Chapter Text
The carriage shook on the muddy path as Aziraphale stared into the distance. It was less than half-a-day’s drive and a lot faster by foot through the forests, but even if he had the courage to come back for a visit, it would not be the same. His place would be elsewhere, starting from now.
The snuffbox in his bag radiated hope, which he found both comforting and distressing, but nevertheless it gave him the strength to keep himself together for the ride.
The cottage came into view looking threadbare in the bright afternoon sun under the cloudless sky. Lesley climbed off the carriage to open the gate on the partially collapsed roundpole fence, while Aziraphale tried to see past the disarray and decay, and imagine the place like it would be after he’d started to put things to rights.
The roof of the root cellar poked up from the forest bed like a blackened tooth at the end of a barely visible footpath. The yard was, likewise, overgrown with hay and tree saplings he’d have to cut down—or maybe just let the goats on them. The old well in the middle of the yard needed a new cover, but the water had seemed clear and tasted well when he’d made his choice to rent the place. Lesley went to it and began swinging the shadoof to lift water for the horse, no doubt eager to return to his wife.
They unloaded the carriage in silence. The small log cabin was soon filled with furniture, books, and fabrics that seemed entirely out of place in a cottage that had once housed a poor family who had all slept, eaten, and spent their lives in the only room the cottage offered.
Aziraphale noticed a dried rose in a small vase on the ancient dining table and smiled through unshed tears. Agnes and Anathema had spent their day off cleaning the place up for him, and he’d never been more grateful in his life. It was good to know he wasn’t entirely alone in the world.
Aziraphale had felt deeply rootless when he had signed the papers for his new home, so he had absorbed all the information his new landlord could tell him, desperate to see himself as a link in a chain of history instead of a loose thread in an unknown place.
The previous master had had only daughters who had all married elsewhere, and the last inhabitant had been their elderly mother who people said had become peculiar in her old age and had an evil eye. The landlord had implied heavily that he didn’t see Aziraphale with his scarred face as any better, but a tenant was better than an empty homestead, so he got a chance.
It was to be Aziraphale’s new home.
He went to light the fire in the hearth, to chase the damp away from the cabin, before stepping back outside. Lesley had put the pigs into a little pen by the small barn, while the goats had wandered to sniff at the hop stalks by the shed. The yard was small and only partially enclosed, but Aziraphale could see one more building within a safe distance behind the others; a small, chimneyless log cabin with a mossy turf roof and slightly blackened air-vent holes at its gable. It was the only building he hadn’t stepped into when he’d done his first inspection of the property.
Aziraphale stared at the sauna and brushed his fingertips absently over the metallic cover of the snuffbox in his bag. There was a neat pile of firewood against the wall, ready for the next sauna heater, and Aziraphale couldn’t avoid it forever. He’d have to wash off the dust and grime of the trip eventually.
Someone cleared his throat behind him. Aziraphale turned on his heels, heart in his throat, and yelped as he almost immediately collided with Lesley.
“Sorry, boss, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Ah, no bother. I was woolgathering… it’s time for you to go back, isn’t it?”
Lesley pushed his hands in his pockets. “Yeahhh,” he said, hesitating.
Aziraphale sighed, making an assumption of the trouble. “I don’t have coins on me, but you’ve undoubtedly deserved—”
“‘S not that, boss,” Lesley interrupted him. “We got something for you.”
He pulled a string from his pocket, paused awkwardly, before leaning to place it around Aziraphale’s neck. The pendant swung at his chest, lighter than it seemed, and it took him a moment for Aziraphale to recognise it: a claw—and not just any claw, but a claw of the king of the woods.
Aziraphale brushed its dark, polished surface with a finger in quiet awe. He’d seen the talisman before, a couple of times, when the elder Shadwell had been inspired to tell stories about his ancestors while being drunk enough to let others look at the heirlooms.
“This is—”
“Mr. S said you need the Great Winter Sleeper’s protection more than he does,” Lesley explained with an awkward shrug, hands dropping to his sides.
Aziraphale swallowed down a lump in his throat. The brown beast ruled the woods, and was feared and revered so well his name was never spoken in vain. If men were forced to kill a bear, their village would hold a celebration for the beast’s honour, thank it for its sacrifice, and ritually bury its skull so it could be reborn. As a result, its spirit and strength would protect the village’s future. The elder Shadwell’s father had had the honour to participate and got the nail as a personal talisman.
It was an invaluable treasure that now lay against Aziraphale’s chest as a sign that he wasn’t entirely abandoned by his old life after all. On the contrary, he might've reconnected with something older that he had once forgotten.
Aziraphale had to look away to blink back tears, but Lesley seemed to understand. He patted Aziraphale’s shoulder and waited in silence.
“Thank you,” Aziraphale whispered after the first wave of overwhelming emotion passed. Part of him screamed that he shouldn’t accept such a gift, but he knew it would be a great insult to decline.
Lesley cleared his throat again. “We don’t know what happened, but—I mean, your brother, he angered something, didn’t he?”
Aziraphale opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Lesley would see Gabriel’s attempt to destroy a saunatonttu as an abhorrent crime, but he would only think of the future of the land and the families that relied on it. Lesley had never known Crowley with golden eyes and flaming hair, nor did he know Crowey’s curiosity or passion.
No. Lesley would condemn Gabriel’s actions, cast a prayer, and try to cheer Aziraphale with witty remarks he couldn’t face.
“He did,” Aziraphale managed. “And let us not dwell on that.”
Lesley nodded, unsurprised. “Aye, boss,” he said. “I better be going. It’s starting to get dark earlier and earlier these days.”
“Safe travels,” Aziraphale said, agreeing with him. “Tell Maud hello from me. And Mr. S, too. Thank you, truly!”
Lesley left for the empty carriage. “Yeah, yeah, you come to tell them yourself after you’ve settled!” he said and took the reins. “Or, better yet, we’ll come and fix that barn roof for you sometime. See ya!”
With a wave of his hand, he was out of the gates, and soon he disappeared behind the curve of the carriage road, the sound of the hooves and carriage wheels dwindling into nothingness.
Aziraphale was alone.
***
It took a while, or maybe it just felt like it, before Aziraphale gathered his courage.
The cool darkness embraced him as he stepped into the sauna: damp and sooty, but without the soul-sucking emptiness he’d faced back at home. The building was old, but well cared for, and the air vents opened without much of a fight. The sauna had been in recent use, so there was not much dust, and the wooden barrels and buckets still held water when Aziraphale started filling them.
For a short moment, Aziraphale worried there might be another tonttu already residing in the sauna, but he shook the thought off. As far as he knew, abandoned homesteads had no protectors.
“Um. Afternoon?” he said anyway as he carried the logs inside, ready to light the first fire. The only response was silence, and the humming of the trees outside.
“Right. Yes.”
He sat by the hearth and carefully placed the logs and splinters into a heap inside. The birch bark kindling caught fire on a third strike of the stones, and the flames lit the room. His hands trembled so hard it was a struggle to open the snuffbox, but in the end he managed to pour the ashes on the growing fire.
Then he waited.
And waited.
The fire consumed the logs, and eventually Aziraphale had to add more wood to keep it going; it would take a long while until the stones were hot enough to warm the room and provide a good löyly. The heat from the hearth warmed Aziraphale’s face, but inside he was cold. Apart from the crackling of the fire, the sauna was silent.
Aziraphale was alone.
Suddenly, the cozy scent of smoke choked him, and through tears he stumbled out of the door into the bright light of the low-shining autumn sun. A black woodpecker’s melancholic call slit through his heart; an omen of tragedy and death, but miserably late. The worst had already happened, weeks ago, and Aziraphale had been too stupidly hopeful to accept it.
He sat on the lopsided log bench by the sauna until the sky grew purple and orange, and the evening chill set into his bones.
Then, he heard it.
It took him a while to place the sound, because it was unheard of in the autumn, and it wasn’t vibrant and confident like in the summer, when the birds showed off all their skills to charm and flirt. It was quieter, almost like a question.
A single nightingale.
Aziraphale was on his feet and inside the sauna faster than his poor legs could carry him, so he hit his toe on the threshold and almost fell headfirst into the stove. The fire hummed and crackled in the hearth, as if Aziraphale hadn’t just left it for what must’ve been almost an hour, but he barely registered it, because he was caught in wiry arms.
The burning eyes and the mane of wild, red hair was all he could see before Crowley rammed him backwards until his back hit on the doorframe, knocking all air out of his lungs. Crowley snarled something unintelligible, and Aziraphale barely managed to block the gnashing teeth with his forearm when the tonttu went for his throat like a feral cat.
They tumbled out of the sauna door to the darkening evening, but Aziraphale barely registered the chill that seeped through his shirt from the ground under his back, because he was fighting a losing battle.
“Cr—Crowl—” he tried to croak, desperately clawing off the fierce fingers around his throat.
The tonttu’s grip around his neck loosened, just for a fraction. “Wha…?”
He let go of Aziraphale like he'd been burned, looking around himself wildly. Aziraphale's heart rang in his ears like church bells.
“We're safe!” he gasped between frantic breaths. “You’re alive!”
Crowley stared at Aziraphale, still as a stone. He had scales on his arms and fur on his thighs like he'd been startled in between forms.
“You recalled me…?”
“And it worked!” Aziraphale breathed shallow, his lungs burning, not letting the air out. His lungs didn't let the air out, but he desperately held on to that spark of recognition in Crowley’s eyes.
Crowley breathed out, eyes on the ripped shirt sleeve and the bleeding arm.
“You’re hurt…”
“It’s fine, it’s—aeek!”
Crowley’s fingers were back on Aziraphale’s neck and face, but the touch was gentle. He brushed the skin where Aziraphale knew the burn scars were, still visible for everyone to see.
“You’re hurt,” Crowley repeated, voice now buzzing like a nest of bees.
“It’s fine,” Aziraphale gasped. “It’s—truly—” The mix of wonder, shock, and relief made his body burn and pulsate like he’d fallen through thin ice and been dragged back to warmth. He forgot how to form words. It was like his skin was too small and he was about to burst, any moment now. The tension had to find a way out.
Crowley was above him, on all fours, hissing, tense, and confused, and Aziraphale did the only thing he could think of—the only way they had properly communicated: He grabbed a hold of the red hair and dragged Crowley's mouth onto his.
For a fraction of a moment, Crowley was like a stone against his lips. Then he melted into life; his weight dropped heavy and warm against Aziraphale’s chest, and their kiss deepened into something frantic and relentless.
Aziraphale got hard so fast, dark spots sparked into his peripheral vision, but he didn’t care, because when their hips rolled together, Crowley whined against the crook of his neck like an absolute wreck. Reality shrunk around them, and the outside world lost its meaning.
“Yes,” he whispered into the pointy ear, drunk on being wanted, and high from the emotional whiplashes he'd just crashed through.
Crowley’s cock was hot and real against his still-clothed belly, already slick and pulsing, and a dark, desperate need clutched Aziraphale. He would drown if he didn’t get that inside him, now. He tried to fumble his belt knot open with one hand, but only managed to get it stuck.
“Off! I want—” Clothes had to be gone. He needed to feel…
He almost sobbed when Crowley crawled off him, went straight to his belt, and simply took it to his teeth and ripped it off.
Aziraphale's hysterical giggle was swallowed by Crowley's mouth and turned into a low moan as they were finally skin against skin, revelling in each other’s warmth. Aziraphale wrapped thighs around Crowley’s waist, squirming, until the creature’s long, ribbed cock pressed against the cleft of his arse, nudging his hole with every move they made.
Yes…” Aziraphale gasped. “Please…”
Crowley growled into his chest, spread him open, and thrust deep into him with one push. Aziraphal howled, and the wanton sound echoed as his body trembled, relaxing around his lover like welcoming him home. He threw his head back, seeing the stars above him, almost like he could touch them, and pressed his nails on Crowley’s arse cheeks in a rough plea when his words failed him. He needed to remove the memory of the bittersweet, quiet coupling their last time had been, and of the horrors that had followed.
Crowley began moving, rutting like an animal, and Aziraphale urged him on, scratching him and pulling him closer and deeper. Every thrust slammed a shock wave of pleasure through his body, and he could not think—he floated.
It was over way too fast. Crowley snarled and came, pulsing deep inside Aziraphale and shaking so much they both trembled at the force of it. Aziraphale barely had time to sob a breath at the miserable, sore emptiness when Crowley pulled out of him, before the scorching-hot tongue wrapped around his cock and jerked him through a shattering orgasm that turned the sob into a breathless scream.
It took a long while until the stars stopped moving, and he stopped gasping for breath and hearing his blood in his ears.
Crowley sat on the ground beside him, alert, like on a vigil, and Aziraphale watched him in silent wonder. The tonttu was completely nude, and while his legs were now more human, the scales had not left his skin. Aziraphale touched them with his fingertips and startled when Crowley flinched. The tonttu didn’t push him away, though. Instead, he softened and placed his own fingers on Aziraphale’s scars in return.
Neither of them spoke, as they helped each other to their feet and returned to the sauna that was now sweetly warm despite them having neglected the fire. The time must’ve made its tricks, because it was all nice and ready for them as they threw the first löyly, closed the vents, and mixed warm water for them to wash in.
Aziraphale removed the remains of his clothes, and together they poured water on each other and climbed on the benches into the darkness, neither needing the lantern's light. Crowley snapped his fingers, and somehow he had a tiny bucket of fresh, broad-leaved plantains, which he rubbed in his hands and laid on the fresh bitemark on Aziraphale’s arm.
“It’s fine,” Aziraphale whispered, but Crowley only hissed in return and started washing him with a wet cloth and soap, from shoulders to chest, from stomach to thighs, taking care to lather the soap into a slick foam.
Aziraphale breathed out the tension from his bones and let it happen. His cock stirred again, filling against his stomach as Crowley washed the sticky mess from between his legs. Aziraphale groaned, swaying in languid desire, his thoughts lingering on the unreality of it all. It was not normal to want like this, nor for his flesh to be ready again so fast. Something must have shifted in the first accidental touch they had shared, and he should be scared, running away.
Instead, he yielded, with pleasure.
His stomach tightened at every stroke of Crowley’s palms, coiling the swirls of need tighter and tighter until he couldn't take it anymore. He pushed Crowley against the wall and climbed on his lap, not caring one bit how bold and sinfully debauched it was. One arm around Crowley’s neck, and another spreading his own arse cheek, he bore down on the tonttus cock, whispering dirty nothings into his ear.
Crowley closed his eyes and arched his back, mouth slack in an unashamed display of pleasure, and Aziraphale had never felt so powerful. His body quivered, and he rolled his hips, finding an angle that made his loins burn and cock pulse with every thrust. The benches creaked under them, and Crowley caught with his rhythm, meeting him halfway as he rode, harder and deeper, wrapped in sweet, heavy desire. The glide of soaped skin against skin, and the darkness and heat around them, formed a cocoon where nothing else mattered but their hot breaths and the growing pleasure.
***
The world around them kept turning, time weaving forward. Gabriel’s daughter learned to know Aziraphale as an eccentric uncle, who lived outside of society tending his small lands. Hilda’s son married her as the decades went by, and their grandchildren knew only vague hearsay that the wise man in the cottage was a family relation. No-one was alive any longer to remember the land wasn’t his, but rented. Occasionally, people saw a redheaded fellow with him, sitting by the sauna threshold, or roaming in the forest. Nobody could quite pinpoint either of their ages, but everyone agreed the two fellows must’ve lived in the cottage for a long time.
Maybe they are still there?
Who knows.
END.