Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Newspapers were outdated. Most people used websites like Craigslist and social media to advertise instead of print. Most people also used dating apps. But Tinder was filled with creeps, Grindr was filled with people he’d already had some fun with or those he really didn’t want to try, and OKCupid was less than alright. Craigslist had too many murderers and social media was being scrubbed clean thanks to people more obsessed with catering to advertisers than people making real connections.

He still remembered MySpace, the days of bickering over coveted spaces in the Top Friends section and trading HTML coded themes, web pages blasting music at inopportune moments and never being able to easily find just which tab needed muting. More chaotic and much more fun.

A fan of both chaos and fun, the lanky ginger strolled into the Soho Weekly offices and left his ad with a wide-eyed, blushing girl who stammered over the price after he gave her the wordage he wanted to use. £6 was a drop in the bucket, really, for a chance to stir up some chaos somewhere.

WORK WANTED: Partner For Hire. Tall, lanky ginger of arguable gender available to be your significant other to keep pesky relatives, nosy coworkers, or well-meaning friends at bay. Able to be as annoying or as polite as you like. Causing a fight over Christmas dinner with your odd, bigoted uncle/aunt/cousin will require an extra £200 up front. £50 for the first hour, negotiable otherwise. Ciao.

His phone number and email address followed, and he was a hit pretty quickly. Each and every renewal of his ad was a laugh, and it was fun. It had yet to be fun enough to refund anyone, but waiting for that sort of opportunity was a secret he was going to take to his grave. Nobody who hired him really wanted a relationship. They just wanted to get out of something, to keep up appearances, or hoped the ad went a little deeper than suggested. As much as Crowley liked sex, he kept those sorts of trysts to the dating apps. They weren’t what the ad was for and never would be.

Unless that refund was in order, but that was a different story.

It was, truth be told, the best option available. The other options being showing up alone and suffering the continued disappointment and prickly needling of too many cousins about why, exactly, he did not yet have a partner of some sort or not show up at all and deal with the fallout of snubbing the Fell Family yearly reunion.

Neither were particularly agreeable.

He hadn't yet missed a single reunion since they'd started twenty years ago and Aziraphale Fell didn't plan on missing one yet. Not that it was anything spectacular, just a gathering of Fells from both England and abroad at the old family manor. A way to reconnect with one's blood, strengthen family bonds, and, yes, brag a little.

Aziraphale didn't feel like he had much to brag about in recent years but he still enjoyed hearing of the failures and triumphs of his scattered cousins. He just didn't also want to suffer endless questions about his simply lackluster love life. Last year had been more stressful than enjoyable and if he couldn't find a way to avoid all the unnecessary poking at his private life… well, he'd probably still go. He'd just regret every minute of it.

The article was possibly, potentially, a solution but… it felt a little wrong to just… lie to everyone. Besides, he didn't even know this- this person. They could very well be some vagabond looking for a gullible fool to take advantage of. Aziraphale couldn't possibly imagine many people would actually consider this sort of arrangement and yet… here he was. Considering it.

His hand had hovered over his old rotary phone three times since he'd noticed the odd advert in the paper this morning, debating over whether he should dial the number or not. He'd chickened out all three times, talking himself out of what was clearly a ridiculous idea. The fourth time he didn't get a chance to remind himself just how silly it was before the phone rang all on his own.

It startled him at first, Aziraphale looking at it like the thing would rise up out of its cradle and bite him. He answered on the third ring after having calmed his racing heart. “A.Z Fell and Co. Terribly sorry, we aren't currently open on Wednesdays.”

There was a pause. “Is it Wednesday? I could've sworn it was Tuesday.” A laugh cleared across the line, familiar and not always welcome. “Ah, jet lag. What fun.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. “Gabriel! I wasn't expecting to hear from you quite this soon. Yes, it's Wednesday.”

“Obviously if you're not open.” Not that there was anything obvious about Aziraphale's hours. “I just flew in this morning. Yesterday? I think it was technically this morning. I wanted to invite you to the park for a jog. They're good for your heart, you know.”

“A- A jog.” Of course his cousin wanted to go for a jog while jetlagged. “I do apologise but- but I'm afraid I have inventory to finish up before the reunion. It's, ah, quite important to keep up with that sort of thing, you know.”

“Right, right. When's the last time you actually sold a book, Az?” The chuckle was good-natured despite the punch when he continued with, “The last time you went on a second date?”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together and reminded himself it was unbecoming to abruptly hang up on one's family. “I- Well. If you must know, I had a second date just last week.”

“You? Wow. Is there a third on the horizon?”

“As a matter of fact, there is.”

“That's great! Are you sure you don't want to join me on that jog? Get you on a, uh, healthier track for this new relationship?”

“I don't believe that would be necessary.” Aziraphale glanced at the little advert clipping he'd kept near the telephone all morning. “I do have inventory to finish up after all and I'd like to get it done before I have to leave for the reunion.”

“The reunion! Right. Are you bringing the date?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale decided. “We'll both be there.”

“Great. Can't wait to meet her, Az. Talk soon, yeah?”

“Oh, yes. Mind how you go.” Aziraphale set the receiver back on its cradle and picked up the newspaper clipping. Well, he certainly couldn't back out now.

He'd modified little in the old car. His Bentley was from the 30s, passed down through the family right alongside lessons on maintenance and upkeep. There was pride in keeping the old girl going, in learning how to keep an old classic coupe in her prime after 90 years. She'd hit a century with him, and he was looking forward to it.

When Freddie crooned about a machine of a dream, he never failed to crank the radio. It and the speakers had been his only modification. Music and a love for it had also been passed down through generations, so his upgrade had taken the Bentley from 8-track player to Bluetooth.

His ringing phone was answered with a simple press of a button on the console, the device itself on the seat next to him. “Crowley,” he greeted.

“Oh! Ah-” That wasn't the typical way one answered a telephone and it threw Aziraphale off for a moment. He had the sudden inclination to just hang up, change the number his old shop had had since telephones had become common, and never speak to either his family or this stranger again. He soldiered on. “Hello! I- I'm calling about your advertisement in the paper.”

Crowley's brows lifted over the tops of his sunglasses. It wasn't quite the accent he was used to hearing. Not until some of them stopped trying to fake it, anyway. “Which advert?” he asked with a wry quirk of lips.

Of course someone who advertised such things would have more than one. Aziraphale just barely resisted huffing. “The- The partner one. For hire. I- I'm afraid I may be in need of such a thing.”

“Right.” Crowley glanced at a yellow light ahead and pressed the accelerator down. There was only one advert in one paper, but he liked to hear how people said it. “Happy to help. Where and when did you want to meet? Usually prefer a public spot for the first one.”

“Oh, yes, that's-” Surprisingly safe and responsible for what he'd expected. “That's fine. Would St. James be public enough for you?”

“The park? Sure. I'm available most of today and some of tomorrow. Got a preference?”

“Aahh-” He'd technically not told Gabriel the entire truth. He did need to do inventory but it wasn't something that needed to be done today. “Would later today suffice? Afternoon, perhaps?”

Crowley glanced at his watch. “Round three, then?”

“Oh, yes, three would be lovely,” Aziraphale said, his smile audible over the line. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

“Sure.”

A few more details were hammered out - St. James wasn't exactly a tiny park - before the call ended. It could be interesting, this job. A nervous, faintly huffy uppercrust bloke with a chipper tone that never quite tipped into annoying - it was new. Crowley liked new things. But, then, didn't everyone?

Aziraphale tapped his pen on the side of his crossword, he'd been sitting at his usual bench right across the sidewalk from the pond, Duck Island in view and just far enough away from the cafe to not be overly crowded, since ten minutes till three. Being punctual was a habit he'd had since he was a lad and his time in the armed forces had only encouraged it. When in the army early was on time, on time was late, and late meant you'd never hear the end of it from your superior officer. He didn't expect others to follow his example and arriving to an appointment early gave him the chance to sit and read or, as he was doing now, work on the daily crossword.

He stood out like a sore thumb, in Crowley's opinion. When he'd described himself in very general terms on the phone - stuttering all the while - Crowley hadn't expected the description to be so accurate. Well. A little bit of an understatement here and there, but accurate. Old waistcoat, but had omitted the faded edges. Light blond hair, but had failed to just say white. Bow tie, but hadn't included tartan. The only things which hadn't been slightly off were the spectacles - small, brass, round, antique - and the golden pocket watch chain.

A pocket watch in this day and age. Hell's bells.

He sprawled onto the opposite edge of the bench at three on the dot, throwing an arm over the back and angling his slouch just so. “What clue are you on?”

“Hm?” Aziraphale looked up and had to take a moment to blink. The- well, he assumed they were a man but he wasn't so out of touch to not recognise someone who could go either way if they so choose. The man was wearing perhaps the tightest black denim trousers Aziraphale had ever seen outside of particular Soho establishments and had wavy shoulder-length fire red hair that was half tied back. A sharp jaw and a hawkish nose upon which sat stylish opaque sunglasses. Tall, lanky, ginger, sunglasses. He matched the description of who he was supposed to be meeting. “Oh, Mr. Crowley. My apologies, I didn't notice you approach.”

“Mx,” he corrected with a wry grin. He wasn't oblivious to the once over, the way this Mr. Fell was one haughty sniff away from saying nevermind to the whole venture. “Though I really prefer no honorifics at all. Just Crowley's fine.”

“Crowley, then,” Aziraphale corrected, looking back to his crossword with eyebrows lifted over his little glasses. “I'm currently stuck on twenty-six across 'The blank Underground', six letters, and I haven't a clue what it means.”

Crowley chuckled, the sound lowly wicked. “Velvet. It's a band.”

“The Velvet Underground,” Aziraphale repeated to himself as he wrote it out, the other clues suddenly making more sense than they did before. “What is that? Some sort of bebop?”

It was almost - almost - enough to get Crowley to look over his glasses at him. His twist of lips would have to be unimpressed enough. “If you asked everybody in the whole world, no one - at all - would say bebop.”

“I'll take your word for it.” Aziraphale folded the newspaper and clipped his pin to the edge. “By the way, before this goes any further, I'd like to inquire as to your pronouns. None were listed in the advertisement and I'd rather not be offensive.”

“Ehh. Sort of up in the air? You're always safe with he/him, but I'll answer to any of 'em.” It was a fountain pen, he noted. As old-fashioned as all the rest. Admittedly, acceptance of variable pronouns wasn't something he'd expected from the man, and Crowley had been ready to stir up and irritate him a bit before strolling away. This, though... could be interesting.

“Ah, well, that makes things very easy, then.”

“Does it? Usually it's called me being difficult.”

“Not at all. In my opinion 'being difficult' would include refusing to give any sort of preference at all or becoming offended someone dared to ask in general. Being amenable to many with a slight preference is far from difficult.”

Crowley angled his head. Oh, yes, this could be very interesting. “So what sort of predicament have you gotten yourself into, Mr. Fell, that requires my particular brand of help?”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together and squeezed the folded edge of the newspaper. Right, to business. “You see, my family is quite large and scattered. I'm one of the only ones left who still live here in the U.K. but every year we have a bit of a get-together in the Downs, at an old manor that's been ours since it was built. It's just a nice little weekend thing, nothing special.

“However, last year, I ended up being the topic of much discussion since I am the last of my adult cousins who- well, hasn't found myself attached. It was terribly uncomfortable and I'd rather not repeat the experience.”

“So you want me to travel to the Downs for a weekend with your whole family.”

That made it sound like quite an ordeal indeed. “That is my request, yes. I don't expect any sort of-of fighting or arguments or any of that nonsense and I'm willing to pay you quite well.”

“No one's gotten me to travel yet, so I'd have to figure out some pricing. It's usually based on how bored I get.” If the rest of the family was fussy and outdated, he'd probably get very bored. Especially without any arguing to spice things up. “When's the party?”

“This weekend. Which I know is last minute but I only saw your advertisement this morning.”

“Right.” That was fast. He usually preferred two meet-ups before the date-date. Hammer out relationship details and whatnot, but he might be able to work with this. He could probably even charge more for the rush. “Anyone know about me yet?”

Aziraphale could feel his face begin to heat. “Only one of my cousins. Most of us are, admittedly, not all that close but he called this morning and I might have panicked.”

A hand waved on an agreeable sound. “You wouldn't believe how often that happens. What'd you tell him about this partner of yours?”

“Not much. Only that there had been two dates, there was a third planned, and that I'd invited- well, you, I suppose, to the reunion.”

“All that based on two dates? Must've been a hell of a time.” This fussy, posh man was sweet. “What's your dream first date then?”

“Dream date?” Aziraphale knew he was blushing now, though it was more from embarrassment. It had been some time since he'd been on a date at all, let alone a dream one. “Well, first of all, I don't think it's all that odd to invite a-a significant other to this sort of thing. Plenty of the younger cousins bring their beaus.” He either didn’t notice or simply ignored the way Crowley mouthed beaus. “Second, I- well, I suppose a 'dream date' would be… something quiet. A-a nice dinner, perhaps. Not necessarily expensive or fancy but a quiet dinner where we could actually talk and get to know one another would be lovely.”

Old-fashioned, fussy, sweet… extra sweet. How didn’t this little bookseller - because Crowley wasn’t stupid and had indeed looked up Aziraphale’s phone number - already have a proper sort of date? His business’s Yelp reviews were dismal, but the ones that mentioned him as a person had been positively glowing. Especially ones from MusicalMaggie09. “So a regular, simple dinner date. That’d be enough for you to decide to take someone on a weekend getaway to meet your whole family?”

“Well when you say it like that it sounds terribly dull and boring,” Aziraphale muttered under his breath.

“Well.”

And that only made the embarrassment worse. “Well, what would your dream date be then?”

Even bright red, he could push some haughty into his tone. Crowley liked that, so he decided to be honest. “This.”

Aziraphale gave him an even more obvious once over, from his boots - were they snakeskin? - to his perfectly styled hair. “Really?”

Crowley’s grin brightened, somehow seeming far more wicked. “Not necessarily this this, though I’m not unfamiliar with the park.” Or the ducks, though that was his business. “I don’t mind when things are up in the air. When the plans are loose and able to change.”

That sounded… well, it sounded like the sort of thing Aziraphale had avoided for so many years now. Changing plans and uncertainty had been terrifying things to avoid. “It sounds to me like you enjoy spontaneity.”

“Here and there. I don't mind, say, if who I'm out with makes plans. I'll just tag along and enjoy the ride.” His grin slipped into a smirk. Especially if he got to complain the whole time. “I get spontaneity and they get structure. Everyone wins. Dating someone more like me always makes me feel like I've got to do everything. Exhausting.”

Aziraphale blinked, not at all expecting that explanation. In his experience most people didn't like it that he had particular standards and wasn't easily impressed. Visiting a new restaurant or shop came with hurdles he did not often like to experience except when he'd been assured the service was worth it. “That's certainly one way of looking at it. Is that why you, er, offer these services? Doing something new without making the effort of planning it?”

Dating apps weren't working and he'd gotten tired of the same old, same old. “Little bit. Are you a planner?”

“To my detriment on occasion, but yes. I prefer to only patronage establishments that have quality service and treat their employees properly. I've found most people say they care about those things but turn a blind eye when it's convenient. I also prefer locally owned businesses over large corporations.”

Fussy. “Where did we go, then? On this first date?”

Their first date… it felt so strange to even think about. Aziraphale looked at him with his 'devil-may-care' slouch and sharp cheekbones and wondered where he might have taken this odd man. “I- I think I may have invited you to lunch at my favourite sushi restaurant. It's just around the corner from my shop.”

“Sushi, hm? Does lunch include sake?”

A small smile tugged at Aziraphale's lips. “It would indeed.”

“Right.” Crowley pushed himself up and offered a hand. “Sushi it is.”

Aziraphale looked at the hand and then up at the smirking face of this almost stranger. “I- I'm sorry?”

“Usually, I do at least two meet-ups before we do a meet the family gig. Our time's limited, so I'm making an exception. First date's on me.”

It was the last part that made Aziraphale feel warm all the way down to his toes. His fingers squeezed the newspaper again, somehow feeling even more trepidation over taking someone's hand than he had at meeting a complete stranger. He did take it, though, and let this Crowley pull him to his feet. The palm under his was solid, firm, a little calloused. The hand of someone who wasn't afraid of a little work. “Does that mean you're taking this, er, job?”

“Dunno yet. I usually have more time to decide since I'm picky about clients. If I'm risking a punch in the nose, it has to be worth it.” His hand was soft and warm, the nails neatly manicured. It was a polish Crowley wasn't usually interested in. “Right now, we're just two people getting to know each other. Yeah?”

“O-oh, yes. That.” Two people getting to know each other over a meal sounded awfully like a date but that was such an inappropriate thing to think when the whole point was to be hiring this man to pretend to be a partner. It made sense to get to know your client before such a charade. It didn't mean anything. “Though I sincerely doubt anyone will be attempting to harm you. My family has always been quite accepting.”

So accepting they apparently made fun of the guy for not having a partner. So much so he was looking to hire one. Crowley gave his hand a squeeze before letting go. “Good to know. Do you like owning a shop?”

“Ah-” His hand suddenly felt very empty and that was such an odd sensation to have. “Yes- Well, parts of it. I'm a bookseller and I love my books. The customers not so much.”

Crowley snickered. “And who's Maggie?”

“Maggie?” Aziraphale gave him a quizzical look. “She- She owns the record shop across the way- Do you know her?”

“Nope. I did a bit of looking into you after you called, and saw she's left glowing reviews about you to combat the negative press about your shop.” He angled his head, smile slow but so very amused. “What's the A.Z. stand for?”

Aziraphale frowned, confused for a moment before he realised he'd never actually shared his first name. “Oh, heavens. It's just the first two initials of my given name: Aziraphale. It's… well, most people have difficulty pronouncing it and I'd rather not hear it butchered all day.” He heard it butchered enough from a select few family members already.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley repeated, the little buzz of the Z rolling off his tongue easier than most lengthy names. Especially ones with an S mixed in. “What d’you prefer? Fell or Aziraphale?”

“I generally expect strangers and acquaintances to use Fell. Family and-” He gave Crowley a considering look as they left the park. “And I suppose significant others have the privilege of my more familiar name.”

What, Crowley wondered, about friends? “I'll keep that in mind. You alright with taking my car?”

“Oh, yes, that should be fine. I usually walk since it's not that far.”

Crowley wasn't one to walk many places. “Think you might like my car if you like antiques as much as I think you do.”

Aziraphale perked up immediately at that. “Oh? I expected someone… well, please don't take this the wrong way, but someone like you to drive something modern and fast.”

“She's definitely fast, but no one's ever called her modern. Not since she rolled off the line anyway.”

“Well you must introduce us, then. I insist on it.”

Crowley's laughed cracked out, almost birdlike in its cackle. “I will. And it'll get us where we're going.”

Aziraphale had no reason to distrust him and even less so when he finally laid eyes on Crowley's prized car. She was a beauty. A sleek and black nineteen thirty-three Bentley that looked as shiny as she had when she was new. Aziraphale cooed and clutched his newspaper tightly to keep from reaching out. “Oh, she's absolutely stunning.”

Crowley beamed, laying a hand on the roof. “Isn't she? Family heirloom, too. She's only been handled by Crowleys, so we're taught all the mechanics behind her and all.”

“That is wonderful,” Aziraphale said, all sincerity. “Too many people in this day and age have no idea how to properly maintenance a vehicle.”

“That's very true.” Crowley opened the passenger door, smirk returning like a mask clicking back into place. “After you.”

He was a gentleman as well as handsome. Aziraphale felt heat fill his cheeks as he sat, enjoying the supple leather of the seat and noticing how it smelled freshly cleaned. He smiled demurely through lowered lashes, unable to stop his pleased smile. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Ngk,” Crowley replied, startled by the way warmth speared through him. The bright, shining man had somehow turned smouldering with a single, small look. He nearly pushed his sunglasses down just to see the colour of the eyes giving Crowley the sort of look better suited to someone on their knees, but he cleared his throat and quickly stepped back. His “yup” was strangled before he shut the door, taking his time around the Bentley to get himself back under control.

Aziraphale was as happy as could be when the driver's side door opened, having taken the time it took for his companion to walk around to have a look at the dash and appreciate the still very much original interior. “I dare say, it looks to me that your family has clearly taken very good care of this old girl.”

“Oh, yeah.” Feeling a little more normal, Crowley reached for the key. “She's worth it. Buckle up,” he warned, barely waiting for the click before they were off.

Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath and one hand immediately went to the roof with a thump. The speed at which Crowley accelerated made Aziraphale certain he would die in this god-forsaken contraption. Any affection he might have held for it left behind at the park like an afterimage. The world of London beyond the car's interior sped by in a colourful whirlwind that almost left Aziraphale dizzy. “W-watch out! That's a ped- Oh. She's gone now.”

“I'm surprised you could tell they were likely a she.” Crowley threw him a wry, crooked smile as he whirled through traffic like a needle and thread in an expert seamstress's grip. “Doing alright? You look a little pale.”

“I'm tickety-boo!” Aziraphale squeaked, entire body tensing as Crowley expertly manoeuvred the old Bentley between two cars that Aziraphale thought were much too close together.

“Tickety-boo?” was the incredulous reply. What the Heaven was that? “Is that just... a normal thing you say?”

Despite the uncomfortable speed and the distinct feeling like his breakfast was going to make a reappearance Aziraphale managed to huff. “It's a perfectly normal thing to say.”

“A few decades ago, maybe.” The radio connected to his phone abruptly, Freddie Mercury suddenly asking if he was going to be taken home tonight. Crowley reached over and turned the knob, earning a gasp from his passenger seat. “What? I could leave it loud.”

“No! It-” He'd taken hand off the wheel and eyes off the road and, at the speed they were currently going, that seemed like such a dangerous move. “It's fine now.”

“Uh-huh.” The stop they came to was, somehow, smooth. Aziraphale wasn't jerked forward at all, his seatbelt not digging in. “This is the place, yeah?”

Aziraphale had somehow managed to not empty his stomach or die. A miracle, truly. “Yes!” he gasped and was out of the car in record time, patting himself to make sure he hadn't accidentally lost a limb.

Crowley pulled himself out far more casually, locking up behind him and sauntering around the vehicle. “Something wrong?” he asked lightly, unable to keep the amused quirk off his lips.

“No! No, everything's- tiptop. Nothing wrong at all,” Aziraphale said, smoothing his hands down his waistcoat to tug at the frayed edge.

Which explained how it had gotten quite so frayed to begin with. “I get the feeling you aren’t going to ask for a ride home,” he teased.

Aziraphale looked at him then, taking in the roguish grin. “I do believe you're enjoying my suffering.”

“If you were actually hurt or had been in danger - don't look at me like that, I've never had an accident - I'd be having much less fun. I don't take risks I think would get the Bentley damaged. Or my panicky passengers.”

“Justified panic,” Aziraphale corrected with a huff and another tug.

“I did tell you she was fast. Not one to putter, my Bentley.”

“As I've experienced,” Aziraphale said dryly. Though it was difficult to stay tetchy at him when he just looked so pleased. It was a sensation Aziraphale was wholly unfamiliar with. “In any case, yes. This is the place. One wonders how you found it while speeding the way you did and without me giving you any directions.”

“You said it was near your shop, and if you like to walk I didn't think it'd be too far off.” Crowley gestured towards the building, pleased that Aziraphale didn't seem quite as angry as he let on. “Lead the way.”

Aziraphale was quite happy to put more distance between himself and Crowley's infernal automobile. He led Crowley inside, the sounds of the busy Soho street falling away to quiet traditional music and low lighting. It was small, cosy, and the sort of place that didn't require you to wait to be seated. Aziraphale's lips pulled up into a smile, shoulders relaxing in the familiar space. “I've been coming here for years, and they've never failed to satisfy.”

“It's nice.” The dim lighting was almost romantic. He could see why Aziraphale would bring a date here. At the two-top he lingered at, Crowley withdrew a chair for him. “I don't usually go to restaurants. I tend to get takeaway.”

It was such a strange thing to go from warm and delighted to utterly terrified and back to delighted again. This Crowley was like a whirlwind, exciting and fast. Much too fast. “Thank you,” Aziraphale murmured, taking his seat. “I get takeaway often as well, but I do enjoy a good sit-down meal now and again.”

Crowley slithered into the seat across from him, slinging a casual arm over the back. “You seem that sort. Bet everybody fights to get your table.”

“I don't know anything about any fighting,” Aziraphale said, entirely honest. “What makes you say that?”

“You're probably the sort who comes in, chats with the staff without making the same jokes they've heard a thousand times. You probably don't even demand to see a manager if your food's wrong.”

Aziraphale blink, a slight frown turning his lips down. “Of course I don't. All I need to do is let my waiter know and they fix it promptly.”

“Exactly. You're a waitstaff's dream table. It's not a bad thing.”

“I suppose I just don't see why anyone would do anything else. Mistakes happen. There's no reason to get upset over them if it was just an honest accident.”

“You are dangerously likeable.”

“Dare I ask what that is supposed to mean?”

Crowley just grinned, looking up when a waiter set soup at their table alongside menus. “Ta.”

Aziraphale looked up as well, smile returning. He greeted their waiter in Japanese, not perfect by any means but certainly good enough to be understood. After an exchange of pleasantries and a few more words the waiter was scribbling something on the small notepad he carried and scurrying off. Aziraphale's smile turned back to a stunned Crowley. “I hope it's alright that I ordered our drinks. Sake with waters as well. Wouldn't want you driving the death trap of yours intoxicated.”

Crowley's brows had risen high during the little chat and stayed that way. He hadn't expected him to speak Japanese. He hadn't expected anything but English from him at all. It took a few moments, a few wordless noises, but Crowley eventually managed, “S'fine. Yeah.”

“Oh, good. Everyone here speaks English but I never pass up a chance to practise when I have it.”

“Understandable.” He had far too many positives about him to still be single. So what was it? Did his house smell? Aziraphale didn't, he would've known in the car. So what exactly was it about him that made people turn tail? Crowley wanted to know or at least have an idea before he went off with him. “So you own a bookshop and you speak Japanese. What else do you do in your spare time?”

“Well I also mend plenty of books… though I suppose that could be counted as part of owning the shop. But I've been doing it since I was a lad so it feels different. I also frequent the theatre regularly.”

“Film or stage?”

“Stage. I can't remember the last time I saw a film.”

“I'd rather see a film. Going to a dark movie theatre with a popcorn bucket is a great time, but I don't mind plays either.” Crowley's head tipped in consideration. “Wonder if I could get you into a cinema.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together. “Aren't modern cinemas dirty, loud, and playing those- action films with lots of explosions?”

“Not all of them are dirty - no more so than any stage theatre - not every film is an action film, and they're not louder than the West End.” Crowley's smirk didn't fade. “Sounds like you've gone to the wrong cinemas to see the wrong films, angel.”

Angel… Aziraphale was accustomed to being likened to one. Usually because of his name and rarely positively. This, however, didn't sound like a negative. It didn't sound like a jab at a name he had no control over but still enjoyed. “Perhaps I have. Do you intend to enlighten me?”

“If you'll let me.”

Aziraphale stared at him for a moment, entirely unable to discern if he was genuine or making fun with those sunglasses in the way; why hadn't he taken them off? He fell back on his own genuine honesty in lieu of an answer. “Continue being delightful to speak to and I might.”

Crowley grinned. “I'll do my best, then. What sort of plays do you like?”

Conversation went on easily, Crowley peppering Aziraphale with questions and responding to ones about himself in kind. Neither of them delved too far beneath the surface, not yet. It became clear quickly that Aziraphale was all for a good chat, quick-witted and as capable of teasing as Crowley even if he went at it from a different angle, but he did not enjoy deeply personal questions. He did not wish to discuss his family or the way he'd grown up.

That could be an issue come the weekend, but Crowley had faith in his own abilities to suss out people's intentions and the things they'd rather keep hidden. Aziraphale was proving to be as difficult to predict as he was easy to predict, and that was intriguing. It was new.

Near the end of their meal, Aziraphale's three rolls gone and one half of Crowley's second left, he decided to quietly swap their plates while Aziraphale argued passionately over the benefits of Hamlet and how deserving it was of its accolades.

Crowley vehemently disagreed, but it was just fun to rile him up. And it was... interesting to watch him eat. Aziraphale just took such delight in it, enjoying every single morsel as if there was nothing else in the world more important than the flavours on his tongue. “I still say Hamlet's a whiny little ponce.”

Aziraphale huffed, annoyed but… not to the point of feeling truly argumentative. This Crowley clearly knew his Shakespeare. It was different from when his family disparaged his interests. This wasn't a lack of understanding but a… teasing ribbing. “He's troubled. A tragic hero misunderstood and doomed by his narrative.”

Crowley scoffed. “Doomed by his own bad choices, more like.”

“Choices he feels forced into, as if they were his only options. I-” Aziraphale stopped, blinking down at a plate he knew wasn't his. He'd finished his. And now there was half a roll in front of him. One he hadn't ordered. Aziraphale looked back up and saw a ginger eyebrow raise above dark glasses. “Oh,” Aziraphale said, smile turning soft. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Myeh.” He waved it away and picked up his sake. “He had plenty of options, but at least now I know what sort of film you may like.”

“I don't mind the comedies, they have their place just like the tragedies and the romances.”

“The romances?”

“Yes, his last few are often grouped together as the romances. The Tempest, Pericles, The Winter's Tale. Though I suppose most of them aren't as well known as his others.”

“Oh, I know. I’m a fan of The Tempest well enough. What about spooky things?”

“Spooky?” Aziraphale hummed around a portion of sushi from Crowley's former plate. “I'm not a fan of- of horror. All the grisly business with ladies screaming and more blood than actually exists in a human body.”

“Mm. Pity. Big spooky fan, me, though it’s not all grisly murders with too much gore. Some of it’s psychological.”

Aziraphale's lips pursed. “I suppose something more psychological wouldn't be nearly so bad. If I'm going to see a film I'd rather it be something that can be discussed after, rather than gawked at for its shock value.”

Crowley liked both, depending on his mood. He'd have to find something Aziraphale would enjoy. A classic film noir, perhaps, or some sort of charming romance reminiscent of stage plays. Not the '96 version of Romeo & Juliet, though. Absolutely not. “I think I'll be able to find you a film you'd like.”

“I look forward to seeing what you come up with. The manor we'll be going to does have a small theatre so feel free to utilise it.”

“Really? You think we’ll have a couple of free hours this weekend to hole up and watch some film together?” It took the idea of a cinema out of the question, but if he did this alright… Optimism, frustrating and unwieldy, fluttered. It was always dangerous to think about what might happen after the job. He hadn’t even officially agreed to take this one.

“Oh, very likely. Once the pleasantries and what-not are over, we mostly only see one another in passing or at meals. Everything's quite informal.”

Informal. Hm. Crowley watched Aziraphale take a piece of sushi, listened to him hum delightedly around it as his eyes closed. Such a deliciously simple pleasure, it was hard to look away from him. Fuck it all. “I’ll take it. The job. I don’t want you to have to walk back what you told your cousin or say things didn’t work out and get yourself more pity than you deserve.”

Aziraphale's smile wilted just a smidge. Yes, pity over not actually having any kind of significant other. A perpetual bachelor. “Well I do appreciate it, thank you.”

“Don’t say thank you. I’m only agreeing because you’re interesting. If you were like some of the other idiots who call about my ad, we wouldn’t even be here. Let alone going off for the weekend.”

“Still, I am grateful. Being interesting is better than some other options.”

“That's very much a fact. Twice, I've had to get payment up front because I knew they'd be dull and weren't being honest about the scope of the job. You, though, seem honest.” Debilitatingly so.

“I don't like to lie,” Aziraphale said. “They rarely ever stay unknown and then you have to deal with the fallout. It's messy. It's also just easier to tell people the truth… Usually.”

“Nosy cousins notwithstanding.”

Aziraphale flushed and unconsciously reached for the napkin in his lap to fidget with. “Gabriel is… well… you'll see when you meet him, but it's generally easier to just tell him what he wants to hear.”

“Mm. He may not like me, then.”

That made Aziraphale chuckle. “To be quite frank with you, I don't think he's ever disliked anyone, though plenty of people dislike him.”

Crowley's grin was quick and wicked. “That sounds like a challenge.”

There was something about that grin that made Aziraphale's heart pick up speed. It was ridiculous and silly and Crowley was… well, he was stylish and attractive and this was just a business transaction. Nothing more. “He doesn't even hate the man who shot him, so you'd have your work cut out for you.”

The smile vanished into shock, Crowley leaning forward. “He got shot? Was it an accident?”

Aziraphale struggled not to smile. “Oh, no. It was no accident. A disgruntled employee had finally had enough, I believe.”

“How the Heaven does anyone get a gun around here? Just an average employee? Or does your cousin run a secret cartel?”

“He lives in America.”

“Ah. More guns than people there.” Crowley leaned back in his chair again, but his brows were still raised. Expressive even with the sunglasses over his eyes. “Since I'm not bringing any weapons along with me, I s'pose I don't have much chance. He must really be oblivious, though, to be hated that much and not know it.”

“Gabriel is… the kind of man who struggles to see past the nose on his face. But… well, he's been better - trying to be better - since then. I think being shot was something of a wake up call. Granted, it's… a work in progress.”

“Sounds like you’re being generous.” But Aziraphale’s weak smile had Crowley moving on. “Anyone else I should know about in particular?”

“Well there's my cousin Michael and her wife, Uriel, with their child Muriel. I imagine Muriel will be bringing their boyfriend. Oh, and Gabriel's brother, Sandalphon, along with their older sister Saraquel. I believe those are ones closest in relation to me. I'm not sure if Gabriel's partner will be joining this year, they didn't come last year.”

Crowley blinked a few times. It sounded like a very queer sort of family, which wasn’t usually what he walked into. He was used to being shock value, but it really did seem like Aziraphale was only asking him for this because he was tired of going alone. His prices quietly lowered drastically as he took fresh stock of Aziraphale. They could even be zero if this went as well as his fluttery optimism was hoping. “Alright. Should be a fine time then.”

Chapter Text

The Bentley pulled to a stop in front of the bookshop, the A.Z. Fell & Co. embedded on the corner seeming very ancient indeed. Purveyor of books to the gentry was painted neatly above a window. It wasn't the first time he'd seen it, having driven by once earlier in the week just to see. He'd gotten espresso at the amusing, ominously titled cafe across the street and it had been surprisingly good. And strong. Usually he didn't get what he asked for, but the fast-talking woman who'd taken his order had put six shots in a cup and set it at his elbow without a lecture.

Just the sort of place he'd go back to given a chance.

Maybe when the weekend was over, he thought, stepping out of the Bentley. His long legs weren't covered in denims this time, the tights almost sheer and ripped at the knees. He thought it was... artistic, enjoying every raised eyebrow he got each and every time he wore them. Not many brows bothered to raise in Soho, not even with the skintight skirt he wore clinging to his hips and giving a faint curve to his arse. It had been what had convinced him to buy the skirt in the first place. Anything that worked miracles deserved a place in his wardrobe.

The door, unsurprisingly, was locked. So he rapped on the glass instead and smirked at the sign in the window, the hours scrawled across the page indecipherable and amusing for it. Who needed to sell a book at a bookshop anyway? Clearly not Aziraphale Fell.

A knocking at the door was not unusual. Even during the few times his shop was open, Aziraphale often forgot to unlock it. The fact that it discouraged more customers than it encouraged was just a bonus. However, it also meant he was entirely unprepared to open the door and be face to face with a handsome man in tights and an even tighter skirt. His eyes flicked down and back up quickly. “Oh, good lord.”

Crowley managed to hook his thumbs in tiny pockets, smirk curving his lips. “Morning, angel.”

“Good morning, Crowley.” The motion tempted to draw Aziraphale's eyes again but he fought it. Ogling someone on his doorstep would be awfully inappropriate. He stepped aside and motioned with a hand. “Please, come in. I just need to grab my things from upstairs.”

“Want help?” he offered, sauntering by him to enter the bookshop. He was immediately taken by how dim it was inside, though the walls were such a rich, sumptuous sort of gold. Like an old coin, something in a pirate’s treasure chest. Not that it was easily seen, nearly every surface covered in books and antiques of some sort. “S’nice place.”

“Oh, thank you, dear,” Aziraphale said as he closed the door behind him. “Though I don't think I'll need much assistance. I don't bring all that much for just a weekend.”

“Me either. I’ve just the one bag.” It was dark enough in the little shop that he could probably remove the sunglasses. He only turned to Aziraphale. “You didn’t give me a dress code, but I thought I should keep my harness at home.”

Harness. With the skirt and the equally tight Henley it was all too easy to imagine black straps around a lithe chest. He'd probably look very fetching- Aziraphale cleared his throat and pretended his face wasn't heating up. “I'm sure you'd fit right in during Soho pride.”

“I do fit right in at Pride. Have a lot of fun, as a matter of fact. Do you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Aziraphale said over his shoulder with a smile as he led Crowley further into the shop. “I have a string of flags I hang around the sides for the occasion and a very large bowl of rubbers I set out.”

“Course you set out rubbers. Very conscientious of you.” And though Crowley’s tone was teasing, he did appreciate the gesture. “Shame I haven’t paid much attention to the building before now, but your hours would confuse anyone.”

“According to the uncle who left me this place in his will, the hours were designed to be confusing.”

Crowley’s laugh filled the busy space. “He did a great job, your uncle.”

“Thank you, I didn't know him very well when he still lived, but I'm told I take after him a great deal. Books have always been my passion, and I was apparently the only one he could think of who would appreciate this place the way it deserved.”

“Can obviously tell that. I don’t think there’s any space for any extra books. D’you even sell anything in-” He broke off, head tilting curiously. “Oh, that’s a good smile. You don’t sell a damn thing.”

The compliment warmed Aziraphale from head to toe. “Not if I can help it.”

He liked it, this little hint of bastardry amidst all the pomp. It made him a little more earth angel than ethereal being. “Well, go on then. Get your stuff so we can keep you from selling anything all weekend.”

Oh, this man was delightful. Aziraphale gave a pleased wiggle as he mounted the spiral metal staircase that was the only way to the second floor. “Yes, of course, I'll be right back in two shakes of a lamb's tail.”

“Right.” It was charming in a ridiculous sort of way, though the wiggle certainly drew his eye downwards. His grey housecoat hid the exact curve of his arse, but Crowley had no doubt there was plenty of it to grip if given the opportunity. Crowley might’ve thought he didn’t go in for that sort of thing but for the reaction to the word harness. What might the reaction be to ropes and handcuffs? he wondered idly, amusing himself by wandering towards a stack of books and studying their well-loved spines. How many had Aziraphale read? How many did he want to read? Which were his favourites? Crowley wasn’t one for reading, not really, but he did like audiobooks and he was endlessly curious about the man who owned this shop.

He hoped Aziraphale liked the film he’d picked for them, but time would tell.

It would, indeed, and it took Aziraphale no time at all to return. He'd packed the night before, stuffing clothes and more books than he'd probably have the time to read into an old carpet bag. It was that he carried down the stairs, the steps well worn and familiar. “You can touch but do be careful. Some of the items in here are older than I am.”

“Nah, don't need to touch to read the spines. Most of 'em, anyway. Some are so cracked, you almost have to take them down.” Crowley didn't try to take the bag from him. It might've been the gentlemanly thing to do, but no one had ever mistaken him for a gentleman. Besides, the lumpy old bag looked heavy. He didn't think that was just a side effect of being ugly. “How many books are in that thing?”

“Enough.”

Crowley's grin was a little crooked, but it was sincere. He wasn't going to poke fun at him for having a hobby. “Enough to give you a variety to pick from when you've time?”

“Hopefully,” Aziraphale confirmed. He found that he liked that grin and the hint of a slightly sharper tooth it gave. “Though I suppose with someone accompanying me I won't have as much time as I usually do.”

“I hope not. I like to think I’m good enough company to provide plenty of distractions.” When it was deserved. He could also be wretched company and was paid well for it. He waited for Aziraphale to exchange his grey housecoat for the beige one on the hook, then held the door open for him to exit first. “Heading straight there or did you want to make a detour anywhere?”

“Oh, I have nowhere else I need to go. I made sure to have everything ready for the weekend ahead of time.” Aziraphale gave him a pleased smile. This Crowley might have looked like someone who caused trouble, and he might very well be, but thus far he’d been nothing but gentlemanly. “But do feel free if you feel peckish or something you need to take care of first.”

“Nah. M’alright. If we need to stop, it’ll be for petrol or if you want to. Don’t usually go down towards the coast, so I’m not sure what spots are even good to stop in.”

“Quite a few spots, actually. I've taken a cab every year and know the route quite well by now.”

“You pay for a taxi every year? Why not just get a car of your own? A rental would even be better.”

“Owning and maintaining a vehicle in London is much more expensive than paying for a cab twice a year. I have no need of it outside of this one time of the year and walking, the tube, and the occasional bus do just fine for me.”

“Taking full advantage of public transport, then. I’d rather have my car. I like the control.” He took Aziraphale’s bag so he could lock up, grimacing at the weight of it. “Dunno how you hold this thing like it’s bloody nothing.”

Aziraphale smiled over his shoulder and relieved Crowley of the heavy burden easily. “Carting about stacks and boxes of books regularly will do that.”

“Clearly.” He grinned, thumbs disappearing into his pockets again. “Maybe I should've brought the harness after all. Don't mind getting tugged about now and again.”

“You-” Aziraphale huffed at that rakish grin. He knew when he was being teased. “You're saying things like that on purpose to get a rise out of me.”

“Clever, you are. That doesn't make it untrue.” He liked sex and he liked strength, was ashamed of neither. Crowley angled his head, amused, before turning towards the Bentley. “C'mon. You can put that on the backseat with mine.”

Aziraphale followed behind him, cheeks still pink and eyes inevitably drawn to the sway of narrow hips. His ensemble truly highlighted… particular assets and Aziraphale wondered, not for the first time, why a handsome man like this would stoop so low as to offer such services. Surely he could find partners easily.

The car wasn't parked far and Aziraphale marvelled at his ability to find a nearby parking space as he set his much older bag next to a black duffel. “Are you going to drive like a bat out of hell again?”

He hummed. “How d'you think bats in hell would drive?”

“Like you did the other day. Obviously.”

“Nah, they can’t be the same. Completely different environments, aren’t they?” He adjusted the seat, holding the passenger door open for him. “Out of hell, bats must stretch their wings a bit since I’d wager hell’s strict.”

Aziraphale hummed, considering, as he sat in the passenger seat. “I think Heaven would be more constricting, personally.”

“Different sorts of rules are still rules. Neither side would probably be very forgiving, even if it’s supposedly the whole deal for Upstairs. Got yourself tucked in?” At the affirmative, Crowley shut the door and crossed to his own, sliding in behind the wheel with a practised ease. “How would a bat in Heaven drive?”

“Would there be bats in Heaven?”

“Dunno. Isn’t God supposed to love all living creatures?”

Aziraphale's lips pursed in thought. “I suppose so. Theoretically. However, I'm certain a heavenly bat wouldn't drive like you.”

Crowley laughed, starting the car and pulling away from the kerb with hardly a glance at his mirrors. “You’ll be fine. Never had a scratch, let alone an accident.”

It wasn't nearly as fast or violent as his driving the day before but Aziraphale still gripped the side of the door. “There's always a first time for everything.”

“Not with you in the car, I promise. Besides, I may actually want to see some of the country we're driving through.” And he wanted some more time to talk to Aziraphale. So far he was proving to be unlike anyone else he'd accepted a job from. Unlike anyone he'd found on any dating app or at a pub either. Wholly unique, this angel, and it was intriguing. “Any new calls from nosy cousins?”

Aziraphale didn't feel quite as ill as he'd been before but he wasn't letting his guard down just yet, especially not on busy London roads. Maybe once they got out of the city he'd feel less wound up. “Yes, actually. He tried getting me to go jogging with him again.”

Crowley grimaced. “Who the heaven would run for the fun of it? Americans are weird.”

That made Aziraphale have to cover his mouth to stifle a laugh. “I'm sure not all of them are like that but my cousin sure seems to enjoy it. I, however, do not believe in such things unless it is an absolute emergency.”

“You and me both. If I'm running, something bigger than me is giving chase.”

Aziraphale did laugh then, a quiet giggle that surprised himself. It would appear they had more in common than one would first assume. “Yes, my thoughts exactly.”

Crowley slanted him a look, lips quirked at the laugh. It was bubbly like champagne, bright and sparkling and encouraging him to get more. “Why would he want you to go so bad?”

“I- Well-” Aziraphale fidgeted and regrettably glanced out the window. The blurred outside made him dizzy but looking directly at Crowley was worse. “Something about a-a healthy lifestyle being a healthy start for a new relationship.”

Crowley's brows rose. “Are you... ill?”

“Most definitely not!” Aziraphale said quickly. “My doctor has said I'm one of his healthiest patients.”

“Then I don't see why you'd need to take up jogging or change your lifestyle.” Crowley shrugged, glancing his way for a brief onceover. “You're handsome, you're strong, your doctor says you're healthy - bugger all the rest.”

Handsome. Aziraphale dragged his eyes away from the passing shopfronts to stare at Crowley with wide eyes. It was one thing to know he was perfectly fine the way he was, and to be at peace with himself, and quite another to hear something similar from a handsome man who made him laugh. “T-thank you. I usually ignore Gabriel’s suggestions as a general rule.”

“Don't blame you if he's making those sorts of suggestions.” Crowley scoffed. “If it's 'cause you're not as skinny as me, it's not his place to talk shit about it. I'd rather padding to cling to, personally, and if your body's healthy how it is, even better.”

“Crowley-” It was somewhat embarrassing but also… but also nice to hear. Aziraphale wouldn't say he was self conscious about his soft padding but it still warmed him to have someone say they appreciated it. “Thank you, my dear.”

He made a dismissive sort of sound, words locking in his throat. He wasn't exactly... good at offering support. It was why his advert offered fights instead of comfort. With a flick of his wrist and a careful press of foot, the music grew louder and the Bentley faster as if he could escape the gratitude altogether.

It certainly made Aziraphale's gratitude dim just a bit as London sped by. As sweet as Crowley may be, he was also a hellion on wheels and Aziraphale's other hand found its soon to become familiar place on the ceiling. He didn't relax even a smidgen until they'd more than left the city proper and were chugging south towards Crawley. The hustle and bustle of London falling away to forests and farmland did much to smooth the stressed scrunch between Aziraphale's eyes and relax his shoulders.

“Have you ever been to the Downs, Crowley?”

“Not often. Been a few years, actually. If I'm taking a drive, I tend to head north towards Scotland. Edinburgh, mostly.”

“Oh, I do enjoy Edinburgh. I was up there just a few months ago for an auction.”

“An auction?” he wondered, easing off the gas somewhat. “Find anything fun?”

“Just an old Bible misprint I'd been looking for. I collect them. This one replaced part of Ezekiel with a rant from the typesetter.”

It made Crowley laugh. “Poor sod must've been really fed up. What a dramatic way to quit a job.”

Aziraphale giggled along with him. “Oh, yes, he added a whole three verses to complain about having to set the typeface instead of being outside.”

“I hope he got plenty of it after. Has your only job been the bookshop?”

“Not exactly. I spent my youth in the armed forces but… while I enjoyed the structure the physicality apparently did not agree with me.”

“You were in the military? You?”

Aziraphale puffed out his cheeks. “Is it really so surprising.”

“You are a soft angel who likes ancient music and books and- and delicate things. You're not a shoot 'em up bloke.” Crowley glanced at him again, the onceover more lingering. He'd look good in a uniform, though.

The breath left his cheeks like a deflated balloon. “No, you're right. I never liked all the shooting and whatnot. I suppose I was lucky enough to never see combat and got a medical discharge after tearing my meniscus.”

Crowley briefly pressed his lips together, but he wasn't so proud not to say, “Your what?”

“My- Oh, of course, the meniscus is a bit of cartilage in the knee. It acts as something of a cushion. I tore it during a routine training exercise and it never quite healed right.”

“Mm. Does it bother you then? D'you ever need a cane? Or is it like that thing where you know when it's about to rain?”

The curiosity seemed genuine and Aziraphale had never been one to discourage such things. “It does bother me when the weather turns suddenly and gets weak when I'm on it for too long. I have a folding cane in my bag I use for those times.”

“Alright. Another reason for you not to take up jogging, I reckon. Which knee?”

“My left and yes, though using it does make it stronger with time.”

“Nah. Jogging's high impact. You should save the use for walks in the park and- d'you like art galleries?” he wondered, lips quirking. “Course you do. Yeah. Walks in the park and meandering art galleries. I like them too, for the record. I've got a small art collection in my flat.”

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale's eyes lit up. “I do so love art, especially by local artists.”

Local artists was promising. Very much so. “What sort of thing do you gravitate to?” He was a shiny thing, Crowley grateful for his sunglasses. “Paintings, sculpture? Really doubt you go in for modern art.”

“No, I'm not a particular fan of 'modern' art. I generally gravitate towards more traditional methods; oil painting, sculpture, that sort of thing.”

Not picky, then. And Crowley had been right. “I like sculptures and furniture with character. Stuff that's carved and moulded to be more than just functional. M'also a fan of sketches. I like seeing the ideas on a canvas.”

“Really?” He'd never expect someone who looked like Crowley to have an appreciation for art. “Sketches are lovely as well, especially when you have the finished product to compare it to, to see where it began and where it ended.”

“Oh, yeah. Though I never really mind when the finished project is somewhere else, ‘specially when it’s in public and can be seen. It’s why I like galleries. I like ‘em more than private collections, anyway. Art’s… it’s for sharing, not holing up and hiding.”

“Yes, I agree full-heartedly.” And it was so very nice to share similar sentiments with someone. “You're much more cultured than I initially gave you credit for and for that I apologise for my knee-jerk judgement.”

“It’s the one I’m used to.” He smirked. “That and being called a slut. You haven’t done that, at least.”

Aziraphale's eyes went a little wide. “I've had no reason to assume such. Besides, some people have more luck in that department than others and there's nothing wrong with that.”

“Luck.” Crowley grinned. “Right. For the record, I am a slut. Clean and planning to stay that way and I don't take payments for sex, but definitely happy being a slut.”

“O-oh…” Aziraphale's hands twisted together. He didn't think of himself as a prude and had certainly made his fair share of advances in his youth but those advances had always been with long-term in mind. It seemed a little terrifying, even now, to be intimate with someone on a whim. Terrifying and, if he were honest, exciting. But he'd never been particularly exciting. “Well, I suppose that's alright too. So long as you enjoy it.”

“Mrgh.” He used to enjoy it more. Admittedly, it had gotten a smidge dull. Spontaneity could be very mediocre and taking time to learn what someone really wanted in bed tended to require learning what someone was like outside of it. And that was where Crowley's attempts usually fell apart. Either he'd lose interest or the other person would realise just how clingy Crowley could be. How jealous. Not the sort of jealous that distrusted, but definitely a little on the volatile side. “Relationships just don't tend to... work out. For me. Sex can be fun. A good release, y'know?”

“I-” His initial reaction would be to deflect and steer the conversation towards something less embarrassing but… it felt like Crowley was being sincere, attempting to make a connection. “I suppose I must do. However, for me, relationships rarely ever last long enough to reach that point.”

“Mm. You go the usual route, then? Meet, date, eventually fall into bed?”

Yes, except that last part, he'd always hoped, would be love. “Something like that.”

“That's...” Silly, maybe. Childish and a little naive, possibly. “It's sweet. The sort of romance people write books and plays about.”

Aziraphale's smile didn't meet his eyes. “It's alright. You don't have to spare my feelings. I know it's old fashioned and something of an unrealistic fantasy. Perhaps I've just read too much.”

Crowley's shoulders jerked, the melancholy a little too stuffy for his liking. “Not like sluts don't want love too,” he muttered.

Aziraphale flushed. “I- My apologies. I didn't mean to imply-”

“Shut up,” Crowley interrupted, a hand slipping from the wheel to lay on Aziraphale's knee. “M'just saying I meant it. M'not trying to spare your feelings or any shite like that. Just- It's-” His head wobbled a little, trying to get his mouth to effectively make words. “I go at it from a different direction from you, yeah, but it doesn't mean I don't want the same thing.”

“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale said quietly, most of his attention drawn to how warm Crowley's hand felt through the cotton of his trousers. “I suppose that's what most people want - to be loved.”

“S'pose so. So relax, yeah? I'm not going to pander to you. I don't believe in that tripe. It doesn't get anybody anywhere.”

“I- I suppose I can try to… relax, as you put it. I'm certain there will be more than enough to worry about this weekend than whether or not you're just attempting to be kind.” Not that it seemed he needed to 'attempt'. Crowley seemed capable of plenty of kindness all on his own.

“I am not kind.” Crowley's hand swiftly returned to the wheel, fingers flexing. “I'm blunt and crass and- and all sorts of unpleasant.”

He hadn't been a smidge unpleasant the entire time they'd spent together. “Whatever you say, dear.”

Crowley nodded once, shoulders rolling, and the volume went up again as they wound their way through the countryside.

The house was enormous. Crowley had expected it to be, considering how much family Aziraphale had told him to expect and how old the manor supposedly was. There were angel wings on a gate that only opened when Aziraphale leaned over and spoke loudly into an intercom that he and his “ah, beau I told Gabriel about” had arrived.

It was grand in the way a manor like this ought to be, like a well tended grand dame. Beautiful, sturdy, classic. The gardens were on the dull side, all flat and mowed to the point golf could've been played there. It would've looked better teeming with life, brightly blooming and just this side of wild.

The neatly dressed servant waiting on the step had him scowling. “No one's parking the Bentley but me.”

Aziraphale's lips somehow pulled into a smile despite the anxious twisting he was doing with his hands. He recalled a similar feeling the singular time he'd attempted to invite a prospective partner home when he'd been a teenager. “You can just park in the garage around the back. It should be open.”

“It'd better be.” Crowley completely ignored the stoop, following Aziraphale's directions. “You ready for this?”

“No,” Aziraphale said honestly, softly. “I'm not, really, but we're here now. And it's only a weekend. I'll survive.”

When he shut off the engine, Crowley shifted on the seat to look at him better. “You sure you don't want me to pick any fights? I can be very distracting.”

“Please don't. I realise I haven't made my family out to be very kind but they do mean well. They aren't bad people.”

“Alright, alright. You're just making yourself stress even more, angel.” Crowley reached out, covering those fidgeting fingers with a careful hand. “Let's just get our things and you can show me around or whatever. And, since I don't think I've told you yet, my first name's Anthony. So you can make your introductions.”

Aziraphale briefly closed his eyes and let out a quiet breath. “Thank you, I'd entirely forgotten to ask. Clearly I'm not at all used to this sort of thing.”

“To be fair, it’s not something I’m used to offering up. Lot of people who’ve called on the advert have no idea who I am.”

“Well I appreciate it nonetheless.” Crowley was starting to feel like something of a friend but, even with apparently having the privilege of knowing his first name, Aziraphale wasn't entirely sure it was mutual. “A bit difficult to pass someone off as a significant other if you know nothing about them.”

“Less difficult than you’d think, really. Most just want the drama. A way to liven up a boring time or stick it to people who deserve it. I got someone fired by request once, and that was fun.” He hadn’t expected Aziraphale to be quite so uncomfortable as he was. He’d talked about his family so little, but had always been so reassuring. What- ah. Reassuring. That didn’t necessarily mean he was reassuring Crowley. He carefully encouraged Aziraphale’s hand to turn, fingers gentle as he laced them together. “Listen, angel, we’re going to be fine, yeah?”

Aziraphale looked to him with wide eyes. “Thank you,” he said softly. “You're right. Of course you are. We'll be fine.”

“Don’t thank me, but do tell me I’m right. I like hearing that.”

“Of course you do,” Aziraphale replied with a smile pulling at his lips. “I'd already suspected you were vain. No one wears trousers as tight as yours and isn't.”

“They’re comfortable,” he argued. “And I don’t always wear trousers. Obviously.”

Aziraphale's eyes were unable to keep from glancing down, cheeks pinking the moment he realised. “Obviously.”

Crowley’s smirk curved his lips. “My eyes are up here.”

The blush on Aziraphale's cheeks deepened, his eyes quickly flicking back up to see the wicked grin. That wicked, handsome grin. Said eyes were, however, still perpetually covered by dark sunglasses. “I wouldn't have guessed,” Aziraphale said, momentarily stunned by his own response before he fled from the car out of sheer embarrassment.

Crowley's jaw hung loose, eyes wide behind the dark lenses, but it wasn't long at all before he was pushing himself out of the Bentley to catch him before he could flee too far. “Angel,” he laughed, fascinated by that unexpected spark, “you're quite the surprise.”

He was still fighting back the blush but it was easier to smile at the clear delight on Crowley's face with the distance and space the large garage afforded them. It was deep and long with multiple cars parked side-by-side though none of them were as classic as Crowley's. The old Bentley sticking out like a sore thumb among newer, sleeker models. “I haven't the faintest clue what you mean.”

“Oh, I'm sure.” Crowley folded his arms atop the Bentley's roof, still grinning at him. “You're a tempting little thing.”

Aziraphale was certain that the longer he stayed near Crowley the more likely it was his face would become stained red permanently. “I beg your pardon.”

Snickering, Crowley shook his head. “C’mon. Get your bag and we’ll head in. Let’s get the hard part over with.”

“Y-yes.” Aziraphale tugged at his waistcoat and retrieved his bag from the back seat, taking that moment to compose himself. Crowley was teasing him again. Obviously. He didn't think it was a malicious sort of tease but there was still something of a sting. Tempting? Him? No. Most definitely not.

Crowley swung his own over his shoulder, making sure his car was secure before offering Aziraphale a hand and a grin. “Lead the way.”

Aziraphale looked at that hand. He knew it was warm and a little rough from the little he'd held it before. His fingers clenched, hesitating only a moment before taking it. It was so silly to be almost middle-aged and yet feel very warm at just holding hands. “Alright.”

He might never have had any use for the garage before today, but Aziraphale knew the door near where they came in led right to a mud room that would then open up into the grand old kitchen.

Aziraphale still remembered when the whole manor had been renovated when he'd been just a lad. As much of the original had been saved as they could while still making it usable for the modern day. Even the old, wood burning stove had been kept, though it was no longer used. More of a decor piece to give the kitchen a rustic feel to it. That none of his relatives were currently occupying the kitchen wasn't a surprise, he knew most of them couldn't cook to save their lives.

“Obviously this is the kitchen, the dining room is through those double doors and the main hall through the others.”

“Right. S’nice, though.” It was bright, cheery. Nothing like his own kitchen at his flat except for the distinct feeling of rare use. “Are there old, secret staircases? Avenues for servants back when they were kept more secret?”

Aziraphale's lips curved into something of a secret smile as he made his way towards a tall, glassdoor cabinet on the far side of the kitchen. Inside was a whole host of delicate china but instead of opening the obvious door, Aziraphale ran his hand over the top of it and it swung open on squeaky hinges. “I would say so.”

“Well. That’s handy, innit?” Crowley stepped closer, intrigued. “Just the sort of hidey holes you want when you’re a kid. Looking for adventure.”

“Oh, yes, sneaking about behind the walls was a favourite pastime when I was lad… when I didn't have my nose in a book, that is.”

“A bookseller who likes books. Colour me surprised,” Crowley teased. “Do you always stay in the same room?”

“I do. I have a favourite that overlooks the back forest.”

“Show me?”

There was a swooping sensation in Aziraphale's stomach that he was certain he hadn't felt since he was a teenager. Aziraphale closed the secret door before finding Crowley's hand again. “Alright. We can drop our bags before finding the others. They're probably in the sitting room anyhow.”

Crowley squeezed his hand gently. “When's the last time you snuck about, angel?”

“Ah, well… I suppose not since I was in secondary.”

“Well.” Crowley shifted his bag and reached up, swinging the cabinet open again. “Open sesame,” he joked with a wink Aziraphale couldn't see and he tugged him in.

Aziraphale tried and failed to stifle a giggle. This hidden passage was narrow and dusty and reminded him so much of his youth. He never brought a romantic partner here, and still hadn't considering that wasn't what Crowley was at all, but it still gave him a little thrill. “You would have been a troublemaking teenager to know.”

“Oh, yeah, without any doubt. Always in trouble for something or another.” Crowley smirked lightly, squeezed his hand. “You seem like you were probably perfect, but I can see you getting smart once in a while.”

“Far from perfect, I assure you,” Aziraphale said, though a smile tugged at his lips. “I've always respected my elders… but they often only said what wasn't allowed, rarely ever what was.”

“There we are. Ask forgiveness over permission, hm?”

“It's just not my fault if someone fails to expect every eventuality.”

“Obviously,” Crowley purred, thrilled with him. For being so buttoned up and proper, he clearly had a bastard streak Crowley was eager to encourage. “I'm sure you stayed in the exact limits you were given.”

“Of course. Avoiding trouble is generally preferable.”

“Causing it can be fun, though.”

“So you say. I'd rather watch from afar.”

“Really?” As they neared the top of the stairs, Crowley released his hand to loop a playful arm around his waist. “You don't want to be right in the midst of it? Trying to mitigate it like a proper angel?” he teased.

Aziraphale flushed at the sudden hold. This close he could smell Crowley's cologne; rich and warm. “W-well… maybe only to keep things from escalating…”

“Thought so. An angel like you thwarts evil.” Crowley smirked, enjoying the colour on those soft, round cheeks. “Wonder if you’d’ve thwarted me in school.”

“If you tried to cause trouble… very likely.”

“I didn't try. I succeeded.” They stopped at what seemed to be a wall, Crowley taking the heavy bag handed to him with only a small grimace while he waited to see how one escaped this secret passage.

It took a little bit of feeling about the edges of the wall, a little hum of uncertainty, and then a delighted gasp as the wall opened. It swung out like a door, and Crowley could only stare at the painting hung on the wall when Aziraphale closed it up again. “That...” It was a galaxy, swirls of bold colour stirred over a black canvas and speckled with bright spots that were meant to be stars. “Which one of your family bought that one?”

“Hm? Oh! I did. I saw it at an auction and… well it clearly wasn't antique but there was just something about the brush strokes that captivated me. At first glance one might think they were little more than random but the artist clearly knew their night sky. This spot here,” Aziraphale motioned with a circling of a finger just over the top of the canvas, “is clearly Alpha Centauri and from there you can almost perfectly map that part of the galaxy.”

He had. “You recognise Alpha Centauri?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“Not many people do. It’s not even what this one’s named.”

Aziraphale blinked and looked back at him, brow furrowed. “Do you recognise it? I tried finding the artist but I'm not versed in computers and my cousins weren't interested in assisting me. You'll notice all the other artwork in the manor have little plaques with the artist's name and the title of the work.”

“Yeah, well, if you knew how the artist grew up, you’d probably understand the choice to stay hidden. Keep any success tucked where no one could reach it.” Crowley set their bags down and flicked a black-polished nail against the bottom left corner of the painting, gently flicking some of the build up away to reveal a set of initials. A.J. “An auction, though? An estate sale sort of thing or…?”

“Estate sale, yes. The, er, original owner had passed and this was in the collection.” Aziraphale looked at that little spot with a frown. “You seem to know quite a bit about this artist.”

“Yeah,” was the simple answer. “Was it your choice to put it in front of a secret passageway?”

“It was. I'm the one who placed all the artwork here.”

“You’ll have to show me around, then. You clearly make good decisions, angel.” Though mind and heart alike were racing, Crowley’s grin was easy. “Show me our room first.”

Our room. The phrase turned Aziraphale's cheeks as red as cherries. Of course they would be sharing a room, they were supposed to be together. Romantically. And Aziraphale was very aware of the fact that the room he often picked for himself only contained one bed. He'd only ever needed one bed. “Right. Yes.”

Aziraphale scooped up his bag and scurried down the hall, nerves alight with embarrassment and something like… anticipation. His room wasn't far from the painting, the old wood door swinging open on recently oiled hinges. He didn't dare look at Crowley or the four-poster bed and instead went straight to the armoire to begin hanging his things up. If he was busy, he didn't have to think about Crowley or his swinging hips or the predicament they would both be in later tonight.

It was far less filled than his bookshop, but still on the cluttered side. Interesting. Also interesting was another familiar painting. The famed Pillars of Creation, but the “fingers” looked more like figures. Angels, demons, humans reaching for bold looking stars. One was distinctly apple shaped. It was among the first the artist had ever done. Crowley set his bag down and crossed to it, gently flicking away the paint to reveal the same initials. “This one come from the same estate sale?”

He couldn't help but look over and then quickly looked away again before Crowley could notice. “Y-yes. My cousins weren't particular fans of that piece so I decided to put it in here.”

He couldn’t help but bristle. “What don’t they like?”

“They thought the concept was too… abstract. They kept asking who the figures were supposed to be but I suppose I liked the idea of us all being made from the dust of the universe, equal, and all equally reaching for the same stars.”

Crowley turned to look at him, brow furrowing. “You-”

“There you are!” A decidedly American voice thundered into the room from the open door, Crowley glancing over with a scowl at the interruption. The newcomer chuckled. “I wondered if you were going to show up or if you’d run off with your date in some wild elopement. I told Michael you aren’t that pathetic, and here you are!”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and prayed for patience, decidedly not turning around just yet. “Thank you for that vote of confidence, I do appreciate it.” He did turn around then, smile as composed as could be. “We just wanted to set our things down before getting caught up in chitchat.”

“Ah, yes! The lucky…” Gabriel paused, eyeing Crowley from head to toe. He almost grinned at the way his expression shifted into something utterly bemused. “Lady?”

“Sometimes.”

“Ah… hm.”

“Yes, Gabriel, this is my partner, Anthony Crowley. Crowley, this is Gabriel Archer, the cousin I spoke about. Well, one of them.”

“Right. The jogger.”

The unimpressed tone sailed over Gabriel’s square head, his smile still confused but twisting towards charming. “Ah! Aziraphale’s mentioned my morning runs. Interested in joining after all, hm?”

“He’ll probably be too worn out,” Crowley said airily, cutting off whatever had been about to come out of Aziraphale’s souring expression. “We’re planning on a thorough workout tonight.”

A firm hand clapped down on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “That’s great! Some calorie burning would do you some good, buddy.”

Aziraphale's face burned, expression turning from soured to mortified. The only comfort was that his cousin was too, well, him to recognise the innuendo for what it was. “Y-yes. Great. It's great. Absolutely tickety-boo.”

Crowley's smugly amused expression vanished. “Tickety-boo?” he echoed, as nonplussed as the first time he'd heard it.

Gabriel gave Aziraphale's shoulder a squeeze. “Why don't we go introduce, uh, this Crowley to everyone? And you can finally meet my spouse. I convinced them to come.”

“O-oh? Did you?” Aziraphale had yet to meet the mysterious spouse despite them being married to his cousin for a good four years now as they'd apparently refused to come to the reunion. Really, they'd all had a running bet on whether they existed or not. “I suppose getting introductions out of the way couldn't hurt.”

“That’s the spirit!” He turned and disappeared without them, not even bothering to look back.

Crowley arched a brow. “Only shot the once, was he? Could do it again.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together to keep from smiling too widely. “Makes sense now, doesn't it?”

“So much bloody sense,” Crowley agreed earnestly. “And he’s better now?”

“Oh, yes. So much better.”

“Maybe the gun laws in the States he works in are better than I thought,” Crowley muttered, sauntering up with a shake of his head. He offered an arm. “C’mon, then.”

Somehow he could go from being downright wicked to a perfect gentleman at the drop of a hat. It was terribly exciting and Aziraphale's lashes fluttered as he took hold of Crowley's arm. “Somehow this isn't quite so nerve-wracking as I thought it would be.”

“Let’s see about keeping it that way, angel.” Maybe. He wasn’t above stirring up mischief where warranted.

Chapter Text

The angel's family was shit. Mostly.

The severe looking ginger constantly swapped between bored and frustrated, depending on who talked to her. Her partner, dark-skinned and a little pouty at first, seemed ready to fight at a moment's notice. One of his cousins was vaguely egg-shaped and seemed to constantly be trying to get on Gabriel's good side while also managing to be completely unsure how to do that. Like a longtime pattern had been broken, and that pattern seemed to have been being terrible to Aziraphale.

He liked the one in the wheelchair, though he'd forgotten their name six times already. They had some sass that seemed to be aimed at everyone pretty equally, but they'd given Crowley's skirt a compliment.

The youngest visitor he liked as well, though she clear hadn't been around Aziraphale very much. Muriel had a smile for everyone and a blissful way of navigating around them all that could've been naive if he hadn't seen them charm everyone in a unique way. They were, apparently, trying on a new pronoun but still comfortable enough with she/her and how, she'd asked, did he know what he felt like any given day?

He didn't really know until he heard a pronoun aimed at him some days. If it sat right, it was. If it didn't, it wasn't. Other days he looked at himself in the mirror or reached for a certain outfit and he knew where he'd fall - or not fall - on the gender spectrum for the day. It was a gamble he'd gotten comfortable with and Muriel would too one day.

Aziraphale had listened to their conversation with wide eyes and Crowley liked that. He liked that the angel stuck by his side, ready to protect him from Michael - the severe ginger - and her comments on his state of dress and her not-so-casual jabs at his assumed lack of wealth.

When Uriel had snidely asked what he did for a living, though, Aziraphale had quickly cut in and babbled about Crowley being involved in the humanities. That had been one defense he'd frowned at because, well, it had highlighted pretty clearly what Aziraphale thought he did for work. As if the advert was all he did instead of just something he'd started as a lark.

He'd have to explain at least a little that, no, he did have something else he did and he had made quite the comfortable living at it too.

One person at the table they eventually settled at knew that. One person knew far, far too much about him and was pretending not to. “So you're the Crowley I've heard so much about,” they'd said with a wide grin.

“I haven't heard a thing about you,” he'd replied with an easy smirk. Two could play at pretending not to know one another. It was just unexpected to have someone who knew about his advert. His life. He'd never had to deal with that on one of these jobs. Just like he'd never had to deal with active attraction on one. The more time he spent around Aziraphale, the more time he wanted to spend around him.

Every jab about his weight, his work, his lifestyle, his former lack of relationships, his hair, his clothes, his hobbies - every single negative idea aimed his way made Crowley want to bundle him in close and cart him upstairs.

They dimmed that angelic shine like a lampshade on a bulb, and he wanted to keep that from happening as much as possible.

As dishes were laid on the table and passed around, Crowley watched the few things Aziraphale took. He took a paltry amount for how much Crowley knew he enjoyed eating, so he filled his plate with the same things Aziraphale did. And, quickly and quietly, while Gabriel said grace as loudly as if he was talking to a whole party rather than a small family gathering, Crowley swapped their plates.

Just like at the restaurant, Aziraphale didn't fail to notice, his eyes quickly glancing up to see the rest of his cousins either with bowed heads or listening intently to Gabriel's droning. No one seemed to have noticed a thing and his heart swelled, hand finding Crowley's on the table to give it a quiet squeeze as he mouthed, “Thank you.”

Crowley tipped his head with a small smirk, ignoring the way Beez's eyes rolled across from him. Their partner was currently droning on and on, so they had no room to criticise. So he simply lifted Aziraphale's hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles.

A tiny puff of breath escaped Aziraphale. Crowley's lips were thin but warm, just like his hold, just like everything about him it seemed. The action brought colour to his cheeks, heart feeling very much like it was doing flips in his chest. He had to quickly compose himself as the prayer ended, throat clearing as everyone picked up utensils. “So, Beez, Gabriel speaks highly of your, er, work as a surgeon. It sounds like such a fascinating career.”

They smiled, though the glance aimed Crowley's way tipped it closer to a smirk. “Not as exciting as others's.”

Crowley grinned, taking the jab as intended. “You could say we're both good with our hands.”

Aziraphale was resolutely not thinking about what sorts of things Crowley's hands might be good at. “W-well surgeons do need a, er, steady hand.”

“Especially when retrieving bullets,” Gabriel cheerfully agreed.

“We are, of course, eternally grateful for everything you did for Gabriel,” Michael added. The only reason any of them were allowing someone with fishnet gloves and more peeking out from the bottoms of trousers at the table. Really, they looked right at home with Crowley though their makeup was far heavier and more... experimental.

Aziraphale nodded his thanks as he cut into the steak Crowley had passed him, a larger cut than he'd felt comfortable taking and he secretly hoped no one noticed. “Oh, yes, from the way he tells it you saved his life.”

“He just happened to come in while I was doing some training.” An emergency they weren't strictly used to in the UK and had been interested in getting their hands on. Literally. As a result, they'd seen Gabriel's dick before ever hearing his voice and that was probably for the best.

“Well we were very lucky you happened to be in the area.”

Were they? Though no one asked that aloud.

Crowley slung an arm across the back of Aziraphale's chair, slouching towards him. “How d'you like the States?”

“I'm glad they seceded,” was the blunt reply.

Muriel leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity. “Where in the States are you staying?” she wondered, eager, and the conversation delved into a country Crowley was content to stay ignorant over.

He plucked up his wine instead, leaning just a smidge closer to Aziraphale to whisper, “If I tell you a secret, will you keep it?”

His breath ghosted and tickled Aziraphale's cheek and it felt more than a little naughty to nod and lean in to him. “Of course.”

Crowley hummed, taking a moment to breathe in his cologne. Something rich and warm, something that lingered with subtle sweetness. “Beez is my half-sibling.”

Aziraphale gave a quiet gasp, head turning of its own accord to stare directly at Crowley and his own reflection in those opaque glasses and brushed their noses together in the process. “No.”

“Yup,” he murmured, tempted to push his sunglasses up just to see Aziraphale's colours clearly. So tempted to see if his lips were as pink as they seemed, to see just what colour those big eyes were. To see the exact shade of blond his hair surely was. “Small world, hm?”

“Exceedingly so. And they look not a thing like you.”

“Neither does our other sister. We've got three mums between us and a dad who was not picky.”

Aziraphale giggled despite himself. “That's a terrible thing to say.”

“It's a fact.” The laugh had his own lips curving, precariously close to Aziraphale's. It would just take a little tip to-

“Mx. Crowley, have you travelled much?”

He reluctantly turned his head away, a brow arching at Muriel's guileless smile. “Here and there, yeah.”

“Is that so?” Michael inquired with a dab at her lip with a corner of a cloth napkin. “Do tell, my wife and I are very well travelled.”

“Planning on testing me?” Crowley wondered. “Seeing if we had similar experiences on the Eiffel Tower or wherever?”

“Have you been to Paris?” Her eyes flicked to Aziraphale momentarily and a corner of her lips curled up, as if sharing a private joke. “I know my cousin's always mentioned wanting to go.”

“You haven't gone?” More than happy to ignore her, he looked at Aziraphale. “But it's so close.”

Aziraphale fidgeted with the napkin in his lap from the sudden attention. “Yes, but I suppose I just haven't found the time…” And as much as he wanted to go… going alone sounded awfully lonely and he'd rather be lonely in the comfort of his shop than in an unfamiliar city.

“What if I found an estate sale in the area? Could call it a work trip, and then I could actually see what you do.”

“Oh… oh, would you?” Aziraphale turned wide, glassy eyes on Crowley, forgetting for a moment that it was likely just a facade and not a real offer. “I'd be ever so grateful.”

He was incredibly sweet. Crowley’s smile softened a little and a swift kick in his shin had him glaring at his smirking half-sibling. They were definitely a complication he hadn’t anticipated here, and he sincerely hoped they didn’t negatively impact his chances. There was still an opportunity to keep this real and unpaid. It wasn’t a job until money changed hands, in his opinion. “I’ll do some poking,” he promised.

“Thank you, dear,” Aziraphale said, none the wiser to Crowley's smarting shin. His hand found Crowley's own and curled around it, thumb brushing over bony knuckles. He really was a gentleman, no matter how awful his driving or how wicked he tried to act.

“Seems rather… soon to be making travel plans.” Sandalphon sniffed, his faint sneer revealing a glint of gold on one of his teeth. “Plane tickets can be expensive, after all.”

“Can be,” Crowley agreed easily. “Do you have trouble affording them, Sandy?”

His shoulders straightened, irritation clear, but Gabriel cut off any retort with a laugh. “Obviously not. We’re all very wealthy. Obviously. Even Beez! They have plenty of their own money, so the prenup wasn't any trouble when we ended up marrying.”

“You’re an idiot,” Beez sighed at him, which only seemed to widen his grin.

“I don't think money would be any issue,” Aziraphale said, squeezing Crowley's hand. “Besides, taking the Eurostar would be much more fun I think. It goes right under the water, you know.”

Crowley’s brows lifted. “Afraid to fly or do you just like trains?”

“I don't mind flying, taking the train is just more convenient. It's cheaper, safer, and doesn't waste quite as much fuel.”

“I don’t suppose you share our cousin’s environmental passions,” Michael mused.

“I do, actually.”

“What a surprise.”

Bitch. Crowley’s smile sharpened. “I make sure to use sustainable materials in my career and have since I started. They’re a smidge more pricey, but I can handle it. And they’re worth it.”

“That's lovely, dear.” Though Aziraphale also realised he hadn't actually asked Crowley what his… 'career' was. He didn't necessarily think going on fake family dates with strangers was all he did, it just hadn't come up. “It's important to do what we can to protect the environment. This is the only planet we have.”

“Are you sure you’re not a literal angel?”

“He’d drown you in holy water if he was,” Beez said into their glass. Crowley was very tempted to flick peas at them.

“I would never do such a thing,” Aziraphale admonished, throwing Crowley a coy smile. “Not unless he did something particularly irksome, of course.”

“Early days yet,” Crowley huffed, but he gave Aziraphale’s hand a squeeze.

“Early days,” Michael repeated and took a sip of her wine. There was something in her smile that Aziraphale didn't like and he quickly found out why. “Isn't that what… oh, what was his name? Avery, wasn't it? I recall he said something about it being too early to make plans. I suppose this one doesn't have the same reservations.”

Crowley felt Aziraphale’s hand go limp in his hold. “This one isn’t interested in someone else’s mistake.”

“Oh, I'm sorry.” Though she didn't sound sorry at all. “It's just difficult to not compare to the ones we've met.”

“And the ones we haven't,” Uriel chimed in, sharing a look with her wife. For they'd both deduced there must be ones Aziraphale hadn't told them a thing about.

While they were indeed correct, that didn't mean Aziraphale necessarily wanted his past paraded out at the dinner table. “I do believe past relationships are something Crowley and I would discuss together.”

“Of course, Aziraphale. Uriel and I didn't mean to embarrass you.”

Of course they did. Why else would they bother bringing up a past relationship? There was absolutely no reason to do so. Crowley didn’t have a chance to snap at her, though.

Beez sent Michael a sidelong glance. “Bet you had a laundry list of shitty dates too.”

Michael gasped, as if she were affronted by the very fact that they'd spoken to her, never mind what they actually said. “I beg your pardon, Uriel and I have been together since we were teenagers.”

They and Crowley exchanged looks. “I stand by it.”

“You're still wrong.”

“I doubt it.”

Crowley let Beez handle them, aiming a crooked smile Aziraphale's way. “I've no control over them and their maniacal glee when it comes to fights, just so we're clear.”

Neither, it seemed, did Gabriel, who was so engrossed in a conversation with Sandalphon that he hadn't even noticed his significant other was currently well on their way to riling up their cousin very much on purpose. “I do hope there isn't a fight here at the dinner table. These plates are antique china and I'd hate to see them possibly break.”

Crowley chuckled. “I’ll replace them if you like.”

“Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that, though it's very sweet of you to offer.” Aziraphale's eyes glanced toward Mx. Beez, who was currently cleaning their fingernails while Michael shouted. “Your sibling, however…”

“They’d bring you plastic ones from the nearest shop and call it a day.”

Aziraphale's nose wrinkled. “Not if they wish to be invited back.”

“Angel, I guarantee they’re only here because I am.” Ridiculous, charming man. “Oi, Beez, you told Gabe about your ex? Dagon? Smelled like fish and had a brother who was obsessed with me.”

Attention shifted from Michael instantly, which was nearly as offensive as the initial insults to begin with. More so in some ways. “Don’t you dare remind me.”

He had Michael's attention as well, her eyebrows raising. “Do tell, we all love a little gossip.”

“Michael-”

“What, Aziraphale? Don't you want them to be part of the family? We've all had our turn at one point or another.”

Beez arched both brows sharply, eyes narrowing dangerously, and Crowley had to hide his sharp grin in a napkin. He knew exactly what was about to be revealed. “Gabriel already knows about her because we had a threeway. He had a great time.”

Michael choked on the sip of wine she'd just been taking, drips of it rolling down her chin, while Uriel hid her surprised snort behind a napkin. Aziraphale's own giggle was covered by his fist and a quitely muttered, “Oh good lord.”

“A what?” Muriel wondered.

“Nothing.” Crowley sent Beez a sharp look, knowing they'd very eagerly and graphically share if pushed. Muriel may have been an adult, but was still clearly not ready for that. Crowley wasn't ready to rehear it either, especially not now that he actually knew Gabriel.

It took a monumental effort to change the subject, Crowley letting Beez wheedle him as they pleased just to keep targets away from anyone else. He knew how to defend himself and, well, it was sweet to have Aziraphale defending him now and again. Where he could, anyway. No one had ever really bothered in his experience.

After dinner, with everyone shuffling to the sitting room to continue conversations or to break off into furious whispers, Crowley took Aziraphale's hand and pulled him to a stop. “I know you said you didn't want any scenes made, so I hope you don't think your visit's been ruined or anything.”

“No! No, not at all.” It had actually gone much better than he'd been fearing it would and certainly wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as last year had been. “I wouldn't say giving my cousins gossip about each other was causing a scene.” His gaze flicked down for a moment at their clasped hands. “And I do appreciate you keeping our fine china from being used as projectiles.”

“If you won't let me replace them, may as well keep 'em safe.” Crowley tugged him a fraction closer. “I did mean it, though, the thing I said about your ex. Not being willing to make plans with you was a mistake.”

Aziraphale's eyes went wide, face heating at the memory and not only the memory of dinner a few minutes ago but also the original; Michael accidentally overhearing that particular conversation on one of her very few visits to the shop. “I don't even know why she brought that one in particular up,” Aziraphale said with a depreciating chuckle. “That was… gosh, going on fifteen years ago now, I think.”

“She obviously doesn't have any real ammunition against you. You're too much of an angel.”

“You keep calling me that.”

“Plan to keep calling you that.”

“O-oh…” Aziraphale found he very much wanted to push Crowley's ever-present sunglasses up into his hair. He'd probably look quite dashing like that - more dashing than he already looked, anyway. It would also make him easier to kiss, an action Aziraphale found he desired more and more with each passing hour. Such a dangerous thing to want. “You're lucky I don't mind.”

“Am I?” Amused, Crowley guided him nearer still. It wouldn't be difficult to kiss him, would it? His lips looked as soft as the rest of him. “Does my angel have a bit of bite to him?” He did. Crowley knew and appreciated it.

My angel. It felt- It sounded too good to be true. Too much like what he'd wished to hear for far too long. Aziraphale released his hand, taking a step back with heart feeling like it was lodged in his throat as his eyes darted side to side. “T-there's no one around. No need to tease me quite so much.”

“There wasn't anyone around on our way here, either. Or when we went out for sushi.” Crowley's head angled, a brow lifting as fingers dipped into tiny pockets. “If you don't like being teased, fine, but I'm not putting on a show.”

No, of course he wasn't. He was just being himself; devilishly handsome and unbearably sweet with a coating of wickedness that didn't do nearly enough to hide it as he thought. All that while dangling a facsimile of the kind of relationship Aziraphale had always wanted on a stick. He was Eve and Crowley was the serpent with a red, shining apple that just begged to have a bite taken out of it. “I- I didn't mean that.”

“Seems that way to me.”

“Oh, Crowley…” And now he was failing to say just what he meant. “I didn't intend to imply you're being ingenuine. I only… I'm not used to so much attention.” Not from anyone like him, anyway.

He softened on a small huffed breath. “Sounds to me like a lot of your exes made mistakes. You're... It's easy to give you attention. You're interesting.”

“I- Thank you.” He was trying to be better about not deflecting compliments, even if he knew it wasn't true. Aziraphale knew he was the boring one of his family and had long since come to accept that about himself. “You're very kind.”

“I am not kind. I just know what it's like to be... To get treated like dirt by your own family.”

He could refute it all he liked, but it fell flat in the face of the things he actually said and his actions. “Then my heart hurts for you. No one- well, everyone wants to be accepted and loved by their family.”

And if they didn't, a person could desperately seek validation wherever it could be found, wallow in loneliness, or ignore the lack and try to mould themselves into whatever they thought their family wanted. Those could all turn out terribly or grand. Crowley was personally waiting for the first two options to suck less, having rejected the third outright. He had a feeling Aziraphale leaned more towards the third.

A loud, harsh sort of a laugh sounded from the living room. Beez, he suspected, was going on another terror. Crowley held his hand out again. “Is there somewhere a little more dim where we can talk?”

Aziraphale took it, he couldn't not. “Yes, the library is usually dim this time in the evening. A bit odd, I know, but I put my foot down on installing these-” Aziraphale motioned up with his free hand at the lights above them. “These bright monstrosities in there.”

“Believe me, angel, I appreciate that more than you know yet.”

A small smile tugged at Aziraphale's lips as he guided Crowley down the short hall and around a corner. The manor could be a maze at the best of times but he'd spent enough time here as a child and then helping with the renovations that it was as familiar as his own home above the bookshop. “I suppose a demon like yourself would enjoy the shadows more.”

Crowley huffed a small laugh. It had been something said to him before, though less as a joke. “Oh, yeah, creature of darkness, me. Could say I was made for it.”

“I don't know about that,” Aziraphale said, glancing back as he opened a heavy wood door and flicked the switch just inside. He'd been insistent on no overhead lights in the library and was so very glad he had. The thick stained glass lamp shades gave the room a homey, comfortable glow and he thought it complimented Crowley's skin tone well and softened the stark redness of his hair. “Light suits you just as well.”

“Compliments will get you everywhere, angel.” The furniture looked as comfortable in here as it did at Aziraphale’s bookshop, Crowley slinking over to a plush chair to drape himself across it. “It’s nice in here. Less… harsh than the rest of the house. Can definitely tell you’ve had your hand in it.”

“Thank you.” That was one compliment he was happy to take. Aziraphale sunk into his own chair nearby, giving a soft sigh as he did so. It was comforting to be somewhere that felt familiar. The library was more organised than his own shop and certainly dusted more frequently but the smell of old paper was the same. “We all had our parts to play in the renovation. I handled this room and the lion's share of finding appropriate artworks.”

“I can appreciate a collector.” Though that seemed like such little responsibility in a home this big. Another sign that this family wasn’t very appreciative of their cousin. “Are you an artist at all?”

“I'm afraid not, no. I sketch occasionally but I'd never consider myself an artist. It's just an idle fancy now and again.”

“Any act of creation’s art, as far as I’m concerned. Most art teachers I had growin’ up disagreed, though.”

“Mine certainly would as well.” And his cousins most definitely would if he ever showed them his sketches. “I suppose it's just difficult to see what I do as art compared to the beautiful works I own and see.”

“You shouldn’t compare. If everyone was Monet, we’d have a lot of watercolour flowers and don’t look at me like that. I know he painted more than that; that’s not the point.”

Aziraphale's lips curved. “Considering you have such strong opinions on the matter, do you have any artistic pursuits?”

“A couple, yeah.” But he wasn’t fully ready to explain. Almost no one knew the full extent of his career, and he liked it that way. “I’m successful enough. The advert’s just a lark, you know. A way to get out of the house, to have a bit of fun, to meet people - all the things a normal bloke might join some activities club for.”

That had a small laugh bubbling out. “But you're no 'normal bloke', are you?”

“Nah. I like the adventure in the unknown.”

How terrifying. As attractive as he found Crowley and no matter if his teasing was genuine or not… it would surely never work between them. “You must enjoy it. I think I'd be tying myself in worrying knots if I did what you do for fun.”

“It’s starting to get old,” he admitted quietly. “And it’s not really… I’m not getting what I want from it. I was even thinking about pulling it before you called.” And, so far, Aziraphale was the only one who’d come close to being someone Crowley might want beyond this. “But Beez knows about the advert, and I don’t want them thinking… I don’t want them thinking that’s all this is. This new little us thing.”

“O-oh, well I'm sorry it hasn't been what you wanted.” Us thing, though, he didn't know what that was supposed to mean. He knew what he wanted it to mean, or at least what he thought he wanted it to mean. Even if they weren't compatible long term, it would at least be nice to… to try. “I do hope your sibling doesn't give you too hard of a time. They are clearly capable of being quite vicious.”

“Used to be worse. Like your cousin, they’ve settled down a lot.” His grin was easy, crooked. “Like your cousin, they could settle down a lot more.”

Aziraphale shared Crowley's smile, though his was smaller and more secret. “From the sound of things your sibling is expanding his horizons.”

“Without any doubt. Dagon’s not really an ex. I know they’ve got a poly sort of thing going, but none of them really want it advertised. Anyway. Off track. Do not want to think about any sibling’s sex life any longer than absolutely necessary.” He waved it away, his skirt hiking higher on his thigh when he shifted. The very edges of black ink peeked out from beneath the hem. “The point is, to keep Beez off your trail this weekend, I kinda need to tell you something I don’t show… anybody.”

The shift momentarily distracted him from what Crowley was saying and though his eyes glanced down, he looked away far too quickly to know for sure what he'd just seen… other than it looked like lace. A garter? The very thought made Aziraphale feel too warm for just sitting in a dim room. “O-oh? Er, please, don't put yourself out on my account.”

“Nah, s’fine. It’ll…” He wiggled a hand, throat spilling wordless noises. “It’ll answer a few things.” For both of them. “Even though you, unlike anyone else I've ever met, haven’t said a word about my sunglasses.”

Aziraphale blinked at the pools of black sitting on Crowley's face. “Considering how much you wear them, I just assumed they were a medical aid and it would be rude to draw attention to them unless you do so yourself.”

Crowley also blinked, though his eyes were still hidden behind dark lenses. “You are probably the first person I’ve ever talked to about my eyes who has a brain in their heads. Are you sure you’re not secretly an actual angel?”

“I assure you I'm not.” Though it was sweet that he thought so. “I'm sure it won't surprise you that I receive the occasional comment about my cane when I have need of it in public. Not all of them kind.”

“That’s ridiculous. Bugger them.” But he did get it. He’d heard more than enough comments from people in his life, particularly from his family, but it was easier to bite the bullet, so to speak. He took off the glasses, blinking twice at the change in light, and looked at Aziraphale without them for the first time.

One eye, the left, was mostly as expected; a brown so light Aziraphale would almost call it honey and the other… It was just as light but the top portion of the iris was missing, as if the pupil had expanded upwards. It was fascinating to see and Aziraphale had to restrain himself from getting up and coming closer. “Oh… Yes, I can see why showing someone this might be nerve wracking.”

“A bit, yeah. Between the colour and the pupils being different, reactions tend to be… Mngh.” He shrugged, shoulders restless. “We’ll call ‘em mixed. But you can just call ‘em ugly. S’not a big deal.”

“I would never!” Aziraphale gasped, incapable of being dishonest, especially in the face of Crowley's clear discomfort. “They're lovely, Crowley.”

“They’re definitely not that. I’ve only got the coloboma in this eye,” he gestured to the inkwell like pupil, “but both are pretty sensitive to light. I tried wearing contacts for a while to y’know, make ‘em look normal, but they were a pain in the arse. Always spinning on me so I looked like I had crooked pupils and they never quite blocked the light how I needed so I basically wore the sunglasses all the time anyway.”

“You poor dear,” Aziraphale commiserated. “That sounds awful. Well, the glasses do give you a- a look of mystique.”

“Ooh, mystique.” Crowley’s smile returned, quickly dipping into a light smirk. “They just wash everything out a bit, that’s all. I don’t really see colours with them on.” He hadn’t realised just how pale Aziraphale’s hair was, the white-blond fluffy and charming. And the beiges he wore really didn’t look too different, which was a relief. The tartan of his bow tie, however, had more colour in it than he’d expected. Light blues, a little strip of red. His eyes seemed blue, but it was hard to exactly tell. It was interesting. “Might have to risk a peek at you in the sunlight, though.”

Aziraphale's face warmed and he found he liked seeing Crowley's smile with the glasses off. There were crinkles around the corners of his eyes one couldn't see with them on. “Please don't risk your sight on my account. You only have two eyes and they are precious.”

“A peek won’t kill them, and I'd get to see your eyes a bit better. I’ve been wondering what colour they actually are.”

He still didn't want to risk Crowley's eyesight. Not just for a look at himself. “Well- We can kill one bird with two stones, then.” Aziraphale stood and made his way to an old, brown, comfortable, leather sofa. The kind that had been well taken care of and conditioned against cracking. He sat and patted the cushion next to himself. “Come here.”

Crowley’s brows lifted. “Pretty sure it’s two birds, one stone.”

Aziraphale huffed at him. “However you say it. You could see my eyes better if you were close and… and well I admit I'd like a better look at yours as well. So come here.”

His eyes shone a little with the amusement curving his lips. Crowley rolled himself off the chair and sauntered over, smirk growing as colour flitted into Aziraphale’s cheeks. “Just want to see my eyes?”

And quite a bit more besides but that wasn't what was being offered. “I- They're interesting. I've never seen someone with- with eyes like yours. I just don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not. You can be curious about them, angel. That doesn’t bother me.” He sank down beside Aziraphale, skirt hiking high again when he shifted to look at him. “Neither does being near you.”

Aziraphale's breath caught. They were even more stunning up close, like golden coins only one was dripped with ink. “I still want to be respectful. You're a person not a- a thing to be gawked at.”

“From someone who grew up getting gawked at, you’re doing great,” Crowley murmured. He was intriguing up close, eyes unsure if they wanted to be blue or green or even grey. Crowley cupped his chin, intrigued. They could even possibly be brown, but blue seemed to be the most clearly consistent colour. “You’re very pretty.”

His hand was warm, firm but not forceful. Aziraphale's own hands squeezed each other tight in his lap, too nervous to reach out like he wanted to do. “Really, my dear, you're the pretty one here.”

“Fine. You can be the gorgeous one,” he replied, just to watch fresh colour fill Aziraphale’s cheeks.

Aziraphale broke eye contact, only to see the black lace around Crowley's thigh again. Except it wasn't real lace. It was black ink etched into his skin to look like lace. Lace and flowers. Aziraphale felt his face heat further and he could swear he glanced Crowley smirking from the corner of his eye. “T-the things you say.”

“I say what I like.” He let his hand fall to his leg. “Wanna see this a bit better?”

“Yes.” The word slipped out very much before he realised what he was saying yes to. “I- I mean- That is-” Aziraphale covered his burning face with his hands. “Oh good lord.”

“Aziraphale, it’s alright. You don’t have to look if you don’t actually want to. I can just fix the skirt. But if you do want to look…” He trailed off until Aziraphale peeked at him again, embarrassment so very clear even between his fingers. “If you want to look, I don’t mind showing you.”

“You are infuriatingly attractive,” Aziraphale complained into his palms before lowering his hands. “I- I would like to see your tattoo, yes.”

“Y’know most people want to be attracted to a prospective partner,” he teased, but rolled up the skirt enough to show off the tattoo. A lace garter ringed with dripping flowers and dots. Even though the back of his leg couldn’t be seen, it was clear that it went all the way around. It had hurt like nothing else in some spots, but he wasn’t going to tell Aziraphale that. “I’ve toyed with the idea of colouring the flowers, but I can never decide.”

It was so delicate looking. Aziraphale kept his hands tightly folded in his lap to keep from just reaching out to touch, no matter much he wanted to. “It's very pretty. Over in the chair I caught a glimpse and… and I thought you were wearing an actual garter.”

“Now and again if the mood strikes, but I like the art. Maybe later I’ll show you the one on my back,” he teased.

Aziraphale's eyes immediately flicked back up to Crowley's smirking face. “There's one on your back as well?”

“Mmhm. Just the three so far, but I’ve been thinking about getting more.”

“Goodness. Don't they hurt?”

“It depends on where you get it. I’m never gonna get any on my ribs because I’m pretty sure the needle would hit my bones, but the ones I have weren’t that bad.”

Aziraphale giggled and unintentionally swayed closer to him. “You are quite thin, I'm sure anywhere you'd get such a thing would have similar risks.”

“A good reason to get some weight.” Though he wasn’t going to hold his breath. It hadn’t happened yet. “You don’t have any, I’d wager.”

“Oh, no. The lads in my unit tried to convince me to let one of them give me an, er, 'stick-and-poke' I believe they called it but I was certainly not drunk enough to agree.”

Crowley shook his head, laughing spilling out. “God, no. That probably would’ve been awful. You need a proper tattoo artist. Just for something small. Something… cute, probably. Or Biblical.”

He had never, not once, ever considered getting a tattoo. Even when in the armed forces and being pressured by his fellow soldiers had he even given it more thought than to say 'no, thank you'. But with Crowley here and smiling and with his own, much more professional body art, on display… it didn't seem like such an impossibility. “Perhaps… perhaps you should introduce me to an artist, then. I might surprise you.”

“Think you might surprise yourself more. And you might just inspire my next tattoo, though we’ll see.” His lips quirked. “I designed mine.”

“Did you?” He glanced back down, fingers itching. “That's- It- I can't imagine how it must feel to have your own art on your body.”

“The first time, it was just a dumb doodle. People were always comparing me to snakes and I was stupid, so…” He tapped the one on his temple, amused by himself. “I was barely old enough to get one. Adding the red was a fun idea, I thought at the time.”

“That was your first?!” Aziraphale leaned in closer to see the details, never having noticed the very subtle red belly of the knotted snake before. It put his face dangerously close to Crowley's but he couldn't help it. “You wild, reckless, boy.”

“That’s very close to what my mum said before she chucked me out of the house, just a lot less swearing and fewer claims of ‘you should be ashamed.’” He shrugged. “Ended up alright in the end, though.”

“Oh, dear, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-”

“No, hush. Shut it.” A hand lifted, cupping Aziraphale’s cheek to keep him from retreating. “It was a long time ago. I’ve done things I never would’ve been able to do near her, and I’m happy with that. You didn’t remind me of bad memories, alright?”

“A-alright,” Aziraphale repeated softly. They were so close, it was impossible to look away from Crowley's unique eyes and how he could now see the soft amber was flecked with green. “Your eyes really are quite stunning, my dear.”

“Well. That settles it,” Crowley murmured and tipped Aziraphale’s head just a little, just enough for him to comfortably, gently bring their lips together.

Aziraphale had been about to ask what settled what but his mouth was very suddenly occupied. Crowley's lips pressed and he was helpless to not press back, to feel the shape of them. They separated for a moment, sharing the scant air between them, before Aziraphale was the one to take that plunge. He hadn't kissed in so long, he'd almost forgotten how much he missed it.

Crowley wanted him nearer, free hand slipping down to his waist to hold. Under his coat, fingers catching in the fabric of his waistcoat. Crowley’s lips parted with a questioning sound, hopeful at the edges as he swayed closer, though Aziraphale nearly knocked him right back again when it was his tongue pressing in and exploring. A sound similar to something Aziraphale had done around the tines of his dessert fork was embarrassingly close to making Crowley swoon. As if Aziraphale approved of his taste and would eagerly have seconds. He kissed like a man starving and Crowley was happy to be the entree.

Aziraphale certainly felt like he was starving. Starving for more of the tongue that swept across his, for more skin under his hand - he hadn't yet realised he had found Crowley's bare thigh but it was still warm under his palm - for more Crowley. He tasted like the wine they'd had with dinner and something sweeter, something uniquely his that Aziraphale wanted to drink down, if only Crowley would let him.

Oh, he would. Tempted to haul him into his lap just to get him impossibly closer, Crowley made himself break the kiss and let his lips roam as he liked. Those soft, pink-blushed cheeks, his upturned snooty nose, the wrinkled lines fanning out from his eyes as he smiled. “If I thought you’d let me, I’d get these trousers off you right here.”

“O-oh…” That was such a wicked suggestion but it was also difficult to think about with those lips he'd just been kissing pressing against his face. “What if… what if someone came in?”

“Then they'd be smart to leave again. And if they didn't, you'd have to tell them to. My mouth might be... full.”

“Crowley.”

“If you think that reaction's a deterrent, I've news for you.”

Aziraphale squeezed his thigh, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he could be brave and interesting for one night. “O-only if you promise to still show me the tattoo on your back.”

“Angel, I'll let you see whatever you want.” Crowley leaned back, eyeing him from flushed cheeks to pillow thighs. “You'll really let me do this?”

“Don't give me a chance to back out,” Aziraphale whispered, heart hammering. He could barely remember the last time he'd had intimate relations with another person and not just quiet, shameful moments with his own fist. “Please.”

Crowley nudged Aziraphale against the back of the couch before slithering into his lap, straddling it. “You have every chance to back out, angel, but I hope you won't. Has anyone ever sucked you off before?”

Aziraphale gave a short and quick shake of his head. Having Crowley like this reminded him of the one time his unit had dragged him to a strip club. He'd been terrified of the young lady who'd straddled his lap but now his heart beat hard for an entirely different reason. “No. No one's ever- ever offered.”

How had no one ever offered? “This isn't a turn off one way or the other, but are you completely inexperienced or...?”

“No! No, I've- I've had intercourse before.” Aziraphale was certain his face was on fire. “It's just… been a very long time.”

“You've dated absolute wankers before, then, to not want to get their hands on you. You're gorgeous,” Crowley assured him, sealing their lips together before Aziraphale could deny it.

He felt like he should deny it but with the way Crowley was kissing him and threading fingers through his hair chased any thought of that away. It was just too easy to get lost in the slide of lips, the press of tongues. Easy to forget his hand was still on Crowley's thigh, thumb rubbing his garter tattoo, and even easier to lift his other hand to grip Crowley's thin waist and pull him that much closer.

Crowley eagerly fed him a groan, hands falling to undo button and zip of beige trousers. Every reminder that those hands were strong sent delicious zings up his spine and he really hoped he could get Aziraphale to clutch so tight to his hips that he earned some finger-shaped bruises. But that was skipping a few steps ahead, Crowley needing to discover just what he was hiding here first. The simple pants he wore had three smooth buttons Crowley groaned over, nipping Aziraphale's lower lip. “Just couldn't pick an elastic pair I could tug down easily, could you? Making me work for what I want, angel?”

“They're comfortable,” Aziraphale huffed, breathless, at him. “Besides, how was supposed to know you- you wanted… this?”

“You, Aziraphale. I want you.” Crowley leaned back enough to be able to easily flick open the three pearlescent buttons, a hand delving in to find- “Holy... That's not real, is it?”

Aziraphale squeezed his hands where they were holding Crowley, eyes gone wide as his breath stuttered. Crowley was touching him. Crowley was touching his penis of all things, long unfamiliar fingers encircling. “W-what else would it be?” Aziraphale asked, voice gone high.

“A tree branch,” Crowley suggested, careful strokes guiding Aziraphale's cock free. The only reason his fingers met - and they barely did - was because he'd been blessed with long digits. Aziraphale had been blessed with both length and girth. It was very clear why no one had ever offered to take Aziraphale down their throat before. “Never mind. This is the whole bloody trunk.”

“Y-you… you don't have to,” Aziraphale said softly, desperately. The few partners he'd ever been comfortable enough with to undress this much had also expressed similar sentiments. “I know it's… a lot.”

“It’s a blessing, is what it is.” Though it had likely been more of a curse from what he understood about Aziraphale’s history. “God, those idiots have probably never let you fill them with this. I’m absolutely going to.” Crowley bunched up his foreskin, drew it down to rub a thumb against the sensitive tip. “If you want to be inside me, that is.”

Aziraphale let out a noise akin to a whine, both from the want of it and the attention he wasn't yet used to. “Y-you really want…?”

“Aziraphale, I have toys this big. It doesn’t scare me.” He circled Aziraphale’s wrist with his free hand, giving it a squeeze. “Do you want to feel how much it excites me?”

“Please,” Aziraphale whispered, letting Crowley guide his hand up and under that damnedably short skirt. It took barely an inch for his fingers to find something thin and satiny. He breath turned ragged when he hand was guided further until he could cup bulging knickers and feel the truth of Crowley's want, even if he refused to let himself look just yet. “Oh… sweet heavens.”

“Yup.” Amused, Crowley rolled his hips forward to grind against Aziraphale’s palm and let out his own ragged noise at the blessed friction. “You’re gonna make me limp tomorrow. Gonna feel you for days.”

“Is… Is that a good thing?”

Crowley nearly laughed at him, though he couldn’t bite back the grin as he nuzzled their brows together. “It’s a good thing. I want to feel you. I want to be reminded of us feeling good together. Of you wanting me as much as I do you.”

“I do want you,” Aziraphale admitted quietly, tentatively moving his hand with the motion of Crowley's hips and watching his eyelashes flutter. They were long and pretty surrounded by his makeup and Aziraphale's fingertips could feel a trail of hair disappearing into what were apparently incredibly tiny knickers. “So much it frightens me a little.”

“We’ll take it slow, angel. Later,” he promised, “I’ll treat you how you deserve. For now I want to get my mouth on you.”

“Yes, please.” Though Aziraphale couldn't resist tipping his head up to kiss him again. This was too new, the mouth before his too tempting, and Crowley himself… too sweet and kind to not beg to be kissed.

Please. A little breathlessly said, but not begging. Gently hopeful. It twisted something new in Crowley’s heart, cracking it open in a way that felt wholly unfamiliar. “You sweet, special angel,” he murmured, lips warm along Aziraphale’s jawline as he lifted himself higher and broke away from that curious hand. “I’m going to ride you later,” he promised, hoped, “so I can kiss you whenever I want.”

“I think I'd already let you kiss me whenever you want.”

Crowley smirked. “Will you let me kiss you where I want?”

That mouth was wicked enough it would probably be the death of him. “God, yes.”

“You can pull my hair if you need to. I like it a little rough, though I will have to hold your hips down for how big you are. I do want to be able to talk after this.” Though he really wouldn’t mind that his voice would be a little scratchy. He had full plans to take Aziraphale to the base so long as the angel could out long enough. “I don’t need you to hold back either. If you come fast, it’s just a compliment.”

It had been long enough that Aziraphale was sure holding back would be a herculean task. “A compliment to your skills, you mean.”

“Exactly.” He wiggled off Aziraphale’s lap, nudging his knees apart to sink between them. Eye level, it was even bigger. Crowley licked his lips, mouth watering and gaze hungry when he looked up. “If you’re very good, I’ll take all of you down my throat,” he promised.

He looked just as beautiful kneeling as he did sitting or standing. Aziraphale's breath caught at the feel of those lithe hands on his thighs. “Don't hurt yourself on my account. That you want to at all…”

“I very much want to, angel.” Crowley held the base of him, looking up as he ran his tongue from base to tip. He was already dripping, his wide eyes so very blue now. Crowley rubbed his lips over the shaft, feeling the way he shuddered. That he was the first one to get to, that he was the first one to taste him, was staggering. He hadn’t been with someone so inexperienced since he was this inexperienced, but it was nothing but a pleasure to be able to bring Aziraphale so much.

“Crowley…” It was a novel, unbelievable thing to have such a handsome man touching him like this, willingly pressing lips and tongue to a penis that definitely looked much bigger so close to his face. The thought of those lips being stretched open like they surely would be made Aziraphale's cheeks burn with a mixture of want and embarrassment. He would just look so pretty- prettier than he already was. Aziraphale's hands squeezed the cushion beneath him to keep from reaching out at another run of that long tongue up to circle at his leaking tip.

“You can pull my hair,” Crowley reminded him, feeling Aziraphale’s thighs tense beneath his hands when his tongue rubbed sinuously over his slit. “If you want something else to hold onto.”

“I-in a moment.” He was still trying to process that this was actually happening.

“Mmhm. Tell me if you need me to stop. Whenever you need.” Aziraphale really was adorable, even while about to get his cock sucked. Crowley hummed as he closed his lips around the head, hands sliding higher up his thighs to keep him still as he gave a light suckle.

Aziraphale was determined to keep his eyes wide open, to not miss a single second of this. He had no way of knowing if it would ever happen again, if after this weekend he and Crowley would go their separate ways and never see one another again. He wanted to remember this. Wanted to burn into his mind the image of Crowley, lips pursed, sucking at his head like it was a sweet. He couldn't resist the pull to touch, to draw Crowley's long hair back and feel the soft strands between his fingers. “O-oh, you're beautiful.”

Crowley shuffled closer, sank lower. His jaw was going to be as sore as his throat, but he could breathe through his nose and relax his gag reflex. He would do what he needed to give Aziraphale this, to continue feeling his quivers, the hand in his hair. To hear his praise. Crowley tucked the words away in a secret place, moan muffled as he sank lower again. He minded his teeth, letting sensitive skin feel only the soft wet of his tongue and the firm suck of his lips. They’d be kiss red and puffy after this, another sign of this private wickedness they were sharing, and it was distantly thrilling.

Aziraphale might have had very little to compare him to but even he could tell Crowley was good. From the movement of his tongue to the constant suction; Crowley knew what he was doing and he was absolutely stunning while he did it. Aziraphale felt more than heard every little noise Crowley made, they were like vibrations that only enhanced the wet heat of his mouth. “I can't- believe I get to see this,” Aziraphale whispered, watching Crowley sink ever lower. “You're stunning, darling, and you're taking me so-” He had to pause at another muffled groan. “So well.”

The darling rattled through Crowley as thoroughly as his sounds did Aziraphale, encouraging as much as every stroke of his hair. One hand left a thigh to encircle his shaft, kneading what hadn’t yet made it into his mouth. He pulled back a bit to let his tongue swirl over the head, giving a little extra attention to his most sensitive places and himself a moment to breathe before sinking back down again. He took him even further, greedy in the way his throat opened and his jaw relaxed for the throbbing girth.

“Heavens.” Aziraphale finally let his eyes close, let himself truly indulge in the sensation of being taken into Crowley's mouth. He was certain he could feel where his throat began, a tighter construction that made his thighs quiver with want to thrust up. But he wanted to be good, didn't want to hurt the sweet man between his knees. His eyes fluttered open again when he felt hot breath, the poke of a nose. It was such a sight; Crowley's lips wide and red around the base, golden eyes half lidded, a bulge in his throat that Aziraphale couldn't help but reach out and run fingers over. “Oh, you magnificent thing. You wonder.”

He couldn’t moan the way he wanted, couldn’t quite swallow. The idea of having this stretch in his arse had his hole clenching and the most muffled sounds pushing out around Aziraphale’s skin. He could barely breathe around the thick cock, his own throbbing uselessly against ruined satin. His hands slid up, disappeared beneath Aziraphale’s layers to find the softness of his skin, the rolls of his belly. His love handles were perfect for squeezing, for biting if his mouth wasn’t so full. Very carefully, he started bobbing his head, his own saliva easing the way.

It was more and then some than Aziraphale ever thought he would have. He felt half out of his mind for the picture Crowley made, lewd and pornographic. The little bit of himself he could see when Crowley moved his head was spit-shiny and wet. From Crowley. Aziraphale's toes curled in his brogues at the swallows he could feel, everything narrowing to where Crowley bobbed. He wished this would never end. “I- Oh, Crowley, I'm not- I won't last much longer like this.”

He didn’t want him to. He wanted to feel him let go, hear the sounds he’d make. Crowley hoped his garbled sound would be understood as the permission it was, squeezing his waist for good measure.

The sound zinged through him, not helping his predicament in the slightest, and Crowley was still swallowing around him, still bobbing his head like his life depended on it. Aziraphale gave a little whine, tugged at the hair curled around his fingers. It was the only other warning he could give before everything felt like it was too much all at once. Aziraphale's head fell back and he was certain he shouted, but whether it was Crowley's name or just nonsense he couldn't say.

Crowley lifted his head slowly, a hand curling around to stroke and knead as he drew back enough to taste the last streaks on his tongue. He swallowed without reservation, continuing to stroke and lap at the head until he’d softened and the grip in his hair went slack. “There we are,” he rasped, the sound of his own rough voice making Crowley grin.

Aziraphale cracked an eye open, breathing hard, and there he was with that wicked grin and looking oh-so pleased with himself. His hair was all askew from where Aziraphale had been pulling at it and his lips were cherry red. Handsome. “Here I am,” Aziraphale said back with a small laugh. “Goodness.”

He really couldn’t have looked much prettier, expression far more relaxed than it had been. And so clearly pleased. Crowley pushed himself up, grunting faintly at his protesting knees. He got right back on them regardless, straddling Aziraphale’s lap and pressing their lips together.

Aziraphale was more than happy to have him back in his lap, close enough to hold, and just as happy to part his lips and taste himself on Crowley's tongue. Something else new that he'd never done before and when they parted he had much fewer reservations about kissing Crowley's cheek, his jaw, and whispered against his throat, “You are a marvel, darling, and you're not hurt?”

“I'll cop to sore,” he admitted, “but that's far from hurt.”

“You poor thing,” Aziraphale cooed. “I'll brew you some chamomile before we retire.”

“Mm. I'll need a clear throat to shout your name,” he teased.

Aziraphale blushed but chanced a peek up at him. “Yes, you do.”

Chapter Text

He didn't know what it all was supposed to mean.

Crowley kissed him like he meant it, like this wasn't some fling to be discarded at the conclusion of the weekend. But wasn't that what it was? They'd made no promises to one another, no declarations of anything. He wasn't used to so much uncertainty.

This was why he didn't indulge in physical intimacy so soon. He could already feel himself wanting to be attached to the sweet, caring man laying in what would be their shared bed for the night while he waited for tea to brew down stairs.

Down here, on his own, the reality of what they'd just done felt all the more real. By himself it was harder to let the worry of what might happen next slip away like it did when Crowley was kissing him. It was just so very easy to forget everything else - his embarrassment, his lack of self confidence, that they were little more than acquaintances - when he had Crowley's lips on his.

Aziraphale wrung his hands together as he waited. He didn't want to bow out now and disappoint Crowley or, worse, make him think he wasn't attracted to him. Because he was and he did want to share this with him. He wanted to know what it was like to share intimacy with someone who actually seemed to find him attractive, someone who seemed to like him in general, someone who wanted him. And maybe… maybe when at the end of this, when Crowley dropped him back off at the bookshop, he'd ask if they could see one another again. Maybe he could be brave and take that chance and even if Crowley told him 'no' at least then everything would already be over and he could nurse wounded feelings and pride with privacy.

Mind made up and tea finished brewing, Aziraphale poured them both cups and left the kitchen with both on a little silver tray. They could have tonight and hopefully a lovely day tomorrow and Aziraphale would do his best not to get his hopes up, to not expect more than what Crowley was willing to give.

“You look entirely too twee.” It was both complaint and compliment, Crowley's lips curving as he eyed Aziraphale. His glasses were still gone, set safely aside in the dimly lit bedroom. The other place Aziraphale had gotten his way in. The bed was covered in a tartan quilt that was likely older than the pair of them combined, so he'd shoved it to the foot of the bed to accommodate their plans. He'd left the truly decadent sprawl of pillows, though, eager to see Aziraphale settled among them.

Aziraphale blushed and shut the door with his elbow. He knew the beige robe he'd changed into while Crowley had utilised their bathroom was dated but, “I like to be comfortable,” he explained, setting the tray on the bedside table. Crowley was smirking at him, but he thought he could sense a hint of affection in it. “How's your throat feeling?”

“Like I had an exceptional cock down it.”

“You are terrible.” Aziraphale lifted one of the tea cups and pressed it into Crowley's hands. “Drink.”

“That’s not what you said before,” Crowley teased, letting the mug warm his palms. “You still alright?”

“I am, yes.” He sat on the edge of the bed and sipped his own cup, sigh soft. “You're being very considerate, considering you're the one who could have hurt yourself.”

“Only if I was stupid about it.” Crowley patted the space beside him, smile widening. “You’re too far off there, angel.”

Aziraphale blushed deeper, lashes lowering as he scooted himself closer to Crowley. “Better?”

“A bit.” Crowley finally took a sip of the tea, letting the warmth and the honey Aziraphale had added coat his abused throat. “I’ll have you closer still soon.”

“You will, yes.” And he was tired of being embarrassed about wanting that. “Drink your tea first. I'd so hate for you to hurt your lovely voice.”

“Ngk,” he protested. Lovely voice. Averting his gaze, he took another sip.

Oh. Aziraphale smiled around a sip of his own tea before leaning over and kissing Crowley's cheek. “Yes, I want to be able to hear you clearly when I fill you later.”

Crowley’s eyes widened before he flicked them in Aziraphale’s direction again. It was one downside of not wearing his sunglasses, were anyone to ask him. He tended to forget how obvious his eyes could make things. “Feeling a little confident there, angel?”

“I wouldn't call it confidence necessarily.” But getting to see Crowley's eyes, the way they moved, was a treat all its own. “Anticipation, perhaps.”

“I like anticipation.” Crowley's smile returned, unusual eyes lit up with it. “Have you ever topped before?”

Aziraphale flushed and shook his head. “I would think that would be obvious.”

“Nah. Always a chance someone tried and couldn't handle it.” Crowley tipped his mug back, wondering if he should admit he'd never had a partner make tea like this for him. Especially not after sex. “Do you... like to bottom? When you do?”

“I- Well- I suppose it was fine.” Aziraphale looked down into his cup and rubbed his thumb along the edge. “I didn't mind and… and I understand why no one was particularly enthusiastic about doing things the other way.”

“Ooh, I hope you never call me fine. If you ever let me have you, it'll be much more than fine.” Crowley scoffed, leaning against him. “But I'm genuinely looking forward to the 'other way.'”

“Are you really?”

“Aziraphale, I am really looking forward to riding you.” His smile shifted into a smirk. “I started prepping in the bathroom when you were downstairs.”

“O-oh.” Aziraphale automatically glanced down and quickly back up again. The black joggers he wore were loose and baggy and probably very easy to slip off that slim waist. “I- I hope I last a little longer than I did in the library. I'd like to enjoy this time with you.”

“You'll be alright. Earlier probably took the edge off. And if it didn't, I'll still be able to get off. It won't ruin things.”

He hadn't finished earlier either despite Aziraphale offering to return the favour. Crowley had just batted his hands away and said not to bother. “I want you to feel good, just as good as you've made me feel tonight already.”

“There's a reason I prefer bottoming, angel. I'll definitely feel good.” Crowley kissed his cheek. “So trust me. And if you're feeling close but aren't ready to stop, just tell me. We'll just pause until it goes away a little. No imagining things that take you out of the mood, alright?”

Aziraphale nodded and turned his head to brush their lips together. “I don't think that last part should be an issue. You command my attention, my dear, like nothing else ever has.”

“Lucky me,” Crowley said lowly, cupping Aziraphale's chin to guide him in for a firmer kiss. Aziraphale had his attention as well, had since the first. “Lovely angel.”

“Do that again,” Aziraphale whispered, wondering if Crowley kept saying those things if he'd start to believe it. “Please.”

Happy to oblige, Crowley sank into another kiss. Just as greedy for him as he’d been even before seeing the prize between his legs. He only broke the kiss to set his nearly empty mug aside, discarding Aziraphale’s too so he could straddle his lap. His hands disappeared beneath his robe and was almost sad he hadn’t been able to undo every single button of his layers himself. He wore so many fussy clothes, but Crowley was sure he’d have another chance. Another night with him. Several, if he had his way. “I’ll kiss you anytime you ask.”

Always. Every time. All the time. It was a dangerous thought to have but Aziraphale never wanted to stop kissing him, especially if it meant those talented hands pushing what he was wearing off his shoulders, his own hands finding purchase on the backs of Crowley's thighs. “That is a dangerous thing to offer.”

“Then I’ll offer it again.” Crowley smiled at the simple pyjamas he found beneath the robe. A sign of uncertainty, possibly, or just of habit. That he still had buttons to undo was amusing and a little thrilling, warm skin found beneath as he began to flick them open one by one. “S’like unwrapping a present.”

“A present?”

“You know what a present is, angel. I shouldn’t have to explain.” Crowley curled in, pressed a kiss to a shoulder as he nudged the pyjamas off it.

“Of course I do,” Aziraphale huffed at him but was unable to keep the smile away. He just struggled to see himself as such; a good and pleasant surprise someone would be delighted to uncover. He pushed his hands up and under Crowley's long tee-shirt, finding the warm, soft skin of his sides. “Presents usually have bows, however.”

“Not my fault you took your bow tie off already.”

“Comfortable,” Aziraphale reminded him, cheeks growing warm as his pyjama top and robe were pushed off his shoulders entirely to pool around his hips. He wasn't used to being even this uncovered around anyone but himself. “But… but perhaps you'll get a chance to take that off another time.”

Grinning, Crowley pushed him into the mountain of pillows. That was exactly what he wanted to hear. “Whenever you’ll let me, angel.” He leaned back, helpfully pulling his shirt up and off. It ended up somewhere on the floor, but he didn’t mind where. He wanted to press against Aziraphale, leave nippy kisses along the column of his throat.

“Oh, Crowley.” And Aziraphale was more than happy to pull him down, skin to skin. He couldn't help but give a full-body shudder at the sensation, couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have nothing between them at all and be fully bared to one another. Crowley was so lithe, Aziraphale could feel the ridges of his spine as he ran his hands up Crowley's back, pressing him in. Just being able to hold another as intimately as this made him have to blink back tears as he tilted his chin up to allow Crowley to kiss and nip as he liked.

“Keep saying my name like that. Tell me what feels good.” Crowley's hands trailed down, cupping his length through his pyjama bottoms just to feel Aziraphale's hips move beneath him.

“That,” Aziraphale gasped against his temple, clutching Crowley that much closer with a hand delving into the fiery curtain of his hair. “You. Touching me.”

Crowley pressed the heel of his palm down, just to hear Aziraphale whine, tasting the rumble of it with tongue against throat. “You're already ssso hard, pretty angel.” Crowley kissed high on his throat, wanting to leave a mark that would be seen even above that bow tie.

Aziraphale made a sound of desperation, letting the shame slip away for something warmer, headier. “Yes,” he whispered at the questioning press of Crowley's teeth. They'd been entirely absent last time and the feel of them now, the potential that they might leave a trace for others to see behind, was more thrilling than he'd thought possible.

Crowley sucked a patch of skin, teeth sinking in bluntly to leave a bruise. A mark that proved Aziraphale was wanted to anyone who might look. His hands shifted to his waistband, his own hips lifting so he could shuffle Aziraphale's clothes down. Baring his skin for greedy exploration. “You're so soft. So warm. You're perfect.”

“O-oh…” There were hands gliding over his sides, his hips, his thighs; places that hadn't been touched by anyone except himself in far too long. It made his heart sing even as it also made him want to cover up and hide away. “I- I wouldn't go so far as… as all that.”

“I would. The first time you let me fill you, I want to open you on my tongue. Have you sit on my face so I can grasp your thighs. Next time I suck you off, I want to wear them as earmuffs.” Crowley made himself separate, pushing his own joggers down. He wanted to sit in that lap as soon as possible, already knowing it would take some time to prepare for it.

Earmuffs. Goodness. Aziraphale was certain his face was on fire but he also couldn't help but look, too curious to avert his eyes from Crowley undressing. He was long and elegant like the rest of him. Very much unlike himself. It was easier to deflect from himself than to accept anything about himself. “I had wondered if your hair colour was natural, I suppose I now know.”

A laugh escaped, Crowley sending his joggers in the general direction of his shirt. Probably. “You could’ve asked. I would’ve shown you sooner.”

“That would have been terribly inappropriate!”

“Angel, I have never and will never mind a bit of inappropriate.” He smirked, fingers wrapping around Aziraphale’s cock. “Especially not from you.”

“You-” Aziraphale took in a shuddery breath as Crowley's hand moved, clutching him close again just to chase away any lingering shame. He didn't want that here between them. “You're shameless.”

“I do my best.” Crowley cupped his cheek with his free hand, smile softening a touch. “You want this, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Aziraphale said back, tilting his head into Crowley's palm. “I wouldn't be letting you touch me if I didn't.”

“Lucky me,” Crowley purred, leaning down to press their lips together. “What else do you want, angel?”

“You.” All of you, he could have said. As much as Crowley would give him. “Can I-” His thumb rubbed Crowley's side. “May I touch you? More than this.”

Crowley was happy to let him have anything, whatever he may have wanted. “Course you can. Whatever you want to do.”

'Whatever he wanted' didn't seem entirely feasible when what he wanted was more than just a short fling, but running his hand down Crowley's thin side and over the bony jut of his hip seemed within grasp. He had a trail of coppery red hair that Aziraphale ran his fingers through, neatly trimmed from navel to groin, Aziraphale's own thatch of curls felt more a mess than anything in comparison. “It's been… some time since I've touched anyone other than myself.”

“Touch all you like, angel.” Crowley straddled his waist to make it easier for him, taking his cock in hand to rut his own against it with a small groan. Smaller, both in length and girth, but not lacking. At least not in his opinion. He liked the differences, though, clenching around a secret Aziraphale was going to discover soon enough.

Crowley was so lovely sitting astride him like this, the low yellow lamp light making his hair look like curtains of fire. “You're so thin,” Aziraphale said softly, feeling the way the muscles of Crowley's stomach flexed beneath his palm. “Part of me worries I might split you in two.”

“There’s not much chance of that. I’m hardier than I look, I promise. I really don’t mind getting tossed around a bit. I like strength.” Crowley winked at him. “Which you have in spades, bookseller. Or book collector.”

“It comes with the territory,” Aziraphale said with pink cheeks. “Books are heavy.”

“I know. I held that bag of yours.” Crowley sat back, resting his hands on Aziraphale’s chest. “I’m giving you a very strong hint, by the way. One that suggests you pushing me onto my back, touching your fill. I’ll help you make sure I’m open enough for you.”

“O-oh!” Aziraphale looked at him with wide eyes, noting the way Crowley's eyebrows raised. A challenge, as if to ask him what he was waiting for. Aziraphale flexed his grip on Crowley's waist. He didn't want to hurt him, not at all, and while the sudden roll and flip was quick, he made sure Crowley's head hit pillows instead of the wood headboard. “I'm not good with hints,” Aziraphale said with a small smile at how wide Crowley's beautiful eyes had gotten. “For the record.”

“Noted. Yup. Very good at the tossing me about thing, though.” He reached up, grasping Aziraphale’s shoulders to pull him down. “Now come here, kiss me, and we’ll get moving on this. If I don’t have you in me soon…”

“You will,” Aziraphale said against his lips, kissing him. It was different to do it this way, to be pressing him down. Crowley's body seemed to mould to his own, making space for him with a leg thrown around his hip.

Hips grinding upwards, Crowley groaned into the kiss. He didn't want Aziraphale to doubt his pleasure or his desire for this for a single moment, not wholly ignorant to the nerves. “You’re doing so well, angel. You feel just right.”

He wanted to be just right for someone. For anyone. If he could be that for Crowley… maybe he would stay. Maybe this could be something more than weekend romp. Aziraphale kissed his lips, hard, and quickly moved down to kiss more over his sharp collar bones, hands gripping Crowley's hips to still them. “Keep- keep that up and you won't get what you want.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, a curious attempt at bucking his hips only resulting in a tighter grip. “Angel. You have no idea how attractive you are.”

No, he didn't but he thought that might be alright so long as Crowley thought so. “I think you just like being held in place.”

“M'not gonna argue that.” Crowley stroked long fingers through fluffy curls. “C'mon, then. I want that enormous thing inside me already.”

Aziraphale's nose wrinkled as he sat back though his eyes still swept down the long line of Crowley's body. The crook of his brow, the way his torso shifted as if his spine were more suggestion than fact, his legs bent at the knee, held open in what felt like invitation. Beautiful. “That's not a… very fetching way to say that, you know.”

“It's true,” Crowley pointed out. “But how would you say it?”

“Well… asking politely and with less euphemisms. Obviously.”

Crowley snickered. “Please put your big dick in me.”

Aziraphale huffed at him, but his eyes were crinkled at the corners, betraying his fondness. “I might not have much experience in this area, at least not on this end, but I do know you need to be prepared for… for this.”

“I told you I started while in the bathroom.” Crowley stroked up Aziraphale’s chest, thumbs brushing over his nipples to test for his reaction. “But I’d also definitely like to feel your fingers helping stretch the rest of the way. I want you to touch me, Aziraphale.”

Oh. Aziraphale's lashes fluttered at the teasing touch, breath a surprised puff. The way he was asking wasn't exactly romantic but it was better than before and knowing Crowley was asking still made his fingers tremble as he ran them through the coarse hair trailing from his navel. “I have been and will be touching you, dear. You're far too lovely to not touch.”

The compliment was more distracting than the touch, Crowley’s next words jumbled and mingled with nonsense sounds. “M’not.”

“You are,” Aziraphale countered, letting his fingers brush over the long length of him. Velvety soft, warm, a nice weight in his hand that Aziraphale thought he might like to taste later if Crowley would let him. “You're an absolute vision with your hair all spread out like rays of a red sun.”

“Ngk,” he replied, nudging Aziraphale with his knee. “Let’s- let’s go back to talking about you.”

Aziraphale beamed, feeling confident enough to take Crowley in hand fully. “Darling, are you uncomfortable with compliments?”

“Mngh,” was the garbled reply, hips rocking up into the touch. “Just fine with ‘em.” It was only partially a lie. He was uncomfortable when they were aimed his way, yes, but he was very comfortable handing them out. When they were deserved, anyway.

“I see,” Aziraphale said with a considering hum, thumb rubbing the tip and spreading the drop that had beaded there while Crowley's lashes fluttered. “In that case, I find you absolutely exquisite, darling. Your hair begs to be touched, your hips draw the eye with how they sway when you walk. Your eyes are so unique and beautiful, they look like liquid gold right now. Had I mirror on hand I would show you.”

Crowley squirmed, eyes closing as he pressed his head back. “Mrrgh. Ssstop that. No, don't stop- the touching's good. Touching is grand. Stop the other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“The- the words thing.”

Aziraphale's smile only grew. Just fine with compliments, indeed. “I think not. I think you deserve to hear someone tell you how beautiful you are.” His other hand mapped the plain of Crowley's inner thigh, dipped into the crease where leg and hip met and followed it down. Crowley's scrotum was trimmed, just like the rest of him, as if he'd wanted this. It was a little nugget of golden hope for Aziraphale that he had absolutely no time to enjoy, not when his fingers brushed something round and metal where he expected more warm skin. “Oh, you naughty thing,” Aziraphale breathed as he pressed his thumb to it and watched Crowley's hips jerk.

“You like it.” Crowley knew. As much as every compliment burned through him, leaving his insides squirming with too much feeling, they told him for sure that Aziraphale was absolutely interested. That he wanted him. He gestured towards the bedside table. “Lube’s in the bottle there.”

“Patience, sweet,” Aziraphale murmured, giving that little metal disk a twist and a tug.

“Oh, fuck,” Crowley gasped, hips stuttering. “Angel.” Though he seemed a little closer to a bastard in the ways he teased.

Being able to watch Crowley writhe in pleasure was almost addicting, he was so responsive. Aziraphale's eyes never left him as he pulled the plug free from Crowley's body. It was heavy, larger than Aziraphale had expected it to be and larger than the egg sized ones he'd spied in the adult shop near his bookshop. “Goodness, darling. You're one eager beaver, aren't you?”

“Eager beaver?” Crowley echoed, incredulous. “Don't sssay that with your hand 'round my cock.”

“I'll say what I like with my hand around your… around your cock.”

It should've killed his mood immediately and entirely, but Crowley still craved it. Aziraphale's touch, his taste, his terrible choices of words - he wanted it all. He clenched around nothing, heels digging into the bed to angle himself. “If you can say ridiculous things, you can touch me to distraction.”

“You are the distraction here,” Aziraphale chided, though his smile was fond as he reached over and plucked up the bottle. It was cool in his hand, small, one might even say travel sized. It also wasn't his. That Crowley had thought to bring such a thing - the lube, the plug, to have made himself look pretty below the belt - it all painted a very specific picture. One where Crowley had planned, or at least hoped, for this outcome. Aziraphale's heart felt far too full as he coated his fingers. “A beautiful distraction.”

“You're the beautiful one,” Crowley huffed, watching Aziraphale warm the lube on his fingers. “Your sparkly, kaleidoscope eyes and your fluffy little- You're gorgeous and interesssting.”

The little lisp he seemed to have was adorable, Aziraphale unable to keep from tipping forward to kiss those little hisses from his lips. That it meant he got to taste Crowley's little whine when he slipped two slick fingers in where the plug had just been was all the better.

Crowley arched with his whine, rocking his hips to get him deeper. “More,” he demanded, though it came out a little too close to a plea for his liking. He wasn’t used to partners taking their time with him. He was used to quick, messy, simple - this might get messy, but it was certainly not the other two. The lingering touches, the compliments he was so very unused to - it made him want to writhe in search of more even as it made him want to flee.

“Greedy,” Aziraphale teased but was loath to deny him. A third finger pushed in along with the first two, Crowley's body seeming to accept them with the same enthusiasm. He was still slick from the plug, loose from working it inside himself. “Look at you, taking my fingers but craving so much more.”

Crowley shuddered. “Want all you got. Didn’t know if you’d… if you’d want to do all the- the prep work with it being your firssst time at this end.”

“Oh, sweet boy, getting to see you in pleasure like this-” And just to prove his point Aziraphale crooked his fingers to watch it happen, to feel Crowley shudder and kiss his gasp. “I wouldn't miss it.”

“Next- ngk - next time, you’re- I’ll definitely let you do thisss.” It was so hard to control the lisp, harder than he remembered it being in a very long time. “I- Do you still want me to ride you or are we just- Are you taking it from here?”

Aziraphale's lips curved, fingers stilling and slipping from the tight clench of Crowley's body. “You made a promise to me, darling, and I'd like to see you fulfil it.” He gave Crowley a searing kiss and wasn't nearly as embarrassed to use that strength he seemed to like so much to flip them this time.

“Chrissst,” Crowley hissed, but it was in no way a complaint. He pushed himself up, hair tumbling over his shoulders as he gazed down. “Smug bastard,” was also not a complaint as he lifted to his knees. “You’ve no clue how glad I am you called me.”

“I'd hope as glad as I was you'd agreed to come.” Goodness, he was pretty. Hair even more like curled flame in the soft yellow light.

“If it’s somewhere near ‘a lot,’ yeah.” Crowley took up the lube from where Aziraphale had set it, popping the cap again but stilling before he actually poured any on his hand. “Uh. Fuck. Opinion on condoms? I’ve got one,” that he’d forgotten about, “but I’m clean.” He was usually more careful, but Aziraphale had done his head in in a thousand ways.

“Oh, darling.” He really was sweet despite the swagger. “I haven't been with anyone in… well, a while and I trust you. I want to.”

Not many did. Trust him, anyway. He wasn’t unfamiliar with being wanted. He smiled down at him, pouring a generous amount of the travel-sized bottle over his fingers before grasping the base of Aziraphale’s cock and slowly sliding up. “You gonna come inside me, angel? Get me nice and wet and full of you?”

Aziraphale let out a shaky breath and gripped Crowley's ridiculous hips. “If you would allow me- to have you so completely.”

“I want to let you. I really want to let you.” The strength hidden in that grip had Crowley shuddering as he shifted himself over Aziraphale, a hand gripping Aziraphale’s shaft as he sank down. “Fuck,” he breathed at the first breach, the first gentle burn of stretch from something more than fingers but not quite as big as the plug. He’d get there. Very quickly, he’d surpass it.

“Oooh, Crowley.” Aziraphale's breath left him all at once. Crowley sinking down onto him was so different from a hand or even his lovely mouth. He was like a vice, tight and hot and Aziraphale's thumbs dug into his hips. “It's not- it's not too much?”

He made a garbled attempt at a response, the extra little pressure clenching his muscles. He was so thick, the burn more pronounced but no less delicious. His head fell back as he breathed through his own heady want until he could relax enough to sink a little lower. “Not- Not too much. Perfect. Absssolutely perfect.”

Aziraphale bit his lip and planted his feet in attempt to not rush this, to let Crowley take his time and not snap his hips up in a rush. He wanted to savour this. “Oh, darling, and you're gorgeous like this.”

Crowley took him further with a whine, thighs strained and trembling against the urge to take him fully, quickly. He wanted the stretch, the burn, to feel full of someone who gave him too many compliments. Too much affection for an activity that tended to mean nothing but mutual satisfaction. This was that, but it was more. “Fuck... Angel...”

He was a vision in soft golden light and Aziraphale's hands trembled where they rubbed his hips, his sides, his thighs almost absent mindedly. Aziraphale's lips fell open on a soft groan as Crowley's pert arse settled flush into the vee of his lap. It was so much and he throbbed surrounded by Crowley's wet heat. “Oh, darling, being inside you is marvellous,” Aziraphale whispered. “I'd never thought- Oh, never dreamed it would be like this.”

“Marvellous, huh?” Aziraphale was impossibly sweet. Crowley clenched around him, twin groans mingling. “You feel so good, angel. I've never been this full.”

Aziraphale shuddered, he could feel every minute movement so intimately. “You say the most flattering things.”

“Jussst bein' truthful.” Crowley bobbed up slowly, thighs flexing as he lightly bounced just to get used to even those careful thrusts before he began to move faster. Harder. His head fell back as he began to move in earnest, chasing his own pleasure and giving Aziraphale some in return.

More than some, certainly more than just that. He'd never been enveloped so completely before, never been on the giving end like this. Though Crowley seemed perfectly willing to do most of the work himself, Aziraphale couldn't help but give a test thrust up, mouth falling upon in a soft moan. He did it again when Crowley didn't protest, finding a rhythm that worked for them both, that made him gasp and cling to his arms.

“That'sss- that's it, angel. Move with me just like that.” He felt cored open, sinking down and just letting Aziraphale move a unique sort of decadence. There was just something so much better about having a person beneath him instead of a toy, though he was soon moving again. Catching back into rhythm and, teasingly, going deliberately off now and again. “C'mon, my angel, Aziraphale, tell me you like it.”

His angel. The words sung through him as assuredly as the way Crowley moved atop him, even as teasing as he was. “C-Crowley-” It was difficult to think, let alone form words like this. His fingers squeezed, surely forming bruises on Crowley's lovely skin. “Oh, I- Yes. God's yes. You're-” Aziraphale groaned, thrusting harder as his control slipped. “You feel magnificent, darling.”

Crowley gasped, fingers digging into Aziraphale's arms. “Fuck-!” One hand pried away to rest on Aziraphale's chest, bracing over his heart as he picked up his own pace. “Yesss, angel. Aziraphale. Nice and hard, gorgeous.”

Aziraphale let his head fall back, breath rough as he lost himself in the slap of skin and the welcoming push and pull of Crowley's body. It had never been like this, never so warm, so good. He found he wanted everything of Crowley. Wanted to hear his cries and taste his lips and fill him with as much of himself as he could handle. Aziraphale found himself wrapping a hand around Crowley's cock, the tip wet and dripping, and fisting it in rough time with his own thrusts. He wanted absolutely everything.

Crowley could keep up and did for a bit, but it was just as good to stay still. To keep himself braced on Aziraphale's chest and let himself be filled. Let the duelling sensation of hand and cock drag him closer and closer to the edge. He let himself get there faster than normal, let himself squeeze and clench around Aziraphale's girth. He shifted his own hips to get firm, constant attention against his prostate. “C'mon,” he gasped. “Fill me up. Come for me, angel. Know you want to. Know you're close. Please.”

“I- I-” Aziraphale looked up into Crowley's beautiful, golden, mismatched eyes. They kept Aziraphale's gaze, blazing with his pleasure, and Aziraphale was hopeless to them. He thought he might give Crowley anything he wanted if he asked looking like this. He'd already been riding that edge, staving off release with nothing but ironclad will. The permission allowed him to let go, to gasp as he arched, pulse thundering in his ears and cock twitching as he filled Crowley just the way he asked.

Crowley ground down, his own hand taking over for Aziraphale's suddenly still one. As he was flooded, he gave himself a few messy strokes until he, too, was spilling his release. It streaked across Aziraphale's skin, that angelic name bursting from him on an outcry loud enough to be heard down the hall. A crescendo for all the other sounds they'd made together in this bed.

That his cousins might have heard, might have been sharing uncomfortable or knowing glances, didn't even cross Aziraphale's mind. There were more important things to focus on, like Crowley clenching around him and milking him for all he was worth. And when they both slumped, Aziraphale sinking into the plush mattress with panting gasps, he couldn't help but keep touching in the syrupy after, his palm running up Crowley's stomach and over his chest. “Darling, that was-”

“If you say marvellous-”

“Perfect.”

Perfect. Perfect was acceptable. Great, even. Crowley let himself sink bonelessly to splay against Aziraphale, to let their lips meet in lingering affection. Simple but not. “M'not... used to perfect. You're new, angel.”

“I'm not used to it either,” Aziraphale replied softly, gently running his fingers through Crowley's mussed curls. “But I hope I was at least satisfactory for you.”

“Aziraphale... It was... Mngh.” Crowley's face disappeared into the curve of Aziraphale's throat. “Perfect. For me too.”

“Oh, Crowley,” was cooed right against his temple, a kiss left there as well. This man was far, far too sweet for the swagger he put on. “That makes me so very happy to hear.”

“Shadup,” he muttered, pressing a firm kiss to Aziraphale's throat. “Be even more perfect if you wanted to clean off with me. The tub in that bathroom is begging for two people.”

Aziraphale smiled at that, hand petting down Crowley's damp back. “We did work up quite a sweat.”

“Not to mention all the jizz that's going to spill down my thighs when we separate.” Though that mutter held a quiet thrill.

And it made Aziraphale's cheeks redden, especially since he could already feel himself softening. “Must you say it like that?”

“Mm. Your essence is gonna flow over my skin when you leave me?” he tried, grinning at Aziraphale's grimace. “There, see? My way was much better.”

“They are both equally terrible,” Aziraphale countered.

Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. “How would you say it?”

When Aziraphale paused, he felt Crowley begin to grin against his throat and gave a haughty huff at him. “Well, for one, I wouldn't say it at all.” For a number of reasons, none of which he wanted to share in the warm and comfortable time they found themselves in. “But, if I absolutely had to, I'd probably phrase it something like 'the mess we've made'.”

“The mess we made.” Crowley pushed himself up a bit, hands bracketing Aziraphale’s head amidst so many pillows, and grinned down at him. “You up for making more messes together in the future, Aziraphale?”

The future… Aziraphale stared up at him, into those beautiful mismatched eyes, and was almost too scared to hope. “I would like that,” he said softly. Even as frightening as it was, he didn't think he could lie while laying naked with another. “Very much.”

“Good. That’s just what I wanted to hear.” He sank back down, wanting this to last just a few more minutes, and nuzzled into his throat with a pleased sort of sound.

“Oh… Oh, good.” Was it really that simple? That easy? It had never been so before. “I was hoping you'd… that you'd like to see more of each other.”

“Yeah? I mean, the second I touched your dick, this stopped being a paid gig,” Crowley reminded him. Then admitted, “It’s… This is the first time I’ve gotten with anyone who called about the advert.”

“Really?” He didn't mean to sound so surprised but someone who looked like Crowley… well, he could imagine most anyone would be happy to have him in their bed. “That's… quite flattering, actually.”

Crowley huffed a laugh. “Yeah, s’pose it could be.” Wasn't meant to be, though. It was only a simple truth. “Now come on. Think a big, strong angel like you can handle carrying me to the bath.”

“I do believe I can.” Aziraphale sat up, giving a little shiver as he felt himself leave Crowley's warm body, and carefully manoeuvred them to standing. He was so thin, Aziraphale wondered just how much this boney man weighed. “Remind me to make sure the curtains are closed properly when we come back to bed, I wouldn't want you to wake up to the morning sun in your eyes.”

Crowley hummed as he stretched, feeling uncomfortably empty. And wet, the mess of their joining dripping down his thighs as predicted. “I've got blackout curtains in my flat. They're good for keeping the sun at bay. And for losing track of time when I'm working.”

Aziraphale padded across the plush carpet and realised he hadn't ever actually asked Crowley what he did. He barely knew this man and yet felt inextricably drawn to him like a moth to a flame. “You know, you never told me what it is you do.”

“What, besides answering adverts for strangers?” Crowley smiled after him, watching him walk and wanting to get his hands on Aziraphale's curves and rolls all over again. “I paint. Doing alright for myself, you could say, but I keep anonymous.”

Aziraphale looked back at him as he flipped the bathroom light on, eyes alight with curiosity. “Really? Is that why you were so interested in the paintings here?”

“Oh, yeah.” Crowley briefly wished for pockets to bury his hands in. “Do those lights get lower?”

“Oh! I'm so sorry!” He hadn't even thought about the bathroom lights even though he'd just asked about the curtains. Aziraphale quickly flicked them back off and bustled over to a dresser. They hadn't had any issues with the lights since the renovations but he still kept candles from when the power would go out randomly. He struck a match a before carefully lighting the few candles from the dresser. “They don't lower but I hope this will suffice.”

“Romantic, candlelit bath? How will I cope?” Crowley sauntered closer, near enough to press a kiss to Aziraphale's shoulder. “They'll work.”

“I thought you wanted me to carry you to the bath.”

“Yeah, but I dunno how I'm supposed to wait for that when you're all the way over here bein' cute.”

Aziraphale felt his cheeks warm. The last time he remembered being called cute was when he'd been a child but the way Crowley nuzzled at the back of his neck was distinctly unchild-like. “I was going to start the bath before carrying you in, but I suppose now you'll just have to walk in with me.”

Crowley chuckled. “By all means, set the scene as you like, angel. You strike me as someone who likes romance.”

He did. When he'd been a child he'd dreamed of being swept off his feet like a heroine in a romance novel. Age had dulled that desire but not jaded it. He still liked candle-lit dinners, baths too, slow dancing to something soft and classical. “I do.” Aziraphale turned, took up one of Crowley's hands and kissed it. “I hope you don't mind.”

“Really don’t mind,” Crowley promised. “Just means I’ll have to pamper you sometime soon.”

“That would be lovely,” Aziraphale said, eyes shining. “At this rate you're going to give me very high expectations, darling.”

“No harm in that, is there? Keep your high expectations. They make you look very pretty.”

Aziraphale's lashes fluttered. “Well, with flattery like that, I'll have to set the bar very high for you.”

“I can handle it.” He wanted to try, which was more than he normally wanted. Once tended to be enough. Once only felt like a start here. Crowley leaned in, kissing him firmly. “Go be fussy, would you?”

“Yes, yes.” Aziraphale gave him a peck on the lips before stepping back and scooping up the candles. He knew there were eyes on his bare backside as he set them around the bathroom, a few on the sink counter, more on the shelf above the tub, but for the first time in a long time it felt more thrilling than embarrassing.

Crowley liked watching him be fussy. Liked to watch him do anything, really. He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded as he waited for the water to start. “Do you like boiling baths?”

Aziraphale gave a considering hum as he turned the water on and dropped the plug into the drain, beginning to fill the clawfoot tub. “It depends. In the summer, if I need to cool off before bed, I occasionally take cooler baths.”

“Mm.” Boiling it was, and Crowley was more than fine with that. “Your skin looks so warm in candlelight. Like you're glowing.”

Aziraphale looked back at him, a thin silhouette outlined in yellow light. It gave his hair an almost orange tinge where it shone through the strands and the flickering flames seemed to dance across his skin. “I could say the same for you.”

Crowley waved that away. “Would you let me paint you sometime?”

“Paint me?” Aziraphale stared at him, at a loss. “Surely there must be more interesting things to paint.”

“Think that’s up to me to decide, bein’ the artist and all. I think you’re plenty interesting.”

Something warm spread outwards, from Aziraphale's chest all the way to his fingertips and toes. “I- Well, if you'd like to, I wouldn't say no.”

“Then I’d like to, and you can’t say no.” Crowley grinned at him, easy and lopsided. “The good thing is I already know you like my art.”

Aziraphale's head tilted curiously. He did? He didn't remember Crowley showing him any of his work and Aziraphale was absolutely certain he'd remember something like that. “I'm sure your art is lovely, dear.”

Crowley's grin widened. “That's not what you said about it earlier. You were very complimentary”

“I-” When had he seen Crowley's art? Aziraphale was suddenly worried he'd lost time somewhere or his mind was failing him. “I'm sorry but I don't recall…”

“Angel, stop fretting.” Crowley sauntered closer, stopping the water since Aziraphale was distracted. “In. And not me this time.”

Aziraphale glanced at the water then back at Crowley, cheeks warming both from the innuendo and from forgetting the water. “But- Crowley.”

“Come on, angel. You first. I would so much rather tell you this without my thighs getting stickier.”

His cheeks burned hotter and his bottom lip pressed out in an unconscious pout. “Very well, I'd rather you be comfortable,” Aziraphale acquiesced, letting his fingers test the hot water before determining it not too hot to step in to.

Crowley watched him settle in, wiggling his way into the warm water. His pink skin turned more pink, his embarrassed eyes shining ethereally in the candlelight. It was easy to join him, doing a little bit of his own wiggling until those strong arms banded around him and a small huff puffed against his ear. Grinning, Crowley tipped his head back until it dropped onto Aziraphale’s shoulder. “AJC,” he hummed.

Aziraphale frowned to himself, brow furrowed. “You're being awfully cryptic, darling.”

“Because I don’t tell people this. And I’m going to expect you to keep it to yourself, too.”

“If it means that much to you, of course I will. I do wish you'd just say what it is, though. I've never been very good at guessing games.”

“AJC,” he repeated, fingers lightly flicking at the water to see the ripples it caused. “I showed you those initials earlier, remember?”

“Yes, on the… paintings.” Aziraphale's brow furrowed more. It could be assumed the initials were that of the artist, he just didn't know what that had to do with Crowley's own… paintings. Aziraphale gasped, hold on Crowley's middle tightening just a smidge. “Anthony Crowley… what does the J stand for?”

Oh, he wasn’t going to spill all his secrets. “Just a J, really.”

Aziraphale laughed, pressing the sound to the back of Crowley's long neck. “Goodness, you are a talented painter, my dear.”

“I know,” though it didn’t come out quite as glibly as he was aiming for. He did know he was talented. But he liked hearing it. He liked hearing it from someone who hadn’t known. “I’ve never actually seen them at someone’s house before. Kinda nice, seeing them amidst a whole collection.”

“I'm sure it must have been a shock to see them where you never expected.” Aziraphale kissed his thin bare shoulder. “I'd like to see more, if you're willing.”

“Might be. I'll have to paint you in my studio so you can see what I've got hanging 'round.” He wondered how hard it would be to paint him nude. Maybe tastefully, maybe not so much.

“I'd like that, just so long as you allow me to read a book while you work.”

“I'll let you do whatever you want, angel.”

Aziraphale's lips curved against Crowley's damp skin. “Why do I have the distinct impression that you have something untoward planned?”

Crowley could feel it, his own curving warmly. “Could be that you already know me very well.”

He didn't know if he'd say 'very well' but Aziraphale felt like he had a good idea. “I see I'll have to come prepared to thwart the wiles of the wicked one.”

“If it involves being pressed against any flat surface, thwart away,” Crowley teased, leaning back again. It was easy to talk to Aziraphale. Easy to be around him.

Aziraphale chuckled, adjusting his hold to more easily pet over Crowley's chest and stomach. That he seemed to all but melt into the touch, fully trusting, was a wonder. “I'll keep in mind that holding you down is a sufficient way to keep you in line.”

Crowley's grin turned wolfish, even though he was feeling decidedly goopy held and pet by someone he'd developed an embarrassingly quick fondness for. “Has anyone used rope with you before?”

“No,” Aziraphale admitted quietly. “My… experience has been woefully dull until this evening.”

“I'll help with that. If you want to have some new experiences and all. I know not everyone's interested in kink, and they don't have to be. But I'd like to - y'know - I'd like to try a few things with you.”

“Oh, do you?” Not that he was unhappy with what they'd done tonight but well, he couldn't deny his curiosity. “I've always wondered but… asking anyone just seemed so daunting.”

“I hope you ask me. I'm a monogamous slut. If you, um, were wondering.”

“I believe that's something of an oxymoron, dear.”

“No, it's not. Just means I can keep all my horny aimed on one person at a time.”

Aziraphale snorted and pressed his giggles to the back of Crowley's neck. “How lucky I am to be the focus of your attention.”

“Yup.” And how lucky he was, too, to have someone who'd be pleased enough to laugh at such a prospect. “A real lucky angel, I've got.”

“I would say that I am, yes.” Lucky to have someone in his arms that didn't want to leave immediately, someone that was easy to laugh with and talk to, someone who kissed him like it wasn't some kind of chore. “I want to show you the gardens tomorrow. After breakfast, perhaps. They're quite lovely in the early morning light.”

“Think I’d like that. Big fan of plants, me. When they grow right, anyway.”

“Well we do have a professional gardener, I'm sure they're grown… right.” At least he assumed so. He liked looking at plants and flowers but knew absolutely nothing about them. “Do you grow anything? I'm afraid I have something of a black-thumb myself.”

“If my plants could talk, they might say I have a green fist.” He shrugged, comfortable with his unconventional coping mechanism. Sometimes someone had to yell. He’d rather unload rage at something that couldn’t get hurt feelings. “I’ll show you my plant room one day soon.”

One day soon. It implied Crowley didn't intend on running off the second they returned to London. He wanted so desperately to think this was something more. To lean into the future he'd already suggested. “I'd love to see it. Perhaps when you invite me over for painting.”

“That’d work.” Aziraphale was a comfortable cushion to relax against, Crowley’s eyes closing under the simple attention his hands gave. “Haven’t dated anyone properly in a while, so m’looking forward to this.”

Aziraphale's breath caught for a moment, nose finding the back of Crowley's ear. “Is that what we're doing?” he asked quietly, carefully. “Dating?”

Heedless of Aziraphale’s concerns and questions, Crowley shrugged. “We can call it whatever we want, I s’pose, but I’m picking the next restaurant.”

“I'm certainly alright with that, so long as you keep my standards in mind.”

He chuckled. “I won’t make you speak Japanese, and don’t expect me to. But you won’t leave hungry.”

Aziraphale sucked in a breath a smile as bright as a noon day sun spreading across his face even if Crowley couldn't see it. What he said next was a little rough but was most definitely not in English.

“S’not fair to say things I can’t understand, y’know.”

“I said 'But you can expect it of me'.”

“The only thing I expect from you is… Just, um, tell me when or if, y’know, you’re done being with me. Alright?”

“Oh, darling.” Aziraphale squeezed him, realising they might be more similar than was initially assumed. “I believe we have the same worries in that regard.”

“I’ll tell you if I stop being interested, angel. I’m… well, I’m not afraid to tell someone to bugger off when a relationship fizzles.” Even though the other person tended to leave first in his experience. He tended to cling fast and fully.

“I do appreciate that.” Though it certainly wasn't different than he was already used to. “Admittedly I haven't exactly been the one to end the few relationships I've had.”

“That cements it. You’ve only dated wankers.”

Aziraphale's lips curved again. “And what would that make you?”

He grinned. “A fresh start.”

“O-oh.” He thought he liked the sound of that. In fact, he liked it a lot. Aziraphale hugged Crowley a little tighter, a solid weight on his chest. A fresh start… that sounded nice. “Well, that's alright then.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. It's not very often that people our age get a fresh start. Perhaps… perhaps we could be that for each other.”

“We could,” Crowley murmured, shifting so he could guide Aziraphale into a kiss. “Let's give this a shot, angel.”

“A shot… Yes… Yes, alright.” Even just that much was exciting. They could be something new and different for each other and maybe things wouldn't be quite so lonely.

They were already off to quite the start.