Chapter Text
Aziraphale had grown up in the Golden Court, and he was taught, from an early age, how to be very good. Very good at art, very good at music, very good at conversation and entertainment. He was not, of course, destined for the grand halls and manors of the local nobility like his brothers and sisters, but all the same, he was happy. And he thought, foolishly, that it would go on forever.
He was very, very wrong.
It began in hushed whispers, his siblings ducking out of the room whenever he walked in, his mother glancing at him forlornly from across the table at breakfast. Aziraphale and his siblings had all been raised with excellence, and their mother was not an especially emotive woman. So it surprised him, a great deal, to see her so...sad.
“Is something wrong?” he finally asked one afternoon. She was pretending to read a book, and Aziraphale was working on a composition for Michael for her birthday. “You seem...distracted, mother.”
“We’ll speak on it later,” she said, and went back to not reading a single word.
Aziraphale sighed.
At dinner that evening, Gabriel cleared his throat and said, “Aziraphale. I’m sure you’ve heard we’ve been having trouble working out a trade deal with the Southern king.”
“I had,” Aziraphale said. “But I was told it was well in hand by Lord Peverell.”
“It isn’t,” Michael said. “But we’ve worked out a bit of a solution.”
“Have you?” Aziraphale set down his fork and felt a cool hand cover his. It was his mother’s. He tried to hide his surprise.
“Your brother would like you to go to the Southern king. As an emissary of this court.”
“To appease him,” Gabriel said.
Aziraphale sucked in a breath. Oh. “...I see.” He hadn’t expected this. Not at all. “It would...please the court, then? If I did so?” His mother nodded. “Then I won’t argue. I...I’ll leave as soon as I’m able.”
“End of the week,” Gabriel said.
Aziraphale sputtered. “It’s Thursday! Define the bloody end of the week for me, brother, if you’d be so kind—”
“There’s no need for that,” Gabriel said. “Someone is upstairs packing your things—”
“Someone is—” Aziraphale wrenched his hand away from the table and stood. “You could have warned me,” Aziraphale said. “You could have told me that this is what you’ve been planning for days now. I’m not an idiot, no matter what you might think. I’ve seen you all, and you!” He turned to his mother. “You’ve been...you haven’t—” Aziraphale pushed his chair in. “Excuse me,” he said. “I obviously have some planning to do.”
He turned on his heel. No one called out for him. No surprise there.
The Southern king had a fearsome reputation. They said, in the Great War, he rode out to his borders and stared down the enemy with a serpent’s eye and they fled because of that alone. The stories spoke of torture, of cells beneath the grim, dark castle filled with people who had simply caught the king on a bad day. The stories spoke of incredible cruelty, of a man who had stabbed one of his advisors for simply speaking out of turn. They said he could do dark magic, and turn into a snake. Aziraphale shuddered.
And the kingdom itself! Rocky and uninhabitable, a wicked coastline that went on for miles, where the unhappy citizens threw themselves into the sea.
Aziraphale, sitting at his desk and packing his papers, was not looking forward to it. With any luck, he would simply be locked away with his books, and he could write to his mother once the trade deal was complete and be sent back home. Perhaps his suffering would only last a few weeks at best, and he could come back with stories of how he survived the Southern king and his sad and sullen castle. Perhaps then he would be afforded the opportunity to venture into the better homes and manors of the Golden Kingdom’s elite.
Trauma was always in fashion, real or not.
Come morning, Aziraphale was packed and dressed for the dreary weather of the South. His mother had sent for a set of darker clothes, as his lighter, gold-trimmed pieces that fit his dalliances in the Golden Court so well would not do in the courts of the South.
“King Crowley,” she said, “is an unfortunate man. He is cruel because the world was cruel to him.”
“How do you know?”
“I knew his uncle, when I was much younger. Lucius was a terrible man. He was lucky to have died by illness, rather than the hand of his own people.”
“And Crowley?”
His mother sighed. “I met Anthony when he was very young. He’s only a few years younger than you, you know.”
“What was he like?”
“Argumentative. Disobedient. His uncle detested adversity, and had the boy witness terrible things to secure his loyalty. I’m sure it was an enormous relief when he died.”
“Perhaps he’s not so bad.”
His mother shrugged. “Perhaps not,” she said. “Perhaps the stories are exaggerated. We have had no contact with the South for many years, now. My meeting with Lucius was here, they visited to attempt the trade deal over twenty years ago. It was a failure of a trip.” She straightened his traveling cloak and cupped his cheek. “There,” she said. “A bit more subdued. You saw your other pieces?”
“I did.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I had them made a few weeks ago. You don’t want to attract the wrong kind of attention.”
“No,” Aziraphale said. “I suppose I don’t.”
His mother stepped back and looked him over. “You are more than prepared for this. You have trained all your life,” she said. “Maybe you will be the reason our Southern brothers accept the hand which has been extended to them.”
“Maybe.” Aziraphale didn’t have a great amount of confidence in his ability to make any change at all, but he was now duty bound to travel to the king in the South and do as he was told.
“Good luck,” she said, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Write to me.”
“I will,” Aziraphale said, and ascended the carriage. His siblings were not there to send him off.
No surprise there, either.
It was a five hour journey to the castle in the South, but they would reach the border in four. This was Aziraphale’s first apprehension. What kind of land did King Crowley rule over? What kind of people lived there? It was early spring, still chill in the early morning. By their second hour of traveling, Aziraphale could start to smell the sea through the open carriage window, and he felt a bit of his anxiety melt away. He hadn’t been to the coast in so long, and never in the South. How different would it be, he wondered. If he stayed long, would he see it?
He was still thinking about these things when the driver announced they had crossed the border. Aziraphale opened the window further and leaned out to see.
It was not, as he’d been told, a world of gloom and shadow. For starters, it was green. There were rolling hills that whipped past covered in stark brown trees growing their first spring blooms. The air was wet and cool with sea water. Aziraphale closed his eyes and breathed — he recognized salt on the air and the richness of the soil around him.
This place was beautiful, he realized, and he suddenly wanted to stop, to take in the view and commit it to memory. He still wanted to go home, but he’d love to remember this. To tell people this story.
“Just an hour out!” the driver called, and Aziraphale disappeared back into the carriage.
The castle was the seat of the nation’s power, and the center of its largest city. Aziraphale had heard stories of this place, too. Virgil was supposed to be a bastion of poverty and sickness, people dying in the streets with no way to rebel against their vile king.
After passing several prospering farms, Aziraphale was prepared for the opposite, and was not disappointed by what he saw when they finally arrived.
A towering castle, made of dark stone certainly, but clean and beautiful from where he sat. And the city! So vibrant and noisy, filled with people crossing from one side of the main road to the other, shouting to one another, tossing coin about and talking animatedly. He caught sight of a bookshop, the windows filled with things, and young men and women coming out, heads bowed in deep discussion.
I should like to go there, he thought.
Some stared as he passed — the carriage was not the usual Golden Court variety, but it was still different, and Aziraphale was clearly a stranger. He supposed carriages arriving at the castle attracted attention either way.
They waited for the castle gates to be opened. The noise of the market died behind them as the gates swung shut, and they rode the winding path up to the castle.
“Here, sir. I’ll help you,” the driver said, when they’d finally stopped. He took Aziraphale’s hand and helped him out of the carriage. A few servants came and took his things, running off some unknown path with them. He wondered what his rooms would be like, if he’d have any.
“You must be Aziraphale,” a woman said.
“Ah, yes.” He turned to face her and she bowed. Aziraphale bowed in return.
“I’m Madame Tracy, I have run of things around here.” She turned and waved for him to follow. “You’ve just missed his Majesty, I’m afraid. There was some trouble in some of the lake towns, he had to ride out to settle a few things.”
Aziraphale raised a brow. The king had gone out to settle some small town skirmish? An interesting concept, he thought, but said nothing. “Of course. When will he return?”
“Oh, not for two weeks, I’m afraid. Though if you ask me, it’s really an excuse so he can stop thinking about the bloody trade deal. No offense.”
“None taken. I’ve authored no part of it.”
Madame Tracy laughed. “Oh, I’m sure it’d be a sight better if you had. Terrible mess, this trade business.” She sighed, said a few words to some passing servants before hiking up her skirts and leading him up a winding staircase. “His Majesty wanted me to tell you that you will, of course, have free reign of the castle, apart from his rooms.”
“And the town? May I go there?”
They’d reached the top of the stairs. Madame Tracy turned. “Ha!” Aziraphale’s expression fell. “Why wouldn’t you?” she asked, and kept going.
Something small and warm in Aziraphale’s chest bloomed.
“Now,” she said. “These here will be your rooms. Don’t know if you could hear it, over racket of that bloody marketplace, but you’ve got an excellent view of the sea from here. His Majesty thought you might like that.” She slid a key into the lock and pushed the door open.
Aziraphale sucked in a breath. “...Oh.”
Oh.
The room was beautiful. A large, four-poster bed with a maroon canopy sat along one long wall. There was a small sitting room with a few overstuffed chairs and a set of double doors leading out onto a balcony. Aziraphale went to them and flung them open, breathing in the sea air.
There was a long beach between some rocky outcroppings and people were fishing straight into the water. Children went running into the water, screeching when the frigid seat lapped at their toes and running back to shore.
“Does it please you, sir?”
Aziraphale turned to her and grinned. “Yes,” he said. “Very much.”
He took his dinner alone that night, seated at a small table on the balcony, listening to the tide wash in, penning a letter to his mother.
It’s as you expected — rumors have been harshly exaggerated. While I’ve yet to meet the king, I’ve met his very pleasant staff (quite small, nothing compared to our own court) and been given a very lovely set of rooms. There’s even a small library attached, and it’s full of some very wonderful books, many I’ve never even read before.
He paused. Took a bite of the reserve fruit from the harvest before. Madame Tracy said the kitchens did a lot of jarring, as their growing season was short. The taste and color burst over his tongue and he groaned. How lovely it was to have dinner alone and know it wasn’t because no one wanted him there.
I don’t know how long I’ll need to be here, but so far, I am not so dismayed. I intend to read, continue my compositions, and write the days away until the king arrives. Even the market and town below is available to me. Please don’t let anyone worry or fret over my general state. I’m feeling quite happy, though tired from the ride.
Yours, Aziraphale
He tossed his pen to the table. No one would fret, he knew that. Gabriel was always trying to get him from underfoot. Aziraphale was sure he’d been only too happy to suggest his younger brother for this task. He sighed, popped an olive in his mouth, and swooned again. Oh, he could get used to this. His dinner of fish with rosemary and preserved lemons was very different than the red meat they ate in the North. How excellent this would be, he thought. How new and wonderful.
Aziraphale washed himself before bed, changed into his sleep clothes, and crawled under the blanket. It was a magnificent bed, bigger than his one at home. He fell asleep instantly, exhausted from travel, and warm with joy.
“Ay, a newcomer,” the man behind the counter said. “Welcome in.”
Aziraphale, one servant in tow, looked around the bookshop. It was wonderful. Towering shelves, a second floor where he could hear murmuring and the clatter of dishes.
“You must be the lad from the North,” the man said, and extended a hand.
“Oh!” Aziraphale returned the gesture. “My arrival was broadcast?”
“Less broadcast and more that Miss Tracy’s husband can’t keep his mouth shut.”
“You be nice about Mr. Shadwell,” a woman said, coming from a back room. “Don’t mind him. What’s your name, sir?”
“Aziraphale.”
“Quite the Northern name,” she said. “Dierdre Young. This is my husband, Arthur. Our son Adam is about somewhere. If you hear the city guard shouting, it’s probably him.” She bent and lifted a stack of books onto the counter. “Can we help you find anything? I’m sure you don’t lack books in the castle, his Majesty likes to keep as many as he can.”
“Big reader?”
“Eh,” Mr. Young said. “Less him, more he likes to practice what he preaches. Encourages the youth to read, so their king should, too. You must be well read yourself, coming from the Golden Court the way you do.” Dierdre elbowed him. “What? S’not a secret.”
“Be polite.”
Aziraphale held up a hand. “It’s fine. I’d like to look around a bit, if I may?”
“Of course!” Mrs. Young smiled. “Enjoy yourself. Call if you need us.”
Aziraphale nodded and began to circle the shop. He spent well over an hour there, and by the time he was done he had a small stack of new things to read, tied with string and sent ahead to the castle. He said goodbye to the Youngs, visited the bakery next door for a chocolate filled croissant, and began to walk back up the hill.
People did know about him, it seemed. They stopped and asked to shake his hand. He met Shadwell, Madame Tracy’s husband and captain of the guard, who was taking his general safety very seriously. It took much longer for him to get back to the castle than he’d intended, and by then it wasn’t really lunch time, so he ate with the kitchen staff on some sausage and bread, listening to their stories until dinner.
For two weeks, Aziraphale enjoyed himself. He organized his rooms, he went down to the market, he even went to the beach, despite the chill. It was delightful. In the evenings he usually ate alone, though he became quick friends with the kitchen staff, made up of only a cook and two other servants, and would sometimes take his meals with them.
“Why is it,” Aziraphale said, as he and Madame Tracy walked up from the beach one afternoon, “the king keeps such a small staff?”
She sighed. “His Majesty is very self-sufficient. And...we do not have a court, really. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
Aziraphale nodded. Crowley’s court was nothing like the Golden Court back home. No lounging nobility or distant relatives clamoring for the king’s attention. It was quite a barren place, even the advisors kept their distance. They hadn’t acknowledged his presence, despite its connection to the trade deal. Aziraphale preferred it that way. It was much nicer to speak to the Youngs, or to the kind young herbalist in town, Anathema. She worked closely with the king’s personal physician, apparently, and had already given Aziraphale a few remedies for his headaches. The change in elevation between the North and South had not done him any good.
“It’s an interesting experience,” he said finally. “One I like, actually. At the Golden Court, one often feels like...a performer.”
“That must be dreadful after a while.”
Aziraphale considered this. “When I was young, I was eager for it. I could hardly wait to come of age, play music or paint, allow people to watch me.”
“Among other things?”
He ducked his head. “It’s not as strange as it sounds.”
“Oh, I mean nothing by it.” She touched his arm. “But you must admit...growing up so you’ll just entertain? What kind of life is that for a boy?”
“I wasn’t unhappy,” Aziraphale said. “Quite the opposite, actually. My siblings left me alone, for the most part. I had very good tutors, and I had free reign of the libraries. But when I came of age, things did change,” he admitted. He thought back to his first night with a member of the court, an older gentleman who’d been very kind, but not especially thoughtful. “One learns to be vocal,” he said after a few moments. “About what one wants.”
Madame Tracy nodded. “A good trait to possess.”
They arrived at the castle just as a large thunderhead started to move in. Down the path, Aziraphale could see a dark carriage moving toward them, and he stopped. “Is that him?”
“Hm? Oh, no, it wouldn’t be. He isn’t due back ‘til tomorrow—” Madame Tracy looked. “Oh, damn!” She gathered her skirts and rushed into the castle. Aziraphale stayed outside as it began to rain, watching the carriage come closer. He couldn’t see through the darkened windows inside, but he moved out of sight before it drew too close, rushing in as it began to pour.
“His Majesty is too tired to receive you tonight,” said one of the servants. “He promises it will be soon, though.”
Aziraphale nodded and closed the door to his room. It was just as well, he really wasn’t prepared.
He settled back at his desk, annoyed the rain kept him from eating outside. His compositions had come to a standstill — he had no piano, and there wasn’t one in the castle. Madame Tracy had said she’d look into having one brought to him, but she had so many other things to do Aziraphale couldn’t blame her if she forgot.
Aziraphale sighed and looked over the letter he’d received from his mother —
I hope the sea treats you well then, my dear. The trade deal is at a standstill, but I’m to understand the king has been otherwise engaged, whether intentionally or by happenstance.
Be safe, and be well.
Your mother
“An interesting thought,” Aziraphale murmured. Madame Tracy had suggested more than once that the king would do anything to get out of dealing with the trade talks. His advisors were very unhappy.
The king didn’t send for him the next day, as Aziraphale expected he would, or the day after that. By the middle of the week, he was on edge, concerned that perhaps his initial wish would be granted, and he’d simply be left to his own devices until someone remembered him and sent him back, or he died here. Well, he thought. At lEast there’s a view.
However, four days after the king arrived home, a servant came by to tell him someone would collect him after dinner.
This set Aziraphale’s nerves alight.
He had entertained the noblemen of the court for several years. He’d entertained the king’s guests and he’d entertained very special visitors. Royalty, however, had always been off limits. Crowley was the king of this nation. Aziraphale didn’t know what to expect, remembering the rumors and reputation. Of course, the entire kingdom was different than he’d expected. Why wouldn’t the king be, too?
He was escorted after dinner to the other side of the castle. One of the king’s guards stood outside the door and knocked three times.
“Enter,” a voice called, and the guard turned the knob, the door swinging open for Aziraphale to step inside.
It shut with a snap behind him, and he stood there in the dim light of the room, trying to find the man who’d spoken.
“Please, don’t just stand there,” the king said. Aziraphale took a few steps and finally saw the very large writing desk against one wall of the room. It was the brightest source of light, and a very tall, slender man was hunched over it. He waved Aziraphale closer, not looking up from his work. He had lovely hands.
“Your Majesty,” Aziraphale said, and knelt.
Crowley finally stopped writing. He still didn’t look up. “There’s no reason to kneel,” he said softly. “Though I suppose you wouldn’t know that.” He finally glanced over. “Come, have a seat.”
Aziraphale moved toward one of the sofas and sat at the edge. He’d brought a handful of things — a book he’d recently bought from the shop, a lyre to play, and his sketchbook. How was he supposed to know what pleased a king?
Crowley stood. He was dressed in shades of black and dark grey, but Aziraphale could see his tunic was embroidered along the edges with shiny red and gold snakes. He had hair and eyes to match.
“You’re Aziraphale,” he said, and came to sit in the chair across from him.
“I am.”
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Your mother wrote me, after I was told about your arrival. She said you were very clever, and you loved books. I made sure the libraries were unlocked for you, did you see them?”
Aziraphale had — they were beautiful. “Thank you,” he said. “I enjoyed them immensely.”
“Good, I’m glad.” Crowley leaned back, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’ll have to forgive me, I haven’t really recovered from the trip.”
“It was a long one.”
He laughed. “The lakeside towns are always kicking up dust. Bah.” He waved a hand. “You don’t want to hear about that shit.”
“Actually,” Aziraphale said, “I would.” He set his things aside and looked about for something they could drink. He spotted a small bar with a few decanters. “Pick your poison,” he said, standing and walking toward it.
“Hm?” Crowley looked up. “Oh. Scotch.”
“Lovely.” Aziraphale poured two glasses and brought them back. Crowley took his and nodded. “Now. Tell me about these lakeside towns.”
“Well, it really all started with the Harvest Festival, in the fall,” Crowley began. After a while he swung his legs over the arm of the chair and leaned back. He was far too long and tall for that sort of thing, but he made it work, spider-limbs askew as he gestured wildly and swore and sloshed his drink in his glass. Aziraphale filled it when it became too low, until the king shook his head.
“And then, as if that weren’t enough, they put me on the bloody horse!”
“Vile,” Aziraphale muttered, a bit drunk himself. “Can’t stand horses.”
“Hard on the buttocks,” Crowley agreed. He went to take another drink, found the glass empty, and frowned. “Hm.” He set the glass on the table by the chair. “Is this the point of you, then?”
Aziraphale was taken aback. “I’m sorry?”
“This.” Crowley waved his hand between them. “Talking, listening. Entertaining.”
“I…”
“It’s alright, you can admit your purpose to me.” He smiled. Aziraphale was reminded of a python, before its jaw opened and it swallowed a rabbit. Or a deer. “I can admit mine to you, I assume.”
“You’re the king,” Aziraphale said. “Your purpose is known.”
Crowley’s expression darkened. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose.” He adjusted his body and let his legs splay out before him, leaning back deep into the chair. “I won’t require all your services,” he said. “And I won’t need you after the deal is set. I agreed to your presence because your king and his lot seemed desperate. And,” he added, “your mother was very kind to me, when I was a boy.”
“Was she?”
Crowley nodded. “Yes. But this...arrangement. It doesn’t need to be anything but this. And you may go home come Summer, actually. Trade deal be damned.”
“...Oh. Oh, well that’s...that’s very kind of you.”
Crowley sighed and made to stand, but thought better of it. “You’re a very good listener,” he said. “What else do you do? Do you read to people?”
“I can.”
“And? What do you enjoy most? Besides reading.”
“Well.” Aziraphale had also brought one of his compositions, in hopes the king might have a piano. He did not. “I write music. I haven’t been able to play it or work on it, really—”
“You don’t have a piano,” Crowley said, sitting up now. “That won’t do.”
“Oh, if I’m only to be here until Summer—”
“That’s some months away,” Crowley said. He got up, steadied himself, and went to his desk. “I’ll have Madame Tracy send for one. It won’t be a problem. We don’t entertain,” he said. “So we’ve never had reason for any sort of musical instrument.”
Aziraphale angled himself toward the desk. “And why not?”
“What’s that?” Crowley looked over.
“Why don’t you entertain?”
He made a face. “Useless hobby. No need. And no one would accept the invitation.”
“Because they think you can turn into a snake.”
Crowley choked with laughter. “I’m sorry?”
Aziraphale blushed. “I...I forgot myself. That was inappropriate. Forgive me.”
“No, no,” Crowley said. He leaned against the desk and folded his arms over his chest. “There’s a rumor that I can turn into a snake?”
“...Yes.”
“Oh, I would love to know where that came from. Really I would.” He laughed again, tipping his head back with a sigh. “Ah, that’s priceless. Really.” He walked toward Aziraphale and extended a hand. Aziraphale took it, and Crowley linked their arms. “Why don’t I walk you back to your rooms?”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Aziraphale gathered his things. Crowley told him to give them to the guard, who walked a respectable distance behind them. “I would be very happy to talk to you whenever, you know.”
“Would you?”
“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale glanced at him. He was very handsome, slender cheekbones and lovely profile. “Is that what you’d like most?”
Crowley considered this. “Yes,” he said, after a moment. “I would. I hardly speak to anyone when I’m here by myself. I suppose I’m the reason no one knows a damned thing about me.” He laughed again. “A snake. Damn, I wish.”
“And I could read to you,” Aziraphale said. “Or play. I do quite a lot of things, you know. I’m not...limited.”
Crowley glanced at him. “No,” he said. “I can see that.”
They finally stopped outside Aziraphale’s room. Crowley released his arm and took his hand. He raised it to his lips and kissed Aziraphale’s knuckles. “Thank you for spending your evening with me. May I see you tomorrow?”
“Your Majesty, I’m yours to—”
“No.”
Aziraphale frowned. “I…”
“You don’t belong to me.” Crowley drew back. “And I’d like to make one thing quite clear, Aziraphale.” His expression, his voice, everything about him — for a moment, Aziraphale believed the stories. “I have no need to possess or own you. I have no desire to make you a prisoner here. If I could send you away tomorrow, I would, if only because the implication of your presence enrages me to no end. I don’t need you.”
Aziraphale stepped back, flat against the door. “I’m only doing as I’m told, your Majesty. If it displeases you—”
“Enough,” Crowley snapped, and waved a hand. “I will…” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ll call for you when I feel like it,” he said, and stalked down the hall.
Two days after that particular incident, a note was delivered to Aziraphale’s room just after breakfast.
In retrospect, I find my behavior from the other night appalling. I’d like you to join me for dinner tonight, but I will understand if you’d rather not.
Aziraphale sighed. Brief, but to the point. He didn’t know the king very well, but he suspected it was very...him.
“Inform his Majesty I will of course be joining him,” Aziraphale said. He closed the door and went back to his book and breakfast.
That evening, he gathered a few of his things and set out at dinner time for the king’s rooms. One of the guards knocked, and then opened the door.
Crowley was hunched over his desk as he’d been the night before, scribbling madly onto a piece of parchment and muttering to himself. Aziraphale doubted he’d even heard the knock, so he stood just outside the king’s orbit, and waited.
“I can hear you,” Crowley said sullenly, and tossed his pen onto the desk. “Why are your people so infuriating?” he asked, and stood, turning to face Aziraphale. He had ink on his nose and forehead, and it made the entire look — dark clothes and foul expression — rather unintimidating.
Aziraphale pressed his lips together and set down his things. “I’ve no idea what you mean,” he said, going to the bar and getting a small towel. He dampened one corner with water from the wash basin. “I’ve always found us to be rather agreeable.”
“Well you’re agreeable,” Crowley said. “S’how you were raised, wasn’t it?”
Aziraphale hummed and approached the king. “You have ink all over you, my dear. May I?”
Crowley looked stunned. “I—” He moved to step back, but Aziraphale put a hand on his shoulder and held firm, reaching out and cleaning the smudges from his face.
“A gentleman of the court,” Aziraphale murmured, “is never tardy and never tense. He is never cross and never crass. He knows precisely what to do, and precisely what to say.” He drew back, satisfied with his work. “A gentleman of the court is exactly what the court desires, when the court desires it.”
Crowley swallowed. “And kings?”
“Ha. I was never allowed to imagine I might entertain a king.”
“So I’m quite a catch for you.”
Aziraphale turned, tossing the towel onto the desk before he went to step onto the balcony. “Actually, I think you’re some form of punishment.”
“Right,” Crowley said, coming up beside him. “The whole snake thing.”
“Something like that.” Aziraphale looked at the table. “This is quite nice.”
Crowley cleared his throat. “I was rude.”
“You’d been traveling.”
“Hardly an excuse.”
“I will say things you might not agree with,” Aziraphale said. “I need you to understand that.” He went and drew back one of the chairs, gesturing for Crowley to sit. Once he had, Aziraphale went to the other side and sat across from him. “My life was never anything like yours. If we are to get along until Summer, then we will simply have to agree to disagree.”
From inside there came a knock, and a handful of servants arrived with their dinner service. Once the table had been set, the wine poured and candles lit, they excused themselves and left.
Aziraphale sighed. “It won’t do you any good to lose your temper every time I say something you don’t like.”
“I didn’t—” Crowley snarled.
Aziraphale held up his hand. “You’re doing it again.”
Crowley’s mouth hung open like a fish until he busied himself drinking most of the wine in his glass.
After a few moments, he said, “While I’m sorry for the way I said it, I won’t apologize for what I said.”
“Oh?”
“You.” He waved between them. “This...thing. I’m happy to have you here, if that’s what it will take to keep the Golden Court happy with my...indecisiveness. But I won’t possess you. The idea...disgusts me.”
It was an interesting sentiment. Aziraphale had spent so much time in the Golden Court feeling owned by it, the concept of being his own person, a person alongside the king, fascinated him. It was...exciting.
“Then what will we be to one another, until Summer?” Aziraphale took a sip of his wine.
Crowley considered this, poking at his fish like it might be the reason for all this trouble from the start. “...Companions,” he said, finally. “I enjoy your company.”
“Already?”
“I don’t keep much company,” Crowley said.
“I will take that as a compliment then.”
Crowley looked startled, then smiled.
Oh, he was lovely when he did that. And he had beautiful eyes — a rich golden color that matched his auburn hair so well. He kept it pulled back from his face just a bit. When he turned, Aziraphale could see a serpent shaped pendant. He’d have to ask about all the snake imagery he saw in Virgil, and the castle itself. If Crowley wanted to deter people from thinking he could turn into one, he might need to choose a new symbol.
After a while they settled into pleasant chatter. Crowley didn’t read much, he hardly had the time but the Youngs sent books to the castle each month, and Crowley liked to pass them on to visitors.
“But you could read to me,” he said, leaning back as some of the servants cleared their dishes from the table.
“Of course,” Aziraphale said. He refilled their glasses and smiled. “It’s one of my favorite things to do.”
“Excellent. Excellent.” Crowley was in a much better mood now. He made a very soft noise and stood, holding out his hand. Aziraphale hesitated, then took it, and allowed himself to be pulled inside. “Look,” Crowley said. “I had them find one in town, it was just sitting in someone’s foyer, gathering dust.” He brought Aziraphale through a set of double doors, past his personal library, and into another set of rooms. There, against one of the walls, was a beautiful piano. Small, certainly nothing like the one he used to practice on at home, but far less ostentatious.
“Is it…”
“It’s tuned,” Crowley said, “and it’s yours.”
“Mine.” Aziraphale didn’t have many things that were his. His books and little things like that, certainly, but he had been made, since he was a boy, to understand everything of his was simply gifted, or borrowed. Even the clothes on his back had been gifts collected over time either from his mother or members of the court. Gabriel never made it feel like he owned anything.
But this —
Oh, it did feel like his. Of course, it was in the deeper parts of the king’s suite, but why on earth should it be anywhere else? Aziraphale was here for Crowley’s benefit, to play and compose for him. It did his talents no good at all if he stay sequestered in his rooms, playing for the open sea.
“Play me something,” Crowley said gently. Aziraphale handed him his wine glass and sat down at the bench. Oh this was something, wasn’t it? This was really something, and here he sat, hands on ivory keys, and a king in attendance. Crowley smiled and leaned against the wall beside the piano, watching.
Aziraphale breathed, and began to play.
Certainly not one of his own pieces. No, he’d have to save that, for when things had progressed. While he enjoyed Crowley’s company, he still felt the sting of the other night, of rejection. There was no reason why he might not change his mind, or perhaps even send Aziraphale back sooner than the first week of Summer. No, he’d fall back on something a bit more established, something that showcased his talents and poise. Aziraphale was a wonderful performer, he knew that well. And his mother said so, all the time.
For a moment, as he moved his hands over the keys, leaning with the music, he suddenly missed her. He missed her with a fiecersome longing, and the rest of the song, while played for Crowley, was really for her. No one had ever listened like his mother. No one had ever made him feel loved the way she had. And she had hardly ever done that. She kept her distance, kept her affections close and numbered. Touches were rarely given out, kisses even less so.
That she had touched him, worried for him at all, before he left, was a gift he had taken too much for granted. He’d have to remember that in the future.
When he was done, Aziraphale took a deep breath and came back to himself. Crowley handed him the rest of his wine, and he drained it in one go.
“Very moving,” Crowley said, and touched Aziraphale’s shoulder for just a second. “Can you play for me again tomorrow? I need to finish making notes on this draft of the trade deal, and I’ve had far too much to drink for them to be civil.”
Aziraphale laughed and stood. “Of course, your Majesty.”
Crowley grimaced. “Can you…” He sighed. “I understand your training is...preternatural. But I’d prefer if you just...called me Crowley. None of this Majesty nonsense.”
Aziraphale nodded. “I’ll do my best.” He bit off the last of that sentence and gave a quick nod of his head. “I’ll leave you be.”
Crowley nodded, and they moved back to the first room and he opened the door. “Please see Aziraphale back to his rooms,” he instructed the guard. “Thank you,” he added, “for joining me.”
“The pleasure was mine,” Aziraphale said.
He kissed Crowley’s hand, this time, before being taken back to his rooms.
“I do love this stretch of beach,” Crowley said. “I played here as a boy, before my uncle forbid it.” They were enjoying a very grey Sunday by the sea, walking the length of beach Aziraphale could see from his balcony. “I haven’t come back enough.”
“You should enjoy it more,” Aziraphale said.
Crowley nodded. “I should, you’re right. Some things are hard to...to shake off. I think you understand.”
“I do.”
“...Good.” They stopped and stood just outside the reach of the tide. Fishermen cast their nets from their boats into the waves. “Do your people know how beautiful it is here?”
Aziraphale shook his head. “I was led to believe I was headed for Hell.”
Crowley laughed. “I suppose things were Hell here, once.”
“Your uncle.”
“Yes. My uncle.” He turned and they continued walking. “He wasn’t an easy man to get along with.”
“He raised you, though.”
“In a sense.” Crowley held his hands behind his back. The wind whipped at his hair and made his cheeks flush with the chill. Aziraphale had been longing to reach out and touch those cheeks. They were sharp and handsome, and he couldn’t deny he was attracted. But they had an...arrangement, of sorts.
No contact. No touching. Never more than two bottles of wine. Neither seemed to trust themselves if anymore were to become involved.
“My parents were dead before I was one,” Crowley said. “I was raised by nursemaids at the Winter Palace until I was five. That’s when he came for me. Properly. I’d visited with him a bit before, but he wasn’t interested in an infant or a toddler.”
“A five year old is hardly better company.”
Crowley shrugged. “I assume that’s when his father began grooming him.”
“Grooming.”
“Yes, you’re more than familiar with the concept, I’m sure. My uncle required certain things from me. Obedience, was one. I wasn’t very good at giving that to him.”
“My mother said...she said he—”
“Whatever she said is likely very true. My uncle was ruthless. I hated him. I learned to keep my mouth shut. Going into the dungeons...I couldn’t stand it. Seeing people tortured for disloyalty, for whatever crime he’d decided they’d committed. It took me years to win back the trust of my people. It took until the War was over, actually.”
Ah, Aziraphale thought, the War.
The Great War had been between the Northern kingdom, Aziraphale’s home, and the Western kingdom. From Aziraphale’s understanding, it had been over the very short border wall dividing Western farmland from Northern towns and then spiraled out of control from there. War wasn’t a fashionable topic of discussion in the Golden Court. Aziraphale’s knowledge was limited to gossip.
When the West had breached the Southern border, several of Crowley’s people were killed in the skirmishes. That was when the rumor first arose — that the Southern King had eyes like a serpent. In truth, he’d simply ridden to the border himself, pushing his horse through the night and arriving, nearly collapsed on her back, at dawn. It was just in time for the Western generals to see his pale, sunken face, streaked with blood, as he stood at the front of his miniscule army and demanded they turn and run.
He’d been seventeen. And run they did.
Everyone knew why. No king had ever ridden that long and that far on his own. No king had ever bothered to care enough about their border towns to defend them with voice alone.
Crowley was different. The ways he was different varied story to story, but the fact remained — he had done what no one else had, and his people thanked him for it, in time.
“I wondered something,” Crowley said. “The trade deal.”
“Yes.”
“Would you look at it?”
Aziraphale stopped walking, and Crowley turned to face him. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. Very much.”
“Well, yes, but you don’t really—”
“Aziraphale.” Crowley stepped close. “I think you are clever.” Aziraphale reached out to fix his collar and Crowley rolled his eyes. “I think you’re a pain on top of it, but I don’t see why another set of eyes won’t hurt.”
“Clever,” Aziraphale said.
“Yes.”
“Me.”
“Stop fishing for compliments,” Crowley said. And then he leaned in and kissed Aziraphale’s forehead.
It was a flagrant violation of the arrangement. Aziraphale had long suspected Crowley wasn’t much of a rule follower to begin with, but this. It was intimate, and kind.
“Come on,” Crowley said, and stretched out his hand for Aziraphale to take. They walked from the beach back to the castle, hands clasped together. “Tea,” Crowley said to Madame Tracy, when they arrived, “and a spot of lunch, when chef has the time.”
“Of course, sir.” She nodded and watched them go up the stairs.
“So you won’t agree to the tax.”
“Absolutely not.”
“And you refuse to allow Northern boats to fish here.”
“They have no idea how we do it,” Crowley said, crossing off another line in the draft. “Your lot will fish us dry in less than a decade.”
Aziraphale had to admit, the North tended to get a bit...overzealous. He sighed. “Well, we’ll have to think of something.”
“What would the North want with fish anyway?”
“To eat,” Aziraphale said. He sighed and sat down on the sofa. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m trying to protect my people,” he said. “My interests.”
Aziraphale tossed the papers onto the table between then. “Your country has access to several things the North does not. Things the North would gladly pay for. I don’t know why you won’t agree to giving them access to the border orchards, or this ridiculous amount of grain you produce. Do you know how hard it is for us to grow wheat?”
Crowley looked up. “Wheat?”
“Yes! This...this enormous amount of grain you grow so close to the border! You have so much of it, and you refuse to part with an ounce—”
Crowley grabbed the papers. “...How—”
“Didn’t you noticed?”
“Well I knew we were growing it, but I didn’t know we were growing that much of it. What’ve we been doing with it?”
“It’s your kingdom,” Aziraphale muttered.
“Yes, I know that, but I didn’t really think about...about how much…” He looked at Aziraphale. “I need to find out where this is going,” he said.
“Of course.” Aziraphale stood and excused himself, while Crowley began ringing the bell for Madame Tracy. He felt extremely pleased with himself, at how flustered Crowley was when he’d left. For some reason it brought him incredible joy, and he let the feeling carry him through the rest of the day and into the next three. He didn’t see Crowley at all, not for the rest of the week, and into the weekend. He wasn’t put out by this — he went into town and chatted with the Youngs, with Anathema and the young man who was attempting to woo her. He read and wrote, indulged in a letter from his mother and then indulged in writing one to her.
When Crowley finally sent for him, Aziraphale found him collapsed in a chair on the balcony, in the rain, and half asleep.
“...Crowley.”
He jerked awake, and then stood, grabbing Aziraphale by his shoulders and kissing both his cheeks.
“You bloody genius,” he said, grinning madly. “I adore you, do you know that?”
Aziraphale had been in Crowley’s company for barely two months, now. He hadn’t realized that at all.
“What...happened?”
“The wheat! The wheat happened! There’s so much of it, and they agreed! They agreed and they’ll be using the orchards on the border and we’ll be sending salt and we’ll get beef. We haven’t had proper amounts of beef in decades, did you know that?” He shook Aziraphale and kissed his cheek again. “You’re brilliant, aren’t you? My guardian angel.”
Aziraphale was stunned. He had never felt so adored. Crowley looked him up and down, looked like he wanted to...like he wanted —
“I’m so glad,” Aziraphale said, and extracted himself from Crowley’s grip. Aziraphale gathered up his hands and kissed his knuckles. “Do you feel relieved?”
“Yes,” Crowley said, and went inside from the rain. He tugged his hair loose from its pin and it fell in damp curls over his shoulders. Aziraphale swallowed. “We should celebrate,” he said. “We should go away.”
“Go away?”
“Yes! To the country estate. It’s spring, the apple trees will be blooming. The apricots will be growing, they’ll be picking them in a week.” He nodded, moving around the room and going to ring the bell for Madame Tracy. “There’s octopus, too. Have you had octopus? We can take the sailboat out of course, it’ll be a bit choppy but not for too long. Have you gone sailing? I haven’t gone in ages, I wonder if I remember anything. Only thing my uncle wasn’t cruel about, sailing.”
Aziraphale watched him fondly. He had never seen him so excited, so active.
It suited him.
He went over and stopped Crowley from moving.
“I would love to go sailing,” he said, and kissed his brow.
Crowley grinned. “Angel,” he said.
Aziraphale’s heart skipped several beats, all at once. He doubted that was good for one’s health.
The country estate was a little further South. Crowley said they also called in the Spring Palace, though it was hardly palatial. As they arrived, Aziraphale had to disagree.
It was a gorgeous brick estate, with cherry trees on the verge of blooming lining the drive up. When the carriage pulled to the front of the estate, he could see the apricot orchard along the Eastern side of the property, the apple trees on the West.
“We used to come here in the fall, too,” Crowley said, stepping out and lending Aziraphale a hand. “Name’s never sat quite right with me.”
“Only you could come to this absolutely gorgeous place and find something to complain about,” Aziraphale muttered. Crowley grinned. “It’s beautiful. I don’t know how you could stand to live anywhere else.”
Crowley glanced the place over. “This is the only place I think my uncle was every truly happy,” he said. “Because of the sailing, probably. He was only ever happy on the boat.”
Aziraphale touched his shoulder. “You’ll have to show me.”
Crowley nodded. “Of course.” He glanced at the sky. “I should go in and write to my advisors, make sure the rest of the deal goes through. Enjoy the place for the afternoon, I’ll see you at dinner.” He pressed squeezed Aziraphale’s hand and went inside.
Madame Tracy and her husband, Sergeant Shadwell, had arrived the day before for, apparently, security reasons, so Aziraphale’s room was more than ready for him. He collapsed onto the bed, closed his eyes, and fell asleep for most of the afternoon. By the time he woke up, it was almost dinner. He washed his face, changed his clothes, and went looking for the dining room. A young servant girl rescued him after fifteen minutes of wandering around. Crowley was buried in correspondence still, but he set it aside when Aziraphale came in and stood.
“You look wonderful,” he said, and pulled out a chair.
“Oh! Well...well thank you.” Aziraphale glanced at the letters. “I hope you don’t intend to do that the entire time we’re here.”
“Hm?” Crowley was watching the butler pour wine. “The letters? No, of course not. Everything is going off without a hitch, I just want to be kept informed.”
“Shouldn’t you be there for the formal signing?”
“I signed my half. I’ve no desire to meet your king. Not when I could be here.” He lifted his glass and took a sip.
His clothes, Aziraphale noted, were too dark against the soft colors of the Spring Palace. But his eyes — oh his eyes were bright and shining. Aziraphale had long been entranced by them, never quite sure what to say about them, or how to say it without sounding...attached.
Because he was. And they were. Crowley would watch him read, sometimes, when he thought Aziraphale couldn’t see. And he would lean too close when he played piano, or when they stood on the balcony. They abandoned most tenants of the arrangement and held hands freely. Aziraphale was being, to the best of his abilities, the king’s companion. But more than that — Crowley felt like a companion to him, too.
“We’ll go sailing tomorrow,” Crowley said. “You’d like that?”
“Very much.”
“And when they start picking the apricots, we can go and help.”
“Help?” Aziraphale laughed. “You can’t be serious.”
Crowley frowned. “Of course I am. Ah. Your king, he doesn’t do that, does he?”
“Of course not.”
Crowley laughed. “I thought you’d have realized by now. I am no ordinary king.”
“No,” Aziraphale said. “You certainly are not.”
They smiled at one another. Attachment was infantile compared to what Aziraphale was starting to feel.
In the morning, he woke early and dressed in something comfortable. He found he enjoyed the duller, muted toned clothes his mother had packed for him, but over the last few weeks he’d outfitted himself with a more...Southern wardrobe. Soft blue tunics with tartan patterns here and there, a maroon shirt and dark pants for the evening. Even little things embroidered with snakes, which he was very certain Crowley noticed.
Today he wore a dark blue tunic and brown pants with sturdy boots, and a gold cord for a belt. Nothing like the things he’d worn entertaining the men of the Golden Court. When he saw himself in the mirror, he hardly recognized his own reflection — his normally short and tidy hair had grown out into longer curls he had to comb properly each morning. His legs had grown stronger over the last few months from frequent walks along the coast.
And he smiled more. It was a strange thing, to know that about yourself. But Aziraphale knew.
Crowley was waiting for him in the dining room, basket in hand. “We’ll breakfast on the boat,” he said, and took Aziraphale’s arm. They walked down to the docks together, where a few servants were finishing preparations with the boat.
“All ready for you, your Majesty.”
“Appreciated, Henry.” Crowley stepped up and onto the boat, then offered Aziraphale his hand.
Aziraphale hesitated.
“...You’ve never been on a boat, have you?”
“...Well. Well not technically.”
Crowley laughed. “What does that mean?”
“I mean there was a party on a boat I attended once, but it was...well the boat was on land, not on the sea. Though it did rock, to simulate the waves. Gabriel got sick, it was really quite funny.” He was rambling. He was nervous.
Crowley’s hand hung between them.
“Angel,” he said, and Aziraphale was surprised, not for the first time, to see how quickly he’d started to answer to the nickname. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Aziraphale sighed. “Well of course you won’t,” he murmured, and took Crowley’s hand.
They were very close, lips just an inch apart. Aziraphale wanted to taste them, he wanted to so much.
Crowley laughed. “See? Easy.” He stepped away, set the basket down, and in a few moments they were moving onto the open water.
“And of course by that point I’d already insulted the countess and her sister by wearing the wrong cravat, so my brother made me sit in a library for the rest of the night. Which I enjoyed so much he was furious with me for weeks after.”
“Gabriel sounds like a prick,” Crowley muttered, tossing a nectarine pit into the ocean. The boat was solid and comfortable beneath them. Their shoulders were pressed together, their hands lingering side by side. Aziraphale wanted to kiss him, wanted to lick the juice from the corner of his mouth and chase the taste of wine across his tongue. He nearly moaned at the thought — years of keeping men company, and he’d never wanted one the way he wanted Crowley.
Crowley shifted beside him. “We used to go swimming off the side.”
“Crowley, the water is frigid.”
Crowley shrugged. “Never stopped us.”
“Us…”
“My uncle and me.”
Aziraphale sat up. “So you...there were good moments, then.”
“I told you.” Crowley undid his belt and began to shrug out of his tunic. “He was only ever happy on this boat.”
And then he was naked.
Aziraphale looked away.
“Ha! You’re blushing!”
“Well I wasn’t expecting—”
“Oh, come on now. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
“Not where you’re concerned.”
Crowley was still laughing, and when Aziraphale looked, he was doubled over, and Aziraphale could see the swell of his ass, the freckled skin of his thighs. He was so thin, it was hard to see under the dark clothes that were always too big for him. Aziraphale watched him stand, took in the soft length of his cock, and swallowed.
“The men I...the ones I spend my time with...we are never as comfortable as I am with you.”
Crowley tipped his head to the side. “What does that mean?”
“We are not friends,” Aziraphale said. “Not...not the way you and I are.”
“...Friends.”
“Yes.” Aziraphale looked away again.
When he glanced back, Crowley was diving off the boat, body slicing through the water.
They were silent on the ride back in, silent through dinner later that night and their coffee afterwards.
Crowley finally asked, “Would you walk through the garden with me?”
“Of course,” Aziraphale said, and stood. They walked a foot apart from one another, both trying not to touch. There were roses, hedges and hedges of them. Different colors and sizes. Aziraphale stopped to smell one, and he heard Crowley laugh.
“You’re a fascinating creature.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Explain yourself.”
Crowley pointed. “That! When you do that! You just...tell me what to do, you tell me what to say. Have you always been that way?”
“I can be. I tend not to, but when the moment calls for it.” He shrugged. “Does it bother you?”
Crowley shook his head. “No,” he said, “on the contrary. I enjoy it.”
Aziraphale sighed. “Did it upset you, what I said today? How I...reacted?” Crowley raised a brow and kept walking. Aziraphale was starting to get frustrated. “You can’t just do that, you know! Just...just walk away, when you don’t like what I’m saying.”
“Of course I can. I’m the king, I can do as I please.”
“Oh, well, certainly. Pardon me for thinking, just a moment, you would deign to treat me better than anyone else I’ve ever...anyone I’ve…” Aziraphale huffed and stalked past him. He would enjoy the roses, enjoy the garden and the palace. He would enjoy himself no matter —
“...I’ve never had friends,” Crowley said quietly, and Aziraphale stopped. Turned back to look at him.
Crowley looked very small in his dark clothes, arms dangling at his sides.
“I was never...I wasn’t allowed.”
“Crowley.” Aziraphale closed the distance between them. “My dear…”
“If I am your first friend then you have to know you’re...you’re mine, too. And you must know how terrible it’s been for me the last two weeks, to think of you as my friend, but also...to want—”
Aziraphale put a finger to his lips. “Hush.”
Crowley went quiet.
“You have a heart, the rumors are just rumors. And hearts can hold so much. Why should ours be any different?”
Crowley took his hand, pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s fingers and palm. “This is my beloved,” he murmured.
Aziraphale smiled. “And this is my friend.” He reached up and carded his fingers through gorgeous curls. “Won’t you kiss me?” he asked.
“Only if it’s what you want. Not if it’s what you think I want to hear, or what I want from you. Not if—”
Aziraphale kissed him. Pressed his fingers to the back of his head and held him close. Crowley’s mouth opened, hot and soft, against his own and he moaned.
Aziraphale chased wine and lemon, breathed in the heady aroma of spring roses —
Crowley pulled back. “Angel.”
“I love when you call me that,” Aziraphale said. “Oh, I love when you—” Another kiss. Fiercer, firmer, with feeling. They sunk down into the cool grass, and Aziraphale rolled onto his back, Crowley’s hands on either side of his head. He grinned up at him, parted the curtain of red framing his face, and drew him back down.
“His mouth is most sweet. Yea, he is altogether lovely.”
“You say that to all the kings,” Crowley murmured.
Aziraphale shook his head. “No,” he said, tipping his head back and letting Crowley pepper hot kisses down the column of his throat. “You’re my first. My very first king.”
And, I desperately wish, my last.
“Angel,” Crowley said. “Angel, angel, angel.”
“Don’t stop,” Aziraphale pleaded. “Oh, don’t stop.” Crowley hand snaked up his tunic, then began untying the strings of his breeches. “Crowley.”
“May I?” Crowley whispered, and Aziraphale nodded.
“Please.”
“Fuck, I love that sound. You,” Crowley said, as his hand dipped below, and found Aziraphale’s hardening cock, “begging for me.” He moaned as he wrapped his hand around it. “You promise it’s not an act. You swear—”
“Of course it’s not.”
“No,” Crowley murmured, “there’s no faking this, is there?”
“Oh.” Aziraphale arched into his touch, gasping for breath, hand fisting in Crowley’s hair. “Crowley!”
“I have wanted to watch you come for days. I’ve thought about it, fucked my fist thinking about it.” His words set Aziraphale alight, crying out as Crowley pace quickened. “Beautiful,” Crowley murmured. “So beautiful under me like this.” He slowed down again, and Aziraphale whimpered. “Don’t worry, little angel. I’ll give you what you want.” Crowley smiled, slid his hand down to the base of Aziraphale’s cock, and slipped him into his mouth.
Aziraphale had had his cocked sucked many times. More often than not, he was the one on his knees. Aziraphale’s role in the bedroom was often about power, and who possessed it.
Out here, on his back in the garden, his cock in Crowley’s mouth, one hand buried in Crowley’s hair, the other twisting in the grass uselessly until Crowley held it with his free hand — he realized he had never been an equal.
For the first time, he felt like one. And it was that thought which pushed him over the edge, had him coming in Crowley’s mouth with a hard, desperate cry.
He opened his eyes. He’d only just become aware he’d closed them. Stars blinked overhead, and Aziraphale felt his entire body uncoil as Crowley pulled his cock out of his mouth, then dragged his tongue up the length.
“Do you…” he tried, but his heart wasn’t in it.
Crowley laughed. “I, um.” He cleared his throat. “No,” he said. “I’m fine.”
“It’s alright, I’m happy to—”
“I came,” Crowley said, looking down as he sat up. “It’s been a while,” he confessed.
Aziraphale laughed and kissed him. “Such a shame,” he said, feeling his strength coming back. “I wanted a taste.”
“Later,” Crowley murmured. “There’ll be time.”
They stood and Aziraphale fixed his breeches and tunic, but they wouldn’t have fooled anyone. There was grass in Aziraphale’s hair and the knees of Crowley’s pants were a mess. They laughed and fumbled their way up the stairs. Aziraphale had to stop at one point and kiss Crowley expansively against the railing, already undoing the belt of his tunic.
“A minute, angel.”
“I’d have you here if I could.”
“You might,” Crowley said. Aziraphale slid a knee between his legs and Crowley ground himself down onto it.
At the top of the stairs, they stopped. To go to his rooms, Aziraphale needed to go left. Crowley needed to go right.
Aziraphale looked over his shoulder. “I—”
“You’ll come to bed with me,” Crowley said, and cupped his cheek. Aziraphale looked at him. “Those are the orders of a king,” he said. “Will you disobey them?”
Aziraphale’s knees nearly bucked. “God, no.”
“Good choice, angel.” Crowley took his hand and pulled him into his room.
In the night, they lay very close, Crowley’s head under Aziraphale’s chin, while Aziraphale satisfied his long seated desire to comb his fingers through Crowley’s hair over and over again.
What a pair, he thought. He had never considered whether the men he entertained in the Golden Court had been lonely. They’d never wanted to speak of things like that. But Crowley...Crowley admitted to his solitude. To his isolation which had started as something put upon him, and turned into something he’d imposed on himself.
“When you go,” Crowley said, “you’ll still be my only friend.”
“Don’t say things like that. Now you’ve had a taste for it, I’m sure you’ll make a whole mess of friends.”
“I’ve had a taste for you,” Crowley murmured. It should have been something to laugh at.
Instead, it grabbed Aziraphale’s heart and pulled.
“Don’t think on it,” Aziraphale said, and kissed the top of his head.
They had every intention of going downstairs for breakfast and spending the morning and afternoon on the beach.
The morning, at the very lEast, was spent almost entirely in bed.
Aziraphale woke with the memory of the night before fresh on his mind and tongue, and he was hard. Crowley dipped below the sheets and took him into his mouth. He came with a sigh, tugging on Crowley’s hair and dragging him up to kiss him, licking the taste of his own seed from Crowley’s mouth.
He’d seen Crowley’s cock the day before, on the boat, but it was a different thing entirely when it was fat and stiff in Aziraphale’s hand. He sucked on the tip, licking at the precum that pearled there, before taking him almost entirely to the base.
“Fuck.” Crowley thrust up, but Aziraphale was experienced. He’d been with men far more eager than Crowley, men who wanted to fuck his mouth raw. It was something one grew accustomed to, over time.
Crowley was older than many of the men Aziraphale had been with. He was gentler, more experienced, and less eager for it to be over. He wanted the entire morning to drag on and on. He wanted to fuck Aziraphale, to be buried inside him and come deep and hard. But they were too quick for any of that, and Aziraphale refused to have the king spend his entire day in bed.
“What will your staff think?”
“I don’t bloody care what the staff think,” Crowley snapped, after he’d begrudgingly bathed and dressed. Aziraphale was still picking out a tunic. “Wear this one,” Crowley said. He handed Aziraphale one with snakes embroidered on the collar.
Aziraphale raised a brow. “Why?”
Crowley leaned in behind him, sliding his hands down and over the swell of Aziraphale’s ass and to his thighs, giving them a squeeze. “You look good in it.”
“Wouldn’t have anything to do with it having—”
Crowley bit his neck. Not hard enough to draw blood, but certainly hard enough to bruise. Aziraphale moaned and gripped the shirt in his hands.
“Wear it,” Crowley said.
Aziraphale tugged it on and lashed the belt around his waist. “Happy?” he asked, breathless.
“Incandescently,” Crowley murmured, and they went downstairs for breakfast.
The apricot trees were heavy and swollen with fruit. A week after they’d arrived, Crowley took Aziraphale down to the orchard to show him.
“Do you really help?”
“Would I lie to you, angel?”
“Yes,” Aziraphale said dryly, and dodged a gentle swipe. He laughed and shielded his eyes as he looked down the hill toward the orchard. “Who picks the fruit?”
“Anyone from the villages nearby.” Crowley pointed, and over a hill, Aziraphale could see a town. “It pays well.” He took a few steps ahead and waved at someone down the hill. One of the men from the village was in charge, and he looked Aziraphale up and down a few times before Crowley vouched for him. “We won’t get in your way, Thomas.”
“Aye, your Majesty. See that you don’t!” The man laughed and whistled, and everyone picked up their baskets and got to work.
Aziraphale stood very still until Crowley pressed a basket into his hands. “Just pick the fruit,” he said, before picking a tree of his own.
It was strange, Aziraphale thought, to see a king out here like this, picking fruit and laughing with his subjects. Stranger still to see them treat him like...like just another villager. Like a good friend from far away. Children ran up and clutched at his tunic until he gave them fruit from his basket. He hefted a boy onto his shoulders to reach from from one of the higher branches and kissed the top of his head as he sat him down. Women brought their babies to him, children brought their puppies. Men asked him about the capitol, about the state of the trade deal.
When the took a break for lunch, Crowley ate with the townspeople — crusty bread and homemade cheese with sausage wrapped in wax paper. They ate fruit from the trees and Crowley laughed when the children through the pits at him.
Aziraphale couldn’t help but be endeared, and his affection must have been quite obvious, because one of the women said to him, “The king looks quite happy, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, he does.”
“You’re the Northern boy, aren’t you? Sent to help the trade deal go smoothly?”
“I, um.” Aziraphale tugged at his belt. “Well, I suppose—”
“No shame in it,” the woman said kindly. “The king admires you, we can tell.”
“How?” Aziraphale asked, a bit desperately.
She laughed. “Not just anyone gets to come pick fruit with his Majesty.”
“Not just any king picks fruit with his subjects.”
“Yes,” she said, and stood to get back to work. “We’re all lucky in our own ways.”
Aziraphale watched her heft her basket onto her shoulder. When he turned back to Crowley, he found him staring.
They helped until dinner. Crowley made sure everyone was paid, and took Aziraphale’s hand, leading him back up the hill to the estate. “Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked.
“Very much.”
“You seemed to.”
“Your people really do love you.”
Crowley laughed. “Another rumor, then?” Aziraphale nodded. “Not as good as the snake one,” he said, and brought Aziraphale inside.
They slept well that night, bathed and exhausted. Aziraphale woke in the morning with Crowley curled around him, and the feeling of desperation settled a bit deeper in his gut.
There were two months of Spring left, he realized, just before he pushed the thought from his mind. No, he thought, best not to think on that. He would enjoy the time he had, and wasn’t he excited to go back home? To tell people what he’d seen, what the king and his Southern kingdom were really like? Didn’t he want to go back to the court he’d grown up in, go back to —
Oh, it hit him like an apricot to the top of his head.
No. He didn’t want to do that. He wanted to stay here. He wanted to stay with Crowley, stay with his people. He wanted to be loved and admired, he wanted Crowley to look at him the way he did every morning for the rest of his natural life. He wanted to travel between palaces and keep company with the king. He wanted to tease and toy with him, tell him just how he liked to be touched.
Aziraphale wanted to be in love. He wanted to finally be on equal footing, and have a home of his own. He felt, as sure as anything, that home was with Crowley.
But he was exhausted, beat down from a day in the orchard, and not even the fear of losing all that could keep him away a second longer.
“What if we entertained?”
Crowley looked up from his breakfast and frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Crowley. You have this beautiful home, and you don’t do anything with it!” Aziraphale looked around. “It’s absolutely perfect for having people over. You could have a dinner, invite the mayor of the town and some nearby nobles. I know there are some, you told me about the land disputes. You were very specific about who—”
“Fine.” Crowley went back to his food.
“...What?”
“It’s fine,” Crowley said. “If you’d like to plan something, plan something. Have you fixed up the libraries like you wanted, by the way? You said they were a wreck.”
“I...yes,” Aziraphale said, taken aback. “I started.” Crowley had given him free reign over the libraries in the Spring Palace, and Aziraphale had found them to be in a terrible state. Each day, he’d been cleaning them up, and he was nearly finished. “Thank you,” he added. “I’ve enjoyed myself.”
Crowley smiled over his spoon. “I thought you might,” he said, and winked. “Two of my advisors are arriving in an hour, if you remember, so I’ll be busy until dinner. Talk to Madame Tracy,” he added, “if you’d like to do something.” He finished his food and stood, reaching out and lifting Aziraphale’s chin. “You may do whatever you’d like,” he said softly, and leaned down for a kiss.
When he pulled back Aziraphale couldn’t see quite right for several seconds, his vision hazy with love.
Madame Tracy, of course, knew exactly who to invite. “You leave that bit to me,” she said. “And I’ll ask about musicians, too. I’m sure the locals have more than their fair share.”
“I’d like to invite the mayor and his family.”
“An excellent idea.”
“And the pickers, if they’re willing.”
Madame Tracy sighed. “Less might be than you’d think. They love their king, but they’re not overly fond of the local rich folks.”
“Fair enough,” Aziraphale said, and went to talk to the groundskeeper about hanging lights in the orchard.
Over the next week he plotted and planned. Crowley was in the middle of signing the final draft of the trade deal. By the time of the party, he’d be done. It would be the perfect way to finish the whole thing off, Aziraphale decided.
“We haven’t had anyone here since before my uncle,” Crowley said one evening, his head pillowed in Aziraphale’s lap while Aziraphale read to him. “Perhaps I’ll stay upstairs.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Aziraphale said.
“It’s really your party—”
“Crowley.”
Crowley huffed. “Fine.”
They went to bed not long after, which was really just an excuse for Crowley to get Aziraphale’s cock in his mouth. When Aziraphale had come, Crowley sat up and asked, “Are you worried it won’t mean anything if I fuck you?”
Aziraphale pushed himself up onto his elbows. “What?”
“I want to fuck you,” Crowley said. “But you...it doesn’t seem like you want that. And if that’s true, then I won’t. It’s just…” He kissed Aziraphale’s stomach. “It would mean something, if you’re worried about that. It would matter to me.”
Aziraphale carded his fingers through Crowley’s hair. He knew. He knew it would matter to Crowley.
Perhaps that’s why he was hesitating. Because it would mean so much. To the both of them.
“...Not yet,” Aziraphale said, gentle as he could manage. “But soon.” He brought Crowley up to him and kissed his forehead.
Crowley laughed. “Alright, angel. But you should know—” He stopped and kissed Aziraphale’s chin. “If it never happens, if you’re never ready, it won’t change a thing. I’ll still adore you,” he murmured, “no matter what.”
Aziraphale felt those words in his bones, long after Crowley had fallen asleep.
The party was a success.
Aziraphale had worried that Crowley would be stiff and uncomfortable. He’d argued when Aziraphale had dressed him in a dark red tunic and black breeches. “Not my look, angel,” he’d muttered, but Aziraphale had to disagree. He was beautiful, holding court at the head of the table, talking to the mayor and introducing him to one of the noble families who lived nearby. Aziraphale spent his evening discussing poetry with some of the guests that had tagged along with the wealthier invites, and wasn’t put out by it one bit.
“Angel.” Crowley leaned down by Aziraphale’s ear. “Will you take a walk with me? To get some air.”
Aziraphale looked up at him and smiled. “Of course,” he said, and took Crowley’s hand. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, and followed Crowley up the stairs. They found an empty balcony, and Crowley closed the doors behind them. “Are you—”
Crowley kissed him, crowding him against the railing, one hand rucking up Aziraphale’s tunic, the other mussing his hair.
“Crowley.”
“I’ve been watching you all night,” Crowley murmured. “Been wanting to touch you.”
“You have guests.”
“They’ll be around for ages. You think Lord Wallace is going to leave any time soon?” Aziraphale laughed. “But you...you’re leaving me.”
“...Yes.” Aziraphale had hoped Crowley might change his mind. That he might beg for Aziraphale to stay on. It wasn’t his place, however, to ask for permanent residence. If his mother found out, she’d be mortified. Instead, he smiled, taking Crowley’s face in his hands and kissing him back. “Then we’ll have to enjoy ourselves, won’t we?” He slotted a knee between Crowley’s legs and pressed up. Crowley pitched forward with a moan. “Best not to make a mess of our new clothes.”
“You’re wicked.”
“Call a man angel long enough, and he’ll want to prove you wrong, my dear.” Aziraphale pulled back and turned, looking out on the garden and the orchard. They could be seen, he was sure, but what did it matter what the king did with his time? Everyone knew who Aziraphale was, why he’d been sent South. No sense in faking propriety now.
“You did a wonderful job,” Crowley finally said. “Truly.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I like everything you do,” Crowley said, and kissed Aziraphale’s neck.
Oh, that was nice. That was so very nice. Aziraphale turned and wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck and let him absolutely ravage his mouth. Aziraphale nearly came right there, thinking about the idea of doing this with Crowley every year, of being inches away from making love on this balcony every year —
“Tonight,” he said. “Oh, my dear—”
“Do you mean that?”
“Yes. I mean it.”
Crowley pulled back, and he looked wrecked.
“Tonight,” he repeated, and Aziraphale nodded. “You expect me to wait?” he asked. “After this?”
Aziraphale laughed and kissed him. “Does his Majesty possess no patience? No temperance?” He pressed a thumb to Crowley’s lips. “Tonight, my dear. Just a bit longer, and you may have anything you desire.” Aziraphale smiled and left him there on the balcony before going back inside to rejoin the party.
Aziraphale knew how this game was played, he’d practically created it. Crowley wanted something, and Aziraphale was certainly prepared to give it to him, there was no doubt about that — but one didn’t rush a fine wine to aging. And so, they waited until the last of their guests had left, and Aziraphale lingered in the kitchens, complimenting the staff and asking about a particular vintage he’d tasted with his fish at dinner.
By the time he found Crowley, the man was pacing at the top of the stairs, looking ravenous.
“Ah, there you are,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve been looking up and down—” He yelped as Crowley grabbed his hand and dragged him into Crowley’s rooms, shutting the door behind them. “My dear—”
“Cut the act,” Crowley snarled, and kissed him, hard.
“But you like it,” Aziraphale said, and pushed him back. Crowley stumbled, and Aziraphale grinned. “You’ve been watching me all evening, and now you can barely contain yourself.” He undid the belt of his tunic and let it fall to the floor. “You were the one, weren’t you? Who said you had no desire to...oh, what was it you said, my dear?”
Crowley was undoing the laces of his breeches, breathing like a madman, his grin wide and wicked. He looked ready to consume. Aziraphale had no qualms about being eaten. “Remind me, angel.”
Aziraphale stepped closer and sunk to his knees in front of Crowley. One hand immediately slid into his hair, as Aziraphale finished loosening Crowley’s breeches, and tugged them down. “No need to possess me, is what you said. No need to own me.” He brushed his knuckles along the length of Crowley’s cock, feeling it stiffen beneath his touch. “What’s changed?”
“Nothing,” Crowley murmured. “You’d be impossible to possess. Far too argumentative.”
“Yes, most people prefer their pets to be well behaved, don’t they?” He pressed his lips to the base of Crowley’s cock. “But not you.”
“I like a challenge.”
“I know,” Aziraphale said, and slid Crowley into his mouth.
He wasn’t on his knees very long. Crowley’s legs were trembling, from anticipation or pleasure, Aziraphale couldn’t tell. But he was pulled onto his feet after only a few minutes and shoved back toward the bed. “Get undressed,” Crowley ordered. He was already pulling off his own clothes, and Aziraphale quickly complied.
This wasn’t new to him — men who wanted to be in charge. It was the first time he’d really enjoyed it in quite some time, though. Crowley’s eagerness was endearing, his greedy hands that finished undressing Aziraphale for him were a welcome thing.
When Aziraphale was naked, he laid out on the bed and Crowley clambered after him, settling between Aziraphale’s legs with a long sigh. He ran his hands up the length of them and swallowed. “I can’t believe I’ve...that all this time I—” He hung his head. “Nevermind.”
“Crowley—”
“You do want this, don’t you?” Crowley bent down and laved his tongue over one of Aziraphale’s nipples. He blew on it. “You want me?”
Trembling bravado. Did all kings possess it, Aziraphale wondered. He didn’t want to know, not if it meant giving this one up.
“Of course I want this.” He drew Crowley in to kiss him fully. “I want you.”
Crowley looked stunned. It was as if everything they’d done leading up to this moment had been yet another game, and Crowley was only now becoming aware it was quite real. He blinked through his personal haze, and Aziraphale had to laugh.
“Did you think I’d deceive you?”
“At first,” Crowley admits, “yes. Yes, I did.”
“And now?”
Crowley closed his eyes. His expression was cutting, open in the moonlight and every part of Aziraphale wanted to reach out and touch. Reach out and comfort. There were worry lines around Crowley’s mouth and eyes, bits of silver dotting his temples. He was younger than Aziraphale, but he behaved years older.
“Now I’m wondering why I’ve decided to send you away after all. If I’ve been a fool.”
Aziraphale shushed him. “Can we think on that later? Can’t all our worries come tomorrow? Or the day after? I only want to be with you, I only want to feel you. Nothing else, my love. Nothing else.”
Crowley nodded, and reached for something beside the bed. There had been for some days a small tray of oils they’d been using. Aziraphale tensed as the cork in one came off with a pop, and the scent of clean linens filled the room. He bent one knee as Crowley reached down and began to tease the tight ring of muscle between Aziraphale’s cheeks. Aziraphale hissed at the contact, but didn’t ask him to stop. It was just his nerves, shocking one another in a ceaseless loop — feedback, reaction, sensation. Aziraphale moaned as one finger slid inside him, angling for space. He watched as Crowley’s other hand began to stroke his cock, slicking it with oil in preparation.
“I can’t wait to have you inside me,” Aziraphale said. “Oh, my dear, another, when you’re ready.”
“Of course, angel. Of course.” Crowley pulled his finger out, then replaced it with two. He started up a good and steady pace that was slowly driving Aziraphale mad with want. He wanted to be full, to be taken.
Crowley rested his forehead on Aziraphale’s sternum while he stretched him open, red curls spilling over Aziraphale’s chest.
“I love these. I have since I laid eyes on them.”
“Another?” Crowley begged. Aziraphale nodded. Crowley eased a third finger inside him, stroking his cock with more fervor.
“Don’t make yourself come.”
“I won’t.”
“I want you to do that inside me,” Aziraphale murmured. Crowley groaned. “Just a bit more, love. Just right there, oh that’s—” Aziraphale gasped. “Fuck.” Crowley’s head snapped up. He pushed in like that again, then dipped his head down to lick up the length of Aziraphale’s cock. “Crowley.”
“Tell me you’re ready.”
“I am, I’m ready, just please—” Aziraphale gasped as Crowley withdrew his fingers. “Love, oh love—”
With a moan, a roll of his hips — Crowley pushed into him. Not completely. It was all a bit much for them both. Crowley tensed as he sunk deeper, but Aziraphale brushed the hair from his face and said, “Don’t be afraid.”
“Aziraphale.” Oh, his name. He loved the way it sounded on Crowley’s tongue, filling the air between them, crackling like unkept promises. “Can I—”
“Yes. Crowley, whatever you want, whatever you’d like, it’s yours, just please—” Aziraphale cried out as Crowley thrust into him completely. His pace was slow and steady, at first, until both of them were writhing with need and he began to fuck Aziraphale in earnest.
“Fuck,” Crowley muttered, “fuck.” He groaned with the effort, pushing harder each time. Aziraphale wound his legs around Crowley’s waist pinning them together. “Look how good you are for me,” Crowley said. “Look how beautiful you are, just like this.
“Crowley!”
“All these years, I was alone. And you were just out of reach, weren’t you?” Crowley moaned again, thrusting faster. “I wasn’t ready for you. I was angry and terrible and I wasn’t ready.”
“More, more—”
“Aziraphale, oh Aziraphale.”
“Don’t stop.”
“Tell me how it feels.”
“Like perfection,” Aziraphale managed. And it was so very true. Aziraphale had been fucked countless times, but no one fit him like Crowley. No one dug into him, drove into him, lifted him up like Crowley.
Crowley pulled out and Aziraphale whined.
“What—”
“Sit,” Crowley commanded, falling onto his back. “Let me see you. Take what you want, let me watch.”
Aziraphale scrambled to straddle his waist, holding his cock in one hand and easing down onto it. A different angle, a different way of watching Crowley fall apart.
“Oh, yes,” he said, and began to fuck himself in earnest. “Just like this, then? This is how you want me?”
“I want you always,” Crowley said. “Touch yourself. You’re so pretty when you do that.”
Aziraphale laughed and wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking in time with the motion of his hips. Crowley rose to meet him and they met with a slap of skin on skin and Crowley’s cock struck him deep each time. He was going to come, he was going to lose himself in this completely, and Aziraphale had no problems with that.
“Crowley, Crowley—”
“Come for me, angel. Let me see it.”
“Yes, yes, I can, I will, I—” Aziraphale squeezed his cock and cried out, coming with a twist of his fingers as Crowley’s cock continued filling him. Come hit his chest and neck and chin. A moment later, Crowley rolled him to his back and began to fuck him ruthlessly, shouting his name and getting a hand in his hair and pulling.
Aziraphale was already wrung out, but if he’d been capable of it, he’d have come a second time right then. Crowley was wild against him, spreading his legs back and drawing out completely before he sunk in, hard.
“Aziraphale—” Crowley came with a shout, and Aziraphale felt it as Crowley filled him. He gave a few final thrusts and pulled out with a moan.
They lay that way for a few moments. Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s come slipping from him, and he was satisfied.
“My dear—”
Crowley waved him off. “Ngk.”
Aziraphale laughed. “I’ll just go clean myself up,” he said, and moved to get out of bed.
Crowley grabbed his wrist.
“Crowley…”
“No need, angel.” Crowley pulled him close and licked at the come drying on Aziraphale’s neck. “I’m happy to assist.”
No one had ever cleaned Aziraphale before. No one had ever licked the come from his body, murmured to him how good he tasted. They liked to watch him do that bit. Crowley didn’t hesitate. He lapped at Aziraphale’s neck and chest until there wasn’t a drop left.
Then he slid down and pressed his tongue between Aziraphale’s cheeks and that — that was too much.
“Crowley!”
Crowley lifted his head, confused. “What?”
“You don’t intend to—”
“You wanted to clean yourself up. I said I’d do it, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but there—”
Crowley raised a brow. “...Don’t you want a taste?”
“I’ve tasted you many times.”
“Yes, but—” He bent low and licked and sucked at Aziraphale’s hole for a few seconds. Aziraphale’s entire body was statue-still. He watched Crowley come back up and realized what he needed to do just before he opened his mouth.
Crowley slipped his own come onto Aziraphale’s tongue with a moan. Aziraphale took it.
“See?” Crowley looked smug.
Aziraphale swatted at him. “You’re insufferable. I don’t know why I ever — oh. Oh, I do like that,” he murmured, as Crowley went down for another pass.
Spring was ending. Every day it rained.
This didn’t stop Crowley from dragging Aziraphale outside at every opportunity. They spent the better part of their days on the beach or in the rose garden, kissing and talking, talking and kissing. Occasionally, they simply held hands.
The day before they were set to return to Virgil, Crowley asked, “Do you like it here?”
Aziraphale nodded. “I do. I’ve never been this close to the sea before, and the roses you grow here, they don’t grow this way back home—”
“No,” Crowley said. They were sitting outside, enjoying lunch while the sun began to peak out from behind the storm clouds. He looked over at Aziraphale fondly. “I meant here, in the South. Do you like it?”
“Yes,” Aziraphale said, no hesitations. “I do.”
“I’m glad.”
Aziraphale sipped his wine. “When I return home, I’ll be sure to tell everyone what I’ve seen.” Crowley opened his mouth to respond, but seemed to think better of it. He busied himself with his own wine. “...We should probably make ready for me to leave, when we go back.”
“Of course,” Crowley said.
“My mother already knows. I wrote her months ago, when you first told me of your plans.”
“Wonderful.”
“I suppose when we get back, I can get my things together—”
“Let’s take the boat out one last time,” Crowley said, and stood. “Come on, we can talk about packing later.”
Aziraphale hesitated, then took his hand. “You’re absolutely right,” he said. “No sense in spoiling the day with planning.”
Crowley grinned. “My thoughts exactly.”
The ride back to Virgil was bumpy and quiet. Crowley slept most of the way, his head in Aziraphale’s lap for the last half. When they reached the castle, Aziraphale shook him awake and kissed his forehead.
“My dear.”
“Already?”
“Yes.”
Crowley groaned and sat up. A moment later the door to the carriage swung open and Aziraphale stepped out, helping Crowley down. He ran a hand through his hair. “I should meet with my advisors,” he muttered.
“So soon? I thought we might walk into town…”
Crowley shook his head. “No, I’ve gone days without talking to them, they’re bound to be worried.” He pressed a quick kiss to Aziraphale’s temple. “Dinner,” he said, “in my rooms. I’ll have someone send for you.” He walked into the castle, traveling cloak billowing behind him. Aziraphale glanced up at the oncoming storm clouds and sighed. He needed to start packing.
By the time someone came to fetch him for dinner, Aziraphale had most of his clothes and books packed away. He was going to miss the little piano in Crowley’s room, the libraries that had started feeling like his. He would miss these halls, he thought, as he followed a servant toward Crowley’s rooms.
Aziraphale shut the door behind him and turned the lock. Crowley was back at his desk, falling into that familiar hunch. He waved Aziraphale over, but didn’t look up.
“Has it stopped raining?” he asked.
“Are you going to look at me when we speak?”
Crowley sighed, raising his head and rolling his neck. “I’m behind on my correspondence,” he said. “And we spent a week longer in the country than we should have.”
“Is that so?”
Crowley nodded. “The trade deal has been finalized. Things are going to start moving in the next few months, but there’s been trouble along the Western border. I might need to leave, soon.”
“I hope it gets resolved.”
“So do I,” Crowley said, and stood. “Join me outside?”
Aziraphale nodded. Crowley pulled out his chair and then sat across from him. They sat in silence for some time, before Aziraphale finally said, “Have I upset you?”
“Hm?” Crowley wasn’t focused on him at all. He pulled the cork from the wine bottle and filled their glasses. “No,” he said, “I’ve just a lot on my mind. Going away makes things...difficult, back home.”
“Should you have stayed?”
“That hardly matters now,” Crowley said.
“Then why are you pretending I’m not here?”
Crowley paused. “...Perhaps I’m getting used to when you won’t be.”
Aziraphale looked out over the balcony toward the sea. How beautiful it was, how powerful. He would miss that, too. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be glad to have things back to normal.”
“Normal,” Crowley muttered. “Yes, I can hardly wait.”
“You certainly act like it.”
Crowley laughed. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
Aziraphale set down his glass. “Why are you antagonizing me?”
“I’m not.”
“You are. We had a perfectly wonderful time at the estate and now you’re behaving as though it were some...some inconvenience. Like you didn’t enjoy yourself.”
“I’m a king,” Crowley snapped, “I don’t have time to enjoy myself. You can do as you’d like up North in your bloody Golden Court, but down here, we do the work ourselves. I shouldn’t have left,” he said, and drained his glass. “What was the point of it if you’re leaving anyway?”
“You’re the one sending me away!”
“Yes, because I’ve no use for frivolities! The North sends me some gilded gift horse, expects me to roll of for him and their negotiators, but what happened? Who rolled over for whom, Aziraphale? Who showed the North what they were made of and which of us—”
“Enough.” Aziraphale stood. “You’re being horrid. I’ve no desire to be with you when you’re like this.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” Crowley snarled, following him back inside. “You come here, ready to do whatever pleases me, and that means you know me?”
“I thought we came to know one another quite well, over the last few weeks.”
Crowley scowled. “I fucked you,” he said. “That doesn’t mean I know you.”
Aziraphale felt helpless. He was confused, he was hurt, but more importantly, he was furious. “What would you have me do, Crowley? You’ve put me in a terrible position, I thought you and I were—”
“You can do as you please,” Crowley said, and walked away.
Aziraphale stood there, aching. He said, “The circumstances of my birth, of my position, specifically dictate that I cannot. I assumed it would be that way for the rest of my natural life, but with you...with you it felt different.”
Crowley looked at him. “I said you could—”
“Yes, I know what you said. But that’s hardly what you mean. You mean that I should go, and leave you alone. You mean I should turn around and not look back. You say, do as you please, but you must know when you say it, what I hear is, I don’t really care.” Aziraphale stepped toward him. “And I don’t believe that for a second.”
Crowley looked stricken, but not for long. He pulled away from Aziraphale’s touch, turning with his back toward him. “Feel however you’d like about it,” he said. “I’ve no use for you. Not anymore.”
Aziraphale pressed his lips together. “I never felt used by you,” he said softly, “but I won’t inconvenience you any longer, your Majesty.” He bowed, even though Crowley couldn’t see. “Goodnight,” he said, and left the room.
Madame Tracy told him the roads leading out of the capitol were flooded from the rain.
“Once they’re done with the clearing out,” she said, “we’ll get you on your way, love.”
“Certainly.” Aziraphale retreated back to the library closest to his room and pouted between the shelves. He hadn’t seen Crowley since their argument. He doubted they’d see one another again before Aziraphale left.
But the next morning there was a knock at his door. “The king would like to know if you’d join him for breakfast,” one of the servants asked.
“I would not,” Aziraphale said, and shut the door.
Two days after he had expected to leave, one of the stablehands came to him and told him the carriage he was set to take back to the North was damaged in the storm. Later that afternoon, someone told him one of the horses had fallen ill. And all the while, he was told the king wanted to dine with him. The king wanted to walk with him. The king only wanted to speak with him.
“No thank you,” was his constant response.
Or it was, until one evening he became so fed up with opening his door and telling someone no or listening to some other reason he couldn’t leave, that when he heard the knock he stormed over, flung the door open, and shouted, “Tell your king to leave bloody well—” He stopped. “Crowley.”
Crowley looked...well he looked miserable, if Aziraphale was being honest. It both delighted and destroyed him.
“May I come in?” Aziraphale nodded and stepped aside. “You’re still here,” Crowley said.
“Yes, through no fault of my own. The roads, the carriage, the horses. If it’s not one thing, it’s…” He trailed off. Crowley was looking very guilty. “Oh, you must be joking,” he said.
“Hm?”
“How could you? After everything you said, after the way you...you treated me, the other night. You were absolutely—”
“Don’t say cruel,” Crowley said, turning to face him. “Call me whatever you’d like, but don’t say cruel.” Aziraphale nodded and watched Crowley walk out onto the balcony. He hesitated, for a moment, and then followed. They stood side by side, watching the sea. The days were growing longer. Summer was finally here.
“I thought you didn’t want me here.”
“I didn’t. You’re a distraction of the highest degree. You play music and you want to read poetry and socialize. When you’re around, I don’t get anything done. My advisors are furious. My schedule is in shambles. My correspondence is piling up. You’ve made an absolute mess of my life.” Crowley looked at him. “And I’ve never been happier.”
“...Oh.”
“I’ve never been allowed to...to want,” Crowley said, “and when I’m with you, it’s all I do. I want to be with you, I want to listen to your voice, I want to do anything you’d like. I made plans for you to leave because I assumed you and I would simply...coexist. I liked you from the start, of course. Right away. But I thought if we simply didn’t touch, if we didn’t tempt—”
“That’s not an excuse! You brokered that arrangement,” Aziraphale said, “and then you broke it. I’d have happily gone on not touching, doing as you wished—”
“But I didn’t wish that. Do you know how long it was, before you, that someone touched me last? That someone did so much as hold my hand? You fell into my life and it was all I could do not to touch you.” He laughed. “No self control. My uncle always said it’d be my undoing.”
“And is that what I am?”
Crowley faced him. Reached out and cupped his cheek. “Anything but, actually.”
Aziraphale sighed. He leaned into Crowley’s touch. “You expect me to stay?”
“I wish you would.”
“After all that, after everything—”
In front of him, Crowley sunk to his knees. Aziraphale swallowed.
Oh.
“I need you to stay,” Crowley said. “I don’t just want you, Aziraphale. I need you by my side. Before you I was lonely and wretched, I’ll admit that. But I’m getting better. I’m alive, for the first time in so long. Please,” he begged, “please. Stay here. Stay with me.”
“...Crowley.”
“I can’t promise to always be good, to always be warm or careful. But I can promise to adore you. Everyday. So long as you’ll have me.”
Aziraphale wasn’t breathing. Crowley buried his face in the folds of Aziraphale’s shirt and breathed for them both.
“Stay,” Crowley pleaded. “Stay.”
Aziraphale exhaled. He reached down and cradled Crowley’s face in his hands. “Promise I can love you.”
“I promise.”
“Promise I can cherish you.”
“Of course, angel, whatever you’d like.”
Aziraphale bent down, pressing their foreheads together. “Promise we may keep each other. For all our days.”
“All our days and more,” Crowley said. He was well and truly broken, now.
They both were.
Aziraphale kissed him. Crowley rose to his feet and crowded Aziraphale against the railing, hands in his hair. He kissed back, he murmured his name, and he held him as Aziraphale went boneless and gasped into the night.