aziraphale knew nothing about), and the library boasted books made entirely of pictures (of plants and galaxies amongst other things).Aside from his books, plants, clothes and records, the only thing Crowley had brought from his little flat above Eden, before giving the keys back to Mrs. Sandwich, was his bed (which was ten times better than Aziraphale’s old lumpy mattress).He sat on the dry-stone wall and unhurriedly sipped his wine, letting his gaze sweep over the vegetable garden as the wind gently rustled through the trees.It was scary sometimes how at peace he felt here, how unmistakably happy, like his body wasn’t made to contain so much. Guess he now had another whole body to share the burden with… Blergh.The thought was enough to convince him to put on his sunglasses even though it was nearly sundown.Some habits were just too hard to die.He took deep breaths and remained there until he was positive Aziraphale had forgotten all about that stupid turnip. Then he jumped off the wall, took his empty wine glass and walked back to the living room, where Aziraphale was explaining how to play charades.Crowley leaned against the frame of the French doors and looked at him, shining like a star in the middle of the room, and only when Aziraphale turned to him with a smile did he realise he’d been smiling the whole time too.
Ugh, disgusting.“Darling, can you please fetch us more wine?” Aziraphale asked him, and really, how could you say no to that face? (Crowley did say no to that face, all the time actually. Following through with it, though, that was a different matter entirely).“You should answer the phone,” Anathema told him when he passed her in the hallway leading to the kitchen.“Wh–”The landline rang, of course, and Ana couldn’t help but throw him a triumphant, smug look. “Told ya.”Crowley picked up the phone making faces at her. “Speak,” he all but barked into it. He wrinkled his nose at the unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line. Then he pulled the phone away from his ear and, without bothering to cover the speaker with his hand, he screamed: “Aziraphale, it’s Jim!” Then, lower: “Do we even know a Jim?”Aziraphale arrived, looking supremely irritated. “It’s my brother.”“Isn’t he called Gabriel?”“Yeah, well, he’s a fugitive now.”“Not for long,” Anathema chimed in.Crowley left the phone with Aziraphale, who thanked him with a kiss to the cheek (completely normal behaviour, of course). “Don’t forget the wine, darling.”Unfortunately, he wouldn’t even dream of it.
Hours later, after the guests had left, they found their way back to the sofa, Aziraphale reading a book and Crowley nursing yet another glass of wine after scrubbing the kitchen clean. If his calculations were right, they now had leftover canapés for the rest of their lives.“Did you have fun?” Crowley eventually asked from his slouched position against the left-end of the sofa. The fire crackling in the hearth and the jazz still playing in the background were making him pleasantly drowsy.Aziraphale turned to him with a soft smile. He was wearing his stupid spectacles and he looked – for lack of a better word – biteable . “I did, darling, thank you.”“‘S your birthday.” And he hadn’t gotten him a gift or anything, so this had to do.“That it is. Remarkably improved from the last one.”“Yeah?”“Yes. Although I must say nothing beats the gift I got last year.”Crowley grimaced. “The Bentley?”Aziraphale glanced at him. “No, the Bentley was just the perfect bait,” he said with a happy wiggle.Understanding dawned on Crowley, who huffed so hard it was a wonder the cottage still had a roof attached. “Can you not? There’s still time for me to belt out Flower of Scotland , you know.”“Such a tempter,” Aziraphale teased him.“What did your brother want anyway?” Crowley asked in a poor attempt to derail the conversation to less unsavoury topics.“To wish me a happy birthday, and to get an update on the family. I think he misses home, wherever he is.”“What did you tell him?”“Well, there’s not much to tell, is there?”Sandy was currently in jail, Michael and Uriel had struck a deal with the MET and were now on house arrest, while Evil Santa (also known as Uncle Matt) had somehow come out of it unscathed. Removing him from the company had been Aziraphale’s first order of business after the gala.“I kind of miss it,” Crowley confessed. “Annoying them, I mean.”Aziraphale tsked. “That’s quite ungenerous of you,” he scolded him, but there was no mistaking the smirk pulling up the corner of his lips. “Besides, we can still do that.”“How?”Aziraphale shrugged and closed his book. “We could get married.”Crowley welcomed the suggestion with admirable poise, mainly because he was sure he hadn’t heard right. Whatever his heart was doing in his chest right now had nothing to do with him. Completely unrelated events.“We could get wot now?” he asked, blinking furiously. Why were his gorgonizing eyes failing him so catastrophically in his time of need?Aziraphale watched him carefully, a smile still lighting up his face. “Married. Or not, it was just an idea. I know it’s an awfully outdated institution, rooted in all kinds of unpleasant values, but I do subscribe to the concept of licences, and it’d be nice to call you husband instead of boyfriend. It makes us sound silly.”“You are silly,” came Crowley’s reply. He didn’t even know how he was still articulating words and not, say, speaking to whoever ruled the underworld these days. “You could call me partner.”“Well, that makes us sound like we do business together.”“But we do,” he croaked. “All kinds of business.”Aziraphale patted him on the knee. “It was just an idea, darling. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”“I don’t wear knickers.”“Believe me, I know.” Aziraphale chuckled and cracked open his book to resume his reading.Crowley melted against the sofa, not sure his limbs would ever work properly again.“We could do other things to annoy them,” he muttered after a while.“Such as…?” Aziraphale inquired, without raising his head, though they both knew he wasn’t actually reading that stupid book. They sure did love their silly pretences.“A sex tape would probably do the trick.”The angel pursed his lips in contemplation, then nodded. “That would probably do it, yes.”“Could also do both,” Crowley added casually.Aziraphale turned to look at him. “Both?”“The marriage and the sex tape.”“That sounds… demanding.”“Not if we start now. Could do a whole series. That would send your uncle straight to the undertaker.”“You might be right about that,” Aziraphale conceded, closing his book for the second time. This time, though, he placed it on the coffee table. “Well, what do they say about the early bird?”Crowley grimaced, forgetting about this whole marriage thing for a second. “Am I the bird or the worm in this scenario?”“I rather think that’s up to you.” The angel’s eyes were positively sparkling. Crowley was going to faint any time now.
“‘S your birthday,” he pointed out, tension coursing through him like electricity. “You choose.”Aziraphale took a moment to think about it. “I believe it is customary to ask for a bbj?” he finally said.Despite his nerves, Crowley couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Fuck, you’re such a bastard!” he complained as loudly as possible, sitting up to get rid of his wine glass and quite literally throw himself on Aziraphale, who seemed to have nothing against it (which was lucky, considering Crowley did that a lot ).“Sometimes I forget you’re a poet manqué,” Aziraphale teased him, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s waist to pull him closer. And Crowley could die, right here, in the soft, perfect spot between Aziraphale’s arms, nuzzling the angel’s neck and breathing in his now familiar smell.“‘M not a poet. I’m a demon.”“Yes, the foulest demon I know.”“Vile, really.”“Awfully so.”“Merciless too.”“Ah, yes, can’t forget merciless.”“Not to mention heartless.”“Took the words right out of my mouth.”“Pretty too.”“So pretty,” Aziraphale confirmed.A pretty demon indeed.