Chapter Text
Early Monday morning, Aziraphale's cup of tea clinked down against its saucer - the gentle sound rivalled only by the occasional rustling of a book page and the serenade of a cardinal, singing praises to the beginning of spring. A sunbeam was streaming through the open bay window, and the filtering breeze was warm.
Having just moved to Tadfield, Texas from London about four months ago, Aziraphale was nestled snugly in the only free space around a small mahogany dining table. Unorganized clutter and half-unpacked boxes remained defining features of his new flat, and his favorite upholstered dining chair was surrounded by a crowded assortment of antique furniture, piles of tchotchkes, and picture frames. Fortunately, he was yet to have any visitors.
Of all the rooms in his small, cluttered dwelling, Aziraphale liked the kitchen especially. There was just enough counter space to allow for a sufficient spread of baking supplies, if one felt inclined to make a batch of scones or an angel cake, and the hanging cabinets matched the dining table; a dark wood that may have looked like mahogany but certainly wasn’t. He didn’t live in that sort of apartment. The table was merely a particularly lucky thrifting find, as was the oak bureau bookcase that stood beside it.
Texas didn’t quite feel like home yet, but it was close. The flat was hinting at it despite a stuffy, stale smell that had lingered stubbornly since he first arrived. It was the kind of smell that would generally dissipate with the help of an open window and several days time, but the breeze that had flowed through the kitchen every morning for months refused to clear it. The smell fabricated a version of Aziraphale's life that he did not like one bit. A version without enough fresh air. Without vitality. A version that was lonely.
This was far from the truth of course, as he wasn’t lonely in the slightest. Aziraphale spent much of his free time around other people; watching plays at the local theater, taking himself out to opulent dinners, and even occasionally attending the symphony in Dallas. He was quite content with his life, even this new one.
Far from his old home in Soho, Aziraphale still enjoyed roughly the same foods, listened to the same soothing classical vinyl, and wore the same comfortable clothing that he had been wearing for what felt like hundreds of years. He was still a research meteorologist, and spent his days buried in reports and graphs just as he always had. Things were good. More than good, in fact.
Aziraphale was delighted when he heard he had secured a research position under Anathema Device. Fascinated by the weather ever since he was a child, he had spent countless storms standing outside in an oversized jacket and goloshes, clutching the barometer he received for his eighth birthday. Tadfield was a humble suburban town located in the “tornado alley” of the United States, and he was working there with a small organization called OMENS (the Organization for Meteorologists, Environmentalists, and National Storms), founded by Anathema herself.
Anathema Device was a highly esteemed American meteorologist who had done it all. Research, storm chasing, even aiding in the development of advanced weather balloon technology, though she was most well-known for her inexplicably precise and accurate forecasting. Among her team there were two researchers, a storm chasing team, and a video editor. Anathema herself produced the footage and they made their money by selling it to local news networks and other media outlets that showed interest.
Upon finishing his breakfast, Aziraphale glanced at his wristwatch, placed a bookmark between the pages of Pride and Prejudice and stood from the table without hesitation to head into the office. Even after four months at the job, he still found himself excited for work.
The office Aziraphale worked in was laden with advanced technology. His desk held three large desktop monitors, and an even larger screen was mounted on the wall, each supplying a steady flow of information on the local atmospheric pressure, temperature, wind speed, and other relevant variables.
Sure, the hours of blue light hurt his eyes and the work did become dreadfully monotonous during long stretches of clear, sunny days, but it was his childhood dream to be a storm researcher. And here he was, with countless meteorological tools at his disposal. A scientist. The word was marvelously glamorous.
Several hours into his workday, Aziraphale had become deeply engrossed in the radar displayed in front of him. The colorful echoThe blob of color covering the map of your town on your weather app. on the screen was shifting and morphing like something alive, depicting something brewing in the sky about an hour away.
It wasn’t anything particularly exciting. A measly cluster of cumulonimbus cloudsTall, dense clouds often associated with thunderstorms. were moving westward, unlikely to progress beyond a single-cell stormA weak thunderstorm with one updraft and one downdraft that lasts for less than an hour., but Aziraphale was taking thorough notes regardless. May marked the beginning of tornado season, and tracking the trends early was key to accurately predicting them. He ran another simulation of the storm and sat back to observe.
Meanwhile, his research partner Maggie let out a sigh from the desk beside him. Aziraphale shifted his gaze to find her slumping her head forward onto folded arms.
“I’m dying,” she said, her words muffled through her makeshift pillow.
“Shall I make us some tea?” Aziraphale asked, spinning his chair to the right to face her.
Maggie perked up enough to turn her head to the side and blink at him sweetly. “Yes, please,” she replied.
Aziraphale smiled at her restful form as she closed her eyes again. It had been a rather slow day. The incoming rush of tornadoes was due to begin in less than a month, and the anticipation had left everyone either restless, bored, or both.
After a short walk, Aziraphale was in the break room. He selected two tea bags, two mugs, a large container of sugar, and pressed the boil button on the electric kettle with an absentminded hum. While he was trying to remember how many sugars Maggie preferred in her Earl Grey, Anathema strode into the room with purposeful, confident steps in a dark green dress and black pointed shoes.
“Hey,” she said with a smile, and stood beside him to pour herself a cup of coffee.
Of all the elements of American cuisine Aziraphale had sampled upon relocating, office drip coffee was one he simply couldn’t get behind. It gave him horrible jitters and the taste did nothing to make up for it. He offered Anathema a polite smile in return and focused back on measuring sugar into the mugs in front of him as she leaned back against the counter to take a sip.
“How is your morning?” he asked while carefully adding two spoonfuls into Maggie’s mug with half-confidence.
“Oh, God. You heard the news?”
Aziraphale paused with his spoon in the bag of sugar and gave her a confused glance out of the corner of his eye. “The… storm in Sulphur Springs?” he asked slowly, returning the spoon to his mug for the last time to pick up the kettle.
Anathema set her mug down on the counter with a gentle thud. Aziraphale looked up and found her with her lips pulled into her mouth, shaking her head.
“Shax quit yesterday,” she said as their eyes met.
“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale replied, setting down the kettle to focus his full attention on the conversation.
Now, Aziraphale made a point to avoid workplace drama at all costs. Not that it was an entirely difficult task. He didn’t have much of a relationship with most of his colleagues, he only really engaged with them to lend a hand when it was necessary to collaborate for professional reasons.
Generally, he preferred it that way, but it wasn't always a conscious effort. He just had a tendency to become so enthralled with his work that he tuned out everything else around him. By the time he tuned back in, it was usually time to leave. He had the same habit when reading, often finding himself surprised by the sunrise after opening a book sometime in the evening.
Even though he rarely heard about the personal affairs of his coworkers, he was happy to listen if someone was offering to share. This particular conversation may have been crossing into workplace drama, but he thought perhaps it might be an opportunity to bond and indulged anyway. He had to admit that his curiosity was working against any other instinct.
“What happened?” he asked. “She gave two weeks notice, I assume?”
“Nope. She called me to say she was changing careers and wouldn’t be coming back in.”
“Changing careers? Whatever for?” he asked in incredulity. The idea of changing careers was so far from Aziraphale’s mind that it might as well have been underground. He didn’t like change. Even if he did, it certainly wouldn’t be his career. A cravat in an adventurous new color, perhaps, but a life choice that required countless hours of study? It was out of the question.
Anathema shrugged. “She said she found something better to do with her life, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”
“How incredibly odd,” he thought out loud. “And I thought storm chasing was ‘the most interesting role in meteorological studies,’” Aziraphale said, with a little mocking wiggle of his fingers.
Something sparkled in Anathema’s eyes at his words. Her lips curled upwards as she scanned his face with her usual intense gaze. “Interested in taking her place?” she asked with a slight tilt of her head to the side.
He gave a short, light laugh in response, but all humor fell from his face when he realized she was serious. Storm chasing may have had the sort of high-stakes, action movie glory that some individuals desired, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of dignified scientific position Aziraphale was interested in. “I-I’m a researcher. I do research,” he stated obviously, trying not to sound impolite while internally rejecting her offer with a severe dose of cheek.
“You’ve done it before, right? Storm chasing?” asked Anathema.
“Well, yes, technically I accompanied Gabriel once or twice while he was working here, but I hardly–”
“Great, you’re hired,” she said, and causally lifted her coffee to her lips as if she wasn’t trying to ruin Aziraphale’s entire life.
He tried to school his expression into something a little less exasperated, and offered her an awkward, forced smile. “With all due respect, there seems to have been a terrible misunderstanding,” he protested gently. “I was only attempting to make a joke about the way storm chasers are perceived versus the scientists, like myself, that do the majority of the work behind the scenes.”
“Sure, yeah, but now that you suggested it, I think this is absolutely the right move."
The amount of discombobulation in Aziraphale’s mind was reaching dangerous levels, but he was still aware with crystalline clarity that he had not been the one to suggest this. Anathema didn't seem to be suggesting it either. It was more like she was informing him of a decision she had already made. “Actually–” Aziraphale started, fidgeting with his hands.
“I have to make a call,” Anathema continued, cutting him off as she started to back out of the room, “but I’ll message Crowley and have him speak with you about when you’ll start working together, okay? Great." And with that she was gone.
Crowley. Of course. Already thrown by the spontaneous change in his position, the reminder of who he would inevitably be working with was enough to make his eyes start to water. He fought back the tears, trying his best to give credence to the strange shape of reality the day had taken on.
“Yes, great,” Aziraphale muttered to the empty room.
He had no idea how his attempt to bond had gone so horribly wrong so quickly, and as he lifted the kettle to pour hot water for himself and Maggie, he made a personal vow to never do it again.
Having filled both mugs to the brim, Aziraphale’s nerves threatened the dry carpet as he plodded back to his desk. This really was the worst case scenario. He had grown fond of Maggie, the kind and brilliant woman he had worked alongside for months. Now he was being forced to work with Crowley, a needlessly argumentative and abrasive smart aleck.
He appeared to be short tempered as well, giving Gabriel quite a shout one afternoon after they returned from a chase. They had stood in the center of the office, both sopping wet and fuming, and even though Aziraphale had watched Crowley intently as they fought, his rain drenched clothes clinging to him like black saran wrap, Aziraphale still didn’t know what all the fuss had been about. Regardless, he knew that Crowley was not someone he had interest in spending time with.
The two had first met about a month before Aziraphale started working for OMENS, after he had flown into Dallas to present at a meteorology conference. It was a chaotic venture, to say the least. Aziraphale had gotten a late start to his travels, falling 30 minutes behind schedule after getting lost in a particularly captivating book at his Soho flat the morning of his flight.
His knees bounced nervously in the back of a cab during the entire ride to the airport. When he finally arrived, the plane was delayed for hours, forcing him to sprint across the airport to make his connecting flight. Out of breath and out of sorts, he still narrowly missed departure.
After tamping down a panic attack with a large hot cocoa from the airport cafe, Aziraphale was left with no other option but to rebook his ticket.
Following the miserable trajectory of the day, the next available flight option landed in Dallas an hour before he was scheduled to present. He barely made it to the conference center in time, arriving completely frazzled in a room full of highly regarded meteorologists he was desperate to impress. To make matters worse, sitting in the back row was none other than Crowley. He looked less than professional sprawled across the chair in a black button down shirt, a black vest, a thin silver scarf that was probably considered “trendy,” and a pair of dark sunglasses. Indoors, no less.
Crowley had bombarded him with questions throughout his entire presentation on climate change. They were questions Aziraphale hadn’t even considered preparing for, and the answers he had given were weak and unfounded. He was left feeling utterly humiliated. Needless to say, it was more than a small upset to see Crowley propped up against the counter in the break room at OMENS on his first day.
As he rounded the corner, Aziraphale placed Maggie’s mug in front of her on her desk, managing to avoid spilling a single drop of tea despite his unsteady hands.
“I have terrible news,” he said, settling wearily into his desk chair with his mug. He ran his hands over his thighs and peered down hopelessly into his tea. “I forgot the cream,” he said woefully. This was truly the last straw.
“That’s not too terrible, love, I can get you some cream,” Maggie offered softly, wheeling her desk chair over beside him.
“That’s not even the worst part,” he said, shaking his head and looking over at her. “I’ve been demoted.”
“Demoted? What do you mean?” Maggie asked with both confusion and concern, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. She was so sweet, Aziraphale really was going to miss her.
“Anathema has made me a storm chaser. Apparently, Shax left her position and I’m to take her place.”
“Shax quit? Goodness, do you know why?” she asked, knitting her brows together.
“Because she’s lost her mind entirely and wants me to suffer,” Aziraphale lamented with what was surely the appropriate level of dramatics for the situation at hand.
“Oh, Aziraphale, it’ll be alright. You’re not really leaving, storm chasers still have to report back here at the end of the day, and it’s not exactly a demotion, now is it? Chasers are meteorologists, too. Who knows, it could be fun! Out there in the action, watching storms up close.”
“Alone in that foolish car everyday with Crowley,” he whined, adding to her list of terrible aspects of the job.
“Ah, yes,” Maggie replied knowingly. “I can’t believe he’s the only one left, the storm chasing team depleted so quickly."
She was right. There had been tremendous change at OMENS recently, Aziraphale was only the latest victim. The most recent upheaval before this had occurred in February when Gabriel and Beelzebub had spontaneously decided to elope and move to the Netherlands. It was a decision that Maggie and Nina had both described as “reckless and impulsive,” but Aziraphale had thought it was rather sweet, even though he was beginning to feel some resentment towards the choice now.
After the couple moved away, Crowley and Shax were the only storm chasers for months, and now it was only Crowley. Perhaps that was why Shax had left. Being alone in a car with Crowley for hours at a time sounded like a nightmare. A nightmare Aziraphale was about to be living.
“I know you two don’t get along, but he really is quite nice once you get to know him. A bit grumpy, maybe, but still. Kind underneath,” she said with a warm smile. Aziraphale gave her a withering look that quickly devolved into a pout. “Alright, I know. It sucks. It’s not what you’re used to, you have to work with someone you hate, and–”
“I don’t hate Crowley. I don’t hate anybody. He’s just… unpalatable.” Aziraphale corrected with the smallest possible eye roll he could manage.
The look Maggie gave him in reply was equal parts sympathetic and patronizing. “Yes, alright, but think of it this way. Without you, Crowley can’t work, and without anyone in the field getting us footage, we don’t get paid.” She crossed her arms definitively.
Aziraphale considered this. He hadn’t become a scientist for the money, but a steady income was necessary, and it was true that Crowley would be unable to work without a new partner. It was a general rule that you shouldn’t engage in such dangerous activities on your own. Maybe he would be doing a good thing by working alongside Crowley, it would be something of a favor to his colleagues. Besides, he had always valued a new perspective on his studies. Perhaps this endeavor would be helpful to him after all, simply a new kind of data.
“I suppose you may have a point,” he mused, and Maggie smiled, looking pleased.
“There you go!” she said, leaning towards him to squeeze his arm gently.
“However, I take no pleasure in my sacrifice,” Aziraphale added, in case he hadn’t made it obvious enough already.
“We’ll see,” said Maggie with a hint of smugness that Aziraphale was not fond of in the slightest. She lifted her mug, inhaled the floral scent of the tea, and took a sip. “This is perfect, thank you."
Pleased that at least one thing had gone right that day, Aziraphale gave her a satisfied smile and turned back to his computer. A nice cup of tea was always nice, and as he remembered he took a sip of his own. Only frowning a little at the lack of cream, he sank back into his work, a welcome distraction from the rest of the day’s disaster.
About an hour later, the devil was on his doorstep.
“Hello, Aziraphale,” said a familiar voice, like bebop to his ears. When he tore his eyes away from the monitor in front of him, there was Crowley, swaggering into the room in his usual black on black attire with sunglasses over his eyes. Aziraphale mustered all the will power in his body to swivel his chair to face him with a tight lipped smile.
“Crowley,” he replied, crossing his ankles and placing his hands neatly in his lap.
“Heard you’re a storm chaser now,” Crowley said, draping himself against the wall with a smirk that could only be interpreted as mocking.
“It seems that I am, yes,” Aziraphale replied, his smile becoming harder to maintain as disdain crept into the corners of his lips.
“Anathema said I’m supposed to train you, so. Come on,” Crowley said, pushing himself off of the wall and gesturing for him to stand.
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows at the insinuation. “You expect me to drop everything and leave? Right now?” he asked, losing every remaining ounce of carefully constructed composure. He glanced at Maggie for some sort of divine intervention, but all she offered was a sympathetic smile and a shrug before turning back to her computer.
He turned back to Crowley with his eyes narrowed. Crowley remained silent, returning his stare with indifference from behind his dark lenses. Or, he assumed Crowley was staring at him, there really was no way to know for sure. Aziraphale crossed his arms and pursed his lips.
“Fine,” he said with a dagger under his tongue.
“Meet you at the car,” said Crowley, and sauntered out of the room without another word.
“See?” Aziraphale whispered to Maggie once he was sure Crowley was out of earshot. This was how every interaction had unfolded since their first encounter, curt and unfriendly.
“Oh, give him a chance, I think this might be good for you. Besides, you have to admit he’s easy on the eyes,” Maggie whispered with a giggle, to which Aziraphale immediately swivelled back to face the displays on his desk. “There’s no way that guy is straight, I think you’ll have a great time together."
“Not happening,” Aziraphale said firmly, sparing only two words on the subject. He knew by now that Maggie was something of a hopeless romantic, and he was adamant not to entertain her. He gave her a lethal glance out of the corner of his eye and directed his focus back to his computer to continue staring at nothing in particular.
“Come on,” she said, nudging him on the shoulder. “I know you two had an intimate moment when you first met.” Even without looking at her, Aziraphale could feel the teasing smile Maggie was surely wearing with pride. His face felt warm.
“I haven’t the slightest idea of what you’re talking about,” Aziraphale said flatly, keeping his eyes on the screen. He moved to rest his hand on the mouse to further play up the fact that he was far too busy for such conversation topics.
“At the conference! You cleaned coffee off of his shirt like something out of a romantic comedy,” she said with another giggle of excitement.
Aziraphale was very good at pushing things down when he needed to. The second half of his first meeting with Crowley was obediently confined to the bottom of a deep well, alongside every other experience he was unable to properly categorize. Every moment of messy, conflicting feelings was kept away, coagulating under the murky waters of his consciousness. However, the memory broke loose at its mention and bubbled to the surface once more.
After his presentation that day, in the process of beelining towards the refreshments table for a comfort pastry, Aziraphale had accidentally bumped into Crowley and spilled coffee directly onto his shirt. Following a long string of rather inventive curse words, Crowley did in fact allow Aziraphale to help blot away the spill, but any insistence that the stain wasn’t noticeable due to the dark color of his shirt was completely shut down.
Shortly after several paper napkins had been soaked through, Crowley stormed off grumbling and they avoided each other for the rest of the event. Aziraphale was wracked with guilt. It was far from romantic comedy material.
“‘Romantic’ is the last word I would use for that particular experience,” said Aziraphale. “It was horribly embarrassing.”
“Oh, come on. You’re telling me you weren’t having fluttery feelings while dabbing him with a towel?” she teased.
Aziraphale blushed, but only out of annoyance. “That is exactly what I’m telling you,” he insisted, pursing his lips and staring harder at his computer screen while gripping the mouse.
It wasn’t entirely a lie. Aziraphale didn’t lie, he considered his statement only a slightly altered version of the truth. The dominant feeling he had during the interaction was mortifying embarrassment, being fond of nice clothing himself and already feeling extremely inadequate after his presentation.
However, the firmness of Crowley’s chest under his shirt hadn’t gone unnoticed, even in his frazzled state. Pressing a napkin to the section of thin black button down showing behind his low cut vest, Aziraphale had felt the tingling sensation of a warm exhale on his hand as Crowley glared down at the stain with a scowl.
Aziraphale’s gaze chased the breath as it left his skin. He lingered on Crowley’s lips for a fraction of a second before meeting his eyes, spending a moment lost in what he could see of the amber irises behind his dark sunglasses. Flustered, he looked away and resumed intense focus back on his shirt. Clearly having made him uncomfortable, Crowley walked away soon after and Aziraphale ended the encounter the same way he had started it: embarrassed.
“If you say so,” said Maggie, drawing out the vowels into a sing-songy voice that Aziraphale finally turned away from the computer to glare at.
“I do. And I’m leaving,” he declared, mostly to get the stupid drive over with, but also to quickly exit the conversation before it escalated any further. He picked up his mug to empty it into the break room sink on his way out. It just wasn’t the same without the cream.
“Have fun!” Maggie called out to him as he left the room.
He wouldn’t.
Reluctantly, Aziraphale stepped through the front doors of the grey office building. The Texas sun mercilessly beat down, and he let his eyes close to the heat. He imagined the tension melting off of him like an ice lolly on asphalt, but when he opened his eyes again he still felt sticky with the obligation to drive an hour with Crowley to chase a weak thunderstorm. Or, more accurately, Crowley would drive Aziraphale as he silently prayed that he wouldn’t get both of them killed during his first day on the job.
He scanned across the parking lot. It didn’t take long to locate a head of fiery red hair framed in the driver’s side window of a ridiculous looking tank of a vehicle.Storm chasing vehicles are bulky, armored cars that are usually self-built. He squinted his eyes at the booming sound of Queen emanating from the car and began to walk towards it.
Rounding the passenger side with a deep, laborious breath that would’ve sounded more like a groan to any witnesses, Aziraphale opened the door. “Bohemian Rhapsody” blasted out of the speakers at an egregious volume, assaulting his ears until Crowley caught sight of his scathing expression and turned it off with an infuriating smirk.
“Let’s go,” said Crowley, somehow making the two words into one syllable. Aziraphale settled into the seat, closed the door, and made sure to affix his seatbelt securely. It was going to be a very long hour.
Notes:
If you're curious as to what storm chasing vehicles look like, here is a picture of the TIV (tornado intercept vehicle), a famous storm chasing car designed specifically to obtain footage from inside a tornado. It was featured in a TV show called "Storm Chasers."
Chapter 2: it's not that i hate you
Summary:
Crowley and Aziraphale chase after a weak thunderstorm to begin training.
Notes:
chapter 2 let's gooooooooo!!!
god i'm so excited to be posting this fic. it's been so fun to write
this is the most enemies to lovers of all the chapters and then we transition more into idiots to lovers lol. i can't help it, it's extremely hard for me to make them actually dislike each other
thank you again to my amazing betas itsscottiesstark and shades-o-grey, and of course to rainydropz for the wonderful cheer read!
alright, here we go :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The silence was harrowing. Without the foresight to download an audiobook to his mobile before he left the office, Aziraphale found himself in a four-wheeled torture chamber of noiseless tension. The only sounds to be heard were the rumbling of the engine and the wind against the vehicle’s armored shell as they flew across the highway.
Aziraphale sat stiffly in the passenger seat. A restless finger traced circles around the plastic button on his shirt sleeve and fussed with the small loops of thread that fastened it there. Surely, he should be able to come up with some sort of light-hearted conversation topic. However, the fact that he was seated next to the last person on earth he wanted to be exchanging small talk with was proving quite the hindrance.
“Do we need to begin training on the way?” he tried.
“Not necessary, you know how to read the radar,” Crowley replied unhelpfully. “There’s a camera in the glove box, rest of the equipment is in the back.”
Aziraphale glanced behind him. A pile of encased equipment was crowding the small back seat in a messy pile. Looking forward again, he reached forward to open the glove compartment, revealing a small space that did indeed house a camera.
The camera wasn’t large, but there was little room for anything else to be stored along with it. The only other items in the receptacle were a pen and a few napkins pinned to the back, splaying out on either side of the camera’s hard plastic case. Aziraphale nodded at his findings and pressed the door closed again until it shut with a soft click. The car returned to silence.
Unable to come up with anything else to say, Aziraphale resigned himself to inspecting the car’s interior. A laptop was mounted in front of the center console, displaying a Doppler radarDepicts the speed and direction of precipitation by using the Doppler effect (radio waves change frequency as they bounce off of an object). of the storm as it moved westward across the atmosphere. He scanned over the image. Noting that very little had changed since he left the office, he then shifted his gaze to the high-tech camera suspended below the rearview mirror, and down to Crowley’s mobile. It was cradled by a plastic contraption attached to the air vent by the steering wheel.
Live footage from behind the car was playing on the screen, likely sourced from a camera secured to the roof. He watched as the road streaked into the distance when a message from Anathema dropped down and hung over the feed. “Let me know how it goes,” he read before quickly pulling his eyes away from the device. He hadn’t meant to read a text that wasn’t meant for him, but guilt tacked onto him regardless.
Aziraphale swallowed and pulled at his button again, fixing his eyes on the Texan landscape outside. The trees were whizzing by at a rather alarming rate. They were blurring past the car much faster than they ever had on his own drives, and with a suspicious glance at the speedometer he discovered that Crowley was driving 20 mph over the limit.
“Could you slow down a bit?” he asked, feeling his stomach tighten.
“Myeah,” Crowley drawled, keeping his eyes on the road. “I could.”
Aziraphale furrowed his brows as he waited for him to either continue speaking or reduce his speed, but was met with neither. “You’re speeding.” Crowley was more than likely aware of this fact, but he still hadn’t bothered to check the speed dial so Aziraphale pointed it out anyway. Just in case.
“There’s no one on the road,” Crowley said with a shrug, proving that he was indeed fully aware of his misconduct.
Aziraphale scoffed at the preposterous excuse, adding “reckless” to the list of Crowley’s unsavory qualities. “It’s the law,” Aziraphale insisted, certain he needn't say more on the matter.
Crowley just chuckled, the corners of his mouth turning upwards into a smirk. It remained infuriating, that stupid face he kept making. “What exactly is so funny?” Aziraphale asked with a glare. He was not about to be made a laughing stock for an extremely reasonable request.
“Calm down, it's fine. Not like there are police around. Driving fast is part of the job, might as well get used to it now."
Remaining calm and adjusting to new things were not Aziraphale’s strongest traits, and the harsh reminder from Crowley that they were now required skills was enough to inspire nausea.
“I don’t exactly see a tornado behind us at the moment, Crowley,” he snarked, “and I’ll have you know that I am perfectly calm. There may not be any police around now, but there very well could be later. Not that police presence is the only reason to drive safely. What if an animal were to scurry out into the road and the car spun out when you tried to avoid it? Someone could get hurt,” he insisted, his exasperation increasing with every word.
“Calm indeed,” Crowley said with a smirk, and Aziraphale tensed his lips together with aggravation. “Look,” he continued, “I’ve been driving this car for years, never hit a ‘scurrying animal’ and I’ve hardly ever been pulled over.”
“Hardly ever?” Aziraphale balked, now strongly considering demanding that Crowley pull over immediately so he could take the wheel.
“Just relax, alright?” said Crowley, tilting his head back with an eye roll, a maneuver that did nothing to encourage relaxation.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you how impolite it is to say things like that?” Aziraphale asked, suddenly finding himself longing for the silence to resume. How ungrateful he was.
“Think I’m impolite, do you? I’m crushed.”
“It’s no wonder that Shax quit."
Crowley snorted. “You think Shax quit because of me?” he said, cracking a smile. Aziraphale didn’t think he’d ever be so incensed by a smile, but here he was, quite incensed. “No, no. Shax quit because she’s tragically infatuated with her boss. Proper mess if you ask me,” Crowley continued with a shake of his head, “probably best that she left.”
“Anathema?” Aziraphale asked with wide eyes, forgetting his agitation for a moment as bewilderment moved into its place.
“Yeup,” Crowley replied with a hard p.
Aziraphale went over the words Anathema had relayed to him that morning. Telling someone that they had found something better to do with their life was rather reminiscent of a breakup, but the situation still seemed highly unlikely. He squinted his eyes at Crowley. “How do you know? I didn’t think you and Shax were especially close.”
“We aren’t— weren’t, I guess. I only know because there was some sort of cheesy love confession about two weeks ago. Anathema called me afterwards,” Crowley explained.
Aziraphale studied his face. “So, you and Anathema are close, then?” he asked, trying to hide the insecurity in his question. Why was everyone so much more capable of having friends than he was? And Crowley, of all people. Surely he should have more friends than Crowley.
“S’pose you could say that. Met her a good number of years ago, we get drinks every once in a while,” Crowley replied with nonchalance.
“I see." Aziraphale imagined Crowley and Anathema at a pub somewhere, talking and laughing over fine wine and whatever it was that Crowley liked to drink. Gin, probably. Aziraphale hated gin. “Shax and Anathema,” he said, forcefully whisking himself away from the image and the envy that accompanied it. “I never would have thought.”
“Opposites attract,” Crowley said with a shrug. “If you’re Shax.”
Opposites attract didn’t seem particularly accurate if Anathema hadn’t returned Shax’s affections. In terms of magnets, opposite polarities attract each other in unison. However, he felt rather out of his element on the subject of relationship dynamics and kept the thought to himself, shifting his focus to the radar on the computer in front of him.
The echo on the screen had darkened, indicating heavier rain, and the wind speed had increased significantly as well. Aziraphale let out a quiet hum in contemplation. The sound caught Crowley’s attention and he followed Aziraphale’s eyes to the radar.
“Getting a bit intense,” Crowley noted, darting his gaze from the screen back to the road after a brief scan. Outside the window, the sky was shrouded in dark, looming clouds, dimming the unrelenting force of the afternoon sun.
“Yes, quite,” Aziraphale replied, feeling relieved. Perhaps they could meet the winds halfway and end the whole charade early.
When they arrived at the edge of the storm, Aziraphale stepped out of the car to greet the open, grassy field where Crowley had parked. He took a deep, renewing breath. The damp air and the smell of the earth filled his lungs as the wind whispered in his ears and ruffled his blond curls. A smile crept onto his lips at the gentle caress that teased the arrival of something far more powerful. A clap of thunder boomed in the distance. The sound was threatening, and stirred up excitement in his belly.
Aziraphale was no stranger to fear. He was a man of restless hands and a pinched brow and never managed to get enough sleep. He avoided groups of loud, boisterous people and the butterflies in his stomach had held permanent residence for longer than he could remember. But in moments like these, when the air was rich with vapor and rumbling thunder echoed all around, he felt still. Invigorated, even. In the meeting of fronts, Aziraphale came alive.
It hadn’t always been this way. When he was very young, the bold flashes of lightning and pelting rain were nothing but cruel thrashings from a great beast. Storms would send him running to the closet to hide amongst his mother’s clothes, lost to an anxious spiral for days afterwards.
That was, until his older sister gifted him a thick, hardcover book for his seventh birthday titled The Big Book of Weather. With the book as his guide, Aziraphale learned about the inner workings of the water cycle, where the wind came from, and why the winter brought hail in its coattails. It explained the lightning that sliced the sky in half with loud, earth shattering cracks and taught him about the flooding that crumbled streets that once seemed so strong. He read it cover to cover with fervor, and then he read it again.
Within the pages he found a love of reading, a love of learning, and more importantly, a sense of calm. There was comfort in the knowing, and soon enough he felt safe again.
So as the thunderstorm loomed in the distance of Sulphur Springs, Aziraphale stood tall. He felt armored with the knowledge that the burgeoning chaos was nothing more than a measurable atmospheric dance that would make way for hydrated, green grass in its wake.
“Aziraphale,” a voice called out, cutting through his thoughtful trance. He turned to see Crowley’s short, red hair dancing in the wind, the air lifting and twirling his locks like silky ribbons. Above the roof of the car, Aziraphale could just barely see Crowley’s eyebrow raised over his sunglasses. Embarrassed by how lost he was in his own thoughts, his gentle smile turned to something more sheepish as he made his way over.
Rounding the car’s bumper, which was less of a bumper and more of a sloping metal plank, he arrived at the driver’s side. Crowley shoved a tripod into his hands and ducked back into the vehicle. Aziraphale frowned down at the camera stand. He looked back up to deliver a snarky remark, but the words quickly caught in his throat when his gaze fell on Crowley.
The wind had picked up and was rippling his black shirt against his torso as he leaned into the car, moulding it to his body before billowing the fabric into an ambiguous shape and back again. Aziraphale’s eyes widened. He nervously redirected his attention to the tripod, suddenly grateful for something to do with his hands.
When Crowley pulled himself out of the car again, he was unzipping a case for a large camera that was likely to be affixed to the camera stand. “Tripod,” said Crowley, pointing to the object Aziraphale was holding between white knuckled fingers.
His thoughts eagerly shifted away from Crowley's clothing and towards the redundancy of his statement. “I can see that."
“Camera attaches to the top, we’ll position it over there,” Crowley explained, gesturing towards the middle of the field, “to take some video footage. Hold this,” he said, adding the camera to the list of things Aziraphale was gripping tightly, after the tripod, and his patience.
“I have done this before, you know,” Aziraphale said as Crowley circled the car back to the passenger side.
Crowley reached down, assumingly to acquire the smaller camera from the glove box, and popped his head back up again. “You’ve done this once, take it down a notch,” he said, making his way back to the driver’s side.
“Twice,” Aziraphale corrected, “and that was plenty,” he said, referring to both the length of time required to learn the function of a tripod as well as his desire to be in this situation at all.
When Crowley came into full view again he was screwing the small camera onto a pistol grip. “Sure. Do you know how to work the connector on that tripod?"
“Certainly. I can handle it,” Aziraphale answered with a tight lipped smile. A bolt of lightning lit up the sky in the distance. There Crowley was, trying to ask him disconcerting questions all over again. Aziraphale obviously knew how to do this. This was a training session, yes, but he would be damned if Crowley were to over explain something so rudimentary.
“Right,” Crowley replied, furrowing his brows. “If you’re certain, I’ll be over there. He turned and headed for the field.
Aziraphale scanned the sky above his sauntering frame as he walked away. The storm was almost upon them. With an exhale, he looked down at the camera and tripod in his hands. The bottom of the camera needed to attach to the top of the stand, it was simple enough.
The camera stand had a screw that connected to an internally threaded insert on the camera, and there were two clips on either side of it. The screw proved slightly tricky, but after several attempts to align it carefully with the bottom of the camera, he was able to twist them both into place and attach the clips. It didn’t quite screw in all the way, but it was likely old equipment. If it was connected enough for the clips to grasp the camera, it would do. He made his way across the field.
Crowley stood in the center, taking pictures of the incoming storm, and as Aziraphale approached he lowered the camera slightly to glance over at him. His sunglasses were tucked into his shirt pocket and warm color of his eyes was fully exposed. They were so uniquely mesmerizing that it struck Aziraphale that he had never once seen Crowley without his usual dark lenses.
His irises were two, perhaps even three colors. The centers were a deep brown, and faded to a firework of breathtaking yellow that darkened to a thin sliver of what looked like green around the edges. Aziraphale was entranced. Realizing he was staring, Aziraphale quickly averted his attention back to the tripod to focus on the task at hand.
Crowley watched him for a moment before clearing his throat. “The camera’s tilted. I could’ve explained how to fasten it if you—”
“I fastened it perfectly fine,” Aziraphale interrupted, glancing at Crowley with annoyance from the corner of his eye.
“No, you didn’t. Give it here and I’ll show you,” Crowley replied, extending a hand to take the camera from him.
“It’s sufficient, I just need you to tell me how to turn it on,” he insisted, feeling his hands start to sweat around the device.
“‘Sufficient’ would imply that the footage isn’t going to be lopsided, Aziraphale. Just trust that I know what I’m doing. Stop being such a git and give me the damn camera."
Aziraphale’s lips parted in shock as Crowley yanked the tripod out of his hands. “That was incredibly rude,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“Oh, was it?” Crowley snarked, resting the tripod against the ground to turn his full attention to Aziraphale. “It may come as a surprise to you, but you’ve been unpleasant and presumptuous for the entirety of the past hour. I think you’ll survive a little rudeness.”
His words were sharp, and guilt latched onto Aziraphale’s throat. Clearly, the frustration and anxiety that had been suffocating him all day hadn’t been quiet. It must've been quite loud, and pointed directly at Crowley. Aziraphale may have been having a horrible day, but that was no excuse to be unkind.
At once, the rain started. Fat droplets cascaded down upon them and he blinked against the downpour. Crowley replaced the sunglasses over his eyes. As his clothes began to soak through, Aziraphale realized that he had forgotten to bring his umbrella. The icing on the awful, soggy cake. Having seen the storm chasing team return to the office time and time again looking miserably drenched, he thought he might bring something to keep the two of them dry, but it didn’t matter now. He had forgotten, and his behavior had been truly vile.
Aziraphale straightened the dampening blue bow tie under his neck, as if it would do anything to help maintain the dignity that was flattening with the wet curls on his forehead. He watched carefully as Crowley rescrewed the camera into place and positioned the tripod to face the storm.
“Are you going to let me do my job or not?” Crowley asked, looking at him with what was proabably a glare.
Aziraphale grasped his hands together and rubbed hard into his palms, the wet fabric of his sleeves sliding uncomfortably against his arms at the movement. “I’m listening,” he replied with a weak nod. He may not have made this choice himself, but the change in his position left Aziraphale stranded in uncharted territory. Lost and overwhelmed, Aziraphale wanted to listen. It seemed that there were a few things he needed to learn after all.
Notes:
ahhhh i'm sorry to end on an angsty note (except not really and it will happen again, twice over the course of the remaining nine chapters) but i promise that everything will be okay :)
next chapter will be in crowley's pov!
see you next sunday!!
Chapter 3: you make me all confused
Summary:
Crowley and Aziraphale set off to chase their first storm.
Notes:
hihihihi!!
i hope y'all are ready for a bit of bantering because we're here!!
i'll mention this again in the next chapter that it's relevant, but i've changed how the sciencey definitions are formatted. instead of footnotes, you'll just mouse over or tap any words that are grayed out and the definition will pop up right next to the sentence! the magic of html!! i hate it a lot but it's very useful
thanks again to my lovely betas itsscottiesstark and shades-o-grey, and also to rainydropz for the cheer read!
and thank YOU so much for giving this story all the love it has received so far. you are all very wonderful <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tuesday morning, a repetitive beep screamed out of Crowley’s alarm clock. After about three minutes, he finally roused from his heavy sleep with a sluggish, slow blink of his eyes into the sunlight, frowning at the brightness. Too early. Always too early. Rolling onto his side enough to smack the snooze button with a clumsy hand, Crowley flopped back onto the mattress face first with a huff and a groan. Mornings were his least favorite time of day.
After another three minutes of denial, he pushed himself up off the bed and clambered over a mountain of blankets to head towards the bathroom. The mirror’s reflection revealed a chaotic arrangement of hair and a road map of sleep lines engraved into his face. Excellent. After a thorough scrubbing with his toothbrush, a fight with his hairbrush, and a cold splash of water over his skin, Crowley rubbed his eyes and walked back to the bedroom feeling halfway like himself again. The other half was definitely still borderline unconscious.
Crowley approached his nightstand, ignoring the persuasive pull of the mattress, and connected his mobile to a bluetooth speaker mounted on the wall while glaring at the time displayed on the screen. He was going to be late. Waking up 20 minutes before work made for rushed mornings, but it was a stress Crowley was willing to endure if it meant extending the sweet embrace of sleep.
He shuffled his collection of The Velvet Underground and placed the device back down before turning to the closet to get dressed.
Sometimes I feel so happy // Sometimes I feel so sad // Sometimes I feel so happy // But mostly you just make me mad // Baby, you just make me mad.
Already dreading his second day working with Aziraphale, Crowley rolled his eyes and turned back around to change the song from “Pale Blue Eyes” before the chorus could begin mocking the lingering eye contact they shared yesterday. It wasn’t his fault that Aziraphale was born with such gorgeous eyes. What was he supposed to do, not look? He hit the next button and ambled sleepily back to his closet as the opening notes of "I'll Be Your Mirror" echoed out into the room.
Thinking about Aziraphale before he even arrived at work felt masochistic, but here he was, ruminating on the pompous idiot anyways. Crowley had always known that Aziraphale was incredibly smart, and his intelligence was the only reason he hadn’t fought back when Anathema texted him to say they’d be working together. Despite his clumsiness around hot beverages, Aziraphale had done very well at the conference they had attended. Not that Crowley would ever admit that to him now. Now, it was clear that Aziraphale was near impossible to work with and he no longer had any interest in recognizing his accomplishments.
Up until now, their interactions had been limited to a daily nervous greeting from Aziraphale in the break room around lunch time, usually while avoiding eye contact, and a smirk and a nod from Crowley before leaving him to his tea. Those were the good times, the simpler times.
Crowley had noticed from day one at OMENS that he rattled Aziraphale in some way. After yesterday’s encounter, it became very obvious why. Clearly, Aziraphale had such a strong aversion to him that every interaction had him seconds away from faking a heart attack to escape it.
Driving into work yesterday, Crowley was feeling optimistic. After all, the universe usually looked after him, and he thought being forced to get to know his fussy coworker might pay off. He had been wrong. Which was fine, of course. It wouldn’t be the first time Crowley’s baseless optimism was dashed into dust, and it likely wouldn’t be the last.
Like a complete arse, Crowley had made matters worse and called him 'unpleasant and presumptuous.' He didn’t mean to hurt Aziraphale’s feelings, but Aziraphale obviously thought he was stupid and he had a low tolerance for that sort of thing. He wasn’t stupid, he had a bloody master’s degree for fuck’s sake. He enjoyed teaching people new things. Being the guide for someone else’s discovery felt like the very essence of science.
Aziraphale was being stubborn and rude and infuriating, and yes, he had snapped. Regret sat heavy on his shoulders as he pulled them into the sleeves of a dark grey button down and a black pinstripe vest, fastening the buttons with imprecise, frustrated fingers. Whether the frustration was directed at Aziraphale or himself was difficult to determine. Likely a generous dose of both. After wriggling into a pair of tight black trousers, Crowley grabbed his mobile, keys, and wallet, and headed for the front door, making sure to grab his sunglasses on his way out.
Crowley lowered his eyebrows as he entered the office. The air was ripe with something tense. He made his way to the research department and Aziraphale waved him over frantically as soon as he spotted him. Crowley rolled his eyes and strode over to meet him at his desk.
“I’m assuming you’ve checked the radar today?” Aziraphale asked expectantly, darting his eyes from Crowley back to the group of monitors in front of him.
“No,” said Crowley, pulling his brows together. Considering how long he had been awake, there hadn’t been a lot of time for radar checking. “I just got here, what is it?” he asked, squinting at the monitor as he leaned over Aziraphale’s shoulder.
The screen displayed a massive echo, dark and brooding. The edge of it was just barely starting to curve into a hook-like shape, easily identifiable as tornado weather. Apparently, the season had started early.
“A tornado watch went out around 6 am for Grayson County. Based on the current cloud formations, we’re predicting a tornado to spawn in about three hours,” Aziraphale explained, keeping his eyes on the monitor as he clicked through several different radar displays and charts of data.
“Three hours? That looks like it’ll be Sherman, if the tornado’s happening in Sherman we have to leave right now,” Crowley insisted despite the tragic fact that coffee from his favorite mug was no longer in the cards that morning.
“I’m well aware,” said Aziraphale. After another moment with his eyes fixed on the screens, Aziraphale closed out every window, stood from his chair, and walked towards the door without so much as a second glance. Crowley stared after him, slightly annoyed, but eventually followed.
“For a moment there I thought you were going to let me reach the driver’s seat before you,” Aziraphale said to Crowley when he caught up.
“I’d sooner let the tornado take me,” Crowley replied. He imagined Aziraphale behind the wheel, driving 10 mph under the speed limit the entire trip. They’d probably miss the storm all together.
“Please grant me the courtesy of staying alive until we return, filing a report on your death sounds like a dreadful amount of paperwork,” Aziraphale said as he pushed open the front doors of the building.
The Texas air greeted Crowley’s skin like a damp towel. He grimaced, somehow still unadapted to the humidity after five years. “I figured you’d revel in that boring, sitting at your desk in spectacles sort of thing,” Crowley replied as they headed for the car. Aziraphale glared at him and Crowley held back a chuckle. The way Aziraphale reacted to a good bit of poking was priceless, it was impossible to leave him unpoked.
“Boring isn’t exactly the word I would use, but if you’re implying that a recounting of your life would be boring, I won’t refute it,” said Aziraphale.
“That’s unfortunate for you, I know how you like to refute,” Crowley replied, swinging open the car door with a flourish and pulling himself on the seat.
He started up the engine and turned on the computer and camera systems. After a quick glance at Aziraphale to make sure he was settled, Crowley shifted the car into gear and hit the gas. Aziraphale looked… nervous? It was hard to tell when he constantly had the energy of a stack of anxiety in an out of style trench coat, but considering that they were about to barrel towards what was likely to be Aziraphale’s first tornado, a bit of nervousness only made sense.
After a few minutes of silent driving, Aziraphale spoke up in an unsteady voice. “I– I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday."
Crowley clenched his jaw. Emotional conversations were not his forte. Even if Aziraphale was right, he was still dreading the reprimanding that would surely come after he managed to choke out an apology. The words were locked tight in his chest, unable to escape through his mouth.
“I was horribly rude to you and I shouldn’t have been. I was having quite the stressful day, but it wasn’t fair to talk to you like that and I… I’m sorry, Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly.
Crowley’s face twisted into something extremely uncomfortable. He wasn't expecting an apology. Should he have been expecting an apology? Aziraphale seemed to think so, the remorse was evident in his voice and it was true that he had been rude. Torn between accepting the sentiment and viciously swatting away Aziraphale’s genuine tone like it was a venomous flying insect, Crowley just sat there quietly. His throat felt tight.
Before he could come up with something to say, Aziraphale started talking again. “How about we start over, hm? Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”
Crowley felt the tension increase in his chest. How did Aziraphale somehow manage a follow up question that felt worse than the apology he’d started with? In a giant pool of “himself,” Crowley usually preferred that others stick to the shallow end, if they were permitted to swim at all. He was not keen on Aziraphale swimming. The next thing that came out of Crowley’s mouth was a dismissive garble of consonants that unfortunately Aziraphale didn’t take as an answer.
“How did you get into this line of work?” Aziraphale asked.
“Mm,” Crowley started, grateful for the surface level suggestion. “I was a bit of a hobby photographer growing up. Pictures of plants, mostly, but after a while I transitioned into landscapes and storms. Started chasing them as soon as I got my driver’s license. It wasn’t till I was about to go to uni that I found out proper chasers had meteorology degrees. Bit of a last minute decision, really.”
Aziraphale was quiet, which, as far as Crowley could tell, was unusual for him. He glanced over at the passenger seat suspiciously to find Aziraphale staring at him with a knitted brow.
“You just woke up one day and decided to get a bachelor's degree in atmospheric science because you liked taking pictures of storms?”
“Yeah,” Crowley said with a shrug. “I actually liked the field so much once I started that I did postgraduate study.” Crowley felt Aziraphale’s eyes remain locked onto him in the silence as he stared down the highway. “What?”
“Nothing, it’s just… Nothing,” he replied. Of course Aziraphale would be surprised by his degree.
“What about you, then?” Crowley asked after an awkward pause.
“I wanted to be a meteorologist for a very, very long time,” Aziraphale replied proudly. “I’ve been fascinated by storms ever since childhood, it was always my dream to become an atmospheric scientist. I received my bachelor’s from the University of Reading.” Crowley nodded, the story aligning with the level of fixation he had seen Aziraphale embody at the office. “I suppose I had just forgotten that it isn’t uncommon for people to make career choices on a whim, considering how different my life path has been. That’s all I meant to say. Quite bold of you,” said Aziraphale.
Oh. “You sound jealous,” said Crowley with a smirk, trying to brush off the embarrassment from his assumption.
“Not at all, I’m perfectly happy with the way I’ve lived my life,” Aziraphale replied, and reached down to pull something out of his leather messenger bag.
Crowley looked over to see him opening a thick hardback book in his lap and took it as a hint that the conversation was over.
As they drove, the sun filtered brightly through the sparse, grey clouds that hung in the sky. The brunt of the storm was still due north of them. Aziraphale had been reading for the past hour and a half, and the whir of the car made for soothing background noise as they raced down the road.
“Don’t go getting sick in my car from all that reading you’ve been doing."
“This isn’t your car. It’s the company’s car,” Aziraphale said plainly, his eyes still on the page.
“Definitely not yours either, though, is it?”
“I wouldn’t have started reading if I was going to get sick, Crowley."
“Right, well, we’re making good time if you want to pull over and grab a bite,” Crowley suggested.
“Only because you refuse to follow the posted speed limit,” Aziraphale replied, finally looking up from his book with a scrutinizing stare. He really needed to get over his issue with speeding before they made it to Sherman.
“Do you want lunch or not?” Crowley shot back, raising his eyebrows and moving his eyes from the road to meet Aziraphale’s gaze.
“I do,” he said, closing his book with a gentle thunk.
“Thought so. I saw a sign for a McDonald’s in a few miles, I’ll pull off when we get there." Crowley faced the road again and readjusted his grip on the wheel.
“You most certainly will not.”
Crowley couldn’t help the laugh that followed. Aziraphale had a way of catching him off guard with the ridiculous things that came out of his mouth. It was almost charming. Almost. “Won’t I? Last I checked, you’re not the one driving,” Crowley said with a smirk.
“Last I checked, you’re the one who wanted to avoid getting sick all over the company’s car,” Aziraphale replied, his tone loaded with sass.
“Too good for a fast food burger, are you?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, I rather think that I am. Especially when there are other options available."
Crowley rolled his eyes. They had been driving past nothing but tall grass for an hour, McDonald’s was a find to be celebrated. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, Aziraphale. I think you’ll manage just this once,” said Crowley, thinking he should get an award for having to put up with the world’s fussiest blond man.
“I will manage, but only because we’re not going to McDonald’s,” Aziraphale stated firmly.
“Do you have to be so stubborn all the time?” Crowley snapped back. “It’s incredibly difficult to work with.”
“If you despise working with me so much, I suppose that means you don’t want one of the sandwiches I brought for us?”
Crowley turned to him with confusion. Aziraphale had his eyebrows raised and Crowley thought he could see a tiny smile at the corners of his lips, but it was hard to tell from only a brief glance.
“You wot?” said Crowley, his eyes back on the road. A surprising offer from someone who disliked him as much as Aziraphale did.
“I knew we were going to be busy with the storm today, so I made two BLT’s for the road before I left my flat this morning,” Aziraphale replied.
“Fine. I’ll eat a sandwich,” Crowley mumbled after a moment of pause. A homemade BLT did sound leagues better than McDonald’s.
“Excellent,” Aziraphale replied, sounding annoyingly pleased with himself.
“I’ll pull off at a gas station and we can eat in the parking lot,” said Crowley, squinting at a blue sign in the distance to determine the exit number.
“If we must,” said Aziraphale with a sigh. Back to being insufferable already.
Crowley frowned in the silence that followed. “Why didn’t you just say you brought food in the first place? Would’ve saved us the trouble of the whole conversation."
“I did say that there were other options.”
“And you expected me to hear that and understand that you made us BLT’s this morning?”
“At the very least, I expected you to ask what the other options were. Conversating does go both ways, Crowley, as much as you seem to enjoy prattling on,” Aziraphale said with a little flourish of his hands.
“Prattling on? I don’t prattle on,” Crowley replied with a scowl, turning the wheel to follow the exit lane off the highway.
“Of course not,” said Aziraphale, opening his book again.
As they waited at the stoplight at the end of the exit, Crowley looked over at Aziraphale. A delicate metal feather was nestled in the center of his book, and he was running his finger up and down the ridged edge as he read. Crowley watched the gentle movement for a while until someone blared on their horn behind them. Startled, Crowley’s eyes flew up to the traffic light ahead of them to see that it was green.
“It’s green,” said Aziraphale.
“I can see that,” Crowley replied, replacing the frown that must’ve left his face at some point before lurching the car forward. They pulled into a parking spot (or more accurately, the middle of two parking spots) at the far corner of the gas station. Aziraphale closed his book again to gather the sandwiches from his bag while Crowley unbuckled his seatbelt and rolled down the windows.
“Here you are,” said Aziraphale as he handed over a large sandwich wrapped in parchment paper.
“Thanks,” Crowley mumbled in response. With his free hand, he turned off the car and placed the keys on top of the dash. Upon unwrapping the sandwich, he discovered a stack of crisp bacon, butter lettuce, an oblong slice of a gorgeous heirloom tomato, and a few pieces of avocado between two thick slices of sourdough. Aziraphale had apparently already started eating his, evidenced by the satisfied hum that interrupted Crowley’s sandwich inspection.
“That good?” he asked with a smirk.
Aziraphale paused mid chew to glare at him. Crowley chuckled and turned to take a bite of his own as Aziraphale resumed eating. Okay, so it was that good. Crowley had never been what Anathema called “a foodie,” but this was a damn good sandwich. The bacon had some sort of smoked flavor to it, which admittedly added a lot to the saltiness, the bread was soft, and the tomato and avocado were chilled, suggesting an ice pack in Aziraphale’s bag.
“How is it?” Aziraphale asked, his eyebrows raised inquisitively.
“'S good,” he said around a generous bite.
Aziraphale frowned displeasingly. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he scolded.
“You asked me with my mouth full!” Crowley protested, his mouth still spitefully full.
“You’re being rude,” said Aziraphale, turning his eyes back to his own sandwich to take another bite.
Crowley finished the portion of sandwich in his mouth and grinned. “Well, seeing as you’ve dubbed me the rude one out of the two of us, I have to live up to the expectation somehow."
“Ah, yes, and what was I? Unpleasant and presumptuous?” Aziraphale asked.
Suddenly Crowley was standing next to him in the rain again after his outburst, feeling waves of regret and self loathing wash over him with the downpour. “Mm,” he replied, pulling himself back to the present. Aziraphale gave him an eyebrow raise and a sideways nod of his head before taking another bite. Crowley stared down at the sandwich in his lap. All of that and Aziraphale had still made him lunch. He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to find the right words. “Sorry about that. Shouldn't have called you names,” he said, looking up at Aziraphale for as long as he could manage.
Aziraphale’s chewing slowed as he processed the words. Crowley’s unfocused gaze drifted back down to his lap, waiting for Aziraphale to finish.
“It’s alright,” Aziraphale eventually replied with gentleness in his voice. “I was giving you a rather hard time.” Crowley just took another bite of BLT with a shrug and kept his eyes down. “I suppose we can all say things we don’t mean when we’re stressed,” Aziraphale continued. Crowley tried to let Aziraphale’s unexpected understanding seep into his pores but his skin felt too tight, too plastic and cold from the memory of the day before. “Besides, we figured it out in the end, didn’t we? You trained me quite well, I should think.”
Crowley finally raised his eyes to meet Aziraphale’s gaze. There they were, those stupid, beautiful eyes. There was a kindness in them that Crowley had never noticed before, and something in him softened as he lost himself in the storm-colored hue. “Yeah,” Crowley replied. He stared at his sandwich, trying to remember the last time someone had made him a meal. It had been ages. Not for about five years. Not since Oliver. Crowley noticed the way the tomato and avocado had been placed in the center to keep the bread fluffy and dry, the way Aziraphale had sliced in half before wrapping it securely and carefully. All that care in his hands didn't feel right.
“Are you alright, Crowley?”
“Hmm?” Crowley said, looking up to meet Aziraphale’s eyes again. Kind. “Yeah, fine. Thanks. For the sandwich.” Aziraphale gave him a small smile. Crowley looked down at his sandwich, and tried to convince himself to take another bite.
After about 20 minutes, they had finished eating and were buckled up to get back on the road. Crowley reached forward with his key and started the car. Well, tried to start the car, it mostly just sputtered. With a slightly more forceful turn of his wrist, he tried again. More sputtering. Crowley furrowed his brows and glared at the key as if it had insulted him and twisted it again, only to yield the same result.
“The car won’t start?” Aziraphale asked.
Crowley ignored him, keeping his eyes locked on the key fob and growling as he tried again. No, the car would start. It would. He just needed to turn it off and on again, that was all. You can turn the thing off and on again if it's already off, right? Course you can. He removed the key, reinserted it, and turned it forwards in a fifth attempt with no luck.
“Work better!” he yelled at the car as he tried yet another time. Crowley had heard about this, about insanity. Trying something over and over and getting the same stupid, maddening result, only to try again.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried. “That is obviously not working!”
“What an astute observation, Aziraphale!” he said, opening the car door to fling himself out of the vehicle and closing it again with a slam. He approached the hood with the intent to open it up and stare into a collection of parts he had no hope of interpreting, but his optimistic fantasy died at the giant plates covering every square inch of the car. Right. He had forgotten he was driving the most inconvenient vehicle in the world.
He tilted his head back with another growl, the brightness of the sun mocking his agony. He should’ve left the car running. They shouldn't have stopped at all, Crowley knew he could eat while he drove, what was he thinking?
Before his thoughts could spiral further, Aziraphale stepped out of the car and met him at the hood. “Alright, so the car won’t start,” Aziraphale supplied unhelpfully.
“I’m acutely aware of that, yes,” he shot back.
“Can we call for a tow to a mechanic?”
“Not with this kind of car we can’t,” said Crowley, already pulling his mobile out of his pocket to call Anathema. “I’m calling the boss, we’ll have to get it towed back to the office.”
“Back to the office? That’s hours away!” Aziraphale said, wringing his hands nervously as Crowley sat down on the hood.
“Yep,” Crowley replied while flicking through his contacts.
“Alright, well, I’ll just pop into the petrol station while you make the call,” said Aziraphale, and hurried away.
As Crowley tapped on Anathema’s name and lifted his mobile to his ear, the few grey clouds in the sky let loose and it began to drizzle. His foot started tapping repetitively where it rested against metal, the rhythm a small, pathetic outlet for the insurmountable agitation that was writhing beneath his skin.
After a few rings, Anathema picked up. “Hello?”
“Yeah, hi. Uh, the car. The car broke down. It won’t start,” he said, clamping his eyelids shut in anticipation of her reply.
“The car won’t start?”
His eyes flew open again in exasperation. “Yes! Why does everyone just keep repeating that? Yes, the car won’t start!”
“Alright, damn,” Anathema replied, and Crowley let out an involuntary grumble that he hoped she could hear. “Where are you?”
“Fuck if I know. We’re in, uh...” Crowley brought his mobile down to eye level to check the GPS. “Ashburn. About 40 miles from Sherman.”
“That’s pretty far out. Do you know how to hot wire a car?”
Crowley knitted his brows and shook his head in exhausted irritation. “Are you seriously asking me to hot wire a car?”
“No, of course not. That would be unprofessional.”
“Right, and that would be unusual for you,” Crowley replied. Anathema had been a wild card as long as he’d known her, and he knew that her suggestion had been genuine.
“Speaking of, how is Aziraphale?” Anathema asked, prompting an eye roll that would’ve given most people vertigo just to witness.
“We weren’t speaking of Aziraphale,” he said sternly. “He’s, I don’t know, he’s fine.”
“Yeah he is,” Anathema replied, and Crowley could practically hear the waggle of her eyebrows in her tone of voice.
“I’m hanging up, and I’m never speaking to you again,” he said, still holding the device to his ear. A good, low-stakes threat never hurt anyone.
“Okay, okay! I’m done. Jeez, tense over there,” she said, and Crowley clenched his teeth so hard it made his head hurt. Why was everyone the most frustrating person alive? “Look,” Anathema continued, “just have the car towed back to the office and I’ll have someone come and take a look at it.”
“That’s the plan. What do you want us to do in the meantime? Chase the tornado on foot? Take a thousand dollar rideshare back to Tadfield?” he asked, the sarcasm not even amusing himself. Clearly, he was at his wits end.
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “I’ll just get you set up at a hotel for the night and come pick you up in the morning,” Anathema said simply, as if she hadn’t just suggested the worst possible idea in existence.
Crowley’s eyes went wide and he pushed himself off the car. “What? No,” was all he could manage as his internal monologue was spewing expletives that hadn’t even been invented yet.
“Mhm, yes.”
“Anathema, no,” Crowley tried, still living in blissful delusion that he could talk her out of this. “I’ll walk back to Tadfield, actually. That‘ll be fine." He started restlessly shifting his weight up onto his toes and back again. Perturbation was beginning to seep out of the soles without his permission, burning his feet.
“Looks like there’s a Hilton near you, I’ll book you a room. It’s about the only thing near you, yikes,” she said, and Crowley thought he might scream.
“‘Yikes?’ Don’t give me ‘yikes,’ Anathema, and a room each, if you absolutely insist on subjecting us to torture,” Crowley said, just to be certain that she hadn’t lost her entire mind.
“I would give you each a room, I really would, but the thing is, we haven’t sold any footage in a while and, confidentially, we’re broke as hell. Fortunately for you, though, we can afford separate beds.”
This was bad. Aziraphale was going to throw a fit. To make matters worse, the drizzle was turning into a steady rain.
“Please don’t do this to me, I’m actually begging you, you have no idea how demeaning that is,” Crowley pleaded, feeling his dignity shrivel into nothingness along with the last remaining shreds of his sanity.
“I’ll email you the check in info, okay? Okay. Bye!”
“Anathema!” Crowley yelled into his mobile, but she had already hung up. “Fucking hell, I’m going to kill that woman.” He had just enough time to let out a loud groan and shove his mobile back into his pocket before Aziraphale was treading back towards the car. In his hands were two candy bars and two coffee cups.
“I got you a coffee, black, if I have it correct,” said Aziraphale, handing him a cup. Crowley watched his hand reach out and take it, barely registering the movement after that lucid nightmare of a phone call. “I don't know about you, but chocolate always cheers me up, so there’s a milk chocolate bar for me and a dark chocolate bar for you. You seem like a dark chocolate sort of man, but if I’ve got it wrong we can trade.” Crowley just stared at him. “Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked with a concerned curve of his brows.
“Why are you being nice to me today? Are you trying to poison me? Is this poisoned?” Crowley looked down suspiciously at the chocolate and coffee in his hands. He did take his coffee black, and he didn’t often eat chocolate but when he did it was dark chocolate. The sight was comforting and confusing and only added propulsion to the bile that was rising up to his throat.
“No! Do you honestly think I carry around vials of poison like some sort of vengeful wife from a mystery novel? We’re both stranded in the middle of nowhere and I thought it might be nice, but if you don’t want it I can take it back,” Aziraphale replied, looking a little embarrassed.
“No, no, 's fine. Sorry,” said Crowley, depleted of any retort for the dorkiest reference Aziraphale could’ve made.
“Alright, then. What did Anathema say?”
Crowley scowled. He tilted his head back so the rain was splattering against his glasses, and prepared to deliver the bad news.
Anathema’s conversation with Crowley back in Chapter 1
Notes:
oooh boy what's gonna happen??? hehehehe
y'all are gonna love next chapter (i hope)
side note: many of you have mentioned either in the comments here or on tumblr that you enjoyed the movie twister! i have never seen twister, and upon googling it i discovered that there are two movies! should i watch one of them? which one? both? this fic is based exclusively off of the various storm chasing tv shows i've seen over the years lol
also sorry the text thing looks kinda weird, i tried for like 30 mins to get it to look better to no avail. alsdkjls damn html. anyways
let me know what you thought of the chapter! see you next sunday :)
Chapter 4: making me question myself
Summary:
As the storm rages on without them, Aziraphale and Crowley are forced to keep each other company.
Notes:
ohhhh boy. here we go. this chapter is on the longer side (about 8.5k), but a very fun journey. a little backstory, a little tension, good stuff
as always, thanks to itsscottiesstark and shades-o-grey for the beta read, and also to rainydropz for the ever reliable cheer read. love you all!
i hope you enjoy! i sure enjoyed writing it
we're back in aziraphale's pov, let's see him crack a little bit hehehe
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“What did Anathema say?”
Aziraphale watched as Crowley tilted his chin up slightly, and for several moments there was silence. Some sort of reaction was reflected on his face, but it was difficult to discern exactly what it was through his sunglasses and the onslaught of rain. At the very least, he looked remarkably uncomfortable.
Though he made quite an effort to hide it, Crowley wasn’t entirely subtle when he was feeling strongly about something. There was the occasional clench in his jaw or tightening of his shoulders. A nauseated twist of his lips while staring at a candy bar. Out of all things to be nauseated by, good gracious.
“Right, uh… I’m going to call for a tow,” Crowley said slowly. He opened his mouth again as if to continue speaking but turned his head to the side.
Aziraphale wanted to feel frustrated. Really, he did, but he was very soft at his core. Concern easily took frustration’s place at the table in the face of Crowley’s disgruntled expression.
“And we’re to ride back with the tow truck?” Aziraphale asked, trying to help his train of thought along.
Crowley swung back to face him and stared for a moment. Aziraphale waited for his response with raised eyebrows. “Yep,” he finally said on an exhale. “No, yeah. We’ll ride back in the truck,” Crowley scrubbed down his face and chuckled. “Anathema had a really stupid idea, that one’s better.”
“Oh, what did she suggest? I wouldn’t want to go against her word, I’m sure her idea wasn't anything of the sort,” said Aziraphale, suddenly feeling guilty for suggesting anything at all.
“Not important. This one’s better, we’re doing this one. I’ll call the towing company right now, just a minute,” he said, and walked away, his hips swaying with every step. His movements were always so fluid, like a dance.
Thoroughly distracted from the plan, Aziraphale watched his steps until hot tea was dripping onto his hand. With a sharp intake of breath from the burn, he inspected his cup to find an indent pressed into the cheap styrofoam where his middle finger had been. Good Lord, he must’ve been gripping it quite tightly without realizing. How incredibly embarrassing. What was it about Crowley that always left him feeling so embarrassed? He quickly took a few sips to bring the tea down to a level that wouldn’t risk further spillage through the crack, trying to savor the sweet taste in anticipation of the bitterly long truck ride home.
After a few minutes of exchanging information, Crowley slipped his mobile back into his pocket and returned to Aziraphale’s side.
“How did it go?” Aziraphale asked expectantly.
“Someone will be here in about half an hour to take us and the car back to Tadfield.”
A weight lifted off Aziraphale’s shoulders. 30 minutes wasn’t long at all. “Wonderful. Shall we wait in the car? It is a bit damp.” The rain was still light, but heavy enough that the shadowy marks from each droplet were starting to make his blue shirt look like a robin’s egg.
“Not if you’re going to spill tea in my car,” Crowley replied with a smirk. “What did that cup do to you?”
Aziraphale glared at him, pleading with his cheeks not to flush. He shifted his hand to cover the hole. “It was an accident, and there’s hardly any left, anyway." He quickly walked around to the passenger side of the car to open the door. “And it’s not your car,” He sat down, and closed the door with a slam.
“Wow!” the tow truck driver called out as he walked over to where Crowley and Aziraphale were waiting. He looked to be in his early twenties, and his hair was styled into two vertical columns, a hairstyle that Aziraphale had never seen before. He always was a little behind the trends. “Cool car! Why’s it look like that?” Cool was surely American slang for ugly.
“It’s vintage,” said Crowley.
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.
“Sweeet. I’m Eric, by the way. You two have a way of getting back? The address you gave me is crazy far."
Aziraphale turned to Crowley, his brows furrowed. Crowley looked equally as confounded. He had sounded quite confident only moments ago that their plans had been settled during their call. Evidently, Eric hadn’t gotten the message.
“We’re riding back with you, right? We discussed it on the phone,” said Crowley, more harshly than was necessary.
“Is that what you said?” Eric replied with a laugh. “I guess ‘ride with you’ does make more sense than ‘vibe with you,’ now that I think about it. I thought you wanted to hit the new Olive Garden with me before I left. Wishful thinking, I suppose.”
“But we can ride with you, right?” Crowley asked, his brows angled sharply above his glasses.
Eric shrugged. “Sure. Passenger seat’s up for grabs."
“Just… one seat?” Aziraphale asked, instinctively grasping his hands together in front of his stomach. Crowley wouldn’t leave without him, would he? He certainly didn’t have many reasons not to, after the events of yesterday.
“Yeah, only two seats in the truck. I’d offer to let you sit in your own car, but the last time I did that my boss told me that our customers aren’t as disposable as I am.” Eric laughed, but Aziraphale was horrified. Customer service sounded like Hell. “He’s a funny guy, always joking around. He just means that your safety is our priority."
Well, there went that particular escape route. Perhaps Crowley would still be amenable to Anathema’s plan. Surely she had arranged another way of getting them home, she seemed to be a very practical woman even if Crowley didn’t have much faith in her. Aziraphale gave Eric a weak smile and turned towards Crowley, who could’ve passed for a plank of wood, completely stiff.
“We might need a moment, if you don’t mind,” Aziraphale said to Eric with a polite smile.
“No problem, I’ll start loading her up,” Eric replied, and walked back towards the tow truck.
Scanning over Crowley’s tense figure, Aziraphale braced himself for the worst before suggesting the best option at their disposal. He tried to siphon some hope into his lungs as he took a deep breath. “Shall we change course to Anathema’s plan?”
“You should go with him,” said Crowley, motioning with his head towards the truck.
Aziraphale frowned. Out of every response he could’ve predicted, this one did not make the list. If he were to go with Eric, Crowley would be left alone. That certainly wouldn’t do, and the noise and smell of the truck assaulting his senses only served to solidify his decision.
“Don’t be silly, Crowley,” he replied. “I’m not going to leave you by yourself in the middle of nowhere. What did Anathema suggest?”
“I’ll figure it out, go on,” Crowley replied stubbornly.
Aziraphale furrowed his brows in frustration. Why was he insisting on such a horrible plan? “If there’s a backup plan, I’d at least like to hear it."
“Nnghh, fine,” Crowley grumbled. He took a breath. “Anathema wants to pick us up in the morning.”
“In the morning?” Aziraphale asked, struggling to follow.
“She…” Crowley exhaled with another annoyed grumble. “She booked a hotel room for us.”
“Oh!” said Aziraphale, relieved to hear that the plan was very normal indeed. He wasn’t looking forward to a long drive home after the stress of the car breaking down, and a bed to relax in sounded splendid right about now. Thank goodness Anathema had booked a… oh. “Oh. A hotel room? Only one?” Aziraphale asked, just to be clear. He swallowed, his collar suddenly feeling rather tight around his neck.
Crowley's face morphed into something alarmingly similar to a rumpled paper bag. “It was a money thing, apparently. Wasn't my idea. I– I’ll ride back with Olive Garden, if you don’t want to. I don’t blame you, he seems deeply annoying."
“Crowley, I’d hate to subject you to three hours in the truck by yourself…” Aziraphale trailed off, his thoughts overcome by the prospect of having to share a bed with Crowley. Crowley, next to him with his eyes closed, breathing slow and deep underneath the sheets. Perhaps he got cold at night and would need him to–
“There are definitely two beds in the hotel, so it wouldn’t be, uh… If that helps at all,” said Crowley, busying his eyes with anything but Aziraphale.
It helped. Certainly, it helped. “If there are two beds, the hotel seems just fine,” Aziraphale said, smoothing down the front of his shirt. Why did he assume there would only be one bed? That would be ridiculous. Of course there were going to be separate beds. He read too many books.
“Right,” Crowley replied. “I— I’ll just order us a lift then.”
“That’s, yes, thank you,” Aziraphale said. His heart rate slowed. Surely, it did, because this was a very normal, professional, sharing of a hotel room with his colleague. “I’ll break the news to Eric. I hope he won’t be too disappointed,” he continued, looking over at where he was raising the car off of the pavement. Crowley was already buried in his mobile, so Aziraphale straightened his bowtie and went off to tell him.
“Thank you so much for the offer, Eric, but I think we’re going to stay."
“Oh, alright. Still interested in Olive Garden before I go?” Eric asked.
Crowley walked up with his hands in his pockets, and Aziraphale looked to him for a rescue that did not come. “Ah. Well, Crowley here has… hm.” He glanced at Crowley again, who unhelpfully raised an eyebrow and said nothing. “Gluten intolerance. I’ve heard it’s not worth the trouble without the bread sticks,” he finished with an awkward laugh. The lie settled in his stomach like a rock, but it seemed like a better option than making him feel unwanted. Though, they really never had expressed interest in Olive Garden.
“That’s alright! There’s a chicken place down the street,” Eric replied with an oblivious smile.
“It’s an intolerance to more than just gluten,” said Crowley with a smirk.
Aziraphale gave him a reprimanding glare before turning back to Eric with a smile. “We won’t be able to join you, I’m afraid. Thank you for taking care of the car. Drive safely."
“No problem at all," Eric replied. "You two be safe as well. I don’t know if you heard, but we’re supposed to be getting a storm. Going to be one big avocado."
Having absolutely no idea as to what that phrase could have possibly meant, Aziraphale simply nodded and gave him a thumbs up.
After climbing into the driver’s seat of the truck, Eric left the parking lot with the company car in tow.
Crowley pulled out his mobile again to check on the status of their rideshare. “Two minutes. Need a refresh on your tea? I might get a refill before we head out."
“Ah, um, no. That’s quite alright, thank you,” Aziraphale replied.
Crowley tipped back the rest of his coffee, tossed the empty cup into a nearby bin, and waited beside Aziraphale until their driver arrived.
The trip was 20 minutes long, and they sat in silence for the entire ride. Crowley, glued to his phone; Aziraphale, deep in his thoughts.
Aziraphale rarely allowed himself to dwell on Crowley, but there was something about him. Something shifting beneath the surface, peeking timidly through the dark clothing and bristling demeanor he shrouded himself in. Yesterday, after everything, Crowley had been… kind. There wasn’t really a plainer word for it. Though Aziraphale had struggled to sleep that night, tossing and turning until all hours of the morning – he’d made his bed and there was nothing to do but lie in it – Crowley’s kindness still found its way through serrated bed rails.
Crowley had been an excellent teacher and Aziraphale learned a lot from him. Intelligence flowed from Crowley like water, natural and effortless. Thoughtless, even. Aziraphale was smart, certainly, but knowledge didn’t come to him in that way. For Aziraphale, it was more of a practiced ritual. Something to cling to in the vast ocean of an uncertain world. A crutch.
During their training session, Crowley had demonstrated how to operate the camera equipment, how to collect data while they worked, and emphasized that if everything should go pear-shaped he was to get in the car and allow Crowley to handle the rest. Which was, admittedly, a comforting suggestion. As much as he felt prepared for his first tornado, he rather liked the idea of being in a heavy, enclosed vehicle if a storm was going to wreak havoc upon them.
And now, Crowley had even apologized. It wasn’t expected, but it did help to put him a bit more at ease, something he hadn’t realized he’d been craving. Wracked with guilt all morning, it was somewhat comforting to know he hadn’t been alone with the feeling. Aziraphale knew it wasn't uncommon for one to say something hurtful while stressed, and while it absolutely required amends, it was a relief to learn that they could start again. Careless tongues could be forgiven.
Aziraphale had never been particularly skilled at maintaining friendships, due to his unique and apparently strange way of thinking, but Crowley made him wonder if the problem wasn’t his lack of skill at all. Perhaps the problem was the friendships he was trying to maintain. It was different with Crowley.
Regardless of whether or not that was true, Crowley was quickly shedding the assumptive layers Aziraphale had been draping over him for months, and he owed it to him to start over.
They arrived at the hotel just as the weather began to escalate. Though they were still miles from the heart of the storm, a heavy darkness was spread far across the atmosphere and rain was coming down in buckets. Dashing inside to where it was dry, the gentle closing of the front door behind them muted the thundering clouds as they approached the front desk.
“Anthony Crowley,” Crowley told the concierge.
Aziraphale smiled softly. Anthony. He had almost forgotten that Crowley wasn’t his first name, he hardly ever used anything else.
“I’ll just need your ID and a credit card,” the concierge replied. Crowley placed the cards down on the counter, and Aziraphale had to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing at his ID. It really wasn’t the best photo. Grumpy as ever, Crowley’s curls were messy and long, his glasses were off, and it seemed like he must’ve blinked as the camera flashed. Aziraphale managed not to laugh, but he must’ve at least exhaled louder than usual because Crowley turned his head with a glare.
“Shut up,” he said, and picked up his ID to hand it directly to the woman behind the desk.
“I didn’t say anything at all,” Aziraphale replied innocently, pulling his lips around his teeth to conceal a smile.
Key cards in hand, they ventured into the elevator and up to the third floor to find their room. It didn’t take long, and the cards let them in without issue. The room was small, but suitable. Along with the expected separate beds and adjoining bathroom, there was also a chair and large dresser. Atop the dresser was a TV, a small machine for hot water, and a stack of cups beside it.
The door clicked behind them, closing them into the small space with two invisible suitcases of full awkwardness.
Unsure of what to do with himself, Aziraphale walked a few paces into the room, set his bag down on the chair, and pulled out his phone to check the radar. It looked about the same: still brooding, still a strong chance of a tornado. Tragic, really, considering their predicament.
Crowley immediately sprawled across the bed on the left, lounging against the pillows in the boneless sort of way he always seemed to manage so effortlessly.
Aziraphale took a seat on the edge of the opposite bed. “It’s a shame we’ll be missing the storm, this one seemed rather promising." He knew it was common for storms to seem like they would spawn a tornado only to peter out before the clouds could touch down, but this one looked especially daunting.
Crowley placed his sunglasses on the nightstand and settled further into bed. “I’m going to have a nap."
“Right now?” Aziraphale asked, but Crowley's eyes were already closed. Aziraphale pursed his lips, partly with annoyance and partly with jealousy. Sleep didn’t come easily to him at night, much less during the day. However, he had brought a book along for a reason, so he fetched it from his bag and opened it up on the bed as Crowley dozed off.
It took about an hour and half for Aziraphale to finish the remainder of his novel. After scanning the last page, he closed the cover and turned to Crowley. Still asleep. Of course. Why wouldn't he be? Aziraphale's eyes glazed over his long legs, somehow tangled in themselves, watched the rhythm of his breathing, and did not wish to be closer to him. That would be ridiculous.
For entirely different reasons, he kept a soft gaze on Crowley’s restful form, thinking about absolutely nothing at all, until he began to stir a short while later. As he shifted and rolled onto his back, Aziraphale quickly opened the book to a random page, pretending to be deeply engrossed in the verse, much too busy to be doing any sort of staring. It was probably a bit too early in the story, a part he had been reading in the car, but he doubted Crowley had been paying attention.
“What time 's it,” Crowley mumbled.
It took great strength to keep his attention away from the molasses of Crowley's tone, all slow and rich with the dregs of sleep. He probably still had his sunglasses off. Aziraphale may or may not have been interested in another peek at his eyes, but he refrained, simply glancing over at his watch and back to the page in front of him. “1:07 pm.”
Crowley groaned and pushed himself to a sitting position. “I’m going to the gas station. Red or white?”
“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale finally looked over at Crowley. Oh, dear. He was right. No sunglasses.
“Wine. We’ve got a lot of time and not shit to do. Red or white.”
“I hardly think it’s appropriate to be drinking in the afternoon.”
Crowley stared at him with an eyebrow raised. Oh. Oh, his eyes. It was just unfair. “Alright,” he replied, stepping out of bed.
Well… he was right about having nothing to do. Aziraphale had already finished his book, and though there was always subpar hotel television, a drink might make for a more comfortable evening. “Red,” he eventually replied.
Crowley nodded, grabbed his key card and his sunglasses, and left the room.
The gas station was right down the street, so it was only about 20 minutes before Aziraphale heard the click of a room key unlocking the door. Crowley entered the room completely drenched. Oh, good lord. His hair was wet, his shirt was clinging to his chest and Aziraphale was clinging to his wits.
Crowley set a large bag onto the counter and started to rifle through it as water dripped off of his glasses and onto the crinkling plastic. “Here,” he said, tossing a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a bar of soap onto Aziraphale’s bed. “Hotel soap's always rubbish."
Oh. Aziraphale stared down at it all. A blue toothbrush, spearmint toothpaste, and lavender scented soap. Completely unnecessary, just because it was better than the hotel's, soap. It was an incredibly thoughtful gesture. Crowley was thoughtful.
Before he had the chance to say thank you, Crowley was speaking again. “I’m going to hop in the shower. I saw a dryer down the hall to the left, could you toss my clothes in? Don’t really have any spares.”
Aziraphale blinked at him. “Yes, of course,” he eventually replied. “Are you just going to…” He trailed off, flicking his eyes down to the wet garments stuck to his body. He didn’t allow himself to finish the sentence nor the thought, but the warmth spreading across his cheeks was saying more than enough.
“I’ll put them outside the bathroom door,” Crowley said, pulling his wallet and mobile out of his pockets and setting them on the dresser.
“Right, of course,” Aziraphale replied, immediately feeling very foolish. What was he expecting? Foolish.
“Thanks,” said Crowley, and walked into the bathroom.
Aziraphale heard a sudden rush of water from the shower and tried very, very hard not to think about Crowley disrobing. After a few seconds, the door creaked open, a heap of wet clothing flopped down onto the carpet, and the door closed again. Aziraphale stared at the pile with wide eyes. This was fine. He would just pick up Crowley’s clothes and toss them into the dryer, there was nothing to it. Nothing besides touching Crowley’s clothes. Why was that an issue? It wasn’t an issue. With a huff, Aziraphale stood to gather the clothes and made his way out the door.
Thankfully, the dryer wasn't difficult to find. He opened the metal door, tossed the garments in and twisted the dial to “more dry.” Perfectly simple. The machine spun to a start, and Aziraphale froze.
He couldn’t go back to the room now. Crowley didn’t have any clothes. Crowley was in the shower, he didn’t have any clothes, and what if he came out of the bathroom in a towel? What if he came out of the bathroom in a towel, and Aziraphale was just sitting there, and Crowley got horribly embarrassed and didn’t speak to him for the rest of the night? What if he… didn’t get embarrassed? Oh, dear.
Aziraphale had worked diligently for months to suppress any feelings of attraction towards Crowley, but he was obviously losing strength. Learning that he was genuinely caring had only made matters worse. The soap. Aziraphale didn’t need soap. Crowley knew he didn't need soap, the hotel certainly provided it, but he bought the damn soap anyway. Lavender soap, even. Nice smelling soap.
Crowley was thoughtful. He was thoughtful, and smart, and kind, and ravishing, and it had become far too much to bear. Oh, Maggie would be thrilled.
Unable to deny it any longer, Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut. He had feelings for Crowley. Horribly inconvenient and pointless feelings, he might add. It wasn’t like he was going to pursue him. Of course not. Aziraphale didn’t engage in that sort of thing, platonic or otherwise, and he had grown to prefer it that way. Distance was the safest, most comfortable option. He knew he was different, in more ways than one, and if his relationship with Maggie was anything to go off of, keeping others at arm's length seemed to keep them at least slightly near him. If Crowley was to remain in his life at all, he would have to keep this silly little crush to himself.
After 10 minutes of rehearsing a very normal, non-enamored way to return Crowley’s clothes, he took a deep breath and opened up the dryer to collect the laundry.
He reached inside and- God have mercy, the clothes were warm. This was to be expected, of course, but what he didn’t expect was the longing. Gazing down at clothing he had just seen wrapped around Crowley’s body, Aziraphale was hit with a sudden, intense longing for the warmth to be from Crowley’s skin. Warmth felt from touching him, holding him. The feeling came on like a wave, powerful and inescapable. He tried to breathe through it while soaking up the heat with open, greedy palms.
Oh, this was bad. How had things gotten so bad so quickly? He must’ve been holding back the floodgates for a long time, the water had seemingly gotten very, very high.
He would have to return to the room at some point. Their room. It was inevitable. With another deep breath, he gathered the warm clothes into his arms with what was almost a wince, and decided to just get it over with.
Arriving outside of their room, Aziraphale inserted his key card and creaked the door open with measured caution, praying for Crowley to still be in the bathroom. Thankfully, he was. Aziraphale took a moment to collect himself before knocking on the bathroom door. This was fine. Everything was normal. He took a deep breath, and knocked.
“It’s Aziraphale, I have your clothing,” he said meekly. It was good enough. The door opened. Aziraphale’s heart leapt into his throat, but Crowley only allowed for a narrow crack to reach his arm through. He swallowed and placed the clothes into Crowley's hand.
“Thanks,” Crowley’s voice echoed from inside the bathroom. The door closed again.
Aziraphale sat down on the edge of his bed, fiddling with his hands in his lap. He desperately needed a distraction. Grabbing his book from the nightstand, he positioned himself against the headboard and opened it to the first page. He hoped that re-reading the first chapter would be mundane enough to calm his nerves but still hold his attention while he waited for Crowley to emerge.
Just as he was settling into the story, the bathroom door swung open. Aziraphale glanced up from his book only to immediately look away again as Crowley stepped out into the room. Oh. There was something so unfortunately domestic about seeing him fresh out of the shower.
Staring blankly at the book in his hands was no use. The words on the page had become completely devoid of meaning, like they were written in a language he didn’t speak. Aziraphale took a deep breath. He could handle this. He closed his book, set it aside, and bravely lifted his eyes to Crowley again. He was standing by the dresser, his loose, darkened curls dampening the shoulders of his dry shirt and his cheeks blushing pink from the hot water. He could maybe handle this.
Crowley had his hands in the petrol station bag, unloading a large bottle of red wine. Drinking in a hotel room in the middle of the day still felt a little odd, but Aziraphale was feeling a strong need for copious amounts of alcohol right about now, so he withheld any comments. After filling two tiny plastic cups, Crowley held one out to him. Making sure to avoid any overlap with Crowley’s fingers in the transfer, Aziraphale accepted the drink and took a generous sip. For petrol station wine, the taste was surprisingly tolerable.
“Should we… put something on the television?” Aziraphale asked.
Crowley shrugged. “Sure.” He brought the bottle and the remote over to their shared nightstand, and relaxed his back against his pillows with an exhale.
Out of all the options within their limited cable access, Crowley had insisted that Mission Impossible 3 was the best choice. Aziraphale was eager to put positively anything on, so he agreed.
He tried very hard to concentrate on the movie. It wasn’t his usual genre, but he did try to keep himself distracted. However, 30 minutes and a second cup of wine later, he looked over at Crowley, dark and mysterious and intriguing, and his mouth ran away with his thoughts. “Where are you from?”
“London,” Crowley answered, keeping his eyes on the screen.
“Oh! Well, so am I. I was living in Soho."
“So was I.”
“Were you really? How incredibly odd. I’m surprised we never ran into each other.”
“Gabriel said the same thing when you joined the team." Crowley turned his head to meet his gaze. “Called us both ‘wankers,’” he said, pronouncing the word in an exaggerated American accent.
“That sounds like Gabriel,” Aziraphale replied, swallowing down the unpleasant taste the name left in his mouth with another sip of wine.
“Wouldn’t shut up the entire first week you got here. Seemed like he might’ve fancied you,” Crowley said, raising an eyebrow.
Aziraphale pursed his lips and looked down into his cup. “Oh, he most definitely did. Took me far too long to notice that unfortunate little detail.”
Crowley angled his torso to face him and propped his arm up on a pillow. “All the talk about your arms didn’t tip you off?”
It seemed that Gabriel had indeed been discussing him. How unfortunate.
“Ah, hm,” Aziraphale said with a weak smile. It was incredibly obvious in hindsight, but the grime-coated flattery had come off more patronising than affectionate at the time. “I’m afraid it took a more direct approach for me to understand the full picture.”
“Do tell,” said Crowley, gesturing for him to continue.
Aziraphale sighed. “Well, he asked me to accompany him in the chaser car after work on my first day. Since I wasn’t really acquainted with anyone at OMENS yet, I told him I would, but very quickly regretted it. I don’t know why I expected there to be actual meteorology taking place, but there most certainly was not. It was storming, and we went through a loose version of the whole chasing routine, but it mostly seemed like he wanted to drive around recklessly solely for the purpose of driving around recklessly.”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “He does that, almost got us killed once. Put all four of us at risk and didn’t really seem to care. I ended up telling him off in front of the whole office.”
So, there had been a reason for all of the shouting that day. Of course. Yelling wasn’t something Aziraphale regularly approved of, but it did almost seem justified. Aziraphale stared down into his wine. He had been so needlessly judgemental of Crowley. “Well, he really shouldn't have been doing that. To either of us."
“He was probably trying to impress you.”.
“It didn’t work,” Aziraphale replied, looking back up at him with pursed lips. Crowley snickered. “It’s not funny, Crowley.”
“It’s funny that he thought that would work on you,” Crowley clarified, finishing his cup of wine and reaching for the bottle. He was wearing a dazzling smirk, and Aziraphale had to look away again as a smile crept onto his cheeks. Gabriel was not his most favorite subject, but Crowley’s expression did make the topic feel a bit lighter.
“Yes, well, he didn’t really attempt to get to know me first,” Aziraphale said. Crowley held out his hand for Aziraphale’s cup and topped them both off. “He asked me again the next day, I’m not sure what possessed me to agree, but–”
“A death wish?” Crowley interrupted.
“Of course not. A misguided attempt to fit in, I suppose. That’s usually how I find myself in such asinine situations,” Aziraphale replied. He stared down at the streaks of red staining his cup, suddenly feeling vulnerable after letting something so personal slip out. Crowley was proving a bit too easy to talk to. He ran his palm down his trousers and took another sip of wine before continuing. “At the end of the night, we parked back at the office and he tried to kiss me.” Crowley raised his eyebrows and Aziraphale nodded. “I just about slapped him.”
“You should’ve, sounds like he deserved it."
“I just sort of leaned away with a very loud ‘no, thank you’ and he got the hint.”
“Awful. Sorry about that. No wonder he never mentioned your second drive.”
Aziraphale smiled weakly and looked up at the gentle expression surrounding Crowley's sunglasses. “Oh, it all worked out in the end. By the following week he was seeing Beelzebub, and, well… The rest is history." Crowley scoffed, shaking his head. "It was a relief to be perfectly honest, and they seemed to take to each other quite nicely.”
“Brash idiots aren’t your type, then?” Crowley asked, a smirk curling his lips.
“Heavens, no. He reminded me far too much of my colleagues back in London.”
“Bunch of Gabriel’s? Sounds like a pleasant work environment.”
Aziraphale gave him a weak laugh, and didn’t explain how desperately he had sought their company regardless. He didn't explain how delighted he had been when they called him a friend, even if it meant he was to be the punch line of every joke. It was embarrassing. It took quite some time to realize that they probably weren’t his friends at all, and that each playful jab had been delivered by thorns dipped in poison. By the time he left London, their words had grown like nettle through the canals of his heart, and ‘friend’ was recognizable only as arrhythmia and a sharp sting.
“So, you knew I was from Soho?” Aziraphale asked, eager to change the subject.
“I did.“
“How? I don’t recall mentioning it to Gabriel. He didn’t exactly ask me a lot of questions."
Crowley paused, staring into his cup as if there was something fascinating inside and not just red liquid. “I looked you up after the conference in Dallas.”
Lovely. Out of all things he could’ve said, it had to have been the conference.
“Were you searching for my email to interrogate me further?” Aziraphale asked, regrettably sounding a bit sharp while trying not to frown at the mention of their humiliating encounter.
Crowley stared at him in silence for a moment before a chuckle burst through his lips. “Wot?” he asked, a smile creeping onto his face. It was easy and gentle, not like any smile Aziraphale had seen on him before. It lit up his whole face.
Aziraphale was so captivated that he almost forgot his question all together. “Why did you look me up?” he managed.
“Your presentation. I thought you did well and I wanted to know who you were. We didn’t exactly get much time to talk before you were dumping scalding liquids on me,” Crowley replied. His smile transformed to something that could almost be considered shy. That didn’t seem like it could be true, but Crowley had done nothing but surprise him since they had started working together.
Aziraphale blushed, either from the softness of Crowley’s expression or the memory of his own clumsiness. “I–I don’t understand. You spent my entire presentation pestering me with questions I had no hope of answering.”
“They were proper questions! I wanted to know what you thought!"
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Crowley, you asked my opinion on the motivations for the United States joining the Paris Agreement.”
“Exactly!” said Crowley, gesturing with his free hand for emphasis. “Very relevant to climate change.”
“I lived in London!” Aziraphale exclaimed.
“I didn’t know that. 'S far as I knew, you’d been living in the states for years,” Crowley said with a shrug, burying his face in his wine.
Well, alright. That was fair.
“Well, I hadn’t. My interview with Anathema was scheduled around the same time as the conference. I figured I’d apply to present and if I was accepted, I would interview in person."
”And now I know, and I won’t ask you about the Paris Agreement anymore,” said Crowley, finishing another cup of wine.
“You can ask me about the Paris Agreement, just not about United States environmental politics. Give me another few months first, please,” Aziraphale replied, tipping back the last bit of his own wine.
Every misconception he had about Crowley disappeared as the last drop left his cup. All of his assumptions had been born from a lack of understanding, an internal resistance to look just a little bit closer. Crowley hadn’t tried to embarrass him at all. It actually seemed as though his intentions were rooted in admiration. What’s more, his anger wasn’t gratuitous but righteous, and he had succeeded in his field by means of dedication and passion, not by being a smart-aleck. What Aziraphale was uncovering was a different person entirely.
“A few months, I’m going to hold you to that. Mark it in my calendar,” said Crowley with a nod.
“I’m surprised you have a calendar,” Aziraphale replied in a playfully mocking tone.
“Course I do. Tons of calendars.”
“Tons of calendars? Why on Earth would you need tons of calendars.”
“Back-ups,” Crowley said, reaching for the bottle.
Aziraphale’s lips curved upwards at the ridiculous implication. Crowley seemed to be quite drunk indeed. Either that, or he was always this lighthearted and silly, but the latter seemed far more hazardous to his heart. Aziraphale was beginning to lose track of how much he was drinking himself, but the wine really was quite good. He was more than willing for Crowley to pour them both another cupful.
“You are ridiculous. And drunk,” said Aziraphale, hiding his smile behind his replishined wine.
“Not drunk,” Crowley replied, wagging a finger at him. “Tipsy. Big difference.” He sat back and took a sip from his own full cup.
“How long have you been in the United States?" Aziraphale asked. "Longer than I have, it seems."
“Five years,” Crowley replied.
“What brought you to Tadfield?”
Crowley paused for a long moment, staring into his drink and swirling it around before answering. “Wanted a fresh start.”
Aziraphale offered him a small smile. He had to admit to wanting the same when he had moved. There was silence for a moment. Crowley was getting that uncomfortable look about him again so Aziraphale didn’t press further, just gazed at him softly. His hair was beginning to dry, and each strand was returning to its lovely, resplendent color. Had he used the hotel’s shampoo? What would it smell like if they were sitting side by side?
“Do you do anything other than read?” Crowley asked, interrupting his thoughts.
Aziraphale almost laughed. Though the question seemed rude, his tone easily softened the blow. The combination was unfortunately rather endearing. “Are you attempting to ask about my hobbies?”
“I suppose I am.”
Aziraphale paused for a moment in thought. “I like music." Best to keep it simple.
“Do you, now? Quite a surprise, considering the way you turn your nose up at what I usually listen to."
“Well, I don’t listen to what you listen to. I prefer symphonics,” Aziraphale replied, struggling not to stare at Crowley’s lips as they curled upwards.
“You would."
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Aziraphale said, though he was far too tipsy to be concerned that Crowley was making fun of him.
“It just makes sense for you. All sophisticated with your cute little bow ties and your spectacles and your ‘symphonics,’” Crowley replied, wiggling his fingers in the air.
Surely Crowley hadn’t just called him cute. Clearly, Aziraphale had consumed far more wine than his best estimates.
Before they knew it, the sun had set, the storm had quieted, and the bottle of wine was completely empty. Crowley was facing Aziraphale with his legs hanging off the side of the bed, leaning slightly forwards, and trying to think of a point to the absolute nonsense he had been spouting. Aziraphale was perched at the edge of his own bed, much more drunk than he had intended to be. It was taking all his strength not to quiet Crowley’s rambling with a kiss.
“My point is,” Crowley was saying.
Aziraphale nodded, staring at him like he was made of diamonds.
“Ducks. That’s my point. Ducks are semi-aquatic. Flying way up in the sky all the time, can’t tell me they aren’t splashing around in the clouds.”
“Splashing around in the– Crowley, y'can’t splash in a cloud. Splashing’s for liquids.”
“No, no, continuous phase, Aziraphale. You know this. Clouds are liquids. Sometimes.” Crowley replied seriously.
“Takes one to know one,” Aziraphale replied, giving in to a wide smile.
“Are you calling me a cloud? No need t'be homophobic,” Crowley said, barely holding back a chuckle.
Aziraphale started giggling, and the rest of Crowley’s laugh quickly followed. He concentrated very hard and tried to explain. A rather difficult task when the room was a little blurry and Crowley was wearing a stunning, unrestrained grin as he tried to catch his breath.
"No, ’m calling you a liquid. You... take the shape of the container you’re in,” Aziraphale said, gesturing vaguely.
“You wot?” Crowley managed through his laughter.
“The way you sit in chairs, and— ’s like you have no bones, jus' liquid in there. You and your hips, always sloshing about,” Aziraphale said, beginning to giggle again.
“Got plenty of bones. Very pointy, me,” Crowley insisted with a grin.
Aziraphale smiled. He felt so warm and melty inside. Crowley looked like a dream with his bright smile and his perfectly pink, inviting lips. What if they were to just... Oh, no. Aziraphale was in quite a state, he probably needed to go to bed. Actually, he definitely needed to go to bed.
“I should be getting to sleep,” he said, bracing his arms on the bed to push himself up.
“Oh, really?” Crowley asked, his smile quickly falling from his face.
Rising to his feet, Aziraphale quickly discovered that the space between their beds was far smaller than he had anticipated. Crowley was sitting on the edge of his bed with his legs spread, and Aziraphale was now standing between his knees. They were dangerously close. Crowley was looking up at him so sweetly.
Losing his balance as he gazed down, Aziraphale swayed forward and steadied himself with Crowley's shoulder. Warm. Crowley was so warm.
Crowley inhaled sharply through his nose, probably alarmed at the uninvited contact.
Aziraphale quickly dropped his arm to his side, embarrassed. "Yes. Awfully tired, so sorry."
Blushing furiously, Aziraphale quickly moved away in the direction of the bathroom. He closed himself inside and clenched his eyes shut, running his fingers through his hair with a deep breath. Aziraphale was far too drunk. He needed to get to sleep immediately.
Stepping up to the sink, he realized his bathroom supplies were still on the bed. Perfect, just perfect. With a severe pout and an exaggerated exhale, he opened up the bathroom door again and stepped out into the room.
Crowley was sitting exactly where Aziraphale had left him. The only difference now was that he was leaning back on his hands with his head facing the ceiling. He turned his head as Aziraphale entered the room, and Azirpahale smiled at him awkwardly before picking up his toiletries and hurrying back into the bathroom.
After brushing his teeth and splashing cold water on his face, Aziraphale looked around for his pyjamas. Ah, yes. No pyjamas. Oh, and sleeping in slacks sounded so terribly uncomfortable. Well. The wine had left him feeling rather warm (and rather unbridled, for that matter), so he decided to undress to his vest and pants. It felt more than a little scandalous, but he could only hope that a hasty trip to the bed to hide under the covers would help him avoid any indecent exposure. Indecent exposure would be in poor taste. It would.
Looking in the mirror, he was relieved to see that his top surgery scars were covered. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of them - he was rather proud, especially considering how hard he had worked to get them. This was just not the time to be having that conversation with Crowley. Not while half-drunk and wholly flustered.
With a final woozy blink into the mirror, he exited the bathroom. Crowley had his glasses off, his eyes closed, and was breathing slow and deep under the covers. Aziraphale crept quietly across the room, climbed into bed and pulled the sheets over himself. He rolled onto his side and gazed at Crowley softly. He looked peaceful. It was almost exactly as he had imagined.
“Night,” Crowley mumbled from across the room.
Aziraphale’s eyes widened. He wasn’t asleep. “When is Anathema picking us up?” he asked, trying to pretend that he hadn’t been staring at him with hearts in his eyes.
“9? Maybe 10? Can’t remember,” Crowley replied, his voice low and sleepy.
Aziraphale bit down on his lip. There was that pesky longing again. To hold him close, to hear that sleep-muddled voice whispered in his ear. “Alright. Goodnight, Crowley,” he replied softly.
“Night, ‘Ziraphale.”
Aziraphale closed his eyes, and the gentle ghost of Crowley’s tone and the haze of the wine lulled him to sleep.
The next morning, Aziraphale awoke to harsh, blinding light filtering through the hotel’s flimsy window blinds. He squinted and shielded his eyes from the assaulting brightness as his temples throbbed vengefully. Would it have been so difficult to eat dinner last night? Oh, God. Last night.
He turned his head to the bed beside him. Crowley was laying on his back, and the sunlight was falling in rectangular beams across his bare chest. Good lord. When had Crowley taken his shirt off? It was incredibly inconsiderate of him to be so scarcely clothed when Aziraphale already needed several glasses of water.
The thought quickly wrenched up memories of the night before. How freely they had smiled and laughed, how Crowley had been so silly and charming, and how badly Aziraphale had wanted to kiss him. The yearning was paralyzing, and in that moment Aziraphale could do nothing but lay there and watch him breathe.
After a few moments, he shut his eyes tightly. This was not the time to be staring at Crowley while he slept. In fact, there wasn’t a time to be staring at Crowley while he slept at all, ever. He needed a shower. A shower, a hot cup of tea and maybe a hotel breakfast muffin if he could stomach it.
He pushed the covers off and sat up. After waiting for the pounding in his head to subside, he stepped out of bed slowly and carefully so as not to wake his coworker and tiptoed to the bathroom.
The hot shower helped to ease his headache, and the lavender scent of the soap settled his nerves. Of course it did. Stupid soap. Stupid, wonderful smelling, soothing soap. Crowley had even purchased an especially moisturizing brand. Did he usually? Was Crowley’s skin soft? He had certainly seen a lot of it by now, that gorgeous olive undertone and smattering of freckles. Oh, to smooth a hand across his chest and count each precious embellishment. Perhaps he would trail his fingers down to his hips and look into those stunning eyes as he— Aziraphale frantically turned the tap to cold. No.
After shivering under icy water for about 30 seconds, he took a deep breath and turned the faucet off. This was a disaster. Why had they both gotten so drunk? He only wished it was enough drink to forget the evening all together, how light and almost intimate it had been. It was wonderful. Not that it mattered. They were colleagues, and that was how it was going to stay.
Aziraphale dried himself off, brushed his teeth, and got dressed. Seeing Crowley halfway undressed that morning was derailing enough that he had forgotten to make sure he had his clothes with him at all, but luckily, he had left them in a heap on the bathroom floor in his drunken stupor. Less lucky were the excessive amount of wrinkles he would have to wear for the rest of that day.
He opened the bathroom door to find Crowley still sleeping peacefully. For a moment, Aziraphale's gaze lingered. It was just too tempting. Crowley’s hair was striking, even in its slept-in state, and he had an adorable little furrow in his brow.
Alright, that was quite enough. Time to head downstairs before words far worse than ‘adorable’ entered his mind. He took a key card off the table, slipped on his shoes, and headed for the elevator.
Trying to open the door to the hotel room while carrying two hot travel cups and a variety of muffins was less than graceful. It involved a lot of fussing with the door handle, which was a bit noisy, so Aziraphale wasn’t surprised to find that Crowley was stirring when he finally entered the room.
“I’m sorry if I woke you,” Aziraphale whispered, placing the cups and mini muffins onto the dresser. “I brought you a coffee.”
“Why’s it so damn bright in here?” Crowley mumbled through a thick veil of drowsiness. The word ‘adorable’ stubbornly weaseled its way back into Aziraphale’s mind.
“The blinds really don’t do much good, do they?” Aziraphale said, bringing his coffee to his bedside.
“Useless bloody things,” Crowley replied. He reached for his sunglasses and pushed himself to a sitting position. The sheets fell away from his torso, exposing more of his chest.
Aziraphale only barely got a glimpse of his eyes before they were covered, but considering the state of the rest of him, that was probably for the best.
“Here you are,” Aziraphale said softly, handing him his cup. Crowley just stared at it, so he set it down on the nightstand.
“Stop being so nice, 's weird,” Crowley said. He was staring at the cup like it was going to bite him.
“Is it? Being nice is probably the last thing about me I would consider weird,” Aziraphale replied, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.
“No, you’re not weird, I just meant– nevermind. What time is it?” Crowley asked, picking up his phone. “Fuck, Anathema’s here.”
Aziraphale's eyes widened. “Right now?” he asked, exasperated. “It’s only 8! Has she been waiting long?”
”She got here 5 minutes ago,” Crowley replied, fumbling for the shirt he had discarded onto the floor.
“Well, at least we don’t have to pack up,” Aziraphale said, standing to collect what little things he had and placing them inside his messenger bag. Crowley refreshed himself in the bathroom and they both hurried out the door.
Anathema was easy to spot in the parking lot in her small, bright blue car with the windows down. She waved them over and unlocked the doors. Crowley took the passenger seat, and Aziraphale sat in the back.
“Hey guys,” she said with a grin. “How was your night?”
“It was just fine. Thank you for ensuring that we had a place to stay,” Aziraphale replied.
Crowley just growled at her. Whatever could that be for? Anathema had done them such a kindness. He supposed Crowley just wasn’t a morning person. Aziraphale made note of it, for absolutely pointless reasons.
“No problem,” said Anathema. “There weren’t any tornadoes, anyway. You didn’t miss much.”
Hmm. The radar had looked rather definitive last Aziraphale had checked, but the weather did always have an unshakably ineffable quality to it.
Anathema pulled out of the hotel parking lot and soon enough, they were heading back home. Back to normal.
Notes:
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim— a few relevant lines from Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats
Chapter 5: you were like an angel to me
Summary:
Aziraphale's first waterspout.
Notes:
hello again!!!
we're back with waterspouts and banter, i hope you enjoy the read!
you may or may not have noticed that i have added an extra chapter, bringing us up to 12. this is because chapter 8 got LONG, so i ended up splitting it into two. everything is still going according to plan :)
personally, i looooove this chapter, so i hope you enjoy as well!
thank you to these cool people for the beta read: itsscottiesstark and shades-o-grey
and to the lovely rainydropz for the cheer read, y'all are amazing!OH and here is your reminder to click or hover over the greyed out terms to find their definitions instead of looking for the footnote :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Oh!” Aziraphale gasped as he peered across the water. “It’s starting!”
Crowley rolled his eyes at Aziraphale’s exuberance, but he had to admit that he was excited about the potential for some action in the field as well. It took a whole week for the car to be back in service, and the week following that had been painfully uneventful. Nothing but clear skies and sunny days. It was awful.
Today, however, was different. Today, they were standing roadside on the coast of Galveston Island as rain fell to the earth in sheets, and a familiar excitement was welling up in Crowley’s chest as a thin grey vortex began to stretch down from the sky to the sea. A waterspout. It was unlikely that the storm would make landfall, so for now all they had to do was watch and collect data. They didn’t exactly have a boat to chase after it.
Before long, the spiralling chaos hit the Gulf of Mexico and a spray of salt water encircled the funnel in a large misty cloud.
“You can barely see the damn thing,” said Crowley, pocketing his glasses and raising the viewfinder of his camera up to his eye anyway. It was a struggle to hold both the camera and the umbrella Aziraphale brought for him, but he managed, even if it was by awkwardly shoving the umbrella grip under his arm. Mostly dry was still a nice change of pace from not dry at all.
This was Aziraphale’s first waterspout. Crowley knew this because Aziraphale had gone on and on about it the entire drive down, and although it was a little funny that it ended up being 57 miles offshore and mostly obscured by water vapor, it was good that at least something was happening in the sky. Couldn't have all that yammering for nothing.
“It’s magnificent,” Aziraphale said with awe in his voice. Crowley lowered his camera to see Aziraphale’s hand on his chest and his eyes wide as he stared at the storm. “And to think we almost missed it,” he continued, only turning his head away from the waterspout enough to flash Crowley some severe side-eye before looking back over the gulf.
“Not my fault traffic was a nightmare,” Crowley replied. “I thought you wanted me to follow traffic laws. If I could’ve driven on the shoulder or changed the lights from red to green myself, I would've.”
“We might’ve avoided it if you hadn’t insisted on a second cup of coffee before we left.”
“An extra cup of coffee wasn’t going to make or break rush hour, Aziraphale.”
“It was going to make or break me," Aziraphale said, turning to look at him with annoyance and a smile tugging at the corners of mouth. “I don’t know how you drink so much of it, especially without cream or sugar.”
“Guess I’m just naturally sweet,” Crowley replied sarcastically, lifting the camera back up to his eyes again. Aziraphale didn’t respond, and Crowley took it as a win. Coffee was an essential, and he hadn’t slept much the night before. Anathema had dragged him out to the new wine bar in town, and while a wine bar was an admittedly impressive addition to Tadfield, he was still regretting all the time in bed he’d sacrificed.
The storm curved sharply across the water, moving at 11 knots. Crowley leaned toward the camera stationed in between them to adjust the angle of the video and Aziraphale stepped away to give him space, space that wasn’t really needed. He’d been doing that a lot. Keeping distance. It wasn’t like they were close before exactly, but Crowley thought they had at least come to an understanding. Guess not. With the exception of today, the past two weeks had been relatively quiet.
Maybe Aziraphale was still thinking about that night at the hotel. Crowley definitely was. Aziraphale clearly wasn’t thrilled to stay overnight with him - he looked embarrassed at just the suggestion - but he did anyway.
It wasn’t that Crowley had been actively thrilled either. As pathetic as it might’ve felt, he just didn't want to be alone after that panic attack of a morning, even if he had stupidly insisted they split up. It wasn’t that Crowley was thrilled, he had just been… grateful. Even when he tried to leap right out of the frying pan and into the fire, Aziraphale hadn’t let him fall. He was patient and gentle. Aziraphale was a little uncomfortable to be around for that reason, but something about him was drawing Crowley in anyway.
Thankfully, today wasn’t as quiet as the past two weeks. Aziraphale was excited and talkative, and Crowley felt a little less like he was just the ball and chain that drove the car.
Staring out over the coastline, Aziraphale’s irises were filled with wonder and a greenish hue that Crowley was only now noticing for the first time. Like lichen on stones. That look in his eyes coupled with the way the wind was blowing through his curls made it seem like he was in a movie. If you watched those sorts of movies, which Crowley only did occasionally. He took a step back to find a different angle for the camera. No need to be looking at him weird.
He took several photos of the waterspout as it churned and swirled across the water. This one kind of looked like a long, spindly finger. That is, if long, spindly fingers could rotate at 87 mph and sink fishing boats with only a nudge. A few more clicks of the shutter button, and Crowley decreased the camera’s zoom to take a couple wide shots of the full landscape. Old habits die hard, and it really was a gorgeous scene. The darkness of the storm made for a stunning contrast to the beigey calm on the beach.
By the time he lowered the camera again, Aziraphale was bent down and picking up a handful of rocks. “Let me show you this lovely rock trick,” he said excitedly.
Crowley raised an eyebrow as Aziraphale started throwing the rocks one by one into the gulf with a plunk. “That’s not a rock trick, Aziraphale, you’re just chucking them in the water.”
“It’s really quite good if I can get it right,” Aziraphale continued, tossing another rock with the same exact result.
“Are you trying to skip it? Aziraphale, you can’t skip rocks into the tide,” Crowley insisted, but Aziraphale was undeterred. He maintained his smile and threw yet another rock across the waves. How could someone so smart be so ridiculous at the same time? At least he was enjoying himself, he was practically glowing. The camera was still poised in Crowley’s hands, so he raised the lens and snapped a photo of Aziraphale as another rock hit the water. He was asking for it, really, the way his stubborn smile reached all the way to his eyes.
“You’re going to give us radar angelsA false radar echo, often created by birds, that obscures the radar display.,” Crowley chimed in again with a smirk.
Aziraphale turned to him with his version of an eye roll: an annoyed and slightly condescending look with his lips pinched together. “With rocks? Crowley, that’s not at all how radar angels work and no one has dealt with that sort of interference for 70 years.”
“I don’t know about that, I’m dealing with an extremely fussy angel right now. Talk about interference, there’s a whole waterspout over there and you’re throwing rocks,” said Crowley.
“You're no fun,” Aziraphale replied with a pout, tossing the last rock in his hand into the water and walking the few steps back to where Crowley was standing. ”Hand me your umbrella, you look silly trying to juggle so many things,” Aziraphale said as he collapsed his own. Before Crowley could protest, Aziraphale took hold of his umbrella and held it over both their heads.
They were close. It wasn’t going to last, but still, they hadn’t been this close since the hotel. The sweet scent of Aziraphale was starting to overwhelm his senses. What even was that cologne? It was nice. Too nice. The smell instantly brought back the memory of Aziraphale standing in front of him, flushed from all the alcohol with a hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly.
Not that the closeness lasted long then, either. The wine had given Crowley an embarrassing urge to pull him in and inhale deeply into his chest, and much as he clenched his teeth and tried to hide it, Aziraphale practically ran in the other direction. Drinking really did turn Crowley into an idiot sometimes.
He tried to shake off the distinctive ick glomming onto him at the reminder of the memory and focused on the sound of the rain splattering against their umbrella. They stood in silence, breathing in each other’s air until Crowley had an encroaching impulse to start poking at him again. “If we don’t get out of this alive–”
“If you are about to declare some sort of sentimental nonsense, I will be obligated to push you into the water,” Aziraphale said, his fierce glare fixed over the water.
“I was going to say see you in Hell,” Crowley replied with a grin. Aziraphale may have disagreed, but Crowley thought he was hilarious. Although, Hell probably wasn’t all the way correct. Azirphale may have had a good amount of bitchiness to him, but Heaven was likely more his scene based on almost all of his other personality traits. ‘Fussy angel’ was actually incredibly fitting.
“You are incorrigible,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head.
“Flattery won’t get you the sentimental nonsense you were expecting, but good on you for trying.”
“What I was expecting was for you to say something ludicrous, and you far surpassed that.”
“Ludicrous? I wasn’t the one sinking rocks and calling it a trick, angel,” said Crowley. Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed and Crowley had to hold back a laugh. Bothering him was much too easy. He turned his grin back to the waves as the waterspout slowly withered into thin air and dissipated completely. “Lunch?”
“W-what?” Aziraphale asked, finally turning to look at him.
Crowley met Aziraphale’s gaze. “We drove all the way out to Galveston Island for…” He checked his watch. “Five minutes of waterspout? There’s a place I think you’d like down here, let’s grab a bite before we head back.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” Aziraphale replied, turning to staring back out over at the water.
“Ahh, c’mon. I owe you one for the sandwich. You ever heard of Marguerite’s?”
Aziraphale met his eyes again. “As a matter of fact, I have, yes,” he admitted, giving far too much away with his expression.
Got him. Last night, Anathema had mentioned the French Restaurant making the “Texas’ Best Restaurants” list, and as soon as Crowley realized it was on Galveston Island, he knew Aziraphale would be unable to resist.
“Can’t get food like that in Tadfield,” Crowley replied with a smirk.
Aziraphale paused for a long moment. He looked straight ahead, his eyes darting back and forth, before returning his gaze to Crowley. “Well, alright. But I can’t stay for long.”
“Come on,” Crowley replied, feeling satisfied. He pulled his sunglasses out of his shirt pocket, replaced them over his eyes, and began to pack up their gear.
Flying down the highway at a speed Aziraphale would definitely disapprove of if he was paying any attention, Crowley found himself thinking about Gabriel. Again. Even after he’d moved away, the idiot was still under his skin. Crowley wouldn’t be considered a safe driver by government standards, but unlike Gabriel, he at least knew how to handle his turns and to stay out of the speedometer’s triple digits. Aziraphale’s ride with him was probably worse than he’d let on.
It would’ve been so easy for Gabriel to just take Aziraphale out to dinner. The man wasn’t exactly an enigma, he was obviously drawn to the finer things in life. Aziraphale brought expensive teas to work from home, wore clothing made from high quality fabrics, and always had some new extravagant treat to share with the office.
No wonder Aziraphale was never actually interested in Gabriel. Gabriel dressed well, sure, but he didn’t tend to his life with Aziraphale’s level of care. He didn’t tend to anything, really, with the exception of his own ego. Gabriel was in great need of some proper humbling, so it was wildly satisfying to hear that he hadn’t gotten what he wanted. Besides, even if he had taken Aziraphale to dinner, they probably would’ve gone to some painfully American joint that Aziraphale would’ve politely suffered through, just like he had during that awful drive.
Awful as it was, Gabriel still found a way to brag about it the next day. Crowley thought about it for weeks. Aziraphale just wasn’t the right fit for him, it wasn’t logical. Gabriel wasn't the right fit for anyone, in Crowley’s opinion, but Beelzebub did seem happy with him. The two of them made sense, in a way - their shared interests in music and TV shows, their love of dark humor, and their tendency to annoy Crowley immensely both together and separately.
There was something meaningful there, even if they had moved a little fast. They looked at each other with an intense sort of gaze that said ‘I would endure Hell for you. Anything, for you.’ Crowley knew that look well. He'd endured hell for people who weren’t even worth enduring a long line at the grocery store. It wasn’t his favorite thing about himself, but it was definitely a thing.
Cramming the memories back into the large safe he kept at the back of his mind, Crowley pulled into the parking lot of Marguerite’s. It wasn’t quite on the water, not enough to see the waves, but he could still smell salt in the air as they stepped out of the car and walked up to the entrance. Crowley grabbed the knob and swung the door open. A soft burst of sound entered his ears, and a step through the entryway after Aziraphale revealed a densely decorated, homely space. Only about half the tables were full, which was surprising, considering the recent recognition and the time of day, but the rain was probably keeping most people inside. At least they wouldn't have to wait long for a table.
The host escorted them to a two-top in the back corner, and they settled in across from each other. It was a cozy atmosphere - the low lighting, the walls painted in reds and oranges, the gentle hum of the music - but Crowley felt far from cozy. He stared down at the soft tablecloth and the French accent screaming out of the menu in front of him and his palms began to clam up. Was this weird? Crowley didn’t go to places like this. Aziraphale probably went out to these kinds of places all the time, he could probably pronounce every word on the menu. Maybe this was a bad idea.
“How did the photos turn out?” Aziraphale asked.
“Hmm?” said Crowley, breaking away from the menu to meet Aziraphale’s eyes.
“The photographs you took of the waterspout. Did they come out alright?”
“Oh, yeah,” Crowley replied. “Obviously,” he continued with a cheeky grin, trying to find solid footing again. “Master photographer, me.”
Aziraphale gave him a weary look but hinted at a smile before looking back down at his menu. “I think I’m going to have the salmon."
“Which one? I was looking at the… smoked one,” Crowley replied unsurely.
Aziraphale squinted at his menu. “The, ah… hm. I have to admit that my French is not particularly good, I’ll probably just end up pointing to the menu rather than making a fool of myself,” he said with a shy smile. Oh, good. They were in the same boat. Aziraphale reached over to Crowley’s menu and pressed a manicured finger to a salmon dish with a parmesan crust and a side of garlic green beans. “That one.”
“Which one?” Crowley asked with a smirk.
“The one I’m pointing to,” Aziraphale insisted, tapping his finger where he rested it.
“Not sure what you’re referring to, could you read it out?”
Aziraphale met his gaze and pursed his lips. “I’m afraid I’ve left my glasses, but if you would be so kind as to recite each salmon dish to me, I’ll happily tell you which it is,” he replied smugly, tilting his head to the side almost imperceptibly.
“Hello, gentlemen,” their server interrupted. Aziraphale quickly pulled his hand away from Crowley’s menu and smiled up at her. “Can I get you started with something to drink?”
“Water would be lovely, if you don’t mind."
“I’ll have the same."
“I’ll be right back,” she said with a nod.
Crowley’s eyes hadn’t left Aziraphale. The smug bastard, he really was quite funny.
“You know,” Aziraphale started as the waitress walked away from their table, “sometimes I lay awake at night wondering if you can possibly be more maddening, and every morning you surpass the bar with flying colors.”
“Thinking about me in bed, angel? Saucy,” Crowley replied with a grin.
“No! Of course not. I said ‘at night,’ I didn’t say ‘in bed.’ And thank you so much for proving my point, yet again.”
Crowley laughed, probably harder than he should’ve. It just felt good to be talking.
Half an hour into their post-waterspout outing, their food had arrived and Aziraphale was rambling on about a novel by W.B. Yeats titled The Secret Rose.
“It’s an absolutely beautiful perspective on nature. This particular work has an emphasis on folklore, but Yeats often writes about the natural world in less mythical terms. You might actually enjoy his work,” said Aziraphale, pointing at Crowley with his fork thoughtfully before going for another bite of salmon.
“I know Yeats,” Crowley replied. It wasn’t something that he shared openly, but Crowley did read.
“Do you?” Aziraphale replied.
“Haven’t read The Secret Rose, but I’ve read a good number of his poems.” Crowley shoved a bite of food into his mouth to avoid saying anything else. The fact that Yeats was an inspiration for his own poetry was a private detail he’d like to keep permanently private. Why did he even mention poetry in the first place? The restaurant must’ve put something in his salmon, something that made you want to spill every embarrassing fact about yourself.
“Have you really?” Aziraphale asked, setting his fork down on his plate. “Why haven’t you mentioned this before?” Crowley just shrugged. “You’re telling me you’ve been reading books all this time and I never knew?”
“Pretty sure you wouldn't like the books I read, considering the textbooks you carry around. Some of the pages only go on for 17 syllables,” Crowley replied with a smirk.
“Now you’re reading haikus?” Aziraphale asked, visibly astonished.
Immediate regret. Never had regret been so immediate. He really should’ve let Aziraphale continue rambling, it would’ve been so easy.
“Not exclusively, don’t make a thing of it,” he replied, but Aziraphale was already dealing out one of his signature ‘soft around the edges’ looks that always made Crowley feel too squishy inside. He rolled his eyes to try and cast off the sensation. “You’re making a thing of it.”
“I’m not,” Aziraphale said with a gentle smile.
“Yes, you are,” Crowley said sternly. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?” Aziraphale asked, his face quickly turning from soft to suspicious.
“The one where you’re making a thing of it! Your eyebrows get all— and that little pout and, I don’t know, you were doing it just now,” Crowley said, gesturing with his hand to what remained of the offending expression.
Aziraphale straightened out his shoulders and ironed out any leftover hints of eyebrows and pouting from his face. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he replied, returning to his meal.
Crowley picked up his fork again, pushing food around his plate. The gentle clinking of metal against ceramic took the place of conversation for a while, and the quiet was starting to make Crowley itch. Not knowing what else to do but scratch, he let a random topic fall from his mouth. “Thoughts on space weather?”
“There’s no atmosphere in space, Crowley.”
“I know that, ‘m not an idiot. I meant geomagnetic storms ‘n such. Figured you’d know all about it with all your climate change research.”
“Ah. I’m unfamiliar with the term, but yes, I suppose solar winds are somewhat interconnected with the Earth’s climate.”
“I think,” said Crowley, “that as weather scientists, we should be able to study space weather as well.”
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “You think that we should expand the already incredibly vast study of meteorology to include the far more vast subject of ‘space weather?’” he replied, without need for air quotes due to the ridiculous emphasis on the words.
“Yeah,” Crowley said with a shrug. “Space is cool. You don’t think space is cool?”
“Sure, space is ‘cool,’ but I don’t have a degree in space. I’m a meteorologist.”
“Thought you were a storm chaser,” Crowley said with a smirk. “Very different things, I hear.”
“Despite how frustrating you insist on being,” Aziraphale said, giving him a pointed look. “I’ve decided that being a storm chaser is indeed a very dignified sect of meteorology.”
“Have you, now?” Crowley said. “How kind.”
“I have,” Aziraphale said with an overly serious nod. “Gabriel gave me the wrong idea. What we’ve been doing is, in fact, incredibly scientific, and I must say that I don’t dislike it as much as I thought I might. Working with you has been rather enjoyable.”
Crowley rolled his eyes, unsure if it was directed at Aziraphale or the heat rising to his own cheeks.
“Even if you do listen to The Beatles,” Aziraphale continued after a beat.
Crowley arched his eyebrows. “The Beatles? When have you ever heard me listening to The Beatles?”
“Oh, I don’t know. All that electric guitar and keyboarding, I just thought–”
“I listen to music with depth, angel. Lyrics with proper content, not strawberry fields of nonsense. Electric guitar isn’t the only thing that makes music good. The Beatles were just overly-simplistic, manufactured pop masquerading as something new and exciting.”
“I have to agree that music should have layers. I haven’t heard many of their songs, but what I have heard wasn’t anything particularly impressive.”
“Is that because of the distinct lack of bassoon?” Crowley teased.
Aziraphale glared at him. “Would it kill you to allow me to agree with you on something? You are impossible.”
A grin burst through Crowley’s lips. “Are you trying to relate to me? That’s adorable.”
“I most certainly am not,” Aziraphale replied, tilting his head down to stare at his plate. There wasn’t even anything to stare at, it was mostly empty.
“You are! Wow,” Crowley said with a smirk, leaning farther back into his chair. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was growing on you.”
“Like mold,” Aziraphale said, glaring at Crowley with raised eyebrows for a moment before averting his gaze again.
Crowley let out a cackle, teasing a smile from the corners of Aziraphale’s mouth.
Throughout the rest of their meal, the conversation carried easily. Their playful back and forth was so electric at times that Crowley thought he might be shocked by his silverware. He could definitely stand to do this more often. Who knew a work lunch could be anything but unbearable?
Eventually they finished their food, and since Aziraphale refused dessert, they paid their respective tabs and headed towards the exit.
“Back to the office, then?” Crowley asked, holding the door open for him.
“Yes, I think that would be best," Aziraphale replied quietly.
Fortunately, the rain had cleared. Crowley followed Aziraphale back to the car, swung the driver’s side door open and sat down with a thud. He cranked the key forward, pressed down on the brake, and reached for the gear shift to put the car into drive.
“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, placing his hand on Crowley’s forearm. “For suggesting this.”
Crowley stared down at Aziraphale’s hand and felt his face grow hot. He scrambled desperately for a response as his mind went completely blank.
“Nng-yep. Course,” Crowley replied, forcing himself to look forward out the window. What was happening to his brain right now? It wasn’t like they were holding hands or anything. For fuck’s sake, why would they be holding hands? Why would he even think of that?
Aziraphale lifted his hand off of his arm and Crowley managed a few quick breaths before finally shifting the car into gear.
That was probably nothing. A casual arm touch between friends. Colleagues. Whatever.
Notes:
i love when the angel nickname finally comes into play!!! deep romantic sigh
i want to elaborate a little bit on that now that we're here and since i was super excited to discover that there was a meteorology term that had the word angel in it. i mean, come on!!! it was perfect.
radar angels were a phenomena that existed in the 1950's through the 1970's, when an object would intersect the radar from very far away and cause massive blobs on the radar that obscured actual relevant information. these blobs were usually miles and miles across, and seemed to come from nowhere because the objects were so far in the distance. as it turned out, there were no actual angels flying around in the sky, it was usually just a flock of birds (migration season would render radar systems completely useless). once scientists figured out what the fuck was happening, they created filtering systems to solve the issue. as aziraphale noted, radar angels haven't been a thing for over 70 years.
that being said, would radar angels have naturally come to crowley's mind while aziraphale was throwing rocks? mmm perhaps not, but i was desperate to use the term. IT WAS TOO GOOD PASS UP OKAY. let me have this
anyways, i hope you enjoyed this silly chapter and i'll see you next sunday :)
Chapter 6: you are on my mind
Summary:
Crowley and Aziraphale spend a day apart.
Notes:
hello hello!
very excited to share this chapter with you all, too tired to say more than that. enjoy the read, you all are great :)
tytyty to my amazing betas itsscottiesstark and shades-o-grey, and ty rainydropz for the uplifting cheer read
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Late the next morning, Crowley was cleaning. Anathema had forced the office to take a day off even though there was a perfectly good storm going on outside, and he wasn’t just going to sit around and do nothing. Not that there was anything wrong with doing nothing. He would usually jump at the opportunity to lounge around the house, but today his mind had been… wandering. Besides, he liked cleaning. It was important to keep a tidy space.
”Can I ask a dumb question?” Rose’s voice asked from the TV speakers. The Golden Girls were an essential part of his cleaning routine.
“Better than anyone I know,” Dorothy replied.
Crowley snickered as he swiped a paper towel across the stove top. The kitchen was his current victim. He had already finished the bedroom, the bathroom, the living room, and all the floors. It had been short work, considering the way he had been tearing through the house all morning with a restless energy rivalled only by a mother of five the day before Christmas dinner.
As he opened up the trash can to toss in the used paper towel, his arm brushed up against the leaves of a tall potted Fiddle Leaf Fig sitting next to it.
“Don’t you start, too,” he growled, slamming the lid shut again. “Doesn’t anyone understand personal space? Grow in the other direction.” He gave a leaf a gentle swat for good measure.
Just as he was going to grab another towel and continue scrubbing, his mobile started vibrating violently on the living room table. A short walk to peek at the caller ID revealed Anathema’s contact photo.
“What?” Crowley said as he answered the call.
“Okay, Oscar the Grouch, just wanted to say hi."
“Hi,” Crowley replied flatly. He flopped down on the couch and hit the mute button on the TV remote. “How’s National Dog Mom Day treating you? Newton brought you a bouquet, I assume?”
“Ohh, that would be adorable! His little puppy paws carrying a bundle of flowers!” Anathema squeaked. “Thank you for that image. It’s going well, we just got home from his grooming appointment. He’s lying next to me on the couch.”
“I still don’t understand why this was significant enough of a holiday for us all to stay home. Didn’t you say we were broke?” Crowley asked. He stretched down the length of the sofa so his head was flat on the bottom cushion and his feet dangled off past the armrest.
“Excuse you, National Dog Mom Day is the most important holiday of the year. What’s the matter, feeling lonely now that Aziraphale isn’t around to keep you company?” she teased.
“Knew you weren’t just saying hi,” Crowley replied with an eye roll. “Why’s this the only thing we talk about now? We used to talk about music and current events and literally anything other than this weird matchmaking thing.”
“You mean the massive favor I’m doing you? Please tell me you’re not still lying to yourself about being head over heels for this man.”
“I’m not! I mean… ’m not... whatever it was you said I am about Aziraphale.”
“Crowley."
“Anathema."
“I didn’t want to have to do this…”
“Then don’t,” Crowley said, glaring at the ceiling. Even without knowing what she was going to say, he was certain he was going to be annoyed.
“Four months ago, at that bar on Drayton Street, you told me all about how Gabriel–”
“Drayton Street? I don’t remember that,” Crowley interjected, his eyebrows furrowed. There were a few spots he frequented with Anathema on the weekends, but none of them were on Drayton Street.
“Thoroughly unsurprising. You pounded like six whiskeys in the first hour we were there.”
Crowley scrubbed a hand down the side of his face with a heavy exhale. All fun, non-incriminating stories began with six whiskeys in an hour.
“You were telling me how Gabriel had taken Aziraphale out after work, and—”
Crowley was quick to cut her off, his expectations for the outcome of this conversation quickly going from 'slightly annoyed' to 'extremely embarrassed.' “Alright, let’s just–"
“Nope, nope,” Anathema interrupted, “you’ve done this to yourself. The denial has gone on long enough, it’s time for my shitfaced Crowley story. I’ve been generous enough not to bring it up, but now you’re getting on my nerves.”
“I’ll hang up."
“Okay, sure, do that,” she replied. “I’ll be at your door in 15 minutes and I’ll bring Newton to pee on all your plants.”
“I won’t let you in," Crowley continued, clenching his jaw.
“You know I have a key, and if you bar the door I won’t hesitate to break a window.”
Crowley chuckled. “You’re a little bit insane, you know that, right?”
“Yes. Now, as I was saying,” Anathema continued. Crowley groaned and wormed his way deeper into the couch until his head was wedged between the cushions in the back corner. “Gabriel took Aziraphale out after work and told you all kinds of vulgar shit about it the next day, and you said to me – and don’t even bother fighting me on this because you absolutely said it – Aziraphale was too good for Gabriel, and you would’ve done a much better job of taking him on a date.”
“Sounds like the alcohol talking,” Crowley said, not entirely convincing himself. Aziraphale was too good for Gabriel, and he– well, anyone could’ve done a better job of taking him on a date. The bar was low.
“It was you talking, plastered or not. Which, don’t get me wrong, you totally were. But that’s fine, if you’re going to deflect my primary example, I have others. What about how you insisted that I hire him after I told you about the interview?”
“I didn’t insist, I just said he would make a good addition to the team. Perfectly normal.”
“First of all, you didn’t say he would be a good addition to the team, you said he would compliment the team, which is way different.”
“That’s not different, how is that different?” Crowley asked, narrowing his eyebrows.
“It’s very different! But that’s not the point. The point is, you went on and on about how he was so smart and well-spoken and accomplished and professional and blah blah blah. I was already going to hire him, his resume spoke for itself. Why did you feel the need to tell me all that, hm?”
“I don’t know,” Crowley replied, beginning to feel deeply uncomfortable.
“Because you like him, Crowley,” Anathema said, somehow managing to audibly roll her eyes. “You have the most obvious crush I have ever seen in my life. I can see it, everyone else can see it, what I don’t understand is why you can’t see it.”
“What do you mean ‘everyone else can see it?’” Crowley asked, pointedly ignoring the rest of what she said.
“You know that Nina and I screen all the footage you bring back from the field, right?”
“Obviously."
“You two are flirting in the background of every video! You called him an angel, twice, and don’t even get me started on that photo you took of him."
Crowley closed his eyes. Flirting might’ve been a stretch, but ‘angel’ definitely sounded bad. Not that he could be blamed for Aziraphale’s angelic qualities. And that photo, what was he thinking? He was thinking that Aziraphale’s smile was more interesting than the giant water tornado in front of him, that’s what. Like an idiot. Oh, fucking hell. Did Anathema have a point? He was admittedly always excited to see Aziraphale, to hear the gentle way he spoke, to see his eyes crinkle when he smiled. Crowley would do a lot for that smile. Anything, really.
No, no, this wasn’t happening. He tried to reseal the cracks in his mind that Anathema had pried open, but it was too late. The feelings were already rushing in, and it wasn’t just love. It was fear, too.
“Fuck,” he said quietly.
“‘Fuck’ is right. Why would it be so bad if you had feelings for him?”
“Because I want to keep him around, alright?” he snapped, dread pooling into his voice. “You win, I like having him around. Happy?” Anathema sighed. Crowley sat up on the couch and rested his forehead in his hands.
“Crowley,” Anathema said in a soft tone that made him want to be sick. ”I know you think you’re too much for people, but you’re not. Oliver left because of his own bullshit, not because of you.”
“I don’t want to talk about this.” He never wanted to talk about this, really. Sure, it had been five years, and he’d healed plenty since then, but the topic still made him a little nauseous.
Anathema paused. “I’d still beat the shit out of that guy if I didn’t live on an entirely different continent.”.
Crowley allowed himself a deep breath and a smirk, and he felt his heart rate slow. “And I’d still love to see it."
They’d discussed this a million times. Crowley always imagined Anathema in some sort of theatrical wrestling outfit and high heels, stomping the hell out of him. It was cathartic. She had been there for him through the nastiest parts of his breakup. Through all the tears and the wallowing, she’d tell him that Oliver was a piece of shit that deserved to get his ass handed to him, and eventually Crowley believed her. Still, the feelings lingered. It was hard to fully let go after being left alone in a half empty flat without so much as a goodbye.
“Aziraphale isn’t Oliver, Crowley. He’s not going to leave over one too many poems.”
“Theoretically, yeah, I know. Just…” he growled, annoyed with Anathema for bringing this up and annoyed with himself that she had somehow managed to get him to talk about it. “Sometimes I think I love people wrong.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” she replied.
“It is! My guts start spilling out everywhere uncontrollably and I get all… I don’t know, ‘s gross and vulnerable, scares people off. I can’t do that to Aziraphale.”
“What if Aziraphale wanted your guts?”
“Don’t be crass.”
“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean. The man reads nothing but romance novels, I think he’d like it if you got all gross and vulnerable. You don’t love people wrong, Crowley, you’ve just loved the wrong people. Aziraphale is the right people. He looks at you like you hung the damn stars in the sky."
“He doesn’t look at me like anything. People like Aziraphale don’t look at me like that,” Crowley said, more harshly than he intended.
“I saw him do it literally yesterday,” Anathema replied flatly.
“He’s just, with his curly little— and, I don’t know, I’m…” Crowley said, running out of excuses.
“Don’t you start about how he’s too good for you, because he’s not. You deserve something good. I think you should give it a shot. Aziraphale’s a good guy, I trust him with my best friend’s heart. All squishy and gooey in there.”
Crowley winced. “Not helping.”
“Yeah, okay, I heard it. Just think about it.”
“I will consider thinking about it.”
“Good enough for me. I’m going to bake Newton some dog treats, so I’ll let you go. Be nice to yourself. Are you ready for some treats, my little pookie baby? Are you?” Anathema cooed.
“I’m hanging up now,” Crowley said with an eye roll.
“Okay, love you!” said Anathema.
“Love you,” Crowley replied, and ended the call.
He slid his phone in his pocket and leaned back against the couch. Fine. He would think about it. For the first time since they met, Crowley would allow himself to openly and honestly think about Aziraphale. He took a deep breath.
Aziraphale was… well, he was kind. That much was obvious. He was kind, but not too kind, he didn’t let people walk all over him. He held his own. It didn’t seem hard, Aziraphale’s wit and intellect alone could carry him for miles and everyone at the office respected him for it. He was smart, too, remarkably smart, and funny as hell. His humor had a surprising flavor that easily caught Crowley off guard in the best way. Aziraphale was sweet with a little bit of cinnamon, and that nip of spice complimented the rest of him perfectly. Ah, okay. He heard it now. ‘Complimented.’
They had a fantastic time at lunch yesterday. Talking to Aziraphale was always so easy, so riveting and thought-provoking, and he had touched his arm. The gentle contact was nice, really nice. No wonder holding hands had popped into his brain, it would’ve been nice, damn it. It definitely threw him off for a minute, but after they parked back in Tadfield, Crowley was light on his feet walking to his car. Every time they parted ways, Aziraphale left him with a warm, golden residue that he never wanted to wash off.
He let his mind wander back to that night at the hotel. There was gold all over that memory, in the meat of it at least. Aziraphale’s smile had shimmered around the sheen of wine that covered his lips, and thinking back on it, Crowley wondered what it might've been like to taste it.
Letting his muscles relax into the couch, Crowley closed his eyes. He pictured himself back in that room; the rich taste of the gas station Merlot he had spent way too much money on, the occasional quiet rush of a car racing past their window, the warm glow of the bedside lamps. Aziraphale, sitting in front of him, smiling and laughing at whatever drunken nonsense had escaped his mouth.
That stupid, gorgeous smile, beaming at him like something blinding. Under thick clouds and pouring rain, Aziraphale had been there, smiling brightly in the absence of the sun. It wouldn’t be surprising if Aziraphale had an actual bit of sunshine in his veins, especially with the way Crowley was drawn to him like something cold blooded. He was warm. Being with him was nourishing.
As reality began to emerge from the depths, something sharp suddenly gripped Crowley’s chest and every other feeling darted away like a scared shelter cat. No, this was too much. He could never properly handle these kinds of feelings, it was always too much. He was always too much.
This was always how it happened. He’d get himself completely enamored with someone until it was seeping out of him like tar. Sticky, smothering tar. Aziraphale would definitely run off, he’d probably quit just to get away from him. He’d leave and never come back.
The temperature in the room shot up to Hell. His heart was pounding relentlessly against the confines of his chest. Clenching his eyes further shut, Crowley wrapped his fingers tightly around the edge of the couch, a plush tether to a world that wasn't shaking.
As he fought to steady his breathing, Anathema’s voice echoed in whispers. It was quiet, but annoyingly persistent, just like the stubborn beacon she had always been. You don't love people wrong, you've just loved the wrong people. She might be right. She usually was. Oliver certainly hadn’t been a shining example, and if someone else actually wanted to share the weight of his heart, maybe it wouldn’t all feel so heavy.
He took a deep, slow breath, and then another. Maybe it would all be fine. Oliver had left long ago, and really, it had been a gift. A second chance he wasn’t willing to give to himself. Things had changed since then, and Aziraphale was different.
After a few minutes of measured breathing, the tightness in his chest began to lessen, and his feet found solid ground again. Slowly, very slowly, Crowley allowed the feelings he had locked away for years come into the light. Tenderness, yearning, infatuation, all of it. He argued with the labels that said too dangerous and too risky, and gave himself the chance to start over.
He was surprised to find that the emotions overtaking him felt different. Though similar to the aching hunger he had known for so long, this was more comfortable. It wasn’t something that would lead to his end if he went without; he had gone without for five years and survived just fine. No, this was more of a craving. A desire. The heat of it welled up in him like a fire, and every steady breath fed the flames.
He opened his eyes. This was usually when he would write. When his heart started to spill over, he’d let it flow out in ink. Crowley wasn’t exactly eloquent when he spoke, always mangling his words, jumbling them up and spitting them out into a messy pile, but writing was different. It granted him pause. With a pen in his hand, it was almost like he could stop time.
He pushed himself off the couch and went to the drawer in his kitchen where he kept his bag clips, twist ties, a rubber-banded bundle of pens, and paper scraps. He set a pen and a piece of paper down on the counter and stared at the blank page for a long moment. Then, he began to write.
Well. There they were, all his guts. Gross and vulnerable and arranged into neat little lines. On a whim, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile. It was difficult to imagine Aziraphale agreeing to spend time with him on their day off, but they were kind of friends now, right? Maybe he would. He opened his messages and drafted him a text.
Hey, free tonight?
He stared at the message, scrutinizing it as the cursor blinked. What would they even do? The logical next step was probably to tell him about all this, wasn’t it? Anathema would think so. Was he just going to invite Aziraphale out to dinner and confess his love? How was he expecting that to go? ‘Hello, Aziraphale, how’s your carbonara? Funny story, turns out I’ve been pining over you for months and now I've written a poem about kissing you on the mouth. Thoughts?’
There was no way that would go smoothly. It was lunacy. As much as Anathema may have insisted, there was no chance Aziraphale thought about him that way. Just yesterday Aziraphale had called him both maddening and frustrating, and the two weeks before that it felt like he was trying to avoid him entirely. Aziraphale was out of his league anyway. He probably entertained men that rode horses and knew how to play piano and went to cotillion when they were young. Men that were definitely not Crowley.
Wanting Aziraphale was one thing, but actually having him was a concept so unreachable that it might as well have been in Alpha Centauri. Aziraphale clearly didn’t want him in that way, and the fact that he had even considered it as a possibility felt embarrassing. What was he thinking, writing a cheesy love poem? He was just as bad as Shax.
That was all fine. Totally fine. Surely cats could go back into their bags once they were out. Crowley had never had a cat, but the concept seemed simple enough. Just shove him back in there, easy. No one had to know, nothing had to change. He hastily deleted the message, dropped the pen and paper back into the drawer and slammed it shut. Back to cleaning.
As the curtains closed, Aziraphale leapt to his feet and cheered along with the rest of the audience. This particular rendition of Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing had been set in the Victorian era, and Aziraphale had relished every moment of it. The acting, the costuming, it was all absolutely splendid. Although this was his first attendance of The Roadshow Troupe’s many productions, it certainly wouldn’t be his last.
Settling back down in his seat to allow the many patrons in attendance to file out of the doors ahead of him, he watched with a forlorn smile as families and couples walked hand in hand into the night. Once the crowd had thinned, he picked up his umbrella from where it rested against the empty chair beside him and headed for the exit. Pushing open the front door, he was met with damp darkness. It might’ve even been considered gloomy. He frowned at the large puddle forming a moat around the sidewalk and opened up his umbrella with a sigh before beginning the walk back to his car.
As much as Aziraphale was fond of a nice day off, he wasn’t enjoying this one nearly as much as he would have liked. His mind kept drifting. Back to his work, back to parmesan crusted salmon, and back to Crowley. Plodding through the rain, he wished Crowley was with him now, that they were huddled underneath his umbrella together.
Aziraphale had spent the past two weeks keeping his distance, unable to trust himself with the magnitude of his own feelings. It was a pointless endeavor. Even with limiting their conversations, it was impossible to ignore how wonderful Crowley was. How generous, how funny, how kind. How beautifully his hair shined in the sunlight after the rain would clear. Aziraphale wanted him more than anything.
It was bordering on stressful, the amount of work he was doing to uphold his restraint, and it was all for nothing in the end. Yesterday’s excitement, what with the waterspout and the opportunity to see the ocean, had distracted him. He'd slipped. In permitting himself to enjoy the day, he loosened the reins on his self control.
Even though Aziraphale meticulously planned against a situation where he and Crowley would be under the same umbrella, he ended up there anyway. He couldn't stop himself, he needed that closeness. As soon as they were standing beside each other, his heart was hammering hard against his chest, trying to break free and leap towards the man beside him. It took all of Aziraphale's willpower to resist the temptation to sway even closer, to touch, to fill his nose with the woody scent of him. That was all yesterday had been, resisting temptation, and for the most part he had failed.
He had even gone so far as to allow Crowley to take him out to lunch. Well, that may have been a stretch. They had certainly gone to lunch, as coworkers, but that did little to keep him from succumbing to fantasy while they were there. He really never should have agreed. It was a disaster. Well, it was wonderful, Aziraphale's heart was singing, but that was what made it so disastrous.
He would've managed to avoid lunch entirely if it wasn't for the previous afternoon when Anathema had told him how much she enjoyed Marguerite’s when it first opened. Quite an unlucky coincidence. Alas, the promise of exquisite French food along with the word ‘angel’ falling gently out of Crowley’s perfect mouth had weakened him beyond salvation. Ever since it was first spoken, the nickname was replaying in his mind on loop. Angel. Good lord. Crowley spoke so softly sometimes, it was unbearable.
He was able to pull himself together by the time they arrived at the restaurant, but it didn’t last long. Their playful banter fueled something light and fluttery in his stomach all too quickly, and by the time he caught another few glimpses of Crowley’s eyes above his sunglasses, Aziraphale was completely under his spell.
He read poetry for Heaven’s sake. It was like a dream. Aziraphale couldn’t help from imagining him draped across a chair with a bound collection of Yeats in hand, reading by some sort of dim lighting - candlelight, or perhaps moonlight - that would undoubtedly highlight his jawline magnificently. Just the thought was enough to make him melt.
In his imagination Crowley was wearing some sort of Shakespearian garb (in a deep purple to compliment his hair and his eyes), which was unlikely to be anywhere close to reality, but he would look especially dashing. Not that Crowley had to stray from his usual black attire to catch Aziraphale’s fancy.
There were even times he thought Crowley might be flirting with him. That couldn’t possibly be, though. After coming into his own about 15 years ago, Aziraphale wasn’t often flirted with. Although he was much more fond of himself now than he had even been, Aziraphale knew he was a bit of an odd duck with his particular sense of style and unique vocabulary. He just wasn’t most people’s cup of tea.
Before he started hormones, Aziraphale received plenty of attention, though it was usually from men that had a way of making him feel like some sort of prey animal, and not an especially masculine one at that. He had always been curvy, and while he quite liked the plushness of his stomach and the roundness of his cheeks, his wide hips and thighs were another story. The attention was always less than welcome.
Feeling more confident after being on testosterone, Aziraphale was able to enjoy indulging the more friendly varieties of the lust he occasionally encountered in others, but it was few and far between. Unfortunately, it was also where the majority of his relationship experience ended.
He wanted something more with Crowley. Though he couldn’t deny the pressing urge to tear the man’s clothes off, he wanted something emotional, too. He wanted romance.
Finally reaching his car, Aziraphale unlocked the doors and closed himself inside. Consumed by his thoughts, he could do nothing but rest his head on the steering wheel. It was so quiet. There was only the sound of the rain against the car’s windows to keep him company.
He had been surrounded by people all day, and yet he still felt he needed company. How odd. It seemed that spending so much time talking and laughing with Crowley everyday was causing him to long for something more than just the close proximity of strangers. Closeness and connection were proving to be two very different things, and as terrifying as it was, he was beginning to prefer connection. He was starting to think he might need it.
In less than a month of working together, Crowley had changed him. His life felt emptier now than it had ever felt before. Now, he longed for a life where a scarf might catch his eye in a store window and he could send a picture to the person it reminded him of. A life where he could request that someone let him know when they got home safely, or ask for a hug at the end of a long day. He wanted love. He needed love, to give it and to receive it. He needed it with Crowley.
Still, it was out of the question. Having Crowley in the ways Aziraphale wanted him would require opening up, and there were few times that had ended well for him. Revealing himself in that way always painted his face so red that he was mistaken as a target. It was too risky. If Crowley discovered that his self doubt and tendency towards overwhelm were as crippling as they so often were, he would probably have to move again.
But oh, how the longing persisted. He spent countless hours lying awake at night, wondering how it would feel to stroke Crowley’s hair, to caress his face, to kiss him deeply. How ‘angel’ might sound whispered in his ear, followed by panting breaths and teeth on his neck. It was torturous. Crowley was quickly consuming his every waking thought, and he felt trapped in it. There was nothing to do about it, nowhere to go.
He didn’t have Maggie’s courage. She had simply walked up to Nina and struck up a relationship. How had she done it? How had she allowed herself to be so vulnerable? He supposed he could always ask her. Not for any sort of real life application, of course, just out of curiosity.
Placing his keys on the passenger seat, he sat up straight and retrieved his mobile from his pocket to send her a text.
Aziraphale eyes widened as he stared at Maggie's message. The fact that Crowley had taken a picture of him didn’t necessarily mean he was having romantic feelings, did it? It was part of his job after all. Though, the fact that his hair was blowing in the wind likely meant the waterspout was ongoing. Why would Crowley have taken a photo of him during the waterspout? That was his job, to take pictures of the waterspout. Had his focus wavered? Was Crowley looking at him instead of the storm? His heart fluttered. Out in the field together, Crowley staring at him with fondness while he himself is looking away. The storm rages on, but to Crowley, it's only the two of them. He ached to believe it. It sounded like something out of a romance novel. Like a fairytale, yes. Perhaps Crowley had been flirting with him after all. Based on Maggie’s assumptions, it was starting to seem likely.
However, if Aziraphale were to ask him out, he could think of far worse outcomes than Crowley saying no. It was just too much of a risk. In a world where Crowley could witness something so humiliating and still treat him with kindness, maybe he would share his feelings, but this didn’t feel like that world.
Notes:
thank you for readinggggg this one was frustrating for us all but i love them both dearly
Chapter 7: only in my darkest moments can i see the light
Summary:
Crowley and Aziraphale drive to chase the first tornado of the season.
Notes:
IT'S HAPPENINGGGGG!!!
this is a BIG chapter, and one i have been so so so excited to share with you all. eeeeek!
i am incredibly thrilled and honored to say that this chapter also has accompanying ART, created by the wonderful eybefioro! thank you so much for your contribution to my story <3
AHHHH! couldn't be more pumped about this
as always, thank you to my wonderful and talented betas itsscottiesstark and shades-o-grey, and to rainydropz for the cheer read!!!
go on now, get to reading!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
”Good morning, Maggie,” Aziraphale said cheerfully as he strode into the office.
“Aziraphale!” she replied, turning her head towards him with a warm smile. “Come here and look at this.”
Aziraphale made the short trip to her desk and peered over her shoulder at the monitors. The radar was zoomed into a town not far from Tadfield, displaying a large splotchy storm that curled into a small hook at the outer edge. Strong winds, potential for hail, heavy rain. This could very well be their first land born tornado of the season.
“How are the drafts looking?” Aziraphale asked.
“The updraftsRising air that pulls moisture from surrounding areas. are strong but we haven’t seen any rotationA circulating column of air that can extend from the clouds to the ground. yet."
Aziraphale stood up straight and smoothed down the front of his waistcoat, trying to tame his excitement. “Well, I think it’s worth a drive once…” he trailed off as Crowley waltzed through the door. ”Oh, good lord,” he said under his breath. He took in the sight, firmly ignoring Maggie’s excited little giggle as he did so.
Aziraphale had chosen a particularly handsome outfit himself that day (a beige velvet waistcoat, a sage button down, and his favorite tartan bow tie) on the off chance he was to receive one of those fairytale looks that Maggie had described, but nothing compared to Crowley.
Crowley was wearing a black turtleneck, a leather waistcoat, his usual black jeans with a thick belt, and the top half of his hair was pulled back into a thin black hair band. He even had earrings in. Usually, Crowley’s crimson waves fully covered the sides of his face, but today his hairstyle revealed two small black studs and a tattoo of a snake above his jaw. He looked stunning. Aziraphale never thought he would be one for face tattoos, but somehow Crowley managed to make it look classy. Crowley could probably make a paper bag look classy.
“There’s— there’s a storm,” Aziraphale said unsteadily as Crowley approached.
Crowley raised an eyebrow. “You astonish me."
“Yes, it’s, ah.” Aziraphale cleared his throat and turned to face the monitor so he could breathe. “It looks to be a supercellA lengthy, severe storm that often supports tornadoes.,” he said, only marginally more collected. Crowley had no right to be looking like that. In the workplace? Goodness gracious. “Strong updraft,” he continued, glancing over at Maggie whose gleeful face only made him blush further, “and it’s moving westward at about 40 miles per hour. I think it’s worth a check.”
“Excellent. Shall we?” Crowley said.
Aziraphale turned back towards him and nodded, not trusting his tongue to say much else. Crowley took the hint and began to walk back from whence he came.
“Have a good day, Maggie,” said Aziraphale.
She smiled at him with a thumbs up and a wink, to which Aziraphale rewarded with a stern look before following after Crowley.
“Good luck! Be safe!” she called out after them.
The guilt from ignoring her wasn’t nearly as strong as the embarrassment he would surely feel from witnessing any more of her expressions, so he continued out the door without looking back.
By the time they were buckled into the chaser car, the storm was centered around Mineola, a city not far from Tadfield. Speeding down the city’s streets, Aziraphale’s motivation to reach the base of the supercell as quickly as possible overpowered his usual desire to comment on the reckless quality of Crowley’s driving. Time was of the essence.
As they grew closer to the center of the storm, rain and hailstones began to pound heavily against the car. Strong gusts of wind were whirling around the trees, bending them this way and that as the leaves rustled against each other as if shaking in fear.
“They just issued a tornado warning,” Crowley stated, glancing down at the laptop between them.
Aziraphale smiled, eagerness and anticipation turning over and over in his stomach. It was still possible that nothing would come of the storm, but the radar and the dark clouds looming above them looked promising. “That hook is seeming more defined by the minute, I think it’s likely that we’ll see one,” he said, running his finger across the echo on the screen.
“Maybe,” Crowley replied.
They both watched the sky as they flew down the road, searching for any signs of thick, drooping clouds. Nothing yet. In the lull, if it could be considered as such with all the thrashing wind, Aziraphale shifted his gaze to Crowley. It was impossible not to, he was magnetic. And dear me, he really was quite striking today. The dim light of the cloud covered morning was shining on his cheekbones, and a smirk was playing at the corners of his rosy lips.
”Feeling excited, my dear?” Aziraphale asked. As soon as the words left his mouth, his heart stopped. He immediately looked away to stare down at his hands with wide eyes. Oh. Clearly some of the more romantic dialogue from a rather unprofessional dream he’d had the night before was finding its way into reality. He glanced nervously out the window, not really looking at anything in particular.
Crowley offered him a breathy chuckle before responding. “Only been waiting all year.”
Turning back towards him with an awkward smile, Aziraphale found Crowley’s cheeks to be a little pinker than they were before. Was he blushing? It certainly looked like he was blushing.
Aziraphale studied his face, and Crowley must've noticed he was doing so, because after a moment he glanced over at the passenger seat with a cool and collected expression.
Oh, but it was far too late for cool and collected. With Crowley’s head angled towards him, the flush of his cheeks was in full view. Aziraphale's smile went from awkward to full and wide and very pleased. The combined adrenaline of the impending storm and the delicate tint he had managed to bring to Crowley’s skin was enough to make him feel like he might burst.
Aziraphale's heart was racing and his thoughts were taking off with it. That was all it took to make Crowley blush? Interesting. What might a few more choice words result in? Certainly flirting was allowed without consequence, flirting wasn’t nearly the same as proposing to be with someone. It would surely be harmless. He tried to school his smile into something more contained.
“Is that why you look so nice today?” Aziraphale asked. “Wanting to impress the tornado?”
“Ngk— ‘m not…” Crowley started. He trailed off, his flustered expression turning to something more serious. His eyebrows drew together and he stuck his neck out over the steering wheel. “What’s that look like to you?”
Aziraphale followed his gaze across the sky and his breath caught in his throat. There it was, a spiraling wall cloudA large lowered cloud where tornadoes can form.. “Rotation,” he whispered. He hadn’t even noticed the rain tapering off, but they had already made it to the tail end of the storm. If anything were to form at all, it would be here.
Crowley yanked the steering wheel and Aziraphale held onto the car door for dear life as they pulled off to the side of the road.
“Remember what we talked about, yeah?” Crowley said as he put the car into park. “If something starts coming at us, get in the car. I’ll worry about the PIPSPortable In situ Precipitation Station - a device that measures atmospheric data. and get us out of here.”
Aziraphale nodded. He opened the glove box, set up the camera, and stepped out of the car. The sky was a brilliant shade of dark green around the blue-grey of the clouds, and the air was fresh and cool, ripe for something incredible.
Crowley was quick to set up the PIPS while Aziraphale walked out into the field. After situating the device in the grass, Crowley strode several paces ahead, his scarlet hair flowing in the harsh wind and a camera in his hand.
Storm sirens began blaring loudly all around them. The sound made Aziraphale’s skin crawl and set his nerves alight. His heart began to pick up speed. Thankfully, there were no houses to be seen from where they stood, but he hoped that everyone in the nearby town was sheltering somewhere safe.
He gazed at the wall cloud spanning the horizon. It was daunting, perhaps several miles across. Aziraphale had been studying his whole life for this. He was more than ready.
They waited.
“There!” Crowley suddenly shouted over the wind. “Something’s forming on the left!”
Aziraphale looked where he was pointing, and sure enough, a moderately-sized white mass was beginning to extend down from the clouds miles away. He watched in awe. As slow and graceful as a wispy ballet dancer, the funnel began to organize and shape together as it stretched out longer and longer. Crowley laughed an exhilarated laugh and Aziraphale smiled, unsure as to which was more beautiful, the tornado or that sound of pure joy.
After watching for a few moments, Aziraphale raised his camera to capture the moment. Unfortunately, he had only captured three photographs before the funnel began to loosen and disperse. He lowered his camera again with a frown.
“Aghhh,” Crowley grumbled loudly as the tornado dissipated into the atmosphere. They both watched it fade for a moment, revelling in the wonder that it had brought them regardless. “What’d you think?” He whirled around with a grin.
“It was wonderful,” Aziraphale replied, smiling back at him.
But Crowley’s face had fallen. His eyes were wide and his attention was no longer focused on Aziraphale but on something behind him.
Aziraphale turned around, and saw a monster.
Thick, white clouds billowed around a massive, almost completely formed tornado as it spiraled towards the ground at a rapid pace. It couldn’t have been more than 10 miles away, how on Earth had they missed its beginnings?
Dirt and grass sprayed into the air in an instant as it touched down, as if the packed earth was simply a layer of loose dust. The epitome of natural power. The breadth of the funnel began to tear across the field at a speed Aziraphale had certainly read about, but couldn’t have possibly imagined what it would be like to experience. This was intimidation beyond anything he had ever felt. This was terrifying.
“It’s coming this way, let’s go!” Crowley yelled over the increasingly loud growl of the oncoming storm.
Aziraphale didn’t move. He was completely frozen, transfixed by the enormous destructive force drawing nearer. There was no way they could escape this, no possible way the hammering in his chest would slow enough for him to take even one step in the other direction. He was a child again. Helplessly and impossibly small against everything incredibly large and indomitable in the world. His breathing turned short and fast as he stared up at the storm, unable to look away.
“Aziraphale! We’ve got to go!” Crowley called out from his right. Ah, so he was already at the car. This was the moment Crowley was to leave him behind. Alone.
Something numbing washed over him as panic hit its peak, and the sensation of his heart rattling his chest faded away. He seemed to have misplaced his chest entirely somehow. He had no chest, no heart, no lungs, no body at all. There was only the storm, the sirens, and inevitable doom. Still, he was unable to move. What a cruel thing, to be free from his body but still be tied to the ground.
Then, he had a hand. Aziraphale knew he had a hand because someone was holding it, pulling on his arm.
“Angel!” a desperate voice called from beside him. Aziraphale turned to see Crowley, his eyes wide and wild. “Come on!” Crowley yelled, and started dragging him towards the car.
The movement spurred the realization that he had legs as well, so he followed Crowley’s lead and they took off across the field together. Aziraphale looked down at their joined hands as they ran. They were holding hands. Crowley was holding his hand and taking him to safety.
As they reached the car, Crowley threw the passenger door open and pushed him in before running around the driver’s side. Aziraphale closed the door behind him and stared at his hand, feeling like a child again. A child held.
All the time he had spent in the memories of his early youth, back when he did little else but read and fight against his fears, he had forgotten something so, so important. He had forgotten that not only had his sister gifted him The Big Book of Weather, she had also stood beside him through every single storm, holding his hand tightly as the bitterness of the rain soaked them both. He had never done this alone, not ever. He had always had someone else, he had always needed love. Always.
Crowley shut the driver’s side door with a loud thud and slammed down on the gas pedal, launching Aziraphale to the side and out of his nostalgia.
“What happened out there, angel? Are you alright?” Crowley asked as they sped down the road.
Azirpahale’s heart, his lungs, his whole body came back to him at the sound of Crowley’s voice, and he realized that no, he was very much not alright. He had almost been run down by a monstrous tornado.
“I—“ he tried, but didn’t manage another word before the tears started coming.
Oh, it was awful. Crying was the absolute last thing Crowley needed after having to drag him away from the jaws of death, and yet, here he was. He let go of the camera and covered his teary-eyed, red face with shaking hands, his breath coming in ragged and unsteady. It was humiliating. Facing tornadoes was his job and here he was blubbering about it beside someone he admired and adored.
Regardless of what Crowley could actually see of his face, it was undoubtedly obvious that he was crying. Crowley was probably thinking that he was utterly pathetic and a complete coward, and it wouldn’t be long before those thoughts were spoken aloud. Crowley had asked one simple thing of Aziraphale and instead he went and put him in danger. This was sure to change everything. No more lunches at fascinating little restaurants where they order the same thing. No blushing at each other’s mindless flirting. No more ‘angel.’ It felt like the end of the world.
“Hey, hey, ‘s alright! That was fucking huge, angel, terrible luck for your first go. I’ll take you home right now, no questions asked. Whatever you need, okay?” Crowley said, his voice thick with care and concern. His hand moved to rest gently upon Aziraphale’s knee.
With that, Aziraphale erupted into, full, unrestrained sobs. God, of course Crowley would be nice to him after all this. Of course. Crowley, kind, considerate Crowley, who had turned to gentleness in an instant on their first day in the field after his words had stung. Crowley, who was always quick to reassure him when he was worrying over his words. Crowley, who was so intrinsically kind.
“Ah, fuck,” said Crowley. “Whatever I said, I’m sorry. Talk to me, please.”
Deliriously, Aziraphale laughed. He didn’t mean to laugh, but the fact that Crowley was apologizing to him after he had just wept all over the passenger seat and an expensive camera was remarkably silly. When he pulled his hands away from his face, Crowley was pulling over to the side of the road again.
“Angel?” he said softly.
Aziraphale took a deep breath as he looked over at Crowley, finding it easy to ignore the fact that his face certainly looked puffy and flushed and ridiculous. Looking at him was calming somehow. He was safety. Protection. Crowley was everything. Aziraphale blinked the tears away from his eyes to let more of him in.
“You’re so kind,” said Aziraphale, finding it slightly harder to ignore how congested his voice sounded, but he still managed.
Crowley’s face contorted at the compliment. He really had such a way of scrunching up his face, it was a talent. “Normally I’d fight you on that, but you’re in tears at the moment so nnh, ‘s fine. Are you alright? There’s— there’s napkins in the glove box if you need a tissue."
Aziraphale nodded and opened up the compartment to dry his face. “Yes, I’m alright now,” he said with a sniff and a watery smile.
“Do you want me to take you home?” Crowley asked.
Aziraphale shook his head. No, Crowley had already done so much for him. He needed to stay, they had barely gotten any data at all. Besides, he really was feeling better already.
“No. No, I— the storm is still going on, we should keep after it.”
“Angel, I don’t care about that. I care about– there’ll be plenty of storms. It’s alright if you want to go back to Tadfield.”
“Crowley, I insist,” said Aziraphale, straightening out his bow tie and trying to pull himself somewhat together. He stared back at Crowley, trying not to succumb to the gentleness in his eyes.
“Are you sure? Are you sure, you’re sure?” Crowley asked, looking at him sincerely.
“Quite sure,” Aziraphale replied with a nod. He could do this. With Crowley by his side, he could do anything.
“Alright,” Crowley replied, shifting into gear. He paused with his foot on the brake to scan the horizon for a few moments. “There,” he said, pointing at a cloud formation in the distance, “something’s coming down, see it?”
“Well, then. Let’s get a wiggle on,” Aziraphale said with a nod.
Crowley laughed, and oh, wasn’t that the sweetest sound?
“What on Earth does that mean? You fascinate me,” he said with a grin.
Aziraphale smiled. Crowley pressed down on the gas and wrenched the car back onto the road, flying towards the tornado ahead of them.
Despite the severe jostling in the car, Aziraphale’s eyes were still on Crowley. Crowley had taken his panic in stride and accepted parts of him that only one other person ever had. He thought of his sister now, and wondered if she might be proud of him.
Looking at Crowley, Aziraphale saw something new. A future. He wanted Crowley in his life and he wanted to be in Crowley’s just the same, wholly and completely. He needed it. He was starting to think he might need it right this second, but it was hardly the time.
“Thank you for taking my hand, Crowley." He had to say something, the feelings were seeping from his every pore.
“Course,” Crowley replied, focusing hard on getting closer to the storm.
“W-was it…” Aziraphale swallowed. If nothing else right now, he had to know this. “Was it merely to pull me away? Or was it…” he trailed off, hoping that Crowley would finish his sentence so he wouldn’t have to.
Crowley tightened his jaw. “Had to get you in the car somehow. It— it wasn’t like that.”
Aziraphale’s heart sank. “Right, of course.” Well, that was it, then. Crowley was simply a nice person doing the right thing. He had been so foolish, thinking Crowley could possibly have feelings for him. He should be so lucky.
Crowley steered the car onto the side of the road, parked, and unbuckled his seat belt. “Feeling ready?” he asked.
Oh, what a question. Aziraphale’s confirming smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Crowley had stopped much farther away from the storm this time, but the wind had picked up to incredible speeds. Aziraphale fought for breath against the powerful gusts of air as he stepped out into the open, and found that Crowley had already crossed the street. Aziraphale gazed at him with an ache in his chest and started across the road to meet him.
He had only taken three steps before the sound of cracking, splintering wood alerted him; the wind was ripping through the clustered trees beside the road. Leaves were thrashing, trunks were swaying, and then, a branch snapped. Aziraphale’s eyes turned wide as saucers. The branch flew through the air, hurtling straight towards Crowley, and before Aziraphale had a chance to shout a warning, the branch smacked him square in the head. Crowley fell to the ground, landing flat on his back.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted, taking off after him at a sprint. Oh, God, no.
Crowley propped himself up on an elbow and looked over as he approached. His sunglasses had broken and were scattered across the ground in shards.
Aziraphale kneeled down beside him. “Crowley! Christ, are you alright?”
“'Mfine,” Crowley mumbled, then promptly collapsed.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed, catching his limp body before his head could hit the ground. “Crowley?”
There was no response.
By the time Crowley’s eyes fluttered open, he was in the passenger seat of the car. His head was pounding something awful. He looked out at the road streaking by in front of him and then to the driver's seat to find Aziraphale with his hands on the wheel.
“You’re driving?” he asked, somewhat sleepily. Fuck, he felt groggy. What even happened?
“You’re awake,” Aziraphale sighed, glancing over at him. “Oh, thank goodness. Are you alright?”
“Why are you driving my car?”
Aziraphale gave him an extremely annoyed look. Even when he was pissed off, Aziraphale still looked pretty. Rude. “It’s technically both of ours. We both get plenty of use out of it, don’t we? I’m driving because you were hit in the head and became unresponsive."
A full pass out and there wasn’t even any whiskey involved? Sounded bad for his reputation.
“Don’t ask me stupid questions after scaring me to death, you fiend,” Aziraphale continued.
Crowley cracked a smile despite wincing internally at the situation. Pretty and funny while pissed off.
“No dyin’,” Crowley said, shaking his head. Ow. That was a mistake, his head really did hurt. “Where are we going?”
“We’re going to hospital, Crowley. You were unconscious for nearly 10 minutes. How is your head?”
Crowley groaned. “Jus’ take me home, angel, I’ll sleep it off." Spending hours in a crowded emergency room was the last thing he needed right now.
“Out of the question, Crowley, no. It’s very likely that you have a concussion, the last thing you’re supposed to do is ‘sleep it off,’” said Aziraphale. “Besides, we’re almost there.”
Crowley grunted and pushed himself to a more upright position. “What hit me? Where are my sunglasses?” he asked as the glaring headlights of a passing car brutally exacerbated the throbbing in his skull. Maybe seeing a doctor wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
“A tree branch. A flying tree branch. You were hit with a flying tree branch and collapsed,” Aziraphale explained in a worried tone. "Your glasses broke from the impact. Or from the fall, I'm not quite sure which."
Great. Crowley tried to remember, but he couldn’t. He remembered getting out of the car, and then waking up back in the car again. He narrowed his eyebrows, which also happened to hurt his head. Stupid tree branch. “Did you– did you carry me to the car?” Crowley asked, bewildered.
“I did, yes,” Aziraphale replied, keeping his eyes on the road.
Crowley just stared at him. What couldn’t this man do? Crowley may have had less meat on his bones than most, but he was still a very tall adult man. “Didn’t have to do that,” he mumbled, more out of reflex than anything else.
“It’s alright, I didn’t mind,” Aziraphale replied. “But I rather think I did have to, actually. Either way, it was no trouble at all.”
If all of Crowley’s blood hadn’t been pounding against his temples, it would be flooding his cheeks. His fussy blond hero. His angel. Too bad shoving the cat back in the bag was a total joke, this particular cat was very stubborn. His heart always was. Crowley should probably be grateful that he couldn’t remember Aziraphale carrying his unconscious body like some kind of movie star leaving a burning building, but he was longing for the memory anyway. Smitten idiot. There was no hope.
After two hours in the waiting room where Crowley only complained the appropriate amount, which was a lot, he was now situated on a white hospital bed waiting for the doctor to return. Aziraphale was sitting in a chair beside him. As beside him as he could possibly get, Aziraphale had moved the chair all the way up to the edge of the bed. Crowley was trying not to look at him. This close together, his eyes ended up locked on Aziraphale’s pouty little mouth every time he spoke. His lips looked so soft, it really wasn’t fair.
“How are you feeling?” Aziraphale asked.
“You’ve asked me that more than the doctor,” Crowley said with an eye roll.
“I still think he wasn’t nearly as concerned as he should’ve been,” Aziraphale remarked with a scrutinizing frown.
Crowley gave him a smirk that transformed into a teasing grin. “You care about me."
Expecting a snappy comeback, Crowley was surprised when Aziraphale was quiet. He just looked down at his hands and rubbed over his knuckles. Like he did when he was nervous.
“Of course I do,” Aziraphale eventually replied.
The words rang in his ears as Aziraphale’s eyes met Crowley’s again. All gorgeous and round and blue-grey and… vulnerable. That was new. His eyes were wider than usual, if that was even possible, and the eye contact lingered. Really lingered. Aziraphale’s gaze was soft, his pupils were wide, and– Oh.
(Feeling excited, my dear? Is that why you look so nice today? You’re so kind. Thank you for taking my hand, Crowley. Was it merely to pull me away?)
Fuck, fuck he was an idiot. He was such a bloody idiot. Anathema was going to kill him.
“I’m sorry about today, all the crying and everything,” said Aziraphale, interrupting Crowley’s thoughts and breaking his heart. Aziraphale tilted his head down and the crown of his curls glowed in the harsh fluorescents of the hospital like a halo. A total, complete angel. This perfect shape of a man, two glorious white wings short of a literal angel, was apologizing? To him? Absolutely not.
“You take that back, alright?” Crowley said. He gripped the edge of the mattress and swung his legs over the side of the bed so they dangled next to Aziraphale. “That thing was huge, probably would’ve cried myself if that was my first tornado. I don’t care about any of that, I care about… you, angel.” He swallowed down terror as the words left his mouth.
Aziraphale lifted his head again, the longing in his eyes a mirror to Crowley’s own. It was overwhelming, the mutuality there. Crowley exhaled in an attempt to push some of it out of his body and into the air. He was a weak man, he could only handle so much.
“You also carried me across a highway and sat with me in the hospital all day. A bit of crying’s small change,” Crowley continued, desperate to throw another blanket of words over his vulnerability.
“I didn't carry you across a highway, it was practically a backroad,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley’s eyes went right back to his lips, like an idiot. “And it hasn’t been all day, it’s been three hours. You’re being dramatic.”
Crowley forced his eyes back upwards. “It’s a knack,” he replied with a smirk. Very cool, saved it.
He had, though. Carried him. Aziraphale had been carrying Crowley in a gentle hold for weeks now. Aziraphale brought him coffees and worried over him when he was hurt and treated him with endless, unconditional kindness. Crowley didn’t deserve all that. The people who loved Crowley were hardened and treated him like he was bitter, not whatever Aziraphale saw him as. ‘Kind.’ He couldn’t maintain that sort of expectation. The closest he’d ever gotten to being called ‘kind’ was probably ‘overbearing.’
A layer of self-critical slime dripped off of his brain and revealed something less permeable, something more solid and stubborn and still equally as nauseating. It wasn’t that Aziraphale was too good for him, not exactly. It was that he wasn’t good enough for Aziraphale. He couldn’t be. It would be easy enough to repay Aziraphale’s goodness, Crowley was well versed in how to ‘acts of service’ someone to death, but to intrinsically become someone Aziraphale deserved? There wasn’t enough time in the whole world.
“Anthony?” said a voice from outside the depths of his spiral. He turned to see the doctor entering the room with a clipboard and packet of paper.
“Yeah,” Crowley replied, raising his hand in greeting.
“I think you most likely have a minor concussion, I’ve prescribed you some extra strength ibuprofen for the pain. Don’t drive anywhere for a day or two and take some time to rest. You should be back to your normal self soon.”
Wasn’t that just the dream.
“That’s all? He was hit by a tree branch!” Aziraphale exclaimed. Crowley turned to him in surprise. Aziraphale’s eyebrows had shot up, and he had that frustrated, pinched look to him that Crowley adored.
“You said the branch was only a few inches in diameter,” said the doctor.
“Yes, in mesocyclonic winds,” Aziraphale replied with his eyes narrowed.
Crowley's heart swelled. Aziraphale was standing up for him. Adamantly.
“I understand your concern, but the damage appears to be very minor. His vitals look great, there’s barely any external damage, and he’s only complaining of head pain.”
“With all due respect, doctor,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley had to hold back a laugh over how much respect Aziraphale clearly thought this doctor was due, “he was unconscious for 10 minutes.”
“Angel, it’s fine,” Crowley protested.
“We see that a lot with concussions, I assure you that your partner will be just fine.”
Crowley wanted to evaporate. The ache that word brought on was unbearable.
“I’ve sent the prescriptions over to your pharmacy, take care,” the doctor continued, and with that he was gone.
“I’m so sorry about that, dear,” Aziraphale said.
Dear. Crowley was overwhelmingly and embarrassingly positive that he was blushing. Everyone needed to stop saying words. “‘S fine,” he mumbled. “Let’s go, the antiseptic smell is starting to make me feel sick.”
“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want me to stay? Concussions should be monitored within the first 24 hours, you know, even if the doctor didn’t mention it,” Aziraphale said.
Aziraphale was in his flat. He hadn’t been there long and his rideshare was waiting outside to take him home, but Aziraphale was still standing in his flat. Crowley had already made a mental note of everything he had touched while he was there: the table, the couch, Crowley’s arm, again (the other one this time), and now the door. He wanted to paint gold over every fingerprint.
“Angel, ‘m fine, don’t worry. Go home, you’ve already done enough for me.”
Aziraphale stared at him, the sunlight embedded in his skin shining out of his pores like something blinding. Why did he have to be so beautiful? It hurt. Just knowing that Crowley would never be worthy of taking in that warmth as his own, knowing–
Aziraphale hugged him. Tightly, so tightly.
Crowley froze. His arms splayed out slightly and his eyes widened as soft skin buried into his neck. Aziraphale was encircling his waist, their chests were pressed together, and Crowley had to force himself to breathe. Breathe. In… out…
Aziraphale was giving him this. A gift.
Slowly, reverently, he placed his hands against Aziraphale’s back and pulled him closer, turning his head into the soft curls nestled against his jaw and inhaling his sweet scent. Brown sugar. Aziraphale smelled like brown sugar. Despite all the deep breaths, Crowley’s heart was racing and he silently hoped, begged that Aziraphale couldn’t feel it.
He closed his eyes, and embarrassingly felt like bursting into tears. This was everything he wanted. Aziraphale was in his arms, and Crowley was in his. Firm hands wrapped farther around his waist and squeezed, soft and strong and soft, fuck, Aziraphale was so damn soft. Heavenly. His hair was silky and his cheek was perfectly plump against his neck and Crowley never wanted to let go.
Still, nothing lasts forever. It felt like only half a second had gone by before Aziraphale was pulling away.
Crowley was always cold somehow, even in Texas, but the way he felt now as Aziraphale separated from him was different. Worse. This wasn’t just cold, it was the absence of warmth. The absence of the sun.
“Text me tomorrow to check in," Aziraphale said. "Please. I’ll be thinking of you." There was that same warm, open gaze.
Crowley stared, trying to summon back all his noisy thoughts that had somehow quieted at Aziraphale’s touch. “I will.”
I’ll be thinking of you, too, so much, too much. Stay, please.
“Have a good night, angel.”
“Goodnight, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied, and disappeared out the door.
Notes:
AHHHHH!!!!!! let me know what you think!!
if you need me i'll be jumping up and down behind my laptop screen
Chapter 8: i need you close
Summary:
Crowley awakes the morning after the tornado to a ringing at the door. Who could it be? I'll give you one single guess.
Notes:
HELLO!
i adore this chapter, i hope you do too! i'm so so lucky to be able to have ANOTHER beautiful art piece to go along with this story by the one and only arashixyarts! check him out on tumblr and etsy for more fantastic good omens fanart!
thank you to my lovely pre-readers for all their support and love for this chapter, itsscottiesstark, shades-o-grey, and rainydropz
okay go go read read!!! this is a good one :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
After yesterday’s smack in the forehead - both literally and metaphorically - Crowley was buried under a black quilted comforter and bright sun rays the following morning. He’d been sleeping, peacefully even, until the doorbell started ringing. It had rang about three times now, but Crowley was exhausted and hoping that if he played dead whoever it was might leave. They didn’t.
After the fourth ring, he grumbled and slithered out from underneath the covers into the cold air to answer the door. It was probably his elderly neighbor asking for spare potting soil. Again. How many pots did this woman have? He should probably stop giving them to her.
Despite his half-conscious stumbling down the hall, he managed to avoid a second concussion and swung the door open to see none other than Aziraphale. He was wearing a button down in a warm-toned brown (a color that unhelpfully reminded Crowley of a teddy bear) and off-white linen slacks, and he was carrying two plastic bags full of… something. No bow tie, top two buttons undone.
Like a deer in headlights, Crowley stared at the very handsome man in front of him while wearing sweatpants and a shirt that was two sizes too small. “Shit.”
“Hello to you, too,” Aziraphale replied, looking a bit caught off guard himself. “You hadn’t answered my texts, so I—“
“Hold on,“ Crowley said, and shut the door again. He ran down the hall while combing his fingers through sleep-mangled waves, scrambling back to his bedroom to do some damage control on his appearance.
By the time he reached the closet, he realized that it might’ve been a good idea to let Aziraphale inside instead of closing the door in his face. That was probably, definitely the courteous thing to do. Right. Still, hopelessly embarrassed by a very obvious display of gay panic, he decided to just get ready as fast as humanly possible.
Okay, so Aziraphale was at his flat for some reason and had seen him looking like a disaster after watching him get whacked with a tree branch less than 12 hours ago. Brilliant. What time was it anyway? He reached for his phone on the dresser to discover about a million unread texts from both Aziraphale and Anathema, and also that it was almost 2 pm. Brilliant. He really shouldn’t have stayed up so late.
Digging through his clothes, he decided on a long skirt and a shirt that didn’t expose his entire midriff. No wonder Aziraphale was looking at him like that.
He yanked off his pyjamas, pulled on his new outfit, and glanced in the floor length mirror on his wall. By some miracle, the black of his skirt matched the black of his shirt perfectly, and the sleeves fit his arms in a way that showed off what muscle he had without restricting his movement. It would do. It was nothing compared to the masterpiece of an outfit he'd thrown together the day before, but it was good enough.
After scrubbing his teeth and rinsing the sleep out of his eyes, Crowley rushed back to the front of the apartment and flung open the door with what he hoped was a dazzling smile.
”Hi,” he said, trying to stifle his heavy breathing after all the running he had been doing.
“That was rather rude,” Aziraphale replied, pursing his lips. His lips. Here we go again. “I thought I was going to go grey waiting for you out here.“
“Grey would suit you, maybe I’ll close the door again,” Crowley said, trying to remind himself that Aziraphale’s eyes were not, in fact, located on his mouth. He was surprised he was able to manage a compliment, even coherent thought right now was a considerable accomplishment.
“Is that so?” Aziraphale paused, something flickering across his eyes too quickly to identify. “If you do, will you be wearing a different outfit again when you open it back up? I’m quite fond of this one,” he said, scanning over the length of Crowley’s form.
And there went coherent thought. Crowley opened his mouth to respond only for a handful of consonants to tumble out.
“Would you mind if I came in for a moment?” Aziraphale asked. “These bags are rather heavy.”
Crowley must’ve managed to shape his mouth into some word that resembled a yes, because Aziraphale stepped inside and slipped off his shoes.
“You know, I never did ask you your pronouns,” said Aziraphale, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter.
“He/him’s good. I’m pretty much a man, this is just comfortable,” he replied, pulling at the hem of his skirt as he closed the door.
“Pretty much?” Aziraphale said with a smile and an eyebrow raised.
Crowley shrugged. “Sometimes I feel like my gender is a bit of an enigma, but being a man fits me best, I think,” he remarked, trying to avoid staring at the bags full of something that smelled delicious. What had this kind-hearted idiot done now?
“Being a man fits me best as well,” Aziraphale agreed, “though it took the first 20 years of my life to realize it.”
“Yeah? Glad you made it,” said Crowley.
“As am I,” Aziraphale replied with a smile. “I’m sorry if I woke you, I was just getting a bit worried since you hadn’t answered my texts,” he continued, his smile turning sheepish.
“Not a problem,” said Crowley, subtly running the fingers of his left hand through the back of his hair to make sure he hadn’t missed a spot. He glanced down at the counter, curiosity finally getting the best of him. “What’s all the stuff?”
“Ah, hm. It does seem a tad overboard now that I’m here,” Aziraphale said with an awkward laugh. An adorable laugh. “I picked up some lunch from the Indian restaurant you recommended down the street, and I brought you some extra strength ibuprofen from home because they were certainly going to overcharge you at the pharmacy, and… this,” he said, pulling out a tupperware of full of pastries.
Staring at everything laid out on the counter, Crowley was at a loss for words. He should’ve been grateful for that, honestly, the words he probably would’ve had were sure to be a string of nonsense. Everything looked delicious, and Aziraphale was so frustratingly thoughtful, but it felt unnecessary. His head still hurt a little, and he was definitely hungry, but all this? He was having a strong urge to crawl back into bed and never come out again.
“Didn’t have to do all this,” Crowley mumbled, avoiding eye contact as the smell of curry spices washed over his nose.
“I wanted to,” Aziraphale replied softly.
Right. Of course he did. Crowley hadn’t mentioned his newfound realization to Anathema when he’d texted her about the accident before he fell asleep, but after sitting with a pen and a notebook for hours after Aziraphale left, he was starting to digest the reality. Aziraphale had feelings for him, too.
“Would it be alright if I stayed for lunch?” Aziraphale continued, twisting his ring around his pinkie. Crowley looked at the shyness written all over his face and the mess of curls on his head, fluffier than usual from what was likely the wrath of his restless hands, and forced his self-doubt to take a back seat.
“Yeah. Yeah, course you can,” Crowley replied. The bright, relieved expression he received in return was enough to make him want to agree a second time. There was definitely some sort of witchcraft in that smile.
“Splendid. Would you like one?” Aziraphale asked, opening up the plastic container on the counter to reveal little twisted triangles of golden brown pastry dough covered with powdered sugar. “I’ve always been a dessert first sort of person.”
“You made these?” Crowley asked, looking down at them in awe.
“I did, yes. Last night. Or, this morning I suppose. I was having some trouble sleeping, that’s usually when I find myself baking.”
“Do you bake often? These are gorgeous,” he said, picking one up and biting down into a perfect balance of crunchy and chewy.
Aziraphale smiled, casting another spell. “I do, too often, in fact. I always make too much and I don’t really have anyone to share with, that’s why I bring treats into work so frequently.”
“You make all of that yourself?” Crowley replied in shock around his mouthful, choking and coughing on the powdered sugar.
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows and visibly tried to hold back a laugh.
Crowley finished his bite, trying not to blush. “You’ve got a talent, angel. These are really good, and those dark chocolate cookies you brought in a couple weeks ago were fantastic.” Aziraphale blushed, turning his cheeks to perfectly ripe apples. Crowley would eat his pastries everyday if it would bring that perfect tint to his cheeks, even the ones that were too sweet for his taste. “What’re these?”
“They’re called angel wings,” Aziraphale replied, busying himself with his ring again. “I thought you might find it amusing.”
Crowley grinned around another bite. Amused was definitely a word. Besotted was probably more accurate. “Consider me amused,” he replied while looking at Aziraphale’s eyes and definitely not anywhere else at all.
“I noticed that you usually only have a bite or two when I bring my sweetest pastries to the office, so I made orange marmalade for these to balance out all the confectioner’s sugar,” Aziraphale said, taking out a small jar from the bag. “I know too much of a good thing can be overwhelming.”
Crowley stared at the jar, feeling like a dead plant that Aziraphale just kept watering. Too much of a good thing was a bit on the nose, in more ways than one. He was suddenly very aware of his heart and how it was actually much too large for his chest as it quickened its pace. “That’s… thanks, yeah. I’m– I’ll go put some music on the TV and if, if you want to, the table is over there and– Actually, I’ll do the music thing and then come back and set up the food, one minute.”
“Not to worry, dear. I can handle it,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley was too focused on fleeing to the couch to protest. How many times had Aziraphale called him that now, three? Four? It felt like far too many and simultaneously not nearly enough.
After agonizing over different playlists for several minutes, he panicked and settled on the one artist he could dispute without a doubt, The Velvet Underground.
“Crowley…” Aziraphale’s voice called from behind him.
“Mm?” Crowley set the remote on the table and turned around to see Aziraphale in the kitchen next to an open drawer, holding a piece of paper.
“Did you write this?” Aziraphale asked, flipping the paper around to display the most incriminating object in his entire apartment. The poem.1 Crowley’s stomach dropped.
For a long moment, Crowley just stared at him.
Aziraphale stared back.
“No,” he tried, swallowing hard. This was probably just a sugar-induced hallucination. Or a very, very bad dream. That was all.
“It’s in your handwriting,” said Aziraphale, narrowing his eyes a bit and turning the paper back around to read it over again. “Did… did you write this about me?”
Shit, fuck, nope, not a dream. Crowley knew this wasn’t a dream, because in his dreams he never felt like his throat was swallowing his lungs or like his stomach had been tied in a knot. This was real. Aziraphale had read his poem, and was probably seconds away from walking out of his flat and never speaking to him again.
“Seriously? Another one?”
“Y-yeah, I don’t know, I just–”
“Crowley, enough with the poems and all this sappy shit. You’re suffocating me.”
Crowley’s heart was pounding, his palms were already damp with sweat, and fuck, Aziraphale was still staring at the goddamn thing.
“I know. I’m sorry, Oliver, I just feel like–”
“Stop! Just stop. I’m so sick of hearing about how you feel.”
With long, hasty strides, Crowley made quick work of the space between them and all but lunged for the paper. Aziraphale kept his eyes locked onto the words, gripping the poem tightly with both hands as he moved it out of reach.
“You wrote ‘my angel,’ it says ‘my angel’ in your handwriting, did you–”
“My handwriting’s pretty bad-”
“No, I’m certain that’s what it says.”
“Just let me–” Crowley said, reaching to grab it again as panic clamped down harder on his chest.
“Crowley, please!” Aziraphale cried, pinning the paper to the front of his own shirt with his hand. Crowley relented, dropping his hands to his sides as Aziraphale took a breath. “Did you write this about me or did you not?”
Aziraphale was looking at him with his eyebrows raised and his open palm pressing the poem to his heart. Crowley could barely breathe. Anger started to simmer within the narrow space left in his lungs. Anger at himself for writing the stupid poem in the first place, anger at Aziraphale for finding it even though he was probably just looking for a damn fork, and anger at his feelings for being so excessive and ruinous and the source of every single problem in his life. It all bubbled over violently in the form of a loud: “Yes!”
Thick, poisonous silence filled the space between them. Crowley was on fire, and he felt himself igniting the air and the walls along with him, the flames slowly encroaching on Aziraphale as they stared at each other. It was too late. He was going to lose him.
we separate
with static
“I thought you said it wasn’t like that,” Aziraphale said, his arm relaxing against his chest. His tone was soft but the words hit Crowley like a dagger. He knew what he’d done.
“I lied,” Crowley said, staring into eyes he was never going to see again, frantically trying to memorize every detail.
Aziraphale was looking back at him so patiently. Why? After all this? Crowley shifted his gaze to the cabinet at the right side of Aziraphale’s head, his vision fading into soft focus. “I’m sorry,” he said, quiet and weak. Defeated. He braced himself for something harsh, something scolding and disdainful for everything he had done. He would deserve it.
strike me
my heart
He’d lied to Aziraphale about his feelings, written a stupid love poem about him, and then tried to deceive him further in the face of tangible proof. For what, to preserve his own cowardice? It was unforgivable.
Tense as he was, Crowley somehow managed not to flinch when Aziraphale stepped closer and pressed a gentle hand to his cheek. The pads of his fingers felt scalding at first, but after a moment, the soothing quality of his touch became undeniable. There was no harshness there, only comfort. Care.
Slowly, Aziraphale’s tenderness tamed the fiery blaze that engulfed the room to a soft glow. With only a slight press against his jaw, Crowley was turning his head to face him again.
Aziraphale. He was everything. Safety.
His racing heart finally slowed as their eyes met. There it was, that same persistent kindness, even now. The mercy in Aziraphale’s gaze was a Heaven he still wasn’t sure he was worthy of, but one he felt his body rising to regardless. It took all of his restraint to keep from relenting to that pull, to hold him close, to kiss him senseless.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale said softly, the word fanning gently over Crowley’s lips with his breath as he moved closer. Aziraphale’s eyes dropped down to his mouth.
“Angel,” he whispered. A pleading. A prayer.
are my lips
your metal vice?
“May I kiss you?” Aziraphale asked, sliding his thumb tenderly across the roughness of his stubbled cheek.
Crowley thought his heart might leap out of his mouth. As he stood in the warm light of Aziraphale’s grace, his chin carefully cradled like he was something sacred, Crowley nodded.
And just like that, Aziraphale was kissing him. Kissing him. It was almost too much to bear. Kissing Aziraphale was like looking into the sun, so overwhelming it ached, but the very essence of it was life-giving. Crowley’s breath caught in his throat, but that was okay, he didn’t need it anymore. He only needed this.
Soft, perfect lips began to move against his, slowly and tentatively, as if every cell in Crowley’s body wasn’t begging for it, and the last drop of fear melted away. This moment was all that mattered. The only thought that remained in his mind was more, more, so he slid his arms over Aziraphale’s shoulders and around his neck to pull him closer. As Aziraphale’s chest pressed firmly to his, a deep, shaky exhale left Crowley’s lungs, overcome by the warmth that enveloped him.
Crowley’s heart began to pick up speed. This time, he hoped Aziraphale could feel it. He hoped Aziraphale could tell how badly he had been wanting this, even if he had been an idiot, even if he had tried to hide.
A second hand found the other side of Crowley’s face and tilted both of their heads a little farther to deepen the kiss. As Aziraphale’s lips parted against his own, a little more desperate now than gentle, Crowley’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t waste a second, quick and eager to mirror the movement.
Fervent desire flowed between them, their lips pushing and pulling and giving and taking and wanting with a growing urgency that Crowley could only describe as primal, like being this close to Aziraphale was more vital than water. Soft hands tangled in his scarlet waves and Crowley let his tongue drag across Aziraphale’s lip, earning him a tighter grip on his hair in return. Crowley squeezed his eyes further shut as a whimper escaped into Aziraphale’s mouth.
“Fuck,” Aziraphale breathed, and Crowley couldn’t help but smile against his lips. Hearing Aziraphale curse felt so hilariously wrong.
“Right now?” he asked teasingly, separating just enough to get the words out.
Aziraphale pulled away with a giggle, bright-eyed and flushed. “No, you need to rest. And our food– Oh, dear. Our food is probably getting rather cold.”
Crowley barely stifled a laugh. He’d forgotten about the food all together. Looking into Aziraphale’s sickeningly sweet expression and his gorgeous labradorite eyes, all he could think was–
“You kissed me,” he said smugly.
“Was that alright? Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked earnestly, moving his arms down to encircle Crowley’s waist and pull him close again.
Crowley grinned. “More than alright.”
While staring at the blond haired reality in front of him, the devil that somehow managed to occupy both his shoulders had the nerve to pipe up again. After all, Aziraphale had his arms wrapped around him after bringing food and medicine unprompted, and all Crowley had done in return was have half-a-meltdown about– Shit, the poem. With all the kissing and the kissing, he completely, blissfully forgot about the monstrosity he’d put to paper. The heaviness of the reminder tugged on his chin and his smile faltered.
“Ngk. Sorry, probably weirded you out,” he mumbled.
“There’s no need to apologize. ‘Weirded out’ is about the last phrase I would use, you kiss very well.” Aziraphale replied.
“Not that, I know that,” Crowley said with an eye roll.
“Oh, do you now?” Aziraphale asked.
A smirk just barely broke through Crowley’s lips. As much as he would be happy to show Aziraphale all the things he was actually skilled at in relationships, the gnawing in his stomach was taking precedent. “I meant the poem. The way I– nngh, whatever. You read it, you know,” he grumbled.
Aziraphale was rubbing slow circles into his back, and though it felt extraordinarily pleasant, it did nothing to help the tightness in his throat.
“My dear,” said Aziraphale, freeing a hand to tilt his chin back up.
Crowley was really starting to like that. ‘My dear’ was one thing, but that gentle hand on his jaw was something else entirely. Maybe it was a Pavlov effect from getting kissed the last time it happened, but he liked it a lot.
“If you’re referring to the way you feel about me,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind Crowley’s ear and looking at him earnestly, “I was not weirded out. Oh, Crowley, your poem was lovely, perhaps the loveliest thing I’ve ever read and I–” Aziraphale paused and looked down, fidgeting with the seam along the back of Crowley’s shirt. After a moment of silence, he inhaled and met Crowley’s gaze again, his eyes shining with conviction. “I’d very much like to be your angel, if that’s really what you want.”
‘Your angel.’ Yours. Perfect words from perfect lips. The angel in question had his eyebrows slightly raised and his eyes were framed by subtle creases, worried paths that led to overflowing pools of blue. He looked so nervous. As if he hadn’t just read the helplessness of Crowley’s heart in ink, as if Crowley wouldn’t give him the whole world if he asked for it.
A million words rattled around inside Crowley’s head like marbles, a racket louder than his heartbeat. Even if he tried to organize them all and coax each one out of his mouth in the form of a response, they’d just probably leap out of his eyes instead in the form of hot, stinging tears. Aziraphale wanted this, wanted him, meltdown and all. Completely overwhelmed, Crowley could only nod.
“Oh, thank goodness.” Relief washed over Aziraphale’s face. “I am so sorry for confronting you like that without first telling you how I felt, that was incredibly selfish of me,” he said, moving a hand up to the back of Crowley’s neck. “I– I don’t know what I was thinking, demanding an answer out of you. I know very well how terrible it can be to hide your feelings. You seemed rather upset, I should’ve been more clear about my intentions. Are you quite sure you’re alright?”
“’M fine, angel,” Crowley said, trying very hard to focus as Aziraphale ran his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “‘S alright. Got a kiss out of it, didn’t I?” He tried to smirk, but it was a very difficult thing to accomplish while melting into a puddle at someone’s feet.
“Well, yes,” Aziraphale replied with a shy smile. “But no,” he continued, transforming his smile back into something less pleased. “No, I don’t think it is alright. I should’ve started by saying that I hoped you wrote it about me, because really, I did. I just felt a bit mad asking at all, I was almost entirely convinced that ‘it wasn’t like that,’ but the way you were looking at me while we were in hospital…”
Aziraphale brought his hand to Crowley’s face and brushed the skin along his cheekbone with a faint smile. “Your eyes had such a softness to them, the same way they do now,” he said with a loving glint in his own. “I even thought you might’ve been… Well, let’s just say I was a little confused. I knew there was something more. You’re incredibly expressive without your sunglasses on, you know.”
Crowley would’ve rolled his eyes if he wasn’t so entranced by Aziraphale’s soft touch. Blasted things, his eyes. He was well aware of how damning they were, always giving away what he was thinking, how he was feeling, and the fact that he was always doing both of those things too much. He put the glasses on after Oliver left and had done his best not to take them off since.
Still, Aziraphale wasn’t Oliver, and it wasn’t fair to hide from him. He should’ve been honest from the start. He’d really been a huge idiot, he was lucky Aziraphale kissed him anyway. “I shouldn’t have lied to you, ’m sorry,” Crowley said, doing his best to maintain eye contact. “Just panicked.”
“Perhaps not, but I understand panic. Really, I do,” Aziraphale replied with a sympathetic smile. He moved his palm gently against the small of Crowley’s back. “It’s alright. However, please do try to be more open with me about how you feel from now on, I want to know. I’ll do my best to be forthcoming as well.”
“You want to know,” Crowley repeated, staring at him with an eyebrow raised. “More than just the fact that you look extremely kissable at all times? I don’t think you understand what you’re signing up for.”
Aziraphale smiled shyly and blushed all over again. “Do I?”
Crowley had to bite down on the inside of his lip. One fabulous kiss and now the brunt of his affection was bursting at the seams where he’d stitched himself together five years ago. Aziraphale’s expression was not helping in the slightest, all loving eyes and soft lips. Unimaginably soft. Crowley resigned himself to a ridiculously understated “Yes,” tilting his head down slightly and raising a second eyebrow to meet the first one.
For the second time in ten minutes, Crowley forgot how to breathe as Aziraphale’s eyes flicked down to his mouth.
“Well,” Aziraphale said, looking pleased. He placed a hand over Crowley’s hammering heart and met his eyes again, frustratingly not kissing him at all. “Perhaps I don’t understand what I’m signing up for, but I would very much like to find out. Would that be alright?”
Crowley scrunched up his nose. This might be a colossally stupid idea, a perfect set up for heartbreak. Still, now that the haze of panic had cleared, it was more obvious than ever how different this was than anything he had ever experienced. Aziraphale was still standing in his kitchen, holding Crowley as tightly as Crowley was holding him. Whatever they had between them, there was no caution tape, no giant red flags, just… them. Simple.
Being open about how he felt wouldn’t be like it had been before - like skydiving in the dark, plummeting to the ground alone without a parachute. This would be leaping off a cliff into a shimmering ocean, hand in hand. Both were nerve-wracking and risky, but one was much more likely to leave your organs intact than the other.
“Yeah,” Crowley said, exhaling the breath he’d been holding hostage. “That’d be alright.”
Aziraphale beamed. “Oh, splendid, thank you, dear. That means so much to me. And I can only hope some of those feelings will emerge in the form of another poem one day,” he said, tracing lines down Crowley's chest with his finger. “You really are an excellent poet, you know. Do you write often? You must.”
Crowley shrugged, ignoring his racing heart and trying to act like someone who didn’t have multiple notebooks full of poems shoved into a box in his bedroom. “On occasion.”
“I’d love to read more of your work,” Aziraphale said with a little excited shimmy, moving Crowley’s body along with him.
“No,” Crowley said firmly, though he had to fight off a smirk at Aziraphale’s little dance. Adorable bastard.
Aziraphale gave him a dangerously persuasive pout. “Alright. I’ll respect your privacy, I’m sure it was unsettling for me to stumble upon one by accident. I probably shouldn’t have read it at all, ‘my angel’ was just the second line and I— I’m afraid I couldn’t help myself after that. My heart got a little carried away. I really am sorry.”
“‘S alright, really,” Crowley replied, sliding his hands down from Aziraphale’s shoulders to his biceps. “Not mad, just happy you didn’t hate it.”
“Of course I didn’t hate it! It was wonderful, you’re wonderful. And if you’d like an answer to your question, your lips are not my vice, not in the slightest. They are my antidote,” Aziraphale said, his voice full of warmth and his eyes crinkling.
Only Aziraphale could melt Crowley’s heart with something that corny. His words trickled into gaps in his chest that had been empty for a very, very long time. Too empty to be filled with a few well-intentioned flowery sentences, but it was definitely something. A big something, if Crowley was being honest.
“Is that so?” Crowley said with a mischievous smirk, trying to gloss over the emotion welling up inside him. “Now that you mention it, you’re looking a bit sickly.”
“Don’t be rude,” Aziraphale replied, but a smile was peaking through his reproach.
“Look at you, your face is all flushed and your hair is all pale. Must not be feeling well,” said Crowley, giving him an exaggerated pout.
“Your hair doesn’t become paler when you’re sick, Crowley, that’s nonsense,” Aziraphale replied while fighting against a very determined giggle.
“Shut up,” he said, snaking his arms back around Aziraphale’s neck and pulling him close again. “‘M doing a thing.”
He leaned in, and kissed Aziraphale the way mist kisses the forest floor, soft and lingering. The way he was meant to be kissed. As Aziraphale’s breath caressed his cheek, Crowley wondered how he had gone so long without this. Without him. Without their lips moving together with perfect rhythm, like it was a melody they had known their whole lives.
Aziraphale wrapped his arms tighter around his waist, and Crowley had the audacity to sigh like a teenager. He felt like one, really. There was no denying the fluttering in his chest and the way his mind was chock full of little cartoon hearts. This was really, actually happening. He was kissing Aziraphale, and Aziraphale was kissing him back.
When they parted, Aziraphale rested his forehead against Crowley’s with a smile. “You are incredible,” he whispered.
Crowley didn’t respond for a moment, drinking in the praise with his eyes closed. “Mm,” he said eventually. “We should really do that more often.”
“Well, if you’re insisting,” Aziraphale replied with a coy smile, lifting his head to give him a gentle kiss on the forehead. “I must admit, I’m rather peckish by now, how would you feel about a lunch break?
“Lunch, yeah. Sounds good,” Crowley said, still in a daze.
“We’ll have to heat it up a bit, but that’s manageable. That looks to be quite a fancy microwave you have,” Aziraphale said, passing a glance across the counter.
“State of the art,” Crowley replied, absentmindedly winding his fingers through the silky strands at the back of Aziraphale’s head.
Crowley took pride in the modern aesthetic of his flat, and most of his appliances were sleek and shiny and equipped with more buttons than he could ever use, just the way he liked it. The microwave was no exception.
“I never did find your utensils, so if you don’t mind setting the table, I’ll try deciphering that machine of yours and reheat our food,” said Aziraphale.
Crowley glanced over at the table. Aziraphale was so close to him right now, and the dining chairs were just so… “What would you say to eating on the couch?”
Aziraphale smiled. “That sounds lovely.”
Aziraphale never did figure out the microwave, but Crowley couldn’t complain. He got to stand behind him and explain how to use it in the snarkiest way possible, very close to his ear, resulting in the perfect combination of frustration and giggles.
Lunch was delicious, obviously. It was one of his favorite restaurants, after all. Aziraphale had gotten them both separate entrees, but the way he had eyed Crowley’s with a little pout was impossible to resist, and they ended up sharing.
Now, both takeaway containers were empty on the coffee table, and they were lounging on the couch talking about… honey? Crowley wasn’t fully listening, he was mostly just staring while Aziraphale spoke. How was it possible for someone to be so handsome? Round cheeks, rosy lips, and perfectly soft hair. Crowley had his arm draped over the backrest, watching Aziraphale with a soft gaze as he finished up his point about… honey, yes.
“I believe ant honey tastes rather different than bee honey, but it’s honey all the same,” he was saying.
Crowley frowned. “Ants don’t make honey.”
“They most certainly do! Have you been listening at all? David Attenborough did a very interesting series for the BBC that discusses honeypot ants. Some members of the colony are quite literally living tupperware.”
Crowley chuckled. “Living tupperware? Gross.”
“It’s not gross, it’s a natural process.”
“Or an interesting kink,” Crowley said with a mischievous grin.
Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “Ants do not have kinks, Crowley, don’t be ridiculous.”
“You don’t know that. Ever asked one?”
“If I ever had the opportunity to ask an ant a question, I can’t say it would be whether or not they had any kinks. Honestly, do you hear yourself when you talk?” Aziraphale asked with judgement on his lips and a smile in his eyes.
“Oh, please tell me what you would ask an ant if you had the opportunity.”
Aziraphale paused and pursed his lips in thought. “Perhaps I would ask what it’s like being so strong. They’re one of the strongest insects relative to their size, you know. Or maybe I’d ask what it’s like to be so in sync with those around you. Ants seem to know what their role is without a doubt, it must be instinctual.”
“I’m sure ants have plenty of doubts. Whether or not their abdomen is rotund enough, whether or not honey should be made exclusively by bees…” Crowley mused.
“I don’t think ants have enough brain capacity for doubt."
“Isn’t that the dream,” Crowley said with a smirk. “You already know what it’s like to know what your role is, don’t you? You’re working the job you've wanted your whole life.“
“Well, I may be playing my role, but not in the same way everyone else seems to be. Somehow I still feel like a square peg in a round hole from time to time.” Aziraphale’s gaze shifted to his restless hands in his lap.
“Yeah? Tell me about that,” Crowley said, studying the nervous grasping of Aziraphale’s fingers.
When Aziraphale didn’t respond, Crowley reached across the space between them and placed a hand over his to still them. “You don’t have to, but if I’m asking it’s because I want to know,” he said, giving his hands a light squeeze.
Aziraphale glanced up at him briefly with a weak smile. “I know, it’s just… it’s silly. Probably not worth a conversation.”
“Not silly, I take pegs in holes very seriously,” Crowley said in an attempt to make him laugh.
It didn’t work, but Aziraphale’s features relaxed and he met Crowley’s eyes again with a slightly amused pursing of his lips. “You are a child."
Crowley gave him an overly cheesy grin and was content with the quiet chuckle he received in response. “I don’t care if it’s silly,” he continued. “You said you want to know about my feelings, I want to know about yours.”
Aziraphale sighed and looked down at his lap again. He wrapped both of his hands around Crowley’s and laced their fingers together.
Crowley stared with wide eyes. They were holding hands. Crowley had no idea why this was giving him more of a rush than all the kissing, but they were holding hands. It wasn’t even a ‘we’re about to die so take my hand in case I never get a chance to do it again,’ sort of thing, it was simple. Tender
“I…” Aziraphale started, and Crowley tilted his head back up, ignoring his racing heart to focus on the importance of whatever Aziraphale was about to say. “Well, I suppose I just feel very… separate, a lot of the time. Different.” He opened his mouth like he was going to continue, but closed it again without another word.
Crowley rubbed his thumb across Aziraphale’s. If he needed time to collect his thoughts, Crowley would wait. He would wait for millenia if that’s what it took. Crowley never had much trouble fitting in, but he definitely understood feeling isolated, and that was a feeling that needed time to put into words.
“I often feel like there's something additional I’m meant to be doing or understanding, I’ve just never been able to figure out exactly what it is,” Aziraphale said slowly.
His eyes were glued to his lap and he was holding Crowley’s hand a little tighter than before. Crowley’s heart burned in his chest, and the urge to pull Aziraphale close to soothe his worries grew as strong as it had been in the car during the storm. Crowley would give anything to have Aziraphale instinctively turn to him when everything felt like too much. Then, now, anytime, really. Crowley just wanted to be there.
“Sounds really hard, angel," Crowley said softly. "I understand, in my own way. Feeling like you’re not exactly the way you should be. Feels like a trap."
Aziraphale nodded, and when he looked up, his bright eyes were a little shiny around the waterline.
Nope, that wouldn’t do. Though he had to fight for an inhale and the thumping of his heart was loud in his ears, Crowley followed his impulse and moved his arm down from the back of the couch to wrap around Aziraphale’s shoulders.
Aziraphale wiggled his way closer and leaned into his embrace, resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder. A rosy pink mist wrapped around every curve of their bodies, and Crowley quickly found himself lost in it. Aziraphale was so warm. How was he always so warm?
Somehow, he managed a deep breath. “If it helps at all, I like the way you play your role,” he said, quieter now that they were closer. “Sure, you do things your own way and maybe it doesn’t work for everyone, but personally, I enjoy the fact that you’re so stubbornly you.”
“Thank you, dear,” Aziraphale replied, nuzzling his curls into Crowley’s neck. “It helps.”
Crowley turned to rest his head on Aziraphale’s, and for a moment they just breathed. It felt so natural, even if his heart was still racing.
“I have to admit to spending quite a long time trying to be someone different just to feel a bit more integrated. Although, it didn't exactly make anything easier,” Aziraphale said, the vibration of his words rumbling against Crowley’s chest.
“Can’t imagine it would,” Crowley replied. He furrowed his brows in thought. “D’you ever go to queer events? If there’s anywhere that’ll make you feel integrated, it’s a room full of queer people. I bet you’d find some people that think like you. Might be nice. I’d go with you, if you like.”
Aziraphale’s head turned upwards, finding his gaze. “Would you?” he asked quietly.
Crowley felt like he was floating, no longer restricted by the bounds of gravity. Aziraphale’s eyes were a gorgeous mix of grey and green and blue, like smooth stones in a pond. Like a storm. If Aziraphale's eyes were the deep blues and greys of a storm cloud, Crowley was evaporating to meet them. The warmth of his gaze was so inviting. It felt like coming home.
“Course, angel. Course I would.”
Aziraphale hummed softly, the corners of his lips curving upwards. “You have that look about you again.”
“What look?”
The creases around Aziraphale’s eyes deepened as he held his gaze. “One of my favorites, so very soft and dreamy. I’ve always found your eyes indescribably beautiful, darling, like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Crowley’s heart did a flip. Darling. “They’re alright,” he replied, nervousness breaking through the enveloping haze. He looked down at their joined hands again. “Do yours actually change color? I swear they do.”
“Maybe a little, with the light,” Aziraphale said softly.
Crowley turned to meet his gaze again, finding himself already missing the kaleidoscope of colors in the brief moment apart. “They look like the sky did yesterday.”
“Do they?”
Crowley nodded. “Yeah. They do tend to scatter me like light in a storm cloud. Always have.”
Aziraphale’s lips turned downwards in a delicate little pout. “Oh, Crowley, that was–”
“Makes me want to get smacked by a branch during our next one, too, just to get another good look at the sky,” he said, his nerves shattering the romantic bubble in favor of a devilish grin.
“Don’t.” Aziraphale said with a frown. “How are you so eloquent and then immediately so idiotic?”
Crowley leaned his head back with a laugh.
“Is that from one of your poems?”
Crowley cleared his throat, his smile falling from his face. “No.”
Aziraphale let out a quiet gasp. “It is.”
Crowley frowned and tilted his head down again to find Aziraphale’s face completely lit up.
“I have complete respect for your privacy,” Aziraphale continued with a nod. “If you’d rather keep your writing private, I won’t ask you to do otherwise.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow. “That definitely looks like the face of someone who’s asking.”
“Certainly not. But If you wanted to show me, of your own accord, of course…” Aziraphale smiled softly, sliding a hand up Crowley’s chest.
“Don’t– don’t do that, that’s cheating,” said Crowley. Closing his eyes to the gentle touch, he grumbled at his own weakening will. Aziraphale was so gentle with him. Maybe… maybe he’d be gentle with his writing, too? He was surprisingly nice about the first one, and it admittedly did feel good to let some of his heart leak out, especially when Aziraphale was there to catch it in soft, cupped hands.
“Fine,” he said with a glare that probably didn't have nearly as much bite as he’d hoped. Aziraphale grinned and bounced a little where he sat as Crowley rolled his eyes and stood up.
He walked down the hall to grab his notebook from his room, trying to force feed himself the notion that this wasn’t a horrible idea, that Aziraphale was different. Yanking open the top drawer of the dresser in his bedroom, he rifled around his socks and pants until his hand brushed against a flat leather cover.
Crowley had collected many notebooks over the years. Most of them were chock full of scribbled poems and doodles and mindless ramblings by now, but a few remained pristine and untouched. Last night, he had selected this particular blank, soft bound book to write in, in hopes of creating something new, something untouched by muses who had stomped his heart into the dirt. A monument to starting over.
Holding the thin booklet in his hand, he did his best to focus on Aziraphale’s words. It was perfect. The loveliest thing I’ve ever read. It made me feel so special. He pictured Aziraphale’s kind eyes and took a deep breath as he flipped to reread the poem in question.
Blowing air loudly through his lips, he shut the book again and walked back out of his bedroom to show Aziraphale.
teasing cloud
my angel
let drought yield
to rain, fall
to eager
skin
we separate
with static
are my lips
your metal vice?
pale curls
of lightning
strike me
my heart
once still
alive Back to the story.
Notes:
the fluff!! fluff has entered the chat!!! see you next week for more poems and blushing hehehe
Chapter 9: to say that i'm a rainbow
Summary:
Like the smitten gays they are, Aziraphale and Crowley spend the rest of the day together.
Notes:
hi again! another lengthy chapter for you today, almost 10k, so be aware of that before you start reading.
this chapter (somewhat accidentally) stumbled into m rated territory, so i've placed a skip option beforehand in case you'd rather not read that. i'll put a short, non-explicit summary in the end of chapter notes if you're feeling curious. otherwise, this chapter does have some brief suggestive moments that i felt were important to leave out of the skip because they relate to crowley's asexuality, but it's just discussion and flirting.
that being said, this is overall a very sweet, wholesome read. a little hurt/comfort, a lot of fluff, exactly the relationship content you signed up for. i had a great time with it, personally.
anyway. as always, i am endlessly grateful for my betas itsscottiesstark and shades-o-grey, and for rainydropz for her cheer reading!! so much love to you three
ANDDDDDD for eybefioro who offered YET AGAIN to do art for this chapter!!! you spoil me, you talented thing you, thank you again. (my writing is lovingly and expertly handwritten in character on the art, but just in case it's easier for you to read in plain text, i've added footnotes for that purpose).
one final note before you begin: i mentioned in the chapter notes a few weeks back that this chapter was originally part of chapter 8. obviously, it would've been ridiculously long if i'd left it like that (your outline ever get away from you?) so i split it in half, but that means this chapter starts a little abruptly. in case you need the reminder: we left off with aziraphale asking (well, not so much asking as making sweet, pleading eyes) to see one of crowley's poems. after protesting, crowley eventually agreed, stood up from the couch, and went to his bedroom to fetch his notebook.
alright, enough of me blabbering on about intro stuff, go ahead and read my blabberings about the ineffables instead!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Aziraphale sat eagerly with his hands in his lap as he waited for Crowley to reemerge. Excitement was doing backflips in his stomach. It was difficult to believe that Crowley had written even one poem about him, but two? It was almost too much for his heart to handle.
Before long, familiar footsteps approached from the hall and Aziraphale couldn’t help the excited wiggle that erupted from him as Crowley’s endearing scowl appeared.
“Just the one,” Crowley said as he sat down on the couch. He flipped through the first few pages of a black journal, folding them (and the leather cover) out of sight.
Aziraphale frowned. “There’s no need to crease the spine, dear."
“Do you want to read it or not?”
He did. Very much so, in fact, so he mimed zipping his lips closed with another involuntary wiggle. Crowley may have rolled his eyes, but he still allowed Aziraphale to take the journal, who eagerly wrapped his fingers around the edges of the pages with great care. This was a private piece of Crowley's heart, and Aziraphale would treat each delicate word with the gentleness it deserved. With a small, anticipatory breath, he began to read.1
Aziraphale's eyes flew across the page with such quickness that he had to read it again. And again. And once more, just to be certain he had absorbed the weight of every carefully penned letter. Every precious line of the drawing.
To learn that the moment they shared in the storm had meant just as much to Crowley as it had meant to Aziraphale, so much that he had illustrated it and written a poem about it, was more than he could have ever hoped for. He also couldn't help but notice the small ‘Az + Cr’ scribbled in the corner. If his heart had just been filled to the brim, it was now overflowing. Crowley had been doodling their names together like an infatuated school boy! Hopefully that implied that he wanted them to be something more, an item, perhaps. The prospect was so exciting that Aziraphale had to press his lips together so he didn’t squeal.
Crowley was everything. Charming, funny, kind, a brilliant scientist, and a secret poet with a tender heart that Aziraphale was longing to hold in both his hands. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but he liked to think holding Crowley's heart was a very near thing. 'My angel,' he had written. In all the pining Aziraphale had indulged in, he never realized how much he wanted to hear those words. It felt like something clicking into place, like pressing the last piece of a puzzle into the final gap. Mine. Aziraphale very much wanted to be Crowley's, and here he was now, holding the man's poems. The inscriptions on his heart. The thought of him hadn't left Crowley's mind, either.
“Oh, Crowley…” Aziraphale looked up into Crowley’s wide eyes and sighed. Wrapping his hand around the back of Crowley’s neck, Aziraphale leaned towards him until their lips met.
Crowley was tense under his touch, likely still nervous from sharing something so personal, so Aziraphale brought a hand to his face to soothe him, stroking his cheekbone gently as they kissed. Aziraphale's lips pulled into a faint smile as Crowley's features softened under his fingers, and eventually, he felt a slow, steady exhale brush against his cheek. They breathed deeply together, and a calm stillness billowed out into the room.
Kissing Crowley was like music. Their lips met, and the silky bow of a violin glided gently across Aziraphale’s heartstrings, transforming devotion into song. It felt almost like a dream, but it wasn’t. Not anymore. This was a beautiful, tangible world where he could kiss Crowley to his heart's content.
“Not too bad, then?” Crowley asked when they finally parted, looking just as dazed as Aziraphale felt.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said with a watery smile. Goodness, it was a rather emotional day. “Of course not, It's wonderful. I’ve always marvelled at the beauty of poetry like this, it’s lovely,” he continued, picking up the notebook to look over it again. “A memorialization of the heart, as if the feeling was too large and important to do anything less.”
Aziraphale looked up at Crowley to see him staring off to the side, his jaw tight. Whatever emotion he was experiencing, it looked similar to the distress he had embodied the day the car had broken down, only there seemed to be significantly less risk of something bursting out of his skin at any moment. This was still. Soft.
“I’m honored that I happened to be one of those feelings,” Aziraphale reassured him, still a little unsure as to what exactly he was thinking.
“Course you were,” Crowley replied, impossibly softer.
Aziraphale reached over and curled their fingers together. “You say that like this is nothing at all. This is everything, Crowley." You are everything. "Thank you.”
Crowley met his gaze with something almost painfully vulnerable in his eyes. Aziraphale took it as a hint to ease up a little. This was, after all, very new for both of them, and just because Aziraphale wanted to dive in headfirst didn't mean Crowley wouldn't need some time to adjust. “Was it purposefully in iambic pentameter?” he asked.
“Surprised you noticed,” Crowley replied. “Definitely didn’t do it by accident.”
“Of course I noticed,” Azirpahale said with a nod. “I’ve read Paradise Lost many times, and Hamlet is very close to my heart.”
Crowley scrunched up his nose. “Hamlet?”
“You don’t like Shakespeare? I must say I’m surprised.”
“Course I do, I just prefer the ones where everyone lives in the end. You have to admit Hamlet’s no Much Ado.”
“I saw Much Ado About Nothing only a few days ago! Oh, I wish I had known you liked it, I… I actually found myself wishing you were with me while I was there.” Aziraphale ran his thumb along the back of Crowley’s hand, ruminating on all the time he had wasted in his worries. How pointless it had all been.
“Would’ve been nice,” Crowley replied.
“Yes, I rather think it would’ve. Perhaps next time you’d like to accompany me?”
The corners of Crowley’s mouth curled upwards in a faint smile. “Love to.”
Aziraphale smiled back, much wider. “Splendid.” There was nothing to do now but make up for lost time.
Crowley glanced down at his notebook and his grasp on Aziraphale’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly. “You can read the others, if you like.”
“Oh, are you certain?” Aziraphale asked, trying (and likely failing) to hide the fact that he was dying to devour every word Crowley had ever written. “I don’t mean to pressure you.”
“Not pressuring me at all. You’re… being nice. It’s… ngk, I don’t know, I want to. Go on, ‘m not even here.”
Aziraphale smiled to himself as Crowley turned to face the kitchen. Ridiculous man. Still, he wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to read more of his work, and if Crowley needed to look the other way for it, that was quite alright.2
Aziraphale placed a hand over his heart. “Oh, Crowley, this is so sweet. Is it about… Well, why don’t you tell me what it’s about? If you want to, of course.” He turned back to Crowley with wide, expectant eyes, silently hoping it was about him. It was best not to get carried away before he heard it from the man himself, but perhaps the hug they shared the night before had left Crowley with the same ache it had left him.
Crowley turned a little pink and took a deep breath. “You hug very nicely,” he said slowly.
Aziraphale beamed, all of his blood rushing to his cheeks. “Do I?”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “Can’t believe you don’t know that. I wouldn’t have been surprised if I dissolved in your arms like I was made of bloody sugar yesterday. You’re so soft, angel, softer than– than something very soft, I can’t- I can't think when you’re looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Aziraphale asked, fully aware of what he must’ve looked like. Like he was living in a world where a beautiful man with red hair writes you poems and wishes made on shooting stars really do come true. A perfectly cliche fairytale. Hearing such sweet words fall from Crowley’s lips felt like nothing less.
“Stop asking me questions,” Crowley snapped, but Aziraphale could see the smile peeking through his eyes.
“I’m looking at you like I’d listen to you talk about me like that all evening.”
Crowley gave him a lopsided grin. “Inviting yourself over for dinner, angel? How forward.”
Aziraphale’s cheeks were feeling exceptionally warm by now. “I believe I have some reading to do.” Crowley continued to grin at him all too smugly, so he busied himself with the journal again.3
This particular poem felt more personal than any other. Aziraphale leaned his head on Crowley’s shoulder, taking the time to read it through again and observe the figure he had just seen wrapped in a hug fall from the sky. He took in every inscribed feeling he could, and turned his head to place a gentle kiss near Crowley’s ear. “I fear love has not been kind to you,” he said softly.
Crowley narrowed his eyebrows and turned to look down upon the notebook, scanning over the words written there. “Forgot that one was in there, sorry. Uh, no. I don’t suppose it has.”
Aziraphale lifted his head to see Crowley with a strained expression. “My dear, there’s no need to apologize.” He stroked his thumb over the corner of the notebook, as if he could smooth over the cracks in Crowley’s heart through the page. “I liked it very much. I’m here to listen if you’d like to tell me about it.”
”Ahhnngehh… That was a long time ago.”
“How long?”
“Five years.”
Five years ago. Crowley had moved to Tadfield five years ago, had he not? For a fresh start, he said. Worried lines formed across Aziraphale's forehead and his hand found Crowley’s, relenting once again to the magnetic pull between their fingers. “Did something happen in Soho? Before you left?”
“Might not’ve left at all if something didn’t happen,” Crowley said with a weak laugh. “Kind of a funny story, actually.”
Based on his poem, Aziraphale had his doubts that there was anything funny at all about what had happened. Still, he set his head back on Crowley’s shoulder and hoped he would continue.
“Things hadn't been going particularly smoothly with my ex for a while and… Uh, one day I walked into our flat to find it half empty. He left without saying goodbye.”
Aziraphale closed his eyes and squeezed Crowley’s hand tighter, letting the devastating weight settle on his heart. “That’s awful, Crowley. I’m so sorry.”
“Not great, no. But, as I said, long time ago. He wasn’t particularly nice anyway, it was good that he left. Now, that doesn't mean I didn’t have a proper freak out. Spent a good half of my savings in New Orleans the next week.”
“Of course you freaked out, that sounds catastrophic.” Aziraphale couldn’t even imagine how that must’ve felt. No one deserved that kind of treatment, especially not Crowley. Though he had about a thousand questions, Aziraphale assumed it was a rather sensitive topic and opted for something a little less personal. “How was New Orleans? That’s rather far from London.”
“That was the point. Somewhere very far away with extraordinary amounts of alcohol. It was alright, fantastic musicians. I actually met Anathema there.”
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows and sat up in surprise. “Did you really?”
“I did. She knew who I was, too, which was much worse than crying in front of someone who thought I was some random drunk. She‘d read a paper of mine that had just been published in Nature.”
“Oh, ‘Severe Weather Told By Soil?’” Aziraphale blurted out without thinking. Oh, bother.
A curious brow climbed up Crowley's forehead. “You’ve read it?”
Aziraphale blushed. “I stumbled upon it last week, actually,” he replied as casually as he possibly could.
“Stumbled upon it?” Crowley asked, the tight line of his lips relaxing into a grin. “You googled me.”
Weeks and weeks of pining in silence had to come out in some form or another. It was far too easy to get carried away in the long nights following days spent desperately trying to avoid the one he desired most. It seemed quite foolish now. Foolish, and inordinately embarrassing.
“Got it bad for me, angel?”
Aziraphale smiled back as coyly as he could after accidentally letting such a detail slip. “I rather think we were talking about you.”
Crowley laughed and lifted their hands to his mouth to place a gentle kiss on Aziraphale’s knuckles, which did nothing for his helpless blushing but did make the embarrassment feel decidedly more worth it.
“She knew who I was, yeah, and despite my pathetic state she still stuck with me the entire week. We actually had a pretty good time, Anathema’s a riot. Any bar we were at, she would find the fanciest, stuffiest suit in the room and fish cash out of his pockets to buy us drinks.”
“Anathema?” Aziraphale asked in shock. It was difficult to believe, but he supposed he didn’t know her very well.
“Oh, yes, Anathema. We were both pretty drunk, but she probably would've done it sober, too. Bold as hell, that one. I never told you this, but when I called her after we got stranded a few weeks ago she suggested I hot wire a car.”
“She asked you to do something illegal? My goodness.” Aziraphale didn’t know her at all.
”She’s nuts, I love her. Probably my best friend.”
Regardless of the rather unsettling new information about his superior, Aziraphale’s heart was warmed. How wonderful that Crowley had met someone that would become so meaningful to him during his lowest moment. Divine timing, it seemed. “Well, illegal activity aside, it sounds like she was exactly what you needed.”
“She was. She told me about OMENS and offered me a spot as a storm chaser. Best decision I ever made, gave me a chance to start over.”
“I’m so glad. Though, I really am sorry for everything that happened with your ex-partner. It sounds traumatic,” said Aziraphale, that same heaviness biting into his heart again.
Crowley took a deep breath. “Happy with where I ended up, though.”
Aziraphale gazed at him fondly. Crowley managed to remain so kind after weathering so much. That was no small feat. From a young age, Aziraphale knew the way fragments of a broken heart could scatter throughout the body, cutting deep into the flesh with every breath. As much as he was a trying to downplay it, Aziraphale knew Crowley was still hurting, even after all these years.
“I’m delighted to hear it,” Aziraphale said softly, leaning forwards to give Crowley a kiss on his cheek. “I have to ask, in your poem… was that last bit…” Aziraphale trailed off, gazing back down at the words, in sunlight’s arms / i’d melted.
“Yes, it was about you,” Crowley said with a sigh, that gorgeous pink tint returning to his face. He really did blush rather easily. “You asked for this, sorry if it’s sappier than you expected.”
Aziraphale smiled. “I’m thoroughly enjoying myself, my dear, there’s no need to be sorry. Perhaps it was sappier than I expected, but it’s very much welcome. I like how soft you are.”
“Not soft,” Crowley grumbled softly.
“Oh, I simply must disagree,” Aziraphale said with a grin. “I think that deep down, you really are quite a–”
“Aren't you supposed to be reading?” Crowley interrupted.
“Oh, are we insisting now?” Aziraphale asked playfully, raising his eyebrows.
“I’m insisting that you stop talking."
Aziraphale squeezed his hand with a smile and turned back to the journal.4
all poem art by eybefioro
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, turning to the man beside him with both fondness and frustration. “Did you write this last night?”
“Yeah.”
Aziraphale couldn’t help but frown. Leaving Crowley alone last night was a nearly impossible task. Watching him fall to the ground and then carrying his unconscious body to the car had given Aziraphale quite a fright, and leaving him alone afterwards was incredibly difficult. Knowing that Crowley had been dreading his departure just as much was more than a little frustrating.
“Firstly, I do adore this, it’s absolutely beautiful and the drawing is wonderfully creative,” – not to mention the second ‘Az + Cr’ written below the haiku – “but you have to know that when I asked you last night if you wanted me to stay, it was because I would’ve dropped everything for you in a heartbeat. All you had to do was say yes and I would have kept you warm.”
Crowley’s lips parted slightly and fumbled, as if he was trying to shape them around a word that he didn’t quite know how to pronounce. “Right,” he finally said.
“I care about you deeply, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied, lacing their fingers together again. “It's not too much if I’m offering, alright?”
Crowley nodded.
Aziraphale took his hand again and squeezed softly. He could only hope that Crowley could trust him. Crowley had trusted him enough to share how he had let his heart bleed onto paper, and that was certainly significant. That trust was a gift.
Somehow, Crowley refused to stop giving, even when it was terrifying. Crowley rescued him from a massive tornado, let him in after pushing him away the night prior, and kissed him back with fervor when he was afraid.
With all of Crowley’s dark clothes and sharp edges, Aziraphale never could’ve imagined how gently their lips would touch when they finally did, as if he had no intent for anything but tenderness. It was new, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but want for more.
Without noticing, Aziraphale’s eyes had found Crowley’s lips. He wasn’t sure how long they had been there, considering how lost in thought he had been, but they were there now.
“May I…” Aziraphale said, shifting his gaze upward to see Crowley’s magnificent irises, yellow and brown and green, swallowed almost entirely by the darkness of his pupils.
“Please,” Crowley replied, wetting his lips with his tongue.
As much as his tongue was rather distracting, Aziraphale couldn't help but smile at the word that had left it. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say— oh!” Crowley moved to pull him onto his lap and Aziraphale eagerly followed his lead with a giggle. “My goodness. Hello.”
“This alright?" Crowley said shyly. “S’pose I should've asked before I went and grabbed you, but—“
“Shh.” Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s jaw with his hand. “No need to fret, darling. This is perfect.”
Perfect was entirely unexaggerated. Being this close to Crowley was something Aziraphale had been fantasizing about for far too long. With his legs bracketing Crowley’s, he had to focus intently on steadying his breath.
“Well, then. I believe,” Crowley said as he wrapped his arms tighter around Aziraphale’s waist, “you were about to kiss me.”
“Did I say something of that nature? I’m not sure I did,” Aziraphale replied, ever the master of self-control.
Crowley grinned. “You are a bastard, y’know that?”
“I thought I was an angel,” Aziraphale said, fluttering his eyelashes coyly.
“You’re toeing the line,” Crowley replied. “C’mere.”
Aziraphale leaned forward, and they were kissing again. A slow, tender caressing of lips and breath.[skip]
As soft and pleasing as it was, Aziraphale couldn’t help but fixate on the way their thighs were embracing. Crowley was so warm beneath him, and perfectly pinned in place. Temptation was at the tip of his tongue. Aziraphale had spent many nights under his sheets in a sweat, thinking about how Crowley might feel flush up against him like this. As they kissed, the hazy memories took over his every thought until his hands were wandering with his mind.
Aziraphale trailed his fingers down Crowley’s neck, tracing the hills and valleys with a gentle, teasing touch, and Crowley was quick to follow. His hands began to explore Aziraphale’s waist, his hips, his thighs, leaving tingling fingerprints in his wake until Aziraphale eagerly parted his lips against him.
Before long, he was kissing Crowley as if he was something to be devoured, a strawberry lolly on a hot summer day. Crowley kissed him back like he was the sun that melted him. Aziraphale’s tongue dipped into his mouth, eager to taste the sweet strawberry syrup hidden behind his lips, and the sound that rose from Crowley’s throat as he did was even sweeter.
Immediately reminded of the heart-stopping whimper Aziraphale had elicited from him before lunch, his hands found Crowley’s waves again with a hunger. With a gentle tug at his locks, Crowley whined against his lips, and oh, wasn’t that the most enticing thing in the world? To have someone so beautiful sing at your slightest touch?
Unable to resist the melodies Crowley might be capable of, Aziraphale rolled his hips forward to encourage him further. A low hum escaped his own lips as heat bloomed between his thighs.
Crowley moaned softly into Aziraphale’s mouth and wrapped firmly around his waist, guiding him forward again. Then again, and again, until they were grinding together in a slow, unrelenting rhythm. Aziraphale’s heart was racing. The linen of his trousers was doing very little to separate the growing hardness beneath Crowley’s skirt from his own, and the friction between them was becoming almost unbearable. He wanted more, he needed it.
Crowley seemed to feel it, too. He tightened his grip on Aziraphale’s waist as an unrestrained, tantalizing groan fell from his mouth, and Aziraphale finally fell to the mercy of his own desire. Pulling harder on Crowley's hair, he took control of the pace, the black nylon of Crowley’s skirt gliding quickly and easily against his thin trousers, losing himself in the slickness sliding between his skin and boxers until they were both gasping.
“Fuck, angel,” Crowley whimpered, breaking their kiss to rest his forehead against Aziraphale’s.
“Oh, God,” Aziraphale breathed. He had imagined those words tumbling helplessly from Crowley’s lips plenty of times, but nothing could have prepared him for the actuality. He sounded so desperate. Their breaths became heavier, their movements more wanton and–
"Hang on, hang on. I– I’m getting a bit dizzy.”
Aziraphale froze and placed a light hold on Crowley’s shoulders. “Are you alright? Oh! Oh, my dear, you have a concussion! I am so sorry, that was incredibly inappropriate of me.”
Crowley tilted his head back until it rested on the back of the couch while he caught his breath. “‘M fine, angel. No complaints from me,” he said with a chuckle.
Still vibrating with unrelieved tension, Aziraphale had to quickly look away from Crowley’s neck as it stretched out below him. “Can I get something for you? Do you need a glass of water?” he asked, averting his eyes to the kitchen to look for anything that could possibly be useful. “I’m really so sorry, something just came over me and I–”
“Aziraphale, hey, relax. Look at me.”
Oh, but looking at him was not helpful in the slightest. Crowley’s eyes were so gorgeous and his hair was so alluringly mussed and his lips were so much more–
“Or don’t look at me, seems like that’s not making anything better,” Crowley said.
Aziraphale covered his eyes with his hands with a groan. He leaned forward to rest his head on Crowley’s shoulder and oh, leaning forward was not helping either.
“I need to sit… elsewhere,” Aziraphale said, slumping into a slouch beside him.
“The doctor said the concussion’s very mild, ‘s not a big deal. Are you alright?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you sit like that.”
“No,” Aziraphale moaned, closing his eyes again.
Crowley gave him a satisfied chuckle in response.
Aziraphale lifted himself to a more proper, upright position, and rested the side of his face against the back of the couch to gaze over at Crowley. “I’m alright. That was just rather… a lot.”
“You really want me, don’t you?” Crowley asked with a smirk that was also not helping. He really was stunning. Crowley’s lips had been kissed to a deep mauve, his eyes were bright, and his cheeks were flushed pinker than Aziraphale had ever seen them.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Aziraphale said sharply, turning Crowley’s smirk into a grin. “How are you so unfathomably attractive?”
“Genetics, probably,” Crowley replied, still looking very pleased with himself.
Aziraphale just blinked at him, still trying to make his way through a fog of lust to find coherent thought once again. “I’m sorry,” he managed.
“Angel,” Crowley laughed, “it’s fine, promise. I want you, too, in a manner of speaking.”
“In a manner of speaking?” Aziraphale asked, suddenly concerned that he never should’ve kissed him in the first place. What an utter mess.
Crowley’s smile weakened, but didn’t completely fall. “I’m asexual.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale replied. “Well, that’s alright.” He paused for a moment in thought. “Do you mind telling me more about that? I’m not sure I have much familiarity with asexuality. I’m aware of the basics, but I know the experience can vary from person to person.”
“Sure. Uh, yeah, asexuality sort of unlinks sexual attraction from sex drive. But you probably knew that, that’s the basics. Me, I don’t have any of the former but plenty of the latter. All that was excellent, big fan, my body responds to stimulation the same way yours does. My sexuality’s just more touch-oriented than anything.”
Aziraphale swallowed and nodded, trying to focus on the scientific mechanics of the human sex drive and not the fact that Crowley was ‘touch-oriented.’
“Just probably not ever going to find you hot or sexy or…. I don’t know, ‘s that… alright?” Crowley asked, looking so nervous that Aziraphale wanted to lean over and kiss him better. Best not to indulge, considering the circumstances.
“Crowley, of course that’s alright. Of course.” Aziraphale reassured him, grateful to find Crowley’s features softening at his words. “It’s actually rather comforting.”
Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully. “I… Well, most people I’ve been intimate with have only been attracted to me in that way. It sounds like a nice change of pace.” Crowley’s smile returned to his face, and Aziraphale felt a sense of relief from having put it there. “Though I feel a bit foolish coming over here with my buttons undone now,” he admitted sheepishly, reaching up to fiddle with them subconsciously.
Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Trying to seduce me, were you?”
“No!” Aziraphale replied, blushing furiously. “Of course I wasn’t, you have a concussion, that would be entirely unethical. I suppose I just thought you might need a nudge in the right direction, if my suspicions of how you felt about me were correct.”
“And you thought you might tempt those suspicions into reality? Not very angelic of you at all,” Crowley said, looking all too smug.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale whined, tumbling into guilt all over again. What on Earth had gotten into him today?
Crowley chuckled and moved closer to wrap his arm around him again. “Just messing with you, I’ll stop.”
“I just don’t want to rush you,” Aziraphale said, looking at him sincerely. “I’m very content with only kissing. Or not kissing, if that would make you most comfortable.”
“Not feeling rushed in the slightest,” Crowley replied. “Kissing’s good, great, actually, you’re… yeah, great. Probably best not to continue that right away, though, if you’re trying to be ‘ethical,’” He smirked and moved his hand to adjust the fabric below the waistband of his skirt.
Aziraphale’s eyes followed the movement and froze there, like a teenager that couldn’t help himself.
“You want something, angel?” Crowley murmured in his ear, the slow drawl immediately turning Aziraphale’s thoughts from ethical back to sinful.
Aziraphale closed his eyes, feeling heat rush to his face and neck. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” Crowley asked innocently.
Aziraphale snapped his eyes up to meet Crowley’s gaze. “Don’t call me a tempter just to turn around and talk like that. Fiend.”
Crowley laughed and pulled him closer. “You love it.”
“Too much,” Aziraphale said, leaning into his embrace. “Would you like to watch a movie? I’m afraid I might need something of a distraction. No thanks to you.”
“Do you one better. A movie, and since you’ve already invited yourself over for dinner, I'll make us something while you choose what we’ll watch,” Crowley said, looking awfully proud of himself for the suggestion.
Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile. “That sounds lovely, I’d love to stay for dinner. Although, I feel inclined to point out that I most definitely did not invite myself.”
“Sure, angel, whatever you say,” Crowley said with a sly grin. He placed the remote in Aziraphale’s hand and walked over to the kitchen.
Aziraphale forcefully averted his eyes from Crowley’s swaying hips and looked down at the remote. There were, much like the microwave, countless buttons that Aziraphale had no hope of interpreting.
“How do I operate this?” he said, turning towards Crowley.
Crowley pulled his head out of the fridge to meet his nervous stare. Aziraphale held up the remote next to his face and Crowley raised an eyebrow. “How do you operate a TV remote?”
"This television remote, yes,” Aziraphale replied, trying to imply that he had successfully used many remotes such as this, perhaps thousands, perhaps even one at his house that connected to the television he certainly owned.
“You use complex meteorological technology all day, and you’re stumped by a smart TV? Just hit the Netflix button, angel.”
“Netflix, of course,” he said, turning back to the remote.
After scanning over the buttons again, he found a small red button inscribed with the word ‘Netflix,’ and pressed it. Nothing happened. He pressed it again. Still, no luck.
“I think your remote may be broken.”
Crowley popped his head out again and walked over to sit back down on the couch. “Show me what you did.”
Aziraphale pressed the button again. “See?” he said when the television remained on the Spotify screen.
Crowley wrapped his fingers around the hand that held the remote and lifted it up towards the screen. “Try again.”
Aziraphale pressed it again, as instructed, and beamed as the Netflix logo appeared. “You fixed it! Well done, my dear,” he said, placing a kiss on Crowley’s cheek.
Crowley rolled his eyes but still blushed, to Aziraphale’s delight. “You weren’t pointing it at the thing.”
“Why would I need to do that? The remote came with the television, didn’t it?”
Crowley stared at him, a smile creeping onto his lips. “You don’t really watch TV, do you.”
The profile icons on the screen suddenly became very interesting. Aziraphale busied himself with the images, looking at them but not really seeing them. The quiet buzz of the idle refrigerator was suddenly a few decibels too loud, and his clothes felt too tight, too itchy. Silly old Aziraphale, not doing what everyone was expected to do, not knowing the things that everyone else seemed to know. He’d heard it all before.
As alluring as it was to fall for Crowley in a fairytale, it wasn’t real. It couldn't be. Aziraphale had known that there would be moments like this, moments where he would have to reveal himself to be the odd duck that he was. Someone boring and unappealing. Crowley was going to make fun of him, surely. There was no other way this had ever gone.
“Not often, no,” he admitted. He kept his eyes fixed on the television screen, bracing himself for Crowley’s response.
“What do you like to do, then?” Crowley asked. “I don’t really know much about your hobbies, actually. Other than what music you like and that you’re secretly Texas’ Star Baker.”
Aziraphale furrowed his brows and waited. There was no possibility he would be inclined to reveal more about himself at this point.
“Oh, forgot to tell you,” Crowley continued. “I remembered the other day that my nan used to play Vivaldi for me as a kid to calm me down. Does he make your list? I’ve always had a soft spot for him.” Aziraphale turned to him slowly, feeling lost and a bit foggy. “Hate Vivaldi that much?”
“What? Oh, no.” He must’ve had quite an unpleasant expression on his face. “Vivaldi… yes, Vivaldi does make my list.” Aziraphale paused, studying Crowley’s face, his gorgeous, stunning eyes, the soft line of his mouth. He appeared… well, far from chastising. Curious. Fond, perhaps, if Aziraphale was lucky. “You two share a first name, of course he makes my list,” Aziraphale continued, feeling a bit silly for it but not knowing what else to say.
Crowley let out a cackle. “Can you imagine if my name was Antonio? Worse than Anthony. Seriously though, what d’you like if it’s not movies? Bloody handsome enigma, you are. Will you tell me if I say please again?”
A smile broke through the tough cocoon Aziraphale was spinning around himself. “Such a generous offer."
“Anything for you, angel,” Crowley replied with a cheesy grin.
Aziraphale tried to let his body relax, tried to focus on the softness of Crowley’s smile and not the worry buzzing wildly around his head like a swarm of wasps. Crowley had done plenty of terrifying things for him, it was only right to return the favor. He would share, as fearful as he might be.
“It isn’t that I dislike movies…” Aziraphale straightened his posture and ran his hands down his trousers. “Well, I like to bake, but you, ah, you know that. And you also know I enjoy reading.” He swallowed. “I suppose… sometimes I’ll pack up some bread and cheese and have a picnic in the park, that’s always pleasant.”
Aziraphale paused to take a deep breath and looked back at the screen. The picture above Crowley’s name was some sort of angry cartoon red panda with its teeth bared. It looked a little silly, but it did seem like something Crowley would choose. An adorable creature masquerading as something fierce. He glanced over at Crowley for a moment to reassure himself that he was indeed that adorable creature. He was. Crowley was leaning against the couch, listening quietly and oozing a soft glow that seeped into Aziraphale’s pores, filling him with renewed confidence. Aziraphale could absolutely share.
“I watched quite a few nature documentaries growing up, those are movies. I like to bring grapes down to the pond down off of East Cameron and feed the ducks on occasion. I like to draw, I like going to museums, of any kind, really, and… I like hot cocoa with marshmallows, even in the summer,” he finished nervously. “Although, I’m not sure that counts as an activity.”
Crowley grinned, his eyes beautifully bright, almost golden. “Brilliant. You’re brilliant, making a note. Love ducks, you know I love ducks. Knew we’d be compatible. If you still want to watch a movie, I’m sure I could find a nature documentary for us to watch, but we'll do whatever you want. Probably have some flour laying around if you want to teach me to bake.”
Aziraphale smiled back at him. Crowley wasn’t going to make fun of him. He ought to stop expecting that when Crowley had never been anything but kind. It was somewhat of a knee jerk reaction, he supposed, a learned response, but an unfair one. Although, perhaps it was unfair that he had to learn it in the first place.
He exhaled slowly, settling back into the reality of the sweet man before him. “I’m afraid we’d need a bit more than flour to bake, dear. Weren’t you going to cook, anyway?”
“Right, yes, no. We are going to be especially posh today, and order from a restaurant again. I have absolutely nothing in my house. Well, flour, maybe. Peanut butter for sure, hot sauce, and there are some peas in the freezer, but those are for another day when we go feed the ducks together. We can definitely bake something with the rest of it, though, yeah? ‘S more than just flour.” Crowley gave him a dopey grin and Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Restaurant, then,” Crowley said with a chuckle. “Anywhere you want, angel, I’ve got a fancy food delivery subscription and a very firm commitment to treating you.” Aziraphale’s heart fluttered as Crowley pulled out his phone. “Oh, shit. I forgot to text Anathema back and she’s blowing me up. Give me a sec to call her.”
“Alright,” Aziraphale said, gazing fondly at him.
Aziraphale set the remote down on the coffee table with a smile as Crowley stepped out of the living room. He gazed around the flat, taking the time to process the reality of the day now that he had a moment alone.
Crowley’s home was quite the opposite of his own. The only similarity was the warm, welcoming light filtering in through the windows. Otherwise, it was dark toned and modern, from the kitchen cabinets to the large flat screen mounted on the wall to the angular couch Aziraphale was perched on, upholstered in black leather. The accompanying tufted chair beside it was made up of the same and accented with gold buttons, and the coffee table was topped with spotless glass.
Although the grey drywall was bare (aside from a few rather striking art pieces), the floors and window sills were covered in lush, verdant plants. There were even a few suspended from the ceiling. The whole space was clean and tidy and full of life.
It had been somewhat surprising last night, walking into what appeared to be a miniature rainforest, but this new detail about Crowley’s life only added to his charm. Not to mention how striking his complexion was in front of the dark green leaves and occasional colorful blossoms. Aziraphale couldn’t help from imagining him with a watercan in hand, tending to the soil and grumbling at any aphids or mites that had found their way onto the stems.
Crowley was cultivating beautiful, vibrant life here. Crowley’s life was here, and Aziraphale was sitting in the middle of it. It was hard to believe, his dreams were quite literally coming true. Sharing takeaway in the living room, talking about everything and nothing was the most fun he’d had in years. There was something strong between them now, something wonderful. An intimacy. He wanted more, he wanted the opportunity to love him; it was all a little overwhelming, but he couldn’t picture a world without it anymore.
Loving Crowley would require opening up to him, Aziraphale knew that much was true, but as daunting as it was, he found himself timidly desiring it. Crowley’s dashing grin and glint in his eyes when Aziraphale talked about himself were certainly strong motivators. Crowley didn’t seem to mind Aziraphale’s quirks and boring hobbies in the slightest. He actually didn’t even appear to find them boring. Aziraphale never had either, but it always seemed expected that he should. He supposed the critical voice in his ear had never been his own.
Perhaps it was alright to live the way he wanted; Crowley certainly helped him to think so. Aziraphale had never been one for living fast and furiously, and it was rather tiring attempting to adhere to that. He really did like his slow life, and Crowley was the perfect contrasting compliment to the relaxing mundanity of it all. Well, the relaxing mundanity he used to have. Things were a bit different now that he was a storm chaser, weren’t they?
Regardless, Crowley was just the right dose of intensity. Among many other things, Crowley was reckless and a bit impulsive, and while it was a little frustrating and nerve wracking at times, it was also admittedly exciting. Besides, Aziraphale liked to think he balanced that side of him. He was the yang to Crowley’s yin. After years of struggling to like his yang, Aziraphale was finding the task infinitely easier when Crowley’s yin was next to it.
Aziraphale reclined against the couch and placed his hand over the spot where Crowley had been, relishing the lingering warmth. Crowley had been on the phone for a while now, hopefully everything was alright. All he could hear of their call was a muffled back and forth from the other room. Given that it was the weekend and the skies were clear, there likely weren’t any work concerns, but Anathema was Crowley’s friend and probably had a lot of questions about the accident.
About 10 minutes later, the door to what Aziraphale assumed was Crowley’s bedroom swung open, and he sauntered back into the living room. “I’m back,” Crowley said, relaxing onto the couch beside him.
“I can see that,” Aziraphale replied. “Is everything alright? You were on the phone for quite some time.”
“Yeah. Anathema just wanted to talk about… uh, everything. Don't worry about it. Dinner? Did you decide on what you wanted?”
“Hmm… What would you say to Italian?”
Crowley had graciously said yes to Italian. Aziraphale ordered cacio e pepe with grilled chicken and asparagus, and Crowley had ordered mushroom ravioli (and agreed to take a few bites of Aziraphale’s tiramisu), and it all arrived about halfway through their viewing of Jungle Babies. It was a documentary series that Aziraphale had to put on his most persuasive pout to get Crowley to agree to, but he won out in the end.
“The young orangutan clings to her mother’s chest, carefully observing the way she peels and eats the fruit.”
“They make nests, you know,” Aziraphale noted.
“Nah, that’s birds,” Crowley replied.
“It’s true! Just wait, it’s likely that they’ll mention it.”
Aziraphale stared at the screen, enraptured, and lifted a forkful of tiramisu to his lips. This particular restaurant had the most scrumptious tiramisu he had yet to taste in Texas, and he’d been to a rather impressive Italian establishment in Dallas just two months ago. The rich flavors mingled happily on his tongue. Absolutely delicious. Desserts had a certain charm to them, a charm Aziraphale rarely resisted. He pulled the fork out of his mouth and pressed it to the tiramisu for another bite.
Crowley chuckled. “What was that?”
“Ah, I believe they’re discussing how the mother orangutan teaches her child what fruits are safe to consume,” Aziraphale replied.
“Not that, the sound you just made. I thought you weren’t trying to seduce me.”
Aziraphale turned to him with his brows furrowed. “I’m not, what on Earth are you talking about?”
Crowley smirked. “You just made a sound like you had an orgasm around that mouthful of tiramisu.”
Aziraphale’s face flushed furiously at the implication. He hadn’t made any sound at all, certainly not one that resembled anything orgasmic. “I most certainly did not.”
“You most certainly did,” Crowley said around a grin.
“I’m enjoying my dessert!”
“Oh, I can tell. Enjoying it quite a lot.”
“Crowley!” Aziraphale said, giving him a playful shove. “Any erotic interpretation of my enjoyment of this tiramisu is entirely sourced from the biases of your own mind. I am being very respectful of your injury, how dare you accuse me of such behavior.”
“Not a particularly baseless accusation, is it? Considering what you were trying to do to me earlier,” said Crowley, making Aziraphale’s cheeks burn redder than before.
“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” he replied, fighting against a smile. It didn’t help that Crowley was blushing as well. He turned back to the television and they fell into silence again.
“I’ll take that bite of tiramisu now,” Crowley said after a moment, reaching over his lap to take the plastic container.
Aziraphale relinquished it into his hands without breaking his concentration on the documentary.
“The fiery topaz hummingbird baby is rarely seen, however–”
Crowley interrupted the narrator by making the most obscene sound Aziraphale had ever heard.
Aziraphale whipped his head back around with the intention of scolding him and taking the dessert back into more respectable, chaste hands, but he easily fell into Crowley’s trap. The sounds Crowley could make were far too tempting for any mortal man to endure, and that look on his face was doing nothing to help. Crowley’s lips were wrapped around the fork and his eyes were closed, and Aziraphale’s gaze immediately latched onto his mouth. Aziraphale swallowed, trying to fight back the urge to pounce on him.
Crowley fluttered his eyes open and smiled deviously around the plastic fork dangling from his teeth. He may have been immune to such noises, but he was clearly aware that Aziraphale very much wasn’t, and was abusing that privilege mercilessly.
“Was that really necessary?” Aziraphale managed, though his eyes were still on Crowley’s lips.
Crowley removed the fork from his mouth and grinned. “You started it.”
“I did not! Give me that, you duplicitous minx,” Aziraphale said, reaching for the container of tiramisu.
Crowley refused to let go, using the container as leverage to pull Aziraphale closer and lock their lips together.
Aziraphale was instantly helpless to his touch, Crowley kissed like his life depended on it. He barely heard the gentle thud of the takeaway container being placed on the table, thoroughly enthralled by the taste of sweet coffee on his lips and the rich, woody scent of his hair. Graceful hands began to travel down Aziraphale’s back as they kissed, past his waist, down to the top of his trousers and–
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said firmly, separating just enough to speak the word. He reached behind his back and held Crowley’s wrists in place to prevent him from wandering any lower. “I am begging you to be responsible.”
“You’re begging me?” Crowley replied, his breath hot against Aziraphale’s lips.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, stretching out the end of his name into something pleading. He reluctantly separated and settled back into an upright posture on the couch with a pout.
“Yeah, yeah. Responsible,” Crowley replied with an eyeroll. “Can’t help it, you’re not exactly subtle with the way you look at me.”
Aziraphale smoothed down the fabric of his shirt over his belly and fixed his eyes back on the television screen, diligently ignoring the fact that his heart was likely beating at the same rate as the hummingbird they had seen earlier. Any other, perhaps more tempting, option would only exacerbate Crowley’s injury and that simply wouldn’t do.
"Don't pretend you don't want me, angel."
Angel. That word was a weapon. The seductive nature of his voice, dripping off of those tantalizing lips like a sweet, intoxicating wine, was extremely difficult to refuse.
“I'll pretend as much as I please. What I want most of all is to learn about the reticulated python.”
Crowley chuckled. “Fine. Python it is.”
Over the rest of the film, Crowley only made one further attempt to seduce him, a rather persuasive hand sliding playfully up Aziraphale's thigh following an 'innocent' kiss, but it was swiftly rewarded with a swat and a stealing of every blanket on the couch (which was only one, but it was the principle of the thing). Crowley behaved himself after that, and Aziraphale refused to indulge any more kisses. Unfortunate, but quite obviously necessary.
Eventually, the nature documentary ended, and Crowley persuaded him to follow it with the 1964 James Bond film, Goldfinger. Not that it really required much persuading, Crowley was so adorably enthusiastic about the suggestion. Though the movie was rather violent, Aziraphale found himself watching Crowley more than the actual movie, anyway. The way he fell so deeply into the plot line even though he had seen the film countless times was overwhelmingly endearing.
The next thing he knew, Aziraphale was opening his eyes and blinking into the now dim lighting of the living room, finding that he had fallen asleep. His head was resting on Crowley’s shoulder, and Crowley’s hand was placed gently over his knee. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before, what with all the worrying and baking and worrying again, and Crowley’s presence was so soothing that it wasn’t surprising that he had drifted off, explosions and gunfire be damned.
“Oh,” he said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. On the screen, James Bond was plummeting from the sky in a parachute, and the credits began to roll. “I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t intend to miss the movie.” While it may not have been surprising accident, it was a bit inconsiderate. Crowley really had been so excited to show him.
“‘S alright, all the reason for us to watch it again another time. Do you want to sleep here? I can set you up on the couch. Or, I mean, my bed is down the hall. If you want,” Crowley said shyly.
Aziraphale smiled sleepily at him. Oh, to cozy up beside Crowley in bed, soft and quiet under the covers together. The prospect brought an aching warmth to his chest. “I would love to, darling, but I’m afraid I need to be home tonight so I can take my testosterone shot in the morning.” Such awful timing. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), the medication was something he prioritized, and considering the fact that he routinely delivered his shot quite early every Sunday, staying just wasn’t an option.
Crowley nodded. “Alright.”
Aziraphale leaned over and kissed him, slow and soft, the way he might if they had just woken up together on a lazy morning. Perhaps one day it would be.
They parted, and Aziraphale took Crowley’s hands in his. “Next time, I promise. This was lovely, Crowley, I really had such a nice time. Thank you so much for letting me stay.”
Crowley smiled at him, just as sleepily, it seemed. “Me too. S’pose you’re leaving now.”
“I’m afraid so,” he replied, looking out the windows of Crowley’s flat to see that it was long past sundown. "I’ll see you on Monday, alright? First thing.” Aziraphale tried to muster a smile in the face of Crowley’s disappointment, but it was difficult. How easy it would be to fall into his arms for the rest of the night. Alas.
Aziraphale placed a lingering kiss on Crowley's forehead and reluctantly rose to his feet to walk towards the door. “Thank you for this, really,” he said as he slipped on his shoes. “You have no idea how much I’d been wanting this.”
“I think I have some idea,” Crowley replied. “Night, angel. Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe.”
Aziraphale’s heart bloomed. Text me when you get home. Perfect man. He smiled, and closed the gap between them for one last kiss before heading home.
“Goodnight, Crowley. I will.”
1. the thought of you has yet to leave my mind
our heels to the tempest, your hand in mind
and skies of green and blue that matched your eyes
your touch scattered my heart just like the light
Click for Footnote 2
to be held, to behold
withheld, and untold
your heart, and mine
now apart, still entwined
Click for Footnote 3
i was made of rain
helpless to my heart-
shaped weight
the farther i fell
the harder i froze
strewn as sleet
to scorched earth
my eyes closed
my wounds open
but when i woke
spring had arrived
in sunlight’s arms
i’d melted
and warmer still
i rise like vapor
to fall as rain again
Notes:
Skipped Section Summary
Aziraphale grinds against Crowley's lap while they kiss.
PHEWWWW. what did you think??? :D in case you were wondering, crowley's netflix profile picture was aggretsuko. i mean, come on. of course it was. thanks for taking the time to read my longest chapter yet!! see you next sunday :)
Chapter 10: heartbreak's ghost
Summary:
Crowley and Aziraphale go back to storm chasing.
Notes:
hello my dears :) you get this chapter a bit early because i’ll be out of town sunday for a concert
this chapter is fluffy and funny and sweet, with a sprinkle of angst. a… hefty sprinkle. don’t worry, it’ll be okay
there’s more of that slightly suggestive flirting (this will be a trend from now on), and a skip option somewhere in the middle, though the scene is far tamer than the last one.
thank you to my betas for sticking with me, y’all are the best (itsscottiesstark, shades-o-grey, and bonus rainydropz)
happy reading!!! i hope you enjoy it
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The front doors flew open as Crowley entered the OMENS office, his hips casting a bit more to the side than usual with each step. The stale air seemed fresher than usual and the fluorescent lights a little less glaring as he sauntered past Anathema’s office to the steady dripping of the day’s first pot of coffee.
“You’re here early,” Anathema remarked from her desk chair.
“Morning,” he replied as he passed her open doorway, scanning for one particular blond in a bowtie.
Unfortunately, a quick glance into the research center was unrewarding, as was a peek into the break room. Crowley didn’t actually know when Aziraphale usually turned up in the morning, only that it was earlier than he did, and mounting anticipation from the long day they’d spent apart landed Crowley at the office an entire 20 minutes early on Monday. It was a new record.
Just, y’know, to give Aziraphale reassurance about today’s oncoming storm if he needed it. Aziraphale shouldn’t ever feel as scared as he did during the tornado on Friday and Crowley was going to make sure he never had to. Fear didn’t suit him. Aziraphale was better fit for a beaming smile, pink cheeks, and a tiramisu.
Crowley walked past the threshold of the breakroom and approached the coffee pot, knowing that it would do nothing to calm his nerves. He reached into the cabinet for a mug anyway. Beside his usual enormous black mug, Crowley spotted Aziraphale’s, pale blue with a gold rim. He could fix Aziraphale tea at the same time, right? Not that weird.
What’s a mug of tea between friends? Friends who… had feelings for each other. And kissed. A lot. Friends who had feelings for each other, kissed a lot, and frantically pressed their bodies together while moaning into each other's mouths a little. Tea would hardly be inappropriate after all that. Although, Aziraphale did say he preferred hot chocolate. Maybe they had some stocked, even if Crowley had never seen Aziraphale drink any at work. He could always run out and get a box if there wasn’t, he was early after all.
The tea drawer rolled open swiftly at Crowley’s less than gentle yank and he began rifling through it. Had to be hot chocolate somewhere. There sure was a hell of a lot of tea. Irish breakfast, peppermint, English breakfast, English breakfast, why was there so much goddamn English breakfast, chamomile, oolong… None of this was hot chocolate, nor was it the tea Aziraphale usually drank.
“Aww,” Anathema sang from behind him.
Her voice startled Crowley out of his laser focus and several tea bags jumped from his hands and flopped onto the floor pathetically.
“Are you making Aziraphale tea? That’s cute.”
“No,” Crowley grumbled, leaning over to grab the scattered tea from the floor and shove them back into the drawer.
“You can’t hide from me, Crowley,” Anathema said slyly. “I know all your secrets.”
Crowley rolled his eyes behind a brand new pair of sunglasses. “Already regretting that.”
Anathema had always possessed a freakish ability to get him to talk, and during their phone call on Saturday, Crowley did far more than that. He had yapped, rambled, practically gushed. Maybe it was the five years of friendship, or maybe he was, at heart, absolutely bursting after Aziraphale kissed him so many times he’d lost count. Either way, Anathema knew just about everything.
“What kind of tea does he like?” Anathema asked.
“I don’t know, Earl Grey? Can’t find where he keeps his usual stuff,” Crowley said, shutting the drawer. “Do we have hot chocolate?”
“Not at the end of May. And no, you can’t go to Kroger right now to buy some.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Crowley lied. What kind of break room didn't have any proper beverages on hand? Tea would have to do. Going out and buying Aziraphale hot chocolate probably would’ve been too much anyway. Better not weird him out.
Hoisting up the large electric kettle and bringing it over to the sink, Crowley watched as water sloshed up to the minimum fill line. He set it back down on its base to boil, sidled over to the full pot of coffee on the counter to pour himself a mugful, and waited.
After taking a generous sip (he’d missed an entire 20 minutes of sleep after all), he narrowed his eyes accusingly at the traitorous white drawers and cabinets lining the wall of the mini kitchen, trying to intimidate them into coughing up Aziraphale’s tea. When the hinges refused to start trembling in fear, he begrudgingly opened up another drawer to continue rummaging.
Anathema’s smug smirk spread into a grin. “This is adorable. I knew all my hard work would pay off. You’re welcome, by the way, still haven’t heard a thank you.”
Finding that the second drawer contained only plastic cutlery, Crowley slammed it shut and turned to Anathema with a glare. “Aziraphale is going to be here any minute, and if you embarrass me in front of him I will not hesitate to resign.”
Anathema only grinned wider. “Drama queen. You wouldn’t quit, you love me too much.”
Maybe she had a point, but she didn’t have to be so smug about it. He probably should’ve grabbed a plastic knife to seem more threatening — his tough, unfeeling facade hadn’t worked on her in years. “Do I?” Crowley replied, attempting it anyway. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“You do, yes. I set you up with the love of your life,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee.
“Ngk.” Heat flooded Crowley’s cheeks and he turned back to ransack another drawer. “Let’s not–”
“Anthony Crowley, you are blushing!” Anathema squealed, cutting off what was likely to be a very poor cover up of the fact that Crowley was falling for Aziraphale harder than he wanted to be. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush before, I didn’t even know that was a thing you did! Oh, this is going to be fun.”
“Shut up,” Crowley snapped, shoving the drawer closed again and turning to the next one. “Just– shut up, we’re done with this conversation.”
Anathema gave him a much too pleased cackle and Crowley silently begged the ground to open up and swallow him.
Seconds later, footsteps approached the breakroom. Crowley’s head jolted up towards the entryway.
“Calm down, lover boy,” Anathema said smugly as Maggie entered the room.
Crowley violently ignored her. He stared down at the contents of the last drawer in the breakroom, a sea of ketchup packets that couldn’t make his face redder if they all exploded that instant. He almost wanted them to. It might divert the attention away from the mess Aziraphale had made of his brain and towards a mess of tomato paste all over the counters.
“Good morning,” Maggie said with a warm smile, reaching for a mug in the cabinet beside his head.
“Crowley and Aziraphale kissed this weekend,” Anathema blurted out in that infuriating, matter of fact tone of hers.
Maggie gasped. “No.”
Crowley looked up at Anathema with a glare. “What did I just say?”
Anathema just raised her eyebrows and took another sip of her coffee. Crowley wanted to tip it back over her face.
Maggie, apparently oblivious to all of this, turned to Crowley expectantly. “Who kissed who first?”
Crowley shoved the last drawer forcefully against the counter top and grabbed his cup of coffee. “Nope,” he replied, stepping towards the exit.
“Oh, please don’t leave!” Maggie pleaded. “I’m so happy for you both!”
“If you leave, a certain someone won’t get his tea when he arrives,” Anathema pointed out, nodding in the direction of Aziraphale’s empty mug he’d left behind.
Crowley slowed to a halt and clutched the handle of his mug in a death grip as he titled his head back. He let out a low growl. Fine. Aziraphale would have to settle for English breakfast and Crowley would leave as soon as the water boiled. Well, after adding milk. And sugar. Fuck.
“Aww, are you making Aziraphale tea? That’s so sweet!” Maggie cooed.
Crowley stomped past her to stand back in front of the counter. “No,” he snapped, ripping open a packet of English breakfast and dropping it into the baby blue mug that was obviously not his own.
“He is. And Aziraphale kissed him first,” Anathema explained.
“Anathema,” Crowley threatened, feeling his blood begin to boil under his cheeks.
“No way!” Maggie replied with the excitement of a school girl. “I didn’t think he was going to make a move! I'm so proud.”
“If you absolutely must discuss this, do it. Elsewhere,” Crowley hissed through gritted teeth. How much did Maggie know about this situation? Had Aziraphale been talking about him? The thought only made him flush deeper.
“Look, look, he’s blushing,” Anathema whispered to Maggie, and they both giggled.
Crowley turned his back to shield himself from further ridicule and took Aziraphale’s mug with him. He restlessly glanced at the kettle. Hot but not boiling water was probably good enough for tea, right? Sure it was. He hastily poured water into Aziraphale’s mug, winced as a few droplets splashed onto his hand, and grabbed the milk from the fridge to add a splash.
“Morning all,” Nina’s voice said as she approached the break room. “Traffic was shit today.”
“Nina,” Maggie whispered excitedly. “I’m so glad you’re here, Aziraphale kissed Crowley over the weekend!”
“Finally!” Nina all but shouted. “Good on him. You kiss him back?” She gave Crowley’s shoulder a nudge.
Crowley added an overflowing spoonful of sugar into Aziraphale’s tea and began stirring it so aggressively that the clinking sound of the spoon resembled an alarm. He wasn’t lucky enough that it sounded like any sort of useful alarm like ‘fire,’ or better yet, ‘carbon monoxide,’ no, course not. This was closer to the very annoying clock he had in secondary school. The one he ignored every single morning the same way his coworkers were doing now. “Go do your jobs,” he said sharply.
“Hey now,” said Anathema. “I’m the one that makes that call, and this morning there’s a very important, mandatory meeting on the topic of embarrassing you.”
“Who are we embarrassing?” Aziraphale’s voice said from the entryway.
Crowley whipped around so fast that tea splashed onto the floor.
“No one,” said Anathema. “Meeting’s over, everyone was just leaving,” Crowley shot her a belligerent but grateful glance.
“Oh, alright,” said Aziraphale with a confused smile. “Lovely morning to you all.”
“Morning, Aziraphale,” Maggie said with a knowing smile. “Both of you come and see me as soon as you’re done in here, yeah?” Maggie gave Crowley a less than subtle wink. “Busy sky today.”
Crowley glared back at her. “Leave, Maggie.”
She didn’t seem particularly intimidated by the harshness of his words, but she had enough tact to follow Nina and Anathema out of the room regardless.
“I can’t help but think that I may have missed something,” Aziraphale said, looking a little nervous. “Are you alright?”
Crowley rubbed at his forehead like he could wipe the red tint off like ketchup. If only. “Fine, yeah.”
Crowley scanned over Aziraphale’s form, and frowned. He looked tense. His hands were worrying at each other in front of his stomach and he seemed more embarrassed now than nervous. Still, he took a breath and smiled bravely. “Alright.”
The creases around Crowley’s brows deepened. That strained smile... Aziraphale mentioned he had difficulty understanding things at times, and this, oh. Yeah. This would be that. That smile was devastating.
“It was me. The, uh…” Crowley paused to clear his throat. “The one they were embarrassing. Everyone was…” He grumbled and looked away. “I told Anathema that we kissed and she doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut so now the whole office knows.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale replied. “Well. Thank you for explaining.”
Crowley met his eyes again to find that he wasn’t the only one looking flustered. He really, really shouldn’t have told Anathema so much. Aziraphale didn’t need to walk into all that. At least Anathema kept her gossip to one kiss and didn’t include the other buckets of sap he’d let flow from his mouth without hindrance. Stupid feelings, running around in the open like chickens with their heads off.
“Made you tea,” he said, shoving the mug into Aziraphale’s hands. There, tea. Nothing over the top, not too smothering, and maybe it would make up for things.
Aziraphale looked down at the mug, his flustration quickly transforming into a smile. Crowley relaxed. A little. “Oh. Thank you.” Aziraphale lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip. Looking back at Crowley, he nodded and hummed at a high pitch, clearly trying to mask the fact that the tea was not to his taste.
“Not good?”
“It’s a little sweet, but I don’t mind at all. Thank you for making it for me, dear.”
“Noted.” That was definitely Anathema’s fault. Crowley knew how to make a damn cup of tea, the issue was probably a too short brew with too cool water. Still, he’d try a little less sugar next time.
“Shall we go speak with Maggie?”
“I suppose,” Crowley said on an exhale.
Aziraphale gave him a sympathetic smile. “I think it’s rather sweet that everyone is rooting for us. Well, now that I’m not mortified by the possibility of you rejecting me.”
“Angel,” Crowley said, his voice softening. How could he let Aziraphale believe rejection was ever on the table? Deplorable. “That was never a possibility. Don’t make me have to kiss you in the middle of the office, I’ve already given the harpies enough ammunition as it is.”
Aziraphale’s smile widened. “So sorry.”
“You’re not,” Crowley said with a smirk.
Aziraphale hummed quietly with a smile. “We should probably…” he started, his eyes hovering over Crowley’s mouth. “Maggie is, um… she’s waiting for us.” He gestured over his shoulder without breaking eye contact.
“Who?” Crowley replied, moving closer to him until the tips of their shoes were touching.
“Our coworker. You– you’re awfully close to me right now.”
“Is that a problem?” Crowley asked over the rims of his sunglasses. He was working hard to hold Aziraphale’s gaze, but couldn’t help the nervous twisting his stomach started doing immediately after the question left his mouth. It didn’t seem like Aziraphale had a problem with it, but Crowley had gotten in his head about the whole situation since they’d been apart.
“We’re at work, dear,” Aziraphale said through a shy smile.
“Right, yeah. Weather,” Crowley replied with a smirk. His gut was still doing that twisty, squrimy thing, but he was fine. Aziraphale was smiling, and that was enough.
“Weather,” Aziraphale repeated with a nod, failing to stifle an adorable little grin.
“It looks most promising towards Centerville,” Aziraphale said from the passenger seat of the car.
“I’m already going the other direction, there’ll probably be a tornado over there, too.”
“Probably is too much of a risk, Crowley, it looks much more likely to the east. If we continue in this direction we might miss out on a tornado altogether. Look at this, the drafts are much stronger over on the– watch the road!” Aziraphale cried as Crowley turned his head towards the laptop screen.
“You told me to look at the radar!”
“Did I also have to tell you to stay within the lines?”
“I was in the lines!”
“How would you know if you weren’t watching the road?”
Crowley jerked the wheel so the car ran over the rumble strips that separated the lanes. “Now I’m out of the lines.”
“Crowley!” Aziraphale yelped, clutching the car door. “Good God, pull over so I can show you what I’m referring to.”
Crowley rolled his eyes, but pulled the car over to the side of the road anyway.
“Thank you. Now, look,” Aziraphale said, pointing at the screen. “While the wind is moving in both directions across the entire area, it’s stronger in Centerville. It’s not quite locked into rotation yet but I imagine with the way the rain is falling, it’s not far in the future. The direction we’re heading in now,” he continued, tilting his head up to give Crowley a pointed look. “...what?”
Crowley hadn’t been looking at the radar. Aziraphale was exceptionally smart, and if he insisted that they should head east, Crowley didn’t actually need much persuading, but he did enjoy staring at him while he talked. Immensely. His impassioned expressions, the way his mouth moved around the shape of the words. Irresistible.
“Sure you didn’t ask me to pull over for any particular reason, angel?”
Aziraphale’s eyes had already gone back to the screen. “I asked you to pull over so you could look at the radar without wrecking the car and bringing harm to us both. Thank you ever so much for sparing our lives.” He glanced over at Crowley with annoyance.
“Happy to oblige.”
“Do you see what I’m referring to? We should head eastward.”
“I know you’re saying east, but the way you were staring at my lips earlier makes me think you might want me to head south.”
“South? Why would we head south?” He stared back at the laptop to study the radar, his brows furrowed in confusion. It only took a few seconds for the realization to hit. “Crowley,” he said disapprovingly, looking back at him with exasperation. “We are working.”
Oh, but Crowley knew that look by now. The delicate blush, the wide eyes, the way Aziraphale’s eyes kept flickering down to his mouth. Sure, they were ‘working,’ but Aziraphale was definitely already willingly distracted.
Crowley reached over to run his fingers through the soft, blond curls at the back of Aziraphale’s neck, smirking to himself as those gorgeous blue eyes drifted closed.
“I… you really shouldn’t be...”
“Missed you yesterday,” Crowley said, sweet and enticing, sliding his hand across Aziraphale’s neck to cup his jaw.
“I– I missed you as well, but I hardly think this is…”
Crowley brushed his thumb across Aziraphale’s lips and smiled as he felt a sharp inhale against his skin. “Hm?”
Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open and stared at Crowley with a look that was probably meant to be scolding, but definitely came across as pleading.
Crowley pressed gently into the plush, pink of his lips and his heart began to race as they parted slightly. “You’ve got pretty lips, angel, anyone ever told you that?” he asked, sliding his thumb to the outer corner of his mouth so he could answer.
“Only one person that mattered,” Aziraphale replied softly, his eyes locked on Crowley’s in an intense, heart-melting gaze.
Crowley faltered. Suddenly, he didn’t feel nearly as in control anymore. Aziraphale had such a way of breaking down his carefully constructed devilish promiscuity and turning it into something more pliable, the hardened edges of him softening like putty. It was a very frustrating talent when Crowley was so used to having the upper hand in these types of situations. Talking like that, there was nothing else Crowley could do but melt.
“You are such a distraction,” Aziraphale said sharply. He grabbed onto the front of Crowley’s shirt, pulled him close, and crashed their lips together. [skip]
Crowley probably would’ve toppled backwards from Aziraphale’s eagerness if he wasn’t being held so tightly by the collar. Aziraphale’s hand roamed from his cheek to his neck, down his arm and back up again as they kissed. The awkward angle of the car went entirely unnoticed. The heat of Aziraphale’s touch was far more distracting, gliding down Crowley’s chest now, pushing against him while pulling him closer relentlessly.
He felt a bit like a doll, falling willingly limp as Aziraphale kissed him hard, his lips warm and sweet. He drank in the taste like mead, hot and honeyed and intoxicating.
Crowley reached his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, pressing them as close as they could possibly get, and Aziraphale reached up to tug at his carefully styled hair in turn. His mouth fell open around a moan, immediately reminded of Saturday evening. The pressure of Aziraphale plush thighs around his hips, the sharp pain on his scalp. Aziraphale’s weight on his lap as they rocked their hips together.
Feeling his pulse in his cock at just the memory, Crowley let his tongue slide gently into Aziraphale’s mouth with a breathy exhale. His heart beat faster against his ribcage at the heavy breathing that followed, at Aziraphale’s soft whine as he met Crowley’s tongue with his own, at the desperate fight to get closer.
It was frantic and a little messy and Crowley’s head was spinning. His trousers were getting tight, and he licked farther into Aziraphale’s mouth as calculated fingers began to trail down the line of buttons on his shirt, lower, lower, agonizingly lower until Crowley couldn’t help but squirm, pushing his hips towards him.
“Please, angel,” he moaned, breathless, clutching the fabric covering the back of Aziraphale’s shoulder.
Aziraphale gasped against his lips and quickly wrapped strong fingers around Crowley’s belt, fumbling with the buckle.
If it weren’t for the sudden onslaught of rain, the car probably would’ve seen some things.
Aziraphale pulled away abruptly at the pattering droplets against the windshield and leaned back in his seat, panting. He straightened his bowtie and fixed his eyes forward. “Drive the car.”
Crowley was reeling. He blinked a few times, trying to not to fixate on the overwhelming heat that had built up below his waist as he caught his breath, and looked over at Aziraphale in a daze. “Wot?”
“Drive, or I’m going to end up on top of you and we’ll miss the tornado entirely and Anathema will be cross with us both.”
Crowley let out a heavy breath through his lips. They could still– sure, it was raining, the storm was definitely impending, but realistically Anathema wouldn’t be that upset, right? He knew she had plenty of family fortune to keep the company afloat if it became absolutely necessary. “Would she?”
“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale pleaded. “I’m– you’ve– I’m rather– please just drive the car.”
Crowley sighed. He turned on the wipers and pulled back onto the road. “Bossy angel,” he said with a smirk.
“I refuse to dignify that with a response.”
Crowley chuckled. He settled deeper into his seat, allowing the calming sound of the rain to envelop him in the aftermath of the excitement. Not excitement like seeing a new movie or receiving a package in the mail, excitement like the way electrons become excited - full of energy and unstable. Aziraphale made him feel a little crazy when he touched him like that, in the best way.
After a few steady breaths, Crowley relinquished his urges to the soothing rain and the rumbling of the engine. Before Aziraphale, his drives used to consist of Beelzebub bickering with Shax for hours, and Gabriel explaining basic functions of the car to him like he was a teenager who’d only just gotten his license. Back then, trying to relax wasn’t a fight, it was a war. Now, it was easier.
While comfortable silence with Aziraphale was something he didn't know he’d been craving, poking at him was still far more enjoyable. It was just funny to see him a little riled up. Digging for Aziraphale’s opinion on things and pushing his buttons just enough to make him frustrated was becoming one of Crowley’s favourite pastimes. Especially when he could count on Aziraphale to fire back on all cylinders. The quiet was becoming far too tempting.
Just as he was going to suggest they listen to The Beatles, Aziraphale spoke first.
“May I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“You’re awfully forward for someone lacking sexual attraction.”
Crowley glanced at him and snorted. “Not a question.”
Aziraphale huffed. “I suppose what I’m asking is… is it coming from a truly genuine place? I’d hate for you to be flirting so much just for my sake.”
Crowley frowned. He’d never really thought about it. Flirting was just something he knew he was good at. It came fairly naturally, no one had ever bothered to ask if it was genuine. Maybe he leaned a little heavily on the suggestive comments and touching out of habit when he felt like the rest of him didn’t quite measure up, but he definitely wanted to be doing it. He meant every word. And if it helped to keep Aziraphale around, well, that was just a bonus. A big bonus.
“Not just for your sake, no. Mine, too. Can’t resist getting you all flustered and pink.” He flashed Aziraphale a cheeky grin.
“Well, that much certainly seems to be true,” Aziraphale replied, blushing at just the reminder. “Alright, I just wanted to be sure. I don’t want you to think that I’m only interested in you for what you give to me physically.”
How did Aziraphale always know? It was a little unsettling, especially when he was trying so hard to keep it all in. Cold steel wrapped around Crowley’s throat and squeezed. While Crowley managed to shove down the dread in favor of Aziraphale’s arms around him throughout most of Saturday, an overwhelming sense of inadequacy tackled him as soon as he was alone. Much of Crowley’s Sunday had been spent staring at the ceiling wondering what he could actually offer now that Aziraphale had expressed interest. Panic had been swimming (see: thrashing, flailing) through his mind ever since.
Sure, Aziraphale might’ve texted him all Sunday morning and into the night (‘How is your head feeling?’ and ‘I just happened upon a flower that reminded me of your eyes’ and ‘I miss you.’) but it was easy to dismiss it as a lovestruck rush lingering with the fingerprints Crowley had pressed into his skin. It was only a matter of time before Aziraphale realized who he’d gotten himself involved with. He was trying not to count down the minutes. ‘Trying’ being the operative word.
“Sure, yeah,” Crowley replied nonchalantly.
“You don’t sound entirely convinced.”
Crowley opened his mouth only to close it again. He pursed his lips and kept his eyes on the road. Not talking seemed better than lying.
“Well, if you’re insisting that I convince you…” Aziraphale said playfully.
“Don’t.” Hearing all the things Aziraphale thought he could provide would only highlight how Crowley would disappoint him down the line and fuel the bile currently rising up from his stomach.
“Oh, alright. If it’ll make you uncomfortable, I won’t bombard you with affection, but I want you to know–”
Crowley groaned and leaned his head back.
“–that I simply enjoy being near you, it doesn’t matter what we’re doing. Eating takeaway on your couch together on Saturday was the most fun I’d had in a very long time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley said dismissively, but a stubborn warmth crept into his heart regardless. Aziraphale really did have a talent for that.
Crowley wasn’t really sure what they had between them now, but it admittedly felt good. Really good. Whatever it was, it was probably wise to try and enjoy it while he could.
They had fallen a little behind schedule, for no particular reason at all, so by the time they finally spotted a tornado, it was already dropping down.
Crowley wrapped a second hand around the steering wheel and slammed down on the gas. Driving was, by far, one of the best parts of being a storm chaser. Breathing life into the pedals, barreling down the asphalt as the engine revved and surged with the beat of his heart. The hair on the back of Crowley’s neck stood up as they pushed harder into the wind, and smile crept onto the corners of his lips. This felt like flying. Freedom.
“Crowley, slow down!” Aziraphale cried from the passenger seat, clearly not enjoying this nearly as much as he was.
“Not a problem.” Crowley jerked the car to the side of the road and shifted them into park. “Move, move, move,” he shouted as he leapt out of the car to greet the forceful air swirling around them.
He dashed to the backseat, whipped out the PIPS and positioned it in the dirt before reaching for the camera and accompanying tripod.
Equipment in hand, Crowley looked up at the sky. A grey mass tipped out of the clouds and poured down towards the ground. He took off his glasses to take in the full sight. “Look at you. You’re gorgeous,” he whispered. The cold air against his face was renewing. Enlivening. Adrenaline sprinted through his veins.
This, risking the churning, violent forces of nature, this was what Crowley lived for. The sky was dark, and emerging from the clouds, a perfect arching tornado stretched farther towards the grass with eagerness and speed. Crowley couldn’t help the wide grin on his face. It was finally, officially tornado season, hands down the most exhilarating time of the year.
After letting his gaze linger for a moment, he leaned over to set up the tripod and adjusted the camera so the video was centered on the storm. Job, and all that. This wasn’t just for kicks, and fortunately, the sky was still light enough that he could get some good shots.
When the equipment was good to go, Crowley’s eyes gravitated towards Aziraphale, who was pointing his own camera lens at the sky. He took a small step towards him and Aziraphale swayed closer, offering him a smile that was probably meant to seem confident. Crowley knew better. Crowley knew his smiles inside and out by now, practically studied them.
Aziraphale was worried. His expression was hesitant, restrained, and he was fluttering a nervous hand between them. It was understandable, Crowley knew fear was residual. Friday had been a bit of a disaster. He reached out his hand to steady Aziraphale’s.
“Alright?” Crowley asked, lacing their fingers together.
Aziraphale squeezed his hand tightly. “Yes, I think so.”
“I’ve got you,” Crowley replied, squeezing back.
Content with seeing Aziraphale’s features relax, he turned back to the storm. They watched hand in hand as the swirling clouds finally collided with the earth, tearing up dirt as it scraped the surface like a drill. Crowley’s heart swelled. He leaned over to plant a kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek. “You’re doing brilliantly,” Crowley said into his ear before kissing him again.
Aziraphale gave him a much more honest smile, and Crowley stepped behind him to reach around his waist and rest his chin on the broadness of his shoulder. The cold wind was no match for Aziraphale’s ever present body heat. With his chest to Aziraphale’s back, Crowley felt invincible. Hopefully Aziraphale did, too.
They stood like that for a few minutes, admiring the tornado until it eventually began to disperse. Funny how something that was once so all-consuming and unstoppable could fade into nothing, just like that. Not that it wasn’t expected. Strong, unstable air will always weaken and dissipate eventually. It was the natural course of things.
Crowley felt Aziraphale’s chest rise and fall against him as the sky cleared and the dust and debris finally settled. “I suppose we could drive around for a bit longer,” Aziraphale said, pulling out his phone to swipe across the radar. “Though the storm is looking a bit sparse by now.”
Crowley’s heart ached. He didn’t really want to get back in the car. He’d much rather stay like this, with Aziraphale wrapped up in his arms and his unrelenting affection, lingering in the brisk air and that sense of invincibility. That was probably unreasonable, though. The show was over now.
He peeked over Aziraphale’s shoulder at the screen. “Myeah, let’s make some loops.”
“Alright,” Aziraphale said quietly. He hummed softly against Crowley’s cheek and kissed him there. “I do believe that means you’ll need to release me.” He settled a broad hand over the two slender ones clasped around his waist and held them gently.
Crowley grumbled and squeezed him tighter, just for one last moment, and relaxed into a smile as Aziraphale leaned back against him.
Back in the car, Crowley scanned the skies as they sped down the road. “How’s the radar looking?”
“Must I do all the work?” Aziraphale said with a withered sigh.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought I remembered something about keeping my eyes on the road. Did you want to drive?” Crowley glanced over at him with an eyebrow raised.
“Yes, actually, I think we’d have a much higher chance of arriving at another tornado in one piece if I were behind the wheel,” Aziraphale replied, tilting his head slightly with pursed lips.
Crowley snickered and turned back to face the road. “We’d also probably arrive an hour late.”
“We were late to this one and managed just fine.”
“And whose fault was that?”
“Yours!” Aziraphale exclaimed with exasperation.
“You kissed me!” Crowley shot back.
“You provoked me, you sly snake,” Aziraphale replied, but a quick glance revealed a satisfied smile on his face.
“That’s hardly how I’d put it, not with you giving me sultry looks all the time.”
“Sultry? Please,” Aziraphale scoffed.
“You know what you’ve done.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“Need me to demonstrate?”
“No,” Aziraphale said sternly. “Take a left up here. We might get lucky farther north.”
“If you want to get lucky, angel, you can just ask.”
“Crowley! This is exactly what I was referring to, you are relentless! Leave me be.”
Crowley leaned back into his seat and laughed, glancing over at Aziraphale to make sure he was blushing. He was. Smiling, too. The perfect combo.
They drove around for a while, circling the perimeter of the storm, but his borderline obsessive glances at the sky in search of anything that could keep them out there together was fruitless. Well, he still got to tease Aziraphale during the car ride, that was definitely fruitful. Fruity? Both. Either way, no other tornadoes formed around them, and Crowley turned the car back in the direction of the office.
Jolting to a stop in the parking lot, Crowley unbuckled his seat belt and turned to Aziraphale with a grin. “Made it back in one piece, all thanks to me.”
“Barely,” Aziraphale replied, narrowing his eyes. “That was a stop sign you just drove through, you know. You’re typically expected to stop.”
“I was preserving gas by driving through it, it’s better for the environment to coast. You know this, angel, come on.”
“I also know that there was a woman on a bicycle attempting to ride through the crosswalk.”
“She knows the risk she’s taking, ‘s not like I hit her.”
“You very well could’ve!”
“I didn’t, though, did I?” Crowley replied. “How’re you doing after everything? The storm, not my climate conscious driving techniques.”
Aziraphale’s gaze flicked to the window before dropping to his lap. He started fidgeting with his hands.
Crowley studied his face, concern rising in his chest. Aziraphale had looked nervous out in the field, but now he seemed… worse, somehow? Like he was standing on the top spire of a very tall building and looking down. His lips and jaw were tense, he was shifting in his seat, and he seemed to be attempting to tear the skin off his fingers.
“Hey,” Crowley said softly, reaching over to hold his hands.
Aziraphale looked up at him with a worried expression. “Yes, um… I– I’ve been thinking, and… I’m not sure I want to do this anymore. Storm chasing is just…” He took a deep breath. “I think I’m going to tell Anathema I’d like to return to my researching position.”
Crowley’s stomach dropped. So this was it, then. His vision went fuzzy, the sounds of traffic fading to a quiet lull. He always knew this was a possibility, he’d been expecting it, even, so why did it feel like his heart was being crushed to bits by a hydraulic press? That’s what all the expecting and panicking was for, wasn’t it? So it didn’t hurt as badly when it finally happened.
Crowley pulled his hands away and turned to stare out the front window. He knew Aziraphale’s eyes were still on him, waiting for a reply. There was probably some sort of rational, mature response to this, but the only thing floating (see: thrashing, flailing) through Crowley’s mind was ‘please don’t leave me,’ and that sounded especially pathetic.
Scrambling for literally anything else, Crowley inhaled through his nose and pushed up his sunglasses. “Figured,” he croaked.
“What does that mean? Did– did you think I couldn’t do it?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Crowley replied flatly. All the emotion had drained from his voice. There was no point in it anymore, not really.
“Then what?” Aziraphale asked, and if Crowley detected hurt in his tone, well, he would just throw that on top of the pile of rotting despair that was accumulating around him. Fitting, really. Just another reason Aziraphale deserved better.
“Just got my hopes up, that’s all. Thought I’d have more time. Stupid of me.”
Aziraphale reached over to take Crowley’s hands again. Crowley couldn’t look, it was too painful. He kept his head facing forward and gritted his teeth against the soft warmth around his fingers.
“Crowley, that’s not stupid, don’t be so harsh with yourself. I think it’s sweet that you enjoy working with me, I enjoyed it just the same, it’s just that…” He sighed. “I let Anathema recruit me to something I never wanted to partake in. I love storms with all my heart, and that will never change, but risking my life every day just isn’t something I’d like to continue. That’s real, actual danger, Crowley, and… I have to admit that I liked sitting at my desk very much.”
Crowley didn’t respond, just kept staring out the window and clenching his jaw. He was barely listening, really. Everything had gone washed out and quiet, and he was just waiting for that click of the door handle when Aziraphale was to get out of the car and leave him there.
“Perhaps my life was a little mundane before, and while I try to push myself to experience new things, I think… I think perhaps it’s okay to have limits sometimes,” Aziraphale continued, “that– that it’s okay if something feels too overwhelming to continue, even if it might not be helpful or convenient for everyone else. Storm chasing was rather exciting at times, but it’s a bit too much for me. I think the excitement I needed in my life is you, Crowley. I’m more than content with just you.”
Somehow, Aziraphale’s words permeated the muggy, suffocating cloud around Crowley’s head, and he frowned. That wasn’t right. Things like this followed a very specific narrative, and it wasn’t that. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m sorry, I’m not making any sense. I just mean to say that I’ve spent a lot of time letting people talk me into things I didn’t actually want to do. I’ve always been a bit of a people pleaser if I’m being honest, and I think I’d—“
“No, no, not that, I got that. I meant, the part about… about being content.” Crowley swallowed hard, nervous that if he repeated what he thought Aziraphale said he’d find a reason to take it back. That, or he’d tell him he was hallucinating, which was definitely possible.
“Oh,” Aziraphale said, his worried expression softening into a smile. “Well, you’ve made my life more vibrant, darling. I don’t need to chase tornadoes when I have you.” He squeezed Crowley’s hands with his own.
Crowley stared down at their hands. Right, Aziraphale was holding his hands, like they tended to do now. A soft, gentle anchor. His only tether to the reality he hoped still existed beneath this smothering fog of terror.
Had he really misunderstood so deeply? Fuck, obviously he did. He was always doing this, getting all overdramatic and emotional when the situation didn’t call for it. Everything he‘d been trying to push down all day suddenly caught fire in his chest, licking around the bones of his ribcage and melting away the too-soft flesh of his gut.
He should probably say something. Anything. Aziraphale was being heart-breakingly kind, kindness Crowley had done nothing to deserve, the least he could do was say something back. But he couldn’t. The pit of despair that had opened up in his stomach was swallowing all of his words and all he could do was look back up at Aziraphale in silence.
Aziraphale’s eyebrows drew together. “What aren’t you understanding, dear?”
Crowley opened his mouth and closed it a few times like a fish that forgot how it was meant to breathe. “Ngknh, just… just thought you were trying to tell me… I don’t know.” He huffed. “That you didn’t want to be with me.”
“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, wrapping his hands tighter around Crowley’s. “Of course I do. Why would going back to researching imply that I didn’t want to be with you?”
“You said…” Crowley's voice cracked, and he shuffled in his seat and cleared his throat. It felt so stupid now. “You said you didn’t want to do this anymore and I thought you meant… us.”
“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale reached up to cup his cheek, concern deep in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, I can see how that was terribly misleading. That wasn’t what I meant at all, I do want this. Us, I quite like the sound of that,” he continued with a faint smile. “I just don’t want to be a storm chaser, that’s all.”
Crowley gritted his teeth. It didn’t feel right anymore, ‘us.’ How could he let Aziraphale settle for him after all this. “‘M not… good, angel. You deserve someone good, don’t let me take up that spot.”
“Darling,” Aziraphale said with a frown. He sounded almost offended. “I think you’re wonderful. Has someone told you that you aren’t good?” Suddenly his face softened. “Well, I suppose you did tell me your ex wasn’t very kind.”
A bucket of gasoline on the fire, that was. Fuck. Ugly, traitorous tears welled up in Crowley’s eyes so fast it was like he’d been punched in the face. Oliver had already taken so much, it wasn’t fair, how could he possibly be ruining this from a whole continent away, five years later? Grief coated his throat and filled his stomach like molten lead.
“I don’t want to overwhelm you, Crowley, but if you need reassurance that I want to be with you, I’m happy to provide it.”
Crowley swallowed, still feeling heavy. He didn’t really want reassurance, not when it would just feel like a lie, but memory’s sharp knife had whittled him down to nothing but a creature rife with pathetic need. Whether or not he wanted it to, his heart was clawing for something to hold onto. Crowley nodded, worried that if he tried to speak a sob would escape his throat.
Aziraphale gave him a sympathetic smile and pushed Crowley’s wind-tangled hair out of his face. “You, my dear,” he began, and Crowley couldn’t look at him, the endearment like a vulnerable marshmallow against the hot coals in his chest, “are the most thoughtful person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. I’ve often wondered if you even realize it, and now it’s clear that you don’t, which only goes to show how intrinsic it is. It’s just your nature, darling.”
Aziraphale was speaking to him so softly, and Crowley had to bite his tongue so he wouldn’t fall apart. Aziraphale was still there with him, still holding his face and talking to him sweetly. He hadn’t left. His words didn’t feel true, but Aziraphale was hardly one to lie, was he?
Against his every instinct, Crowley let the words settle over him like something neutral, something that maybe, possibly, could be true.
“You may be snarky and sarcastic, and a bit grumpy at times, and while those are qualities that I adore just as much, you have to know that underneath it all, you are sweet, and kind, and good.”
Crowley grimaced despite the warm honeyed words slowly engulfing his heart. It was almost intolerably sticky, he couldn’t help the gut reaction.
“Oh, come now, don’t make that face. For God’s sake, Crowley, you wrote me poems. Good ones.”
With that, Crowley had to furiously wipe away tears as they began to overflow. No one had ever, ever, been so nice about his writing, and Aziraphale was relentless with it. Aziraphale was so unwaveringly kind and it was all too much, crying was becoming inevitable. So much for sunglasses.
“Oh, oh, my darling... It’s alright. You make me feel so special, I don’t want to be with anyone else. I want to be with you.”
“Yeah?” Crowley replied, the mangled word barely making it out of his tight throat. He sounded like he’d just been run over by a truck.
“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale smiled, something so soft and sweet that Crowley’s teeth hurt just looking at it through his bleary eyes. “Of course I do. I think I may have been infatuated with you since the moment we met.”
The moment they met. Back when Aziraphale was fumbling with a cocktail napkin on a stain on his shirt and Crowley was overwhelmed by something he couldn’t identify. He knew what it was now. Kind, caring hands over a stubborn, fluttering heart. Warmth. Sure, he bolted, but he never forgot the way Aziraphale had tried so hard to make things right. He never forgot the blond stranger in a bow tie, sweet, and adorably awkward, and kind. That kindness was the start of everything. For both of them, apparently.
A tear finally slipped down Crowley’s cheek to his jaw and Aziraphale was quick to gently wipe it away, the tenderness of his touch only welcoming another after it.
“Me too,” Crowley sniffed. “Can I…“ He sniffed again, his eyes wide. “Can I kiss you?”
“Come here, darling,” he replied, all warmth and love.
Aziraphale gently lifted his sunglasses off of his eyes, and Crowley leaned forward and kissed him. It was soft and sweet, and tears ran freely down his skin. Aziraphale kissed him back just as sweetly, if not more, and for the first time, Crowley wasn’t bracing for the moment he would pull away. It wouldn’t mean the end.
When they parted, Crowley wiped away the tears that had transferred to Aziraphale’s cheeks, and then the ones on his own. “Sorry for getting you all wet.”
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Is that…?”
“No!” Crowley laughed, a choked sound around the heaviness that was slowly leaving his throat.. “Not like that, now who’s the one with the dirty mind?”
“I just wanted to see you smile,” Aziraphale replied, smiling himself. “I hardly think you’d apologize if you were implying something else.”
Crowley couldn’t help but laugh again, a little more easily than before. “You’re terrible.”
“And yet,” Aziraphale said smugly.
“And yet,” Crowley sighed, finally allowing himself a smile. He leaned against the car’s headrest, and they sat for a moment, smiling at each other in silence and warmth. Safety. Aziraphale was his, really his. His angel.
“You know,” Crowley said after a while, “might be best for both of us, you not being a storm chaser. We’re very easily distracted.”
“We are, rather,” Aziraphale replied with a sheepish smile. “I’m glad you’re alright with the change, I really was quite worried about it.”
Crowley nodded. ”’M alright.”
“I suppose we’ll just have to find other reasons to see each other, won’t we?” Aziraphale said, blinking at him sweetly.
Crowley held his breath. This was it, then. “Would you like to go on a date with me, angel?” he asked, his heart doing somersaults in his chest.
“I’d like that very much.” Aziraphale replied, smiling at him brightly.
In a moment of relief and shared excitement, Crowley watched Aziraphale’s sunny smile reach dangerously high UV levels. He felt that familiar warm, gooeyness that always seemed to follow smiles like that, and didn’t get the urge to shove the feeling away. Well, not a strong urge, at least. It was an improvement. “Tomorrow?” he asked. “After work? Unless– I mean, don’t want to assume you don’t have other plans.”
“My only plans are with you, my dear.”
“Well, then,” Crowley replied. He smiled back at Aziraphale — his sun, his angel. Someone worth falling for. “It’s a date.”
Notes:
yayyyyy! nobody throw things at me for making crowley cry, he needed this
okay, now for a quick announcement. i have been writing this fic every single day for months, and i’m afraid i’m burning out on it a little. i’m taking a VERY SHORT break in posting, just so i can keep up the quality and passion that i want to bring to this story. by very short break, i mean that there will be about three weeks between this chapter and the next instead of just one. i’ll post updates on tumblr.
chapter 11 is already halfway written, and it will be almost exclusively fluff and smut, so get excited for that! chapter 12 will most likely be posted a week after chapter 11, as per the regular schedule.
IN THE MEANTIME! i’m writing a very short beach au. probably not longer than 20k. chapter one will be posted sometime this coming week, and two other chapters will shortly follow. hopefully that will hold you over till chapter 11 :) it will be fluffy and smutty as well with a pinch of hurt/comfort
EDIT: 7/6/25
hello my dears. yes, it has been three weeks since i posted chapter 10, and no, chapter 11 is not ready :( i got a little carried away with the beach au (which is now on my profile if you’re curious) and it took longer than i expected to fully flush out. i’m ALMOST done with it, it’ll be completed within the week, and then i’ll be right back to our storm chaser boys.trust that my excitement and passion for this story has been renewed! i cannot WAIT to get back to it. you’ll have chapter 11 by the end of this month, i promise.
thank you for your patience while a new writer figures out how to pace things hahaha so much love to you all ♥️
Chapter 11: the sweetest torture
Summary:
Aziraphale and Crowley have their first date.
Notes:
AND WE'RE BACK
i could not be more excited. in fact, i am posting this in such a frenzy that i don't have it in me to ramble on as i usually do.
thank you itsscottiesstark for the beta, rainydropz for the cheer read i didn't even give you time to finish, and eybefioro for the art AGAIN. love to you all so so so much love
HERE WE GO
oh, wait. right, so, we hit the E rating with this chapter. use the skip button if you feel inclined. the ending is definitely still in M rated territory due to circumstances, so if you'd rather skip that as well, just scroll to the very bottom of the page when you see [skip]!
OKAY YAY GO READ NOW
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Oscar Wilde, were he alive, would likely have wonderful advice for a day like this. Alas.
After work, Aziraphale rushed to his car like a bird startled from its roost. Upon arriving at his flat, he immediately popped in the shower, used all of his most indulgent products and tried, tried, to let the hot steam calm his nerves. It was a rather difficult task to accomplish.
He was looking forwards to this of course, perhaps more than he had ever looked forwards to anything, but the excitement and anxiety warring in his chest felt like identical twins.
To make matters worse, Crowley, infuriating as always, had refused to tell him where on Earth they were going for their date this evening. Following the shower, his bedroom erupted into an utter mess — Aziraphale the tornado, wreaking havoc on his closet. As much as he tried to parse out quite literally any detail that might confirm what sort of attire would be appropriate, Crowley wouldn’t budge, claiming that it was a ‘surprise’ and that he would ‘find out when he found out.’ Infuriating.
Well, infuriating might not be exactly the right word.
For days, Aziraphale had been thinking — thinking himself into guilt and then guilting himself into thinking some more.
Yes, on Saturday, Crowley had smiled in the face of his interests. He’d called him brilliant. On Saturday, Aziraphale's condescending inner voice took a new shape, one that was not his own. It was freeing. In separating his opinions about himself from the opinions others had thrust upon him, Aziraphale was uninhibited; opening up was no longer simply necessary, it was exciting. For a moment, shame left him, and he wanted to connect with Crowley more than anything.
That night, upon arriving safely back at his flat, he’d notified Crowley with a message that ended in a smiley face and grinned like a lovesick fool for the subsequent hour.
Then, the thinking began.
Oh, he’d said quite a lot of things. Done a lot of things. He was so helpless about it. Settling into a cold bed, Aziraphale spent the rest of that night staring up at the ceiling and arguing with a familiar voice in his head until dawn. Ultimately, he'd lost the fight.
Crowley was suave. He was interesting and cool. It was clear by now that Crowley had feelings for him, but he couldn't understand why. It didn’t make sense that Crowley would really be alright with who Aziraphale had expressed himself to be. All that horrible expressing.
And now they were to go on a date? No, the fact that Crowley refused to disclose any details ahead of time wasn’t infuriating, it was terrifying. It seemed far too likely that Crowley faked enthusiasm in the moment and then gone on to plan something he would like much better than anything Aziraphale would’ve suggested.
Aziraphale did trust him, of course, but trust was a tricky thing. Years of trusting his colleagues in London ended with every exposed part of himself crushed between their fingers like fragile cubes of sugar. It was incredibly nerve-wracking to let someone hold him again. But he would try. He would, for Crowley. He wanted to.
Unfortunately, that was largely the problem. The wanting. He’d spent so long silently, painfully pining for Crowley with no hope of respite, and all that time had started to rot away at him. His heart had softened with decay.
Now, Aziraphale finally had the opportunity to love him, but with fear tied tightly around his heart, he still felt trapped. It was still too daunting to reach towards desire. What if it all went horribly wrong? What if Crowley was disappointed? In all his years, Aziraphale had never felt this strongly about someone; what if he couldn’t walk away the same?
But resisting desire only worsens the craving. He was already hungry. By now, the grumbling hollow of his heart was starving. He wanted Crowley with a greed. The sort of insatiable greed that worsens a concussion without thinking twice about it. Shameful.
He settled on a white short-sleeved button down, a dark brown corduroy waistcoat, and beige slacks. Adjusting the blue tartan bow tie in the mirror, he saw nothing but a mouth reflected back, and tightened the wires around his jaw.
He closed the bedroom door, and started pacing the living room. Crowley had already informed him that he was on his way, and Aziraphale had been to Crowley’s flat twice by now, he knew exactly how long it took to get from point A to point B. By now, there were five minutes remaining. Five minutes until Crowley arrived at his door. Five, agonizing minutes.
Almost the entirety of the previous night was spent finally completing the unpacking process and washing the half-drunk cups of tea scattered about the space, and now, there was nothing else to do but wait. It was just short of unbearable.
The tall grandfather clock in the corner ticked unrelentingly. Mockingly. However, the predominant rhythm echoing throughout the flat was the restless pattering of Aziraphale's shoes in time with the fast-paced thumping in his chest, threatening to break his ribs with every beat. The full bookshelves and the blankets tossed over the chairs may have muffled the sound of the clock, but Aziraphale heard the urgent thrum of his heart in his ears loud and clear.
Thumpthumpthumpthump— He sat down on the couch.
Perhaps… perhaps it would do some good to take deep breaths. Yes, that was what people did when they felt like they were going to vomit and squeal with anticipation all at once, wasn’t it? Relax and breathe. All of that walking back and forth over the hardwood would only do to wear out the soles of his oxfords anyway, and it would hardly be appropriate to be right in front of the door when Crowley knocked. Which he would, in about four minutes. Aziraphale closed his eyes, and filled his lungs. In… out… In—
Someone knocked.
Aziraphale’s eyes darted to the clock. There were still four more minutes! Crowley did drive like a maniac, he probably should have factored that much into his calculation, but he needed more time to breathe!
Nevertheless, Aziraphale bravely stood. He focused on the comforting texture of his waistcoat, walked to the door, and took one final deep breath. It would all be just fine. With a shaky grip around the knob, the door opened.
Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat. Oh, dear. There was Crowley, handsome as ever, holding a bouquet of beautiful, yellow roses. Roses. Crowley was such a romantic, he deserved nothing but gentleness in return. This hunger in him did not feel gentle.
"Hi," said Crowley, swimming in a nervous smile.
Aziraphale was drowning in it. He looked stunning. He was wearing a short-sleeved button down in a deep maroon that contrasted his hair to bright flames where it fell just above his shoulders. A thin braid cascaded from the left side of his middle part to drape over his loose locks like icing trim on a cake, and a black tie with silver embellishments marked a line of perfect symmetry down his chest, matching his black trousers.
"Oh, my." Aziraphale’s heart swelled in his chest as quickly as a grin spread wide across his cheeks. Crowley blushed, his smile turning shy. It took great strength not to kiss him senseless right then and there. The urge was ravenous. He swallowed dry. "You look very handsome, darling. Are these for me?" Aziraphale asked, glancing down at the roses.
"Nah, thought I’d leave them with your neighbour. He is hot," Crowley said, pronouncing the last word with ridiculously crisp diction.
Aziraphale stifled a giggle, nervousness threatening to burst out with his breath. "Ah, well, that works out excellently. I’m waiting on a dashing redhead that doesn’t find anyone hot at all. I much prefer him. Lovely to see you, have a nice evening with Archibald." Aziraphale slowly began to close the door.
Crowley threw his head back with a laugh. "Archibald?" His hand shot out in between the door and the frame and forced it back open. "Your neighbour's seriously called Archibald?"
Aziraphale moved aside as that insistent giggle finally slipped free from his lips. Crowley tended to have that effect on him, for better or for worse. "Archibald is hardly worse than Aziraphale."
"I beg to differ," Crowley said as he sauntered into the room, scanning over every section of the space as he went.
Even knowing this was coming, having Crowley in his flat still felt extremely vulnerable. All of his… All of him was here. Somewhat untidily displayed.
He focused back on the flowers. Best not to overwhelm himself so quickly. "These are lovely."
The bouquet left Crowley’s grasp and transferred into his own. Bright, beautiful yellow flooded Aziraphale's vision as he lowered his nose into the blooms to inhale the sweet, floral scent. Then, an exhale. Deep breaths.
When he looked back up again, Crowley caught his lips in a quick kiss. "Oh." Aziraphale managed a soft smile as his stomach heart growled. "That was even lovelier."
The skin around Crowley's sunglasses crinkled as his smile reached his eyes. "You look great, couldn’t help myself."
Oh, this really was going to be a challenge. "Thank you, dear," he managed. His pinkie ring spiralled along with him where his fingers clutched the bouquet. Right, the flowers. "Let me fetch a vase for these and then we can be off, I don’t want us to be late." He cast a suspicious glance over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen, hoping he might discern from Crowley’s reaction whether or not being late was in the question of the evening.
Crowley just closed the door behind him with a knowing smile. "Don’t worry too much."
Bastard.
Once in front of the cabinets, Aziraphale laid the flowers down on the counter and selected his favourite vase.
"Nice place you got. Cosy."
Aziraphale chanced a quick peek over his shoulder. Crowley was sprawling across the couch, looking especially comfortable and gazing across the books on the shelves and the knick-knacks arranged on every surface. Already making himself at home, it seemed. Oh, what a thought.
Aziraphale swallowed hard and stepped to the sink, refocusing as water sloshed into the glass in his hands. "I’m glad you think so." With a plunk and a rustle of leaves, the flowers settled into the vase. "Thank you again for bringing these, my dear, they're beautiful." He lifted them up to the windowsill and into the evening sun. There. Light peeked shyly between the blooms, tugging at the corners of Aziraphale's lips as he admired them.
After drying his hands, Aziraphale found Crowley's eyes no longer gazing at the various chattels around the room, but watching him intently. He really did look like he belonged there on the couch. There was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, and Aziraphale returned it as steadily as he could.
"Ready?"
Ah, the car. Crowley seemed exceedingly proud of it. It was, at the very least, very Crowley: a bit flash, but comfortable inside. It smelled nice, too.
Aziraphale had been much too flustered — and frankly, overwhelmed — to do anything but smile shyly as Crowley proudly held open the passenger door for him like a gentleman, but after a few minutes of driving, he felt a bit calmer. It was a dizzying dance, the way Crowley could work him up and then calm him down with a bit of companionable silence. It helped that Crowley was mercifully staying within the speed limit.
"This is quite the car, Crowley. An excellent model," Aziraphale remarked, tapping the dash pointedly. Even without enough knowledge of cars to say whether this one was particularly impressive or not, it was easy to indulge him with a bit of flattery.
"Yeah?" Crowley asked, tossing him a quick smirk before fixing his eyes back on the road.
"Oh, yes," Aziraphale nodded. "Very elegant, dear."
"I’ll admit I’ve been excited to show you. Fancy gadgets aside, the chaser car is a heap of junk. This," he said, turning to Aziraphale again with a grin, "is luxury."
"I would’ve thought luxury included air conditioning," Aziraphale replied smugly. No harm in poking a bit of fun while indulging him, was there?
"Oi!" Crowley exclaimed. Evidently, there was a little harm. Aziraphale had to suppress a laugh. "I’ll have you know that this Bentley is an actual, all original 1933. Air conditioning was a worthy sacrifice for style."
"We do live in Texas, darling." Admittedly, it may not have been the wisest choice on Aziraphale's behalf to wear so many layers. A worthy sacrifice for style as well, he supposed.
"Probably be a lot cooler if you weren’t here," Crowley teased, flashing him another smirk. "Very inconsiderate of you."
A smile found its way to Aziraphale’s cheeks with easy momentum. Despite the many scenarios in which he could become exceedingly more inconsiderate on the matter, it was best not to indulge (even in imagination) while Crowley was driving. "Dreadfully sorry for the inconvenience. Would you prefer that I walk?"
Crowley’s smirk suddenly transformed into something more strained. "Right, okay," he muttered, clearly ignoring Aziraphale’s jest. He readjusted his grip on the wheel as his eyes darted back and forth across the landscape beyond the windshield. "No smooth way to go about this. I need you to close your eyes."
Aziraphale’s brows lowered as he studied Crowley’s tense expression. "Close my eyes?"
"Yeah. We’re— the turn's about— we’re almost there, I want to keep up the surprise. Close your eyes."
Aziraphale glanced out the front window and then out the sides. They didn’t appear to be anywhere special. They weren’t even very far from Aziraphale’s house — nowhere near Main Street and all its restaurants and bars. The veritably unremarkable road streaking by only deepened the lines of confusion written into Aziraphale's forehead.
Suddenly, Crowley jolted to a halt in the middle of rush hour.
Thrown forwards, Aziraphale inhaled sharply and braced himself against the door. Tires screeched behind them as a car swerved to avoid a collision, and all of the day’s nervousness sparked to life again as blaring horns signalled their coming death. "Crowley!"
"Your eyes are still open!"
"You can’t just stop in the middle of the road!"
"Shut your eyes and I’ll keep driving!"
"Fine!" Aziraphale clamped his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, hoping the chaos unfolding wouldn't be the last thing he'd ever see. The car eased forwards again. The horns subsided.
"Good lord, Crowley," Aziraphale scolded, holding one hand over his chest. The car continued to drive unmangled. He settled against the headrest, trying to breathe like someone who wasn’t experiencing cardiac arrest. "You have got to start driving like your life depends on it. Both our lives."
"Right," Crowley grumbled. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, just… Nnngyeh." He sounded exasperated, the poor thing. It was so irritatingly difficult to be frustrated with him. "This has to be good."
Ah. So Crowley was just as nervous as he was. Aziraphale sighed, rolling his neck in an attempt to relieve tension. It would be comforting — endearing, even — if Crowley’s nervousness didn’t manifest in near automobile collisions. Still, it was easy to empathize. He always meant well, regardless of nefarious methods.
Aziraphale reached across the car and found Crowley’s thigh with his hand. "I understand," he said, making circles with his thumb. "But this is already—"
"Little lower, angel."
"Hm?"
"Your, uh… your hand, ’s a bit–"
"Oh!" Aziraphale exclaimed, pulling his hand away like he’d just been shocked. "I am so sorry, that was meant to be comforting." God, this was a mess. Did he want to get them into a car wreck? Aziraphale squeezed his eyes further shut, trying to diffuse the embarrassment simmering in his chest as Crowley, the horrible man, started snickering. "It’s not funny, Crowley," Aziraphale insisted, giving him a smack on what was hopefully his arm. "It was an accident."
"Was it?"
"Yes!" Aziraphale cried. "Do you honestly think I would try to… to fondle you while you drive like a cat with nine lives?"
Crowley laughed even harder. The relaxed, easy sound begrudgingly pulled a chuckle out of Aziraphale, too. Bastard. There was that familiar whiplash of riling him up and settling him down all over again.
"What I meant to say was — stop laughing — I’m happy just to be with you. This is already perfect. I don’t care what we’re doing as long as you’re with me."
"We’ll see about that," Crowley mumbled. "Don’t look now, but we’re here."
Aziraphale’s heart leapt into his throat. Back to riled up, it seemed. "Can I open my eyes?"
"I just said don’t look now!"
Aziraphale scrunched his brows together and pursed his lips in the direction of Crowley’s tone, but kept his eyes closed. "My dear, I really do think this is all a bit un–"
"Angel! Just–! Nnn! Stay here and promise me you won’t look, I’ll be right back." The car jolted to a stop. There was a soft click as Crowley presumably untethered his seatbelt.
A withered sigh left Aziraphale's tight chest. "I promise I will not look."
"Good. Don't."
After a bit of shuffling, there was a creak of a car door, and with a slam, Aziraphale was alone.
Air noisily escaped from his lips. Anticipation writhed in his stomach. Right. Crowley had taken him somewhere more date appropriate than anywhere he would have suggested himself, and wherever that was, it was sure to be just fine. There were plenty of things Aziraphale had politely endured in the past in order to spend time with those he cared about. He would do it again. He really did mean it, this would be perfect as long as they were together.
Besides, wherever they were didn’t seem to be especially loud. That was a good sign. It was actually so silent that every nervous shift of Aziraphale’s trousers against the leather seat practically echoed in the car. And so, he waited patiently. The boot opened and closed, and he waited some more. And waited.
After what felt like a century, the passenger door finally swung open. Crickets merrily chirped their greetings, and a warm breeze brushed across Aziraphale's cheeks.
"Okay." The softness of Crowley's voice was probably meant to soothe him. It didn't. As welcoming as the warmth and sounds of ‘here’ might have been, Aziraphale’s nerves sprang to life once more.
"Okay?" Two hands wrapped around Aziraphale's and began to pull him out of the car. "Crowley, can I please open my eyes?" he asked, absolutely not coordinated enough to trust himself not to fall flat on his face.
Crowley didn’t respond more than holding him tighter. Aziraphale wobbled to a standing position, and a steadying arm snaked closely around his waist, guiding him forwards. Aziraphale huffed, but still allowed himself to be manoeuvred across the… grass? It certainly sounded like grass. That would explain the crickets, wouldn’t it?
After a few steps, they stopped. The stillness and quiet was a cruel juxtaposition to the incessant thundering of his heartbeat.
"Open your eyes."
The world came back into view.
Aziraphale gasped. "Oh, Crowley."
It was perfect. Oh, it was perfect.
The sun, just barely kissing the horizon, was casting warm rays of light through a familiar circle of dark green trees, reflecting shadows onto a wide stretch of sparkling, liquid blue painted in the centre. They were at the duck pond on East Cameron, the very pond Aziraphale had told him about just days ago. The one Crowley had said they should attend together to feed the ducks. Of course.
All of that undue doubt and worry. A flicker of guilt flashed in Aziraphale's chest, but the sensation was quickly overtaken by the overwhelming fondness blossoming at the sight of—
Well, there were a few hungry ducks, but Crowley had clearly planned for something much more magical.
On the grass was a large, pink and white polka-dotted blanket, decorated — really, decorated was the most appropriate word — with the accoutrements of a picnic.
In the centre, there was a charcuterie board overflowing with meats, cheeses, crostini, various fruits, and something that looked mouth-wateringly similar to mini cream puffs. Flat cushions sat beside it, and two empty glasses of wine framed a dark bottle in front of it. The corners of the blanket were dotted with clusters of small, brightly lit tea candles, and all around were deep red rose petals, scattered across the grass and woven around the display. A fire hazard, perhaps, but a beautiful, delightfully romantic one.
"The blanket's terrible, I know, I went to three, four different stores and the only proper picnic blanket I could find was bloody polka dots. Most of them were fleece, I have no idea why someone would market a fleece blanket for the grass. This one’s sturdy but it’s not— I don’t know, I would’ve preferred something more, ngk, I don't know, dignified or—"
"Crowley," Aziraphale interrupted, still drinking in the scene. He clutched the hand wrapped around his waist. "Be quiet." It was a whisper, but firm enough that Crowley ceased his verbal spiral.
Perhaps Crowley was only humouring him, but even that meant he had orchestrated all this, just for him. Crowley wanted to make him happy.
Ridiculously, Crowley was making excuses for it like it wasn’t good enough. Aziraphale almost felt like he himself had something to do with that, as if his own worries had somehow permeated Crowley's thoughts. He really never should have doubted him. This was lovely, absolutely lovely. All the food and the flowers and the candles and oh.
After a deep, shuddering breath, collecting himself as much as he possibly could, Aziraphale turned to face him.
Crowley’s eyebrows were raised and his lips were puckered as if he was still mid-word. "Can I say something now? You look… I'm not sure, actually."
Aziraphale had aimed for a smile, but probably landed somewhere closer to wobbling lips and watering eyes instead. "You are incredible," he said, hoping the words would make up for whatever his face was doing. "Thank you."
Thankfully, Crowley’s features softened. God, Aziraphale wanted to kiss him, but he also just wanted to look at him. A proper prince charming. Beneath the guilt (which he was doing a right job of smothering in favour of being reassuring), this feeling was gentle. Truly. This feeling was all yellow flowers and sunshine and kisses on the nose. It must've been obvious, because Crowley's smile hit like a stone on still water, putting perfect ripples on his cheeks and a skip in Aziraphale’s heart. He was gorgeous. And generous, and thoughtful, and oh, alright. Aziraphale would kiss him, too.
Crowley met him halfway. A light breeze ruffled through their hair, strands of red intertwining with pale blond as the evening sun beat down — no longer scorching, but warm. Purely blissful. Aziraphale was certain he could stay like this until nightfall.
He probably would’ve, too, if it weren’t for the quacks hastily approaching them.
"Oi!" Crowley shouted, far too close to Aziraphale’s ear. A cluster of hungry (and very startled) ducks shuffled away from the blanket. Crowley glanced back at Aziraphale as he was recovering from a wince. "Sorry, love."
Love. Crowley’s eyes went as wide as saucers as soon as the word left his mouth.
Oh, but it was perfect, wasn’t it? Aziraphale’s heart fluttered in his chest as a smile consumed him. Wanting an even clearer view of the unfettered affection in his eyes, he pushed Crowley's sunglasses up over his hairline until they were sitting on top of his head. And there it all was. His pupils shrank to size in the evening light, showcasing the gorgeous, deep yellow of his irises. Breathtaking.
"That’s alright, darling," Aziraphale reassured him sweetly, stroking a thumb across Crowley’s cheek. The skin flushed pink under his touch. "Thank you for saving our dinner."
"Dinner, right." Crowley looked away, over to the blanket. "Do you want to— We should sit, yeah?"
A quiet hum left Aziraphale's lips in reply, the soft song of his heart spilling over. There was a faint dotting of freckles around the tops of Crowley's cheeks – so often hidden by his sunglasses, but so prominent now.
"You’re quite stunning, dear, I’d like to look at you a few moments longer before you’re so far away." He wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck to pull him closer.
Crowley met his eyes again, blushing deeper than before. "We can sit next to each other on the blanket, angel," he mumbled.
Aziraphale pouted, just a little. Just enough. "But not like this."
"Stop," Crowley snapped, but it was toothless. Much to Aziraphale’s delight, fondness betrayed him with a little twitch at the corners of his lips. "Put that pout away or we’ll never get to the picnic."
Aziraphale giggled, a sickly sweet sound even to his own ears. "Well. If you insist." He reluctantly released Crowley from his grasp, but not before standing up on his tiptoes to give him a little peck on the forehead. "You have curated quite the setup." He glanced at the blanket and back to Crowley, unable to keep his eyes away. "There was a reason I was surprised that you needed reassurance about how good you are."
"Easy on the g-word, angel."
Aziraphale smiled and kissed him gently on the cheek. "Don’t worry, darling, the pond is quite secluded. Your secret is safe with me." He punctuated the promise with a wink, feeling wonderfully lucky and just as smug.
Crowley rolled his eyes. "C'mon." He joined their hands and led Aziraphale to the picnic.
They settled down beside each other. Aziraphale, cross-legged, and Crowley, with his long legs stretched to full length like a cat in a sunbeam.
"You’ve bought groceries, I’m very proud."
"Shut up," Crowley smirked. He handed Aziraphale a plate and fork. "You should have so much prosciutto and tapenade in your mouth right now that you can’t tease me."
"Oh, was this your plan all along?" Aziraphale asked, taking the tableware from his hands. "Fill me up with various meats and spreads so I can no longer speak? How charming."
"That’s for later," Crowley teased, looking much too proud of himself for such a ridiculous euphemism. The flirting was becoming increasingly more abstract.
Ridiculous or not, Aziraphale was probably blushing. It couldn't be helped. Later. That word alone was enough to raise his heart rate. He really was pathetically smitten. Dangerously so.
Trying to maintain composure, Aziraphale kept a straight face and raised an eyebrow. "Not in front of the ducks."
"They can’t hear me," Crowley remarked, narrowing his eyes at the stragglers that remained near the blanket. "Do ducks even have ears?"
"I suppose they must do." Aziraphale skewered a slice of chorizo and popped it into his mouth. The flavours mingled and melted onto his tongue as he chewed, each spice perfectly balanced with the others. Absolutely scrumptious.
Crowley snickered. Aziraphale paused mid-chew and glanced over at him before hesitantly resuming again. Crowley just grinned. "I love that, love how much you enjoy food. Ought to teach me sometime." He replaced the chorizo on Aziraphale’s plate with another, along with a square of manchego and a crostini.
"Ah," Aziraphale breathed, directing his attention to the fork rotating restlessly in his hand. He must be audibly 'enjoying' food more often than he realized. How embarrassing. It was a good thing he ate alone at his old job. "I don’t know, perhaps it’s best to enjoy things quietly."
"Nah," Crowley replied, aggressively stabbing into an olive on the platter. "Enjoy things however you want, as much as you want. Life is for enjoying. Do you really think," he continued, waving the forked olive at him, "I did all this for you to enjoy it quietly?" He pulled it off into his mouth and raised his eyebrows as he chewed. "No. I wanted us to have a nice time. If that means you’re going to moan around some cured meats, that’s what I want."
Aziraphale stared down at his plate. Crowley had stacked the food into a little sandwich, just for him. A small act of devotion. "I suppose you do," he said softly.
I wanted us to have a nice time. Us.
Aziraphale lifted the stack to his lips and bit down with a satisfying crunch. The manchego was strikingly robust and the crostini was flecked with rosemary. Delightful. The perfect harmony of flavour inevitably escaped him with a hum, and yes, perhaps that was alright. Crowley wanted him to enjoy things as much as he so desired.
For the first time all day, Aziraphale started to relax.
It was peaceful here, by the pond. Quiet and calm. The serenade of crickets and occasional splash as a duck dipped beneath the water were a soothing soundtrack to the laughter shared between bites of charcuterie. There were cream puffs after all, and they were delicious.
As they ate, the sun sank lower below the horizon, casting the sky in a hazy orange. Crowley, with all his red hair and yellow-brown eyes, looked like an absolute wonder in the light. He was glowing. Aziraphale was happily basking in it.
As evening turned to night, Crowley remembered (with a truly unnecessary amount of swearing) that he brought along drawing materials. Excited and endeared, Aziraphale assured him that there was still plenty of time for art supplies; he often sketched by lamplight in the late hours, and candlelight would be no different.
Crowley, of course, then decided to argue that notebooks and pencils did not qualify as art supplies. ("Think about it. A pencil is just a long rock encased in wood. Wood, paper, rocks — this’s as much a fire pit as it is an art supply store." "Such a creative mind, Crowley. I’m sure you would agree, then, that those candles would make perfect wax pastels. Just as you say, rocks and wood are simply tools of the craft." "Tools of a craft, certainly." "Don’t you wiggle your eyebrows at me." "I would never. Not in front of the ducks.")
A frivolous argument and 30 minutes later, Aziraphale was about two-thirds of the way through his drawing. All that was left was the finer details.
"How’s it going, dear?" Aziraphale asked, glancing up at Crowley’s hair. About half the tealight candles had burned out, but the ones that remained cast a gorgeous shine on his locks. It was difficult to capture with pencil, but Aziraphale was doing his best.
"Bloody duck keeps moving," Crowley grumbled, glaring at the mallard nipping at the grass.
Aziraphale's eyes flicked back down his paper. "They tend to do that, yes," he replied absentmindedly. A touch more shading on the strands cascading past his ear, down to his shoulder—
"How’s yours?"
"It’s coming along swimmingly." A bit of that glow across his cheeks would do nicely as well, and over the curve of his nose—
"Don’t say that, you’ll give the duck ideas."
Aziraphale gave an amused hum, focusing intently on the freckles emerging on the page around Crowley’s eyes.
"What are you drawing?"
"Wait and see."
There was a quiet smack as Crowley’s pencil hit his notebook. "Wait and see? Do you have any idea how irritating that is?"
Aziraphale just smiled and angled his paper farther out of sight.
Crowley moved dangerously close in his periphery. "Don’t be like that, let me look."
"No!" Aziraphale laughed, leaning his whole body away. "Patience is a virtue, dear."
"Not one of mine," Crowley declared, lunging for the notebook. After a brief, very giggly wresting match, Crowley managed to yank it out of his hand.
"I'm not done!" Aziraphale whined, but it was too late. He huffed and righted himself against Crowley, who already had his eyes glued to the page.
Crowley's brows furrowed. Admittedly, watching it all dawn on him did feel sufficiently worth the early peek. A pink tint spread across his cheeks, and he leaned forwards a little to hold the page closer to the candlelight at the corner of the blanket.
"This is… me."
He sounded bewildered, as if Aziraphale hadn’t spent weeks admiring his features. As much as he seemed surprised, it was much more surprising that Aziraphale hadn’t done this sooner.
"Indeed it is."
"I was drawing a stupid…" Crowley trailed off and glanced over at him, visibly exasperated. Absolutely adorable. Aziraphale couldn't help but smile. "Mine’s a duck and it’s shit and this is…" He looked down again. "Fuck, he looks…"
"Strikingly handsome? You don’t have to tell me."
Crowley stared back at Aziraphale, his eyes wide and adoring. "I don’t know what to say."
Fondness widened Aziraphale's smile. "Well, you might say, 'my goodness Aziraphale, you really have captured my features quite exceptionally.'"
Crowley rolled his eyes.
A familiar hunger started scratching at his insides. Well, Crowley did say it first, didn't he? Perhaps it would be alright. "Or you could say, 'thank you, love'." He sounded painfully shy, but he managed it.
Crowley's eyes averted to the drawing again, a hint of a smirk forming on his lips. "Liked that, did you?"
"I did," Aziraphale replied softly. Crowley's smirk was widening into a smile, so Aziraphale loosened the leash on his heart a little more. "I don’t often hear it, now that I live in Texas. It feels like home. You feel like… home." He swallowed hard. Maybe it was too soon to be saying things like that. Aziraphale wanted to say things like that, but he wanted a lot of things.
Crowley didn’t look up. His lower lip disappeared into his mouth, and his chest rose and fell with a deep breath. He traced the outlines of the drawing with a slender finger, slowly and reverently, as if he was reading every emotion inscribed in the pencil strokes like braille. Aziraphale was holding his breath.
"I like you so much, angel," Crowley whispered. He looked up then, something deeply vulnerable and fragile in his eyes.
Aziraphale's heart surged so suddenly and intensely he worried it might free itself from his chest. Gentle, Aziraphale. Holding back an army of emotion, he smiled. "I like you, too, my dear. Very much." He took Crowley's hand, careful not to squeeze too tightly.
Crowley stared down at the touch, just for a moment. When he looked up again his eyes were even wider than before. "Angel, um…" He trailed off.
Their eyes were still locked, and Aziraphale was easily swept up in his gaze, happily drowning in that golden ocean. The need for oxygen was a distant calling.
Crowley turned away abruptly. He cleared his throat. "I brought wine. Um, Bordeaux."
Aziraphale blinked, shaking himself from his reverie. A bottle appeared in Crowley's hands as he turned back around. Ah, yes. Wine. Crowley looked a little sheepish, so Aziraphale smiled, hoping to reassure him. The bottle cited an excellent year, it would surely taste splendid.
"That looks delicious."
The cork gave him some trouble, but Crowley managed to open it in the end. Aziraphale watched fondly as both glasses were filled halfway. "Thank you, my dear," he said, taking one from Crowley's hand. "Are you quite sure you should be drinking? You drove us here."
"One glass’s fine. Constitution of an ox," he replied with a wink.
Aziraphale pursed his lips. Ridiculous man. Lovely man. He sighed, but clinked their glasses together regardless, more than willing to spend the extra time to sober up for the ride home. Crowley then proceeded to down half of his wine in one gulp. Ridiculous man, mostly ridiculous.
Aziraphale swirled the drink below his nose before indulging. Its earthy scent was overlaid with the memory of muted thunder, warm laundry against hungry palms, and Crowley's bright, dizzying grin. He smiled and took a sip. "This is very similar to what you bought for us at that hotel."
"Yeah." Crowley nodded and took a much more modest swig. He looked across the pond. "Thought it might be nostalgic."
Oh, so it was purposeful. Of course it was. Forcing the eager thing in his chest to keep a moderate pace was becoming increasingly difficult. Despite being so adverse to running, Aziraphale's heart was desperate to sprint. The starting block was becoming tangible, tilting him all the more forwards.
"You really are quite the romantic, aren’t you?"
The rest of Crowley's drink disappeared in a single swallow. He grimaced, entirely unnecessarily for such good quality wine. "I take it back. Got this very last minute, didn’t even look at the label."
Aziraphale smiled into the barely-there shine on the surface of his drink. It was long past sundown now. The only light remaining emanated from three candles by Aziraphale's shoulder and one by Crowley's ankle. While the red reflection was darker than it had been under the fluorescent lights of the hotel room, the longing looking back at him was the same.
"I almost kissed you that night," he said, not looking up.
The flame near Crowley slowly faded in the corner of Aziraphale's eye. His gaze shifted towards the light, lingering there until smoke billowed into the darkness.
"Did you really?"
Aziraphale looked back at his wine and took a long sip. "Almost, yes." Perhaps he should've.
Even back then, restraining himself was an exhausting affair. It would've been so easy to kiss him that night, like letting a captive breath free. It would've been good, too. There was plenty of evidence now to back that up. He definitely should've kissed him. Crowley was right, life was meant to be enjoyed to the fullest. Lord knows that night would've been more enjoyable if he had climbed onto Crowley's lap instead of running scared.
Aziraphale finally looked up with the intention to meet Crowley's eyes, but a light show over the pond immediately distracted him. He gasped. "Oh, wow."
"Hm?"
"Crowley, look!"
Stars were hovering above the water near the grass. Moon-cast shadows had shrouded the pond in a sheer black curtain of night, but pinpricks of light were shining through. In flashes, bright stars lit up and fell dark again before zipping off on fragile wings to illuminate elsewhere.
Aziraphale had never seen anything like it. "Are they fireflies?"
"Yep," Crowley replied, sounding thoroughly unimpressed for something so incredible. Bioluminescence. It was entrancing. It really did seem like the night sky had fallen to Earth, like the stars were shining just for them. "There's lots in the summer here."
"They're beautiful," Aziraphale whispered. A timid hand brushed up against his knee. Without looking away from the fireflies, Aziraphale took it, and their fingers laced together in sync.
A long moment passed before either of them spoke. The shared quiet was almost sacred. Precious and perfect.
Crowley squeezed his hand. "Having a nice time?" he asked softly. Devastatingly softly.
Aziraphale turned towards him with overflowing fondness. "It's always nice with you."
The soft smile on Crowley's face stretched into a grin. "Oh, I don't know about that. You really hated me for a while there." Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, but Crowley didn't let him. "Not nearly as long as I thought though, if you almost kissed me on our second day working together. Was it the wet clothes? I've heard that's a thing. Do I need to take a quick dip in the pond?" He then jokingly — really, he must've been joking — rose to his knees.
Aziraphale tightened his grip on Crowley's hand before he got far enough to be not-joking after all. "No. Sit." Crowley did, eager as a child on a story time rug. He was still grinning, like an idiot. "Christ, you are ridiculous."
The grin was persistent regardless. "Go on, then. What was it?"
Aziraphale sighed, trying to appear annoyed and failing greatly. It was impossible not to be fond when Crowley was looking like that. "You bought me soap." The memory spread happily across his lips. "Lavender soap."
A dark eyebrow climbed up Crowley's forehead. "Should I have brought you bath products this evening instead of flowers?"
"Oh, hush," Aziraphale replied, this time managing annoyance in his tone. Crowley chuckled. "I don't know, it was just very thoughtful. There was already soap at the hotel, but you wanted me to have something nicer. And alright, yes, the wet clothes—" Crowley waggled his eyebrows. Aziraphale huffed a laugh. "Stop it. I-I just got to know you. And then we were drinking and you were smiling this lovely, breathtaking smile and…" His gaze fell to their joined hands. He was so very lucky. "It just clicked. I never hated you, Crowley. I just misunderstood you." He was so very undeserving, too.
It really was so unjustified, the disdain he'd harboured for Crowley for so long. Nothing but unfounded prejudice and a closed mind, a selfish defence mechanism in fear of falling for him. The risk may have been correctly assessed, but he never needed to be afraid. Crowley caught him with gentle hands.
"I'm sorry for all the times before that. I really wasn't fair to you." Aziraphale took a breath and forced himself to look up, regret stinging the edges of his vision.
Crowley was still smiling, maybe even wider now. It wasn't earned. "'S alright."
Aziraphale sighed. It really wasn't alright. After all this time, he was still misunderstanding Crowley. For some asinine reason, he really thought Crowley was going to plan something he didn't like, as if Crowley had ever, ever displayed self-centred behaviour. After all this time, Aziraphale still wasn't being fair. He was still doubting him.
What had Crowley done to deserve that? Written him poems? Rescued him from a natural disaster? Kissed him and teased him until he was dizzy? Oh, but it was Aziraphale that made him dizzy, wasn't it? Recklessly and selfishly while he was injured. God, Crowley didn't deserve that either. After planning something so perfectly wonderful and romantic, Crowley deserved nothing but—
"You've been sighing quite a lot today."
Aziraphale blinked. He met Crowley's eyes again. Apparently, in the midst of his spiral, his gaze had drifted slightly to the left of Crowley's ear.
"Alright?"
"Was I sighing?" Aziraphale replied unsteadily.
"You were," Crowley nodded. "Twice in the last ten seconds. What's wrong?"
"Oh, I don’t know." Aziraphale gave a half-laugh and finished the last sip of his wine. He set the empty glass on the blanket. The fireflies were still flitting around the water, mercifully providing a shiny distraction.
"You do," Crowley drawled. Aziraphale looked down at his lap and started fidgeting with the seam of his trousers. "One sigh, nnnokay, possibly subconscious. Two sighs? In a row? Nope." Crowley gave their entwined hands a squeeze. "Come on. I want to know."
Aziraphale sighed, again, and immediately felt silly for it. "It’s just… My goodness, Crowley, you really went all out."
"Too much?"
Aziraphale's head snapped up to meet the worry in Crowley's tone. Oh, he looked so nervous. Wide eyes and a clenched jaw. He was sitting stiffly as a board, too; it looked deeply unnatural. Crowley really was such an anxious thing. At least they had that in common.
"Of course not, Crowley, no. That's not what I meant at all." He reached out with his other hand and settled it over the one he was already holding, giving Crowley a reassuring squeeze with both, tighter than he'd allowed himself all evening. "This couldn't possibly be more right," Aziraphale continued, almost stern in his sincerity. "Tonight has been wonderful."
"Yeah?" The word was quiet and utterly heartbreaking. Crowley's expression was almost an exact mirror to the day before, all that was missing were the tears slipping down below his sunglasses. The sight was even harder to bear without them. All that fear in plain view.
Aziraphale reached up to stroke his cheek with a faint smile, wiping away the ghost of warm salt water. All this fragility was so unexpected from Crowley. It was an honour to be trusted with it. Aziraphale would be careful, always.
"Yes, dear. Really." Crowley watched as their hands met again. His spine regained some of its usual curve as he relaxed. "It's perfect. I love how romantic you are."
Keeping his eyes fixed in his lap, Crowley swayed to the side, pressing their shoulders closer together. He lifted his head for a moment to kiss Aziraphale's cheek before looking down again.
Aziraphale smiled. "This is exactly what I would’ve been hoping for if I had let myself hope."
The creases on Crowley's face deepened again as he looked back up. "What do you mean 'if you'd let yourself hope'?"
Aziraphale's smile quickly fell. "Oh, um…" How easy it was to get carried away in his ramblings. "It's nothing, really." Crowley raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. Ah, and there were the fireflies again, infinitely interesting. "It all feels a bit silly now."
"Tell me anyway. If you want. I want to know, remember?"
Aziraphale's chest felt tight. Right. Breath flowed in and out of his lungs with effort. "Well, it— it doesn't have anything to do with you at all, really, I, ah..."
Was he supposed to just explain everything? What were the social parameters around sharing, exactly? No one had taught him this. If anything, he'd been taught to keep his frivolous fears behind a deadbolt to avoid embarrassment. Few other children were so afraid of rain, after all.
But this was Crowley, and Crowley was asking. He wanted to know.
Aziraphale managed another slow, deep breath, and then another. Crowley waited patiently, as he always did. Endlessly giving.
"I suppose I'm not used to the way you're so accepting of the way I am. This is, um…" He stared at the empty charcuterie plate in front of him and the rose petals circling it. "Well, I never could've expected this in London. The people I spent my time with there were not particularly kind about my values or my interests, so as much as I may have told them, um…" He shook his head. It was a lot to think about. "I just haven't done a lot of sharing since. Not until you, anyway."
Until you. What a surprisingly all-encompassing statement. I didn't think ever I'd share again until you, I didn't realize I was so lonely until you, I didn't understand how much I could want until you. Crowley had changed everything. It didn't make him less nervous. In fact, right now, it was making him more nervous.
"While it was actually rather freeing at first, all the, um, the sharing, shame sort of…" He made a helpless gesture in the air. "Crept up on me after a while."
It was hard work just to swallow. Breathing, too, was becoming increasingly difficult around his constricted throat. He released his far hand from Crowley's; every muscle in his body felt far too tight, and the strain on his shoulder was becoming unbearable.
Crowley gave him a gentle squeeze on the hand that remained. Such a tender touch. Aziraphale met his eyes.
Oh, his eyes. It had always been his eyes, hadn't it? Right from the start. Heart-stopping in their beauty and breathtaking in their emotionality. This whole time Crowley had been listening, really listening, studying him quietly with eyes protective in their softness, like an airbag during this car crash of a conversation. Crowley had left them completely uncovered all evening, so willingly vulnerable. In the dim light, his irises were muted to a light brown, but the devotion was bright. A beacon.
The next breath came more easily. "I'm glad I shared," Aziraphale said. He smiled weakly, and that came more easily, too. "If I hadn't, you might not've taken me here at all. And you really did deserve that openness from me, Crowley, no matter how difficult it was. I mean, gosh, after everything, you…" He furrowed his brows. After everything. Oh. Oh, yes, Crowley had proved that it was safe to share. That was the difference. Sure, Crowley may have proved that long before Aziraphale actually did, but it wasn't necessarily unwise to wait for the evidence, was it? "That’s really what it comes down to, isn’t it?"
Crowley looked adorably confused. His scrunched eyebrows and parted lips were so precious that Aziraphale might've giggled if he wasn't so determined to make his point. "No, listen, you first have to let people earn your trust before you go and tell them things all willy-nilly without being asked and-and then it's alright because—" He held a hand up to his lips. "Oh, I’m rambling now."
"Not rambling," Crowley replied, looking more affectionate now than confused. Aziraphale dropped his hand and let out a breath. "You've got good things to say, angel. But I have to interject to point out that we probably would've ended up here regardless of whether or not you gave me the street name. Well, maybe not here exactly." He waved a hand towards the tall grass around the pond and the fireflies continuing to dance above it. "But somewhere similar. You think I have frozen peas in my freezer because I eat them? Nah. The ducks eat them."
Aziraphale blinked at Crowley's soft, sure expression. Right, of course. The peas, he did mention that.
"A lot of our interests overlap, angel. Just because we dress different doesn't mean we are. 'M glad you shared too, but mostly because I just want to know you. Even parts of you that aren't compatible with parts of me. I want to know all of you." He shrugged, as if his words didn't mean the world, and reality dawned like a sunrise. The sun always did come back up again, didn't it?
Aziraphale beamed, unable to help himself. Crowley was never just humouring him. He had done this for both of them. Crowley wanted this just as much.
Crowley nudged Aziraphale's shoulder with his own, a little smirk playing on his lips. "Keep going, I'm listening."
Aziraphale had definitely lost his train of thought by now. No matter. His heart was full. "That was all, really. It had just been weighing on me."
Crowley watched him carefully in the silence, his smirk turning gentler, more thoughtful. "They made fun of you?"
"Hm?" Aziraphale asked, completely lost in the warm feeling flooding his chest.
"The people in London. They made fun of you? Is that what you meant by they weren’t kind about your interests?" Crowley's tone was soft, and Aziraphale's heart sank into it.
"Oh." He looked down at his lap. "Well, I don’t know if they were really making fun, it was more so that… that they made it clear that who I was wasn’t really… acceptable."
"Right." Something in Crowley's voice hardened. "I’ll need names and addresses."
Aziraphale frowned up at him. "Names and— What on Earth for?"
"I have words." Crowley's face was completely blank, save for the intensity in his eyes.
"Crowley," Aziraphale admonished. "We aren’t in high school. You can’t just go and beat them up."
The responding grin was truly villainous in nature. "I can do much worse as an adult."
"Crowley." Aziraphale's little smile accompanying his pleading probably didn't make his opposition very convincing. It was nice to feel protected, regardless of devilish methods.
"Can't believe anyone treated you like that. I mean, really, look at you." Crowley gestured to him, as if there was something to gesture to.
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "I’m sure I don’t know what you mean."
Crowley rolled his eyes. "Angel," he said, just south of exasperated. "You’re incredible, almost to the point of being intimidating, that's what I mean. Brilliant, handsome, funny, braver than anyone I know—"
"I don't know about brave, Crowley, you saw me have a panic attack just last week."
Crowley frowned, the expression contorting his face a little. "Having a panic attack doesn’t mean you aren’t brave, Aziraphale. And that was, I mean that was literally life or death."
Well. As embarrassing as it might've been, the fact of the matter did stand. Aziraphale knew the body was built for those sort of reactions. This particular reaction wasn't especially suited for the situation at hand (a tornado is not exactly a predator you need to play dead for), but it was a natural reaction nonetheless. Couldn't be helped.
"Really I’m surprised that someone treated you like that and got away with it," Crowley said. "The one time I saw Shax try to talk to you, you gave her very little eye contact and a very pointed eyebrow raise. No clue what you said but she was in a mood for the rest of the day."
"Oh, was she? I remember that, actually." Aziraphale hadn't had many interactions with Shax. Thinking about it, he might've only had the one. "She approached me after lunch to tell me I had a stain on my clothing. I said that it was the style of the shirt, that was all. Well, that, and also that it was perfectly understandable why she didn't know." Crowley immediately let out a cackle. Alright, it might've been a little sassy upon recollection, but any eyebrow activity was involuntary. Mostly. "She wore very strange fashion! I wasn't wrong."
"You weren't," Crowley agreed, recovering from his hysterics. "That's my point, you just seem so confident."
Aziraphale breathed out a mirthless laugh. Confident. If he was really so confident, they would've been having this picnic much, much sooner. "Well, I certainly don't allow people to walk all over me anymore, if that's what you're implying."
"Good," Crowley replied, squeezing his hand. "You didn't deserve that. Those people were rubbish, probably still are." He paused. And then, softer, "Just because you put all your energy into the wrong people doesn’t mean you deserved the way they treated you, alright?"
Aziraphale nodded. "And I have you now."
Crowley nodded back, looking a little tense but just as eager. "Yeah. If you want."
"I do," Aziraphale replied softly. Crowley's tongue wet his lips, and hunger surged like a wave, the force of it heaving Aziraphale's heart up into his throat. "Quite— quite a lot, actually." In a burst of what Crowley would've called bravery, Aziraphale cut the wires around his jaw, and Crowley met his mouth halfway.
Slowly, their lips moved together. Gentle hands cupped Aziraphale's cheeks, and he sighed. Crowley's hands were soft and his lips were even softer, as if they were made to be kissed, made for Aziraphale to kiss. And oh, how Aziraphale wanted to kiss him. Crowley was so close, so warm against him, and Aziraphale still wanted more.
Lingering panic wrapped tightly around his throat at the thought. He fought it off. Crowley wanted this just as much.
"You smell so good," Crowley said, smiling against his lips.
Aziraphale smiled back and kissed Crowley harder. He drew him in closer with a hand at the nape of his neck. Smiles melted into deeper kisses, into caresses along Aziraphale's jaw, his neck, and soon Crowley was tentatively pushing his tongue past Aziraphale's lips. The sensation was electric, like lightning you're no longer afraid of, like a storm you want to drench yourself in.[skip]
Aziraphale licked into his mouth with fervour and tasted wine. You are desire, Aziraphale thought, drinking him down like warm honey after a fast, sweet but not filling, enough to pacify but not satiate. Enough to remind you how starving you really are.
With a muffled, frantic moan, Aziraphale tangled one hand in Crowley's hair and wrapped the other around the black satin of his tie, tugging him closer.
Crowley let out a little whine, and Aziraphale froze, separating from the kiss at once. "How is your head, darling, I don't—"
Crowley shook his head rapidly. "Fine, felt fine since yesterday, kiss me." His mouth crashed into Aziraphale's again, lips already parted.
Relieved, Aziraphale received him with enthusiasm. Eager hands found Aziraphale's back as unbridled, unhindered desire burned hotter in his belly, flames licking at the hollow flesh. The fire was blazing and wild, and Aziraphale fed it still.
He hurried both hands to Crowley's waist with intention, and quickly discovered that holding him so closely by the collar wasn't necessary at all. Crowley immediately leaned in closer, chasing, wanting. The sweetest gasoline. With one swift movement and a little surprised sound, Crowley was lifted into his lap.
The hardness suddenly pressed to Aziraphale's stomach was dizzying. Reaching urgently for Crowley's arse with both hands, he thrust it into him. Crowley moaned into his mouth, and oh, for a man of such incoherent stuttering, Crowley was incredibly fluent with a moan.
Again, he drove them together, the amount of clothing between them becoming increasingly distressing. Crowley should know how much this was affecting him. He should be able to feel it with his hands and lips, taste it with his tongue.
Desperately seeking bare skin, Aziraphale kissed every part of Crowley's neck he could. The answering groan was strangled and needy, and Aziraphale's mouth opened against him with a gasp, spit-slicked lips dragging across his neck to the rhythm of Crowley's hips moving faster.
"I want you," Aziraphale breathed.
With palms just below Aziraphale's collarbone, Crowley shoved him backwards, pinning him to the floor so he was panting up at the stars. Oh, God, the amount of body heat, Crowley's body heat, pressing flush to his—
Stars. They were outside. He wasn't pinned to the floor, he was pinned to the ground, and there were candles to his left, lighting up the whole affair.
Crowley didn't seem to mind in the slightest. Now that he had more access, Crowley was grinding significantly lower and more pointedly than before, and oh, sucking a bruise onto his neck now, and Aziraphale was desperately hard beneath him, wanting, needing, but—
Aziraphale fought for concentration, for any word that wasn't just more. "Um…"
Crowley stilled. Aziraphale's whole body protested. Braced on both forearms, Crowley lifted himself up and looked down.
Oh, but that only made it worse. The looking always did. Crowley's cheeks were beautifully flushed, his hair was draping over them in a gorgeous red canopy, and that slowly arching eyebrow wasn't doing Aziraphale any favours either. Gracious.
"Want to stop?" Crowley asked.
Aziraphale let out a breathy laugh, his head still spinning. "I want you to stop being so distractingly sexy so I can attempt coherent thought." Crowley grinned and dropped a quick peck on his forehead. Aziraphale clenched his eyes shut. "I just feel rather exposed out here. I would hate for anyone to accidentally bear witness to what might happen if we continue. And I do. Want to continue."
Crowley pushed forwards slightly, just over Aziraphale's left shoulder. A warm, tingling exhale brushed over his cheek, and Aziraphale opened his eyes to pitch darkness and the smell of smoke.
Oh, well that changed things. That changed things quite a bit.
Crowley centred himself above Aziraphale again, his features only just visible under the cloak of night. "How's that?"
"Very dark," Aziraphale noted, his heart thumping eagerly in his chest. "And… Well, we are a bit off-road, aren't we?" He hooked his fingertips through Crowley's belt loops, tugging them gently towards him.
"We are," Crowley agreed, squirming slightly at the touch.
Oh, my. They were about to have sex in a public park.
A coy grin spread across Aziraphale's cheeks. Experimentally, he rolled his hips upwards again.
Crowley rested his forehead on Aziraphale's with a shaky exhale, pushing back against him. "Oh, you will be the death of me."
Aziraphale let out a low hum. "Only a little one." Holding tightly to Crowley's shoulders, Aziraphale flipped them both over and pressed Crowley into the blanket, knocking over a wine glass and kicking the charcuterie platter in the process.
Crowley laughed, but Aziraphale was laser-focused. He sat up to straddle Crowley's thighs and worked open the black leather belt above them.
Crowley had been so good to him today, he deserved something in return.
"You'll have to be quiet for me, my dear." He glanced up briefly at Crowley, his gaze sharp. "Can you do that?"
Crowley's breathing had already gone shallower. "Yes," he nodded, staring wide-eyed as Aziraphale then hurried to unbutton and unzip his trousers.
"Very good," Aziraphale replied, and promptly forgot what he had asked in the first place as he revealed the last layer between himself and Crowley. He sucked in a sharp breath. The last, red, lacey layer.
Most times, Aziraphale was one to savour his lovers. He preferred to move his mouth languidly, to be decadent as he pleasured. But petting the hardness restrained by thin red lace, his own desire threatening to drip from his lips and darken the fabric, Aziraphale was overwhelmingly aware that this was not one of those times.
He dived downwards, pressing his open mouth to Crowley's cock. There was a quiet, broken moan as Crowley's hips jerked into the kiss, and Aziraphale held him down, exhaling a long, hot breath through the cloth separating them.
"Angel," Crowley gasped, scrambling for purchase on Aziraphale's hair. "Need you."
The raw, desperate confession only stretched Aziraphale's mouth wider. He flattened his tongue and licked over the shape of Crowley's head, groaning as Crowley writhed beneath him, thigh muscles tensing under his palms.
"Please," Crowley whined softly. "Fuck, your mouth, can you—"
"Yes," Aziraphale breathed, scrambling to free Crowley of the clothing in the way.
After quite a bit of frantic tugging, everything below Crowley's waist was shoved down.
Aziraphale's lips parted as he stared. "Oh, darling," he whispered.
The apple, blushing red and tempting. He needed to taste. There would be no shame, no dire consequence in sucking the juice from its flesh; Aziraphale wouldn't be cast out of paradise but embraced into it.
Transfixed, he ran his palm up Crowley's bare thigh and under his rumpled shirt, bending down again as he brushed over a nipple. Crowley whimpered.
"Shh, it's alright, love. I won't make you wait," Aziraphale murmured, his breath ghosting over Crowley's cock.
Crowley was already panting, and Aziraphale's hands found his thighs again and squeezed.
He lapped at a bead of precome, and lost himself in it immediately. He closed his lips around the head with a soft moan, sucking gently before extending his tongue and spreading spit in a messy haste as he took Crowley's entire cock into his mouth.
Crowley cried out, bucking into Aziraphale's throat. Aziraphale gagged and relished it, closing his eyes as he dragged a trail of drool up Crowley's length and sank back down again, every swallow making him hungrier. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking Crowley farther into his mouth. More, he needed more.
Crowley's pulse throbbed wildly on Aziraphale's tongue, fast and frenetic. "Fuck, fuck," Crowley choked out, his whole body heaving with the effort of his breath.
Slick was dripping farther down Aziraphale's inner thighs with every bob of his head, and as Crowley latched onto his hair with a sudden, urgent grip, Aziraphale found himself relieved that their roles weren't switched if only for fear of drowning him.
"Angel, I’m— oh, you're— I’m gonna come—"
Aziraphale whined, suddenly desperately motivated, and quickened his pace. With a devastatingly obscene moan, bitter salt erupted into Aziraphale's mouth. He swallowed it down without slowing.
Crowley's hips stuttered beneath him as he continued at a relentless speed. "Ah, Aziraphale," he said, softly but strained. He gently lifted Aziraphale's mouth off of him.
Breathless and still wanting — desperately, insatiably — Aziraphale wiped his face with the back of his hand and climbed on top of Crowley. He pressed the heat of his neglected cock to Crowley's stomach and kissed down his neck, licking the sweat from his skin.
"Oh, f—"
The sentence ended in a whine as Aziraphale tangled a hand into his hair and pulled, forcing an arch into his neck. "You have no idea," Aziraphale murmured, his voice dropping down an octave, "how hard you've made me."
Crowley groaned, spreading his hands wide over Aziraphale's arse to thrust them together. Aziraphale chased the friction, grinding down feverishly—
It was torrential. Droplets fell to the earth like sand bags, drenching them in a matter of seconds.
Aziraphale gasped, startled. He lifted his head up. They stared at each other for a moment in shock as water rushed down the sides of their faces, and a bewildered laugh bubbled up from Aziraphale's chest. "Oh, my—"
"Fuck!" Crowley yelled, thankfully quieter than his yell earlier that day. Gosh, how long had it been now?
A smile easily found its way to Aziraphale's lips, and he tucked his head into Crowley's neck to shield his face from the onslaught. There was no point in seeking dry shelter, they never stood a chance. "Would you like to come back to mine?" he proposed to Crowley's ear.
"My trousers are still down," Crowley complained, the absurdity of it all clear in his voice. He covered his face with his hands and let out a cackle as a clap of thunder echoed across the pond.
Aziraphale laughed against his skin. "The clouds must've decided that your cock wasn't wet enough."
As if to punctuate his point, the clouds picked up bigger buckets and immediately emptied them. The downpour was deafening.
"Get off me," Crowley snapped, a smile in his voice. He made no effort to move either of them. Aziraphale giggled and buried his face deeper into Crowley's neck. "Bastard. Yes, let's go back to yours, I am soaked."
As he sat upright in Crowley's lap, Aziraphale tilted his head back to greet the sky, smiling as cool water washed over his face. "I’ll be taking partial credit for that."
"I can't even hear you! The fucking rain!" Crowley shouted.
Aziraphale grinned. He pushed the wet hair from his forehead before climbing off of Crowley to stand up, and burst into laughter as Crowley tried to wriggle his very tight, very wet trousers back over his hips.
"Shut up!" Crowley laughed, finally accomplishing the task. He clambered to his feet and tackled Aziraphale with a sopping hug, almost toppling them both over in the process. "Never having sex with you again."
Aziraphale giggled as they regained their balance. A flash of lightning lit up Crowley's grin. "I must say I doubt that, my dear."
"Play along for my dignity."
"Oh, I'm afraid it's far too late for that." Aziraphale kissed him with a pointed little slip of tongue, and the boom of thunder that followed kept his incriminating moan a secret only to them. "Come on. I'll help you gather everything up."
Notes:
let me know your thoughtssssssss hehehe. if you caught the reference to my high school au, i love you.
it'll definitely be more than a week until next chapter, but less than three months, promise.
also it's my partner's birthday!! everyone say happy birthday cody's partner!!!
Pages Navigation
manicmagicat on Chapter 1 Sun 13 Apr 2025 08:14PM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 1 Sun 13 Apr 2025 08:25PM UTC
Comment Actions
ItsScottiesStark on Chapter 1 Sun 13 Apr 2025 09:29PM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 1 Sun 13 Apr 2025 09:36PM UTC
Comment Actions
DrConstellation on Chapter 1 Mon 14 Apr 2025 11:55AM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 1 Mon 14 Apr 2025 06:52PM UTC
Comment Actions
rainydropz on Chapter 1 Mon 14 Apr 2025 04:24PM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 1 Mon 14 Apr 2025 06:53PM UTC
Comment Actions
CuriousPupsicle on Chapter 1 Wed 16 Apr 2025 11:08PM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 1 Thu 17 Apr 2025 01:56AM UTC
Comment Actions
commander_dara on Chapter 1 Thu 17 Apr 2025 04:43AM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 1 Thu 17 Apr 2025 04:50AM UTC
Comment Actions
EybeFioro on Chapter 1 Mon 19 May 2025 12:26PM UTC
Last Edited Mon 19 May 2025 02:18PM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 1 Mon 19 May 2025 06:04PM UTC
Comment Actions
masnadies on Chapter 1 Fri 23 May 2025 12:58AM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 1 Fri 23 May 2025 04:23AM UTC
Comment Actions
KayleeFan on Chapter 1 Thu 29 May 2025 12:42PM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 1 Thu 29 May 2025 01:03PM UTC
Comment Actions
KayleeFan on Chapter 1 Thu 29 May 2025 11:05PM UTC
Comment Actions
impose_crowes on Chapter 1 Fri 30 May 2025 04:03PM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 1 Fri 30 May 2025 04:11PM UTC
Comment Actions
Krisdaughter_of_Athena on Chapter 1 Sun 22 Jun 2025 03:50AM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 1 Sun 22 Jun 2025 09:30AM UTC
Comment Actions
CuriousPupsicle on Chapter 2 Sun 20 Apr 2025 10:53AM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 2 Sun 20 Apr 2025 07:27PM UTC
Comment Actions
books-and-omens (everybody_lives) on Chapter 2 Mon 21 Apr 2025 05:37AM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 2 Mon 21 Apr 2025 11:10AM UTC
Comment Actions
EybeFioro on Chapter 2 Wed 21 May 2025 12:18PM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 2 Wed 21 May 2025 05:26PM UTC
Comment Actions
masnadies on Chapter 2 Fri 23 May 2025 01:35AM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 2 Fri 23 May 2025 04:27AM UTC
Comment Actions
masnadies on Chapter 2 Fri 23 May 2025 01:31AM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 2 Fri 23 May 2025 04:25AM UTC
Comment Actions
impose_crowes on Chapter 2 Fri 30 May 2025 05:18PM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 2 Fri 30 May 2025 11:59PM UTC
Comment Actions
commander_dara on Chapter 2 Wed 18 Jun 2025 02:50AM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 2 Wed 18 Jun 2025 05:05AM UTC
Comment Actions
DrConstellation on Chapter 3 Sun 27 Apr 2025 05:16AM UTC
Comment Actions
CuriousPupsicle on Chapter 3 Sun 27 Apr 2025 10:30AM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 3 Mon 28 Apr 2025 12:01AM UTC
Comment Actions
carlaesther on Chapter 3 Sun 27 Apr 2025 10:49PM UTC
Comment Actions
firelikestars on Chapter 3 Mon 28 Apr 2025 12:07AM UTC
Comment Actions
Pages Navigation