Chapter 1: Present Day, Carlisle (age 29)
Chapter Text
PART ONE - Ezra's POV
If you’d asked Ezra Teachdaire how he came to be laying on a bed in a Carlisle motel with the most beautiful man he’d ever known between his legs, he wouldn’t really have been able to tell you.
At age 15, he was secretly crushing on his classmate Anthony Crowley. Rude, scowling, beautiful Anthony, who hated him on principle. Then one day, the same Anthony Crowley had his tongue in Ezra’s mouth and his hand down Ezra’s trousers in the boys’ toilets, letting Ezra know he didn’t dislike him quite as much as first thought.
That one-off, when Anthony threated to punch Ezra if he told anyone, became a handful of clandestine encounters that neither boy acknowledged.
The weeks turned into months, then into years.
Now, at 29, Ezra realised he’d spent his entire adult life hooking up in secret with just one person, with hair like fire and a smile like a knife.
He ran his fingers through those smooth red tresses now, and a narrow, calloused hand slid up to cover his, twining their fingers together. Anthony Crowley was the only person Ezra had ever slept with, and the only person he’d ever loved.
“What time’s check out in the morning?” Crowley was sorting through the biscuits as the mini kettle boiled. Ezra watched his reflection in the mirror behind the desk it sat on.
“Ten. Early morning for you.”
Crowley grunted. “S’fine. I’ll have a nap later. Oat or shortbread?”
“I’m not sure why you’re even asking.”
“You might surprise me one of these days.”
A pack of two shortbread fingers sailed through the air and landed on Ezra’s stomach as he still lay flat on the bed, his trousers around his thighs. He sat up against the pillows and watched as Crowley prepared a cup of tea and instant coffee before sitting on the edge of the bed with them.
“Thank you,” Ezra took the proffered cup. “And thank you for coming today.”
Crowley shrugged and slurped his coffee. “Your birthday gift, aye? Twelve hours fucking.”
Ezra ignored him. Crowley could never take gratitude or compliments. Or kindness in any form, really.
His dismissals had become so rote over the years he now barely murmured his objections when Ezra said something fond, and Ezra carried on as if he hadn’t.
“It’ll certainly be a better evening than my actual birthday”
“Dinner with your dad and Gabriel again,” Crowley snorted. “That’s a low fucking bar.”
“Hmmm,” Ezra sipped his tea and gave a sigh, thinking back at an evening of awkward small talk as the three men sat around a too-large table.
“Oh! There was one funny thing though. I forgot to tell you. Gabriel turned up with a love bite.”
Crowley pulled a face. “Who the fuck would touch that smug shit-stick. He must’ve paid for it.”
“Crowley!”
“What?”
“There’s no need to cast aspersions on our local sex workers. Mrs Sandwich’s girls are charming to a one.”
Crowley treated Ezra to a sharp grin at that, his throat bobbing in a silent laugh. He chugged back his coffee – he’d always had an asbestos mouth – then stood. “Right, I’m going for a piss. Hurry up with that tea and get naked.”
After Crowley got in his car back to Dunfermline the next morning, Ezra spent the day at an estate clearance. He was pleasantly sore, and had a few love bites that Crowley insisted he needed, to match his brother’s. The fiend. He could feel them rubbing beneath his collar now, as he strolled between glass display cases, smiling to himself.
His twenty-ninth birthday had been spent very much like the previous twenty-eight. Some sort of compulsory family engagement, dinner or lunch depending on work schedules. Work was discussed (and Ezra ignored), before the two other men in his family dropped their napkins and returned to said-work.
Enoch Teachdaire was the Chairman of Aird-Nèamh, the biggest venture capital firm in Scotland. Eldest son Gabriel had been groomed for the role of CEO and had taken over the position from their father at the impressive age of 27. Ezra, the spare to the heir, lacked the killer instinct to excel in the family business.
He had to attend the eponymous Teachdaire Business School, of course, but after he graduated he was more or less left to his own devices. After a spell working in a local bookshop (the happiest time in his life) his mother had died, and he took on her role of managing the household and large numbers of rental properties dotted around Fife. He bought, restored and sometimes sold rare books in his free time – one of only two things in his life he kept for himself.
So if Enoch and Gabriel used Ezra’s birthday meals as a chance for a business catch up? Well, Ezra didn’t really mind. He certainly didn’t want to share anything of himself – not with those men who were so different to him in every way.
That wasn’t to say Ezra didn’t look forward to his birthdays immensely. Ezra would receive his “gift” from Crowley: an overnight stay in a motel somewhere out of town, where they would spend an uninterrupted day together.
Crowley was born poor and stayed poor, but would rather starve (and often did) than take money from Ezra. In their teens he’d declared he couldn’t afford to buy Ezra a birthday present, but would give him his arse (his most valuable asset, he’d said) for a whole day. A tradition was born. And for all of Crowley’s jokes about spending the whole time in bed, they would actually have dinner together, fall asleep cuddling, wake up the same way, and share breakfast. They both knew that was the real gift.
Though, like many things, it remained unsaid.
Ezra’s thoughts were interrupted by a light tap on his shoulder.
“Ezra!” Maggie pulled Ezra into a hug before he had fully realised who had called his attention.
“Hello my dear.” He gave her arms a squeeze. “I didn’t know you were going to be here, I would have dropped you a line to meet up.”
“Oh it was a last-minute thing,” she dropped her voice conspiratorially and waved the auction brochure at him. “I’ve heard a rumour of an early print Black Album among the job lots. I thought it was worth jumping on a train to check it out.”
Ezra made the appropriate noises of appreciation as Maggie told him about the vinyl record she was hunting down, but he had no idea who this ‘Prince’ was. He thought how Crowley would tease him for his limited grasp of post-20th century cultural references.
“And what about you, what are you here for?” Maggie shuffled back against a display case of ceramic bowls, Ezra following her, as a gaggle of antique-hunters squeezed past them.
“Oh, just browsing today. I’ve no particular purchase in mind, but the estate did have a rather extensive poetry collection, so I believe.”
“Bit of a trek from home for a browse?”
“Oh, well,” Ezra tugged at his waistcoat. “I met my partner here yesterday. He’s gone back home and I thought I’d have a day in Carlisle.”
Maggie’s face hardened. “Is this Anthony still?”
Ezra nodded with a bland smile. He and Maggie had become friends after meeting for years on the antiques circuit. One evening over drinks, she’d asked to meet his elusive partner. Ezra had prevaricated poorly, and Maggie had eventually wheedled from him that their relationship was both casual, and secret.
Over a few subsequent conversations where they returned to the topic of Ezra’s love life, something in the way Ezra had explained and defended Crowley had led Maggie to conclude that Crowley was closeting them through shame or embarrassment, and keeping himself emotionally unavailable.
She was right, of course. But also very wrong. Ezra knew he would never be able to explain something so ineffable.
“You met up two hours from home?” she rose an eyebrow, tapping edge of the auction brochure against her palm.
“On this occasion, yes. But we see each other back home all of the time, as well you know.”
Maggie pulled a pained face. “Ezra, I’d like to think we’re pretty good friends now. If you ever… I mean… if you wanted to get away…”
Ezra smiled fondly and squeezed her arm. “Please don’t worry about me, my dear. I’m perfectly happy. Now! let’s go for a rummage, shall we?”
Chapter 2: Age17. Coimhdeachta College, Dunfermline
Summary:
Our first flash-back, to school. Ezra warns Crowley his father is cracking down on bad seeds and is talking about expulsions.
Chapter Text
Ezra ran up the front steps of his school and dodged his way down the main corridor, his eyes desperately seeking a spiked red fin. He spotted Crowley eventually leaning on the lockers, surrounded by his gang of school rebels, wearing only cursory items of school uniform and non-regulation hair. Ezra cursed silently that Crowley wasn’t alone, and looped around the group, trying to catch Crowley’s eye but not the attention of his friends. He didn’t need a bad morning made worse by having his bag emptied on the floor, should he come to their notice.
Crowley’s amber eyes – narrowed, guarded, shifting – caught Ezra’s for the briefest moment. Long enough for Ezra to tip his chin just a fraction. Crowley’s eyes slid away as if he hadn’t even seen the other boy, but he banged through the door into the toilets only moments after Ezra had gone in. He scowled at a younger pupil who promptly stopped washing his hands and scurried away.
“What?” Crowley crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his hip once the door had shut and they were alone.
“My father’s being appointed today. He got voted in by the Governors last night.”
“Congratulations. What the fuck does tha’ hae to do wi’ me?”
“He’s… announcing a crack-down on behaviour. Wants to root out the bad seeds, he said.”
Crowley barked out a laugh at that, but Ezra pressed on. “Crowley please, this is serious. He’s going to propose suspensions. Expulsions. You need to fall into line quickly. You and your… friends.”
“Keep y’hair on. You’re wringing y’hands like m’gran.”
“You never met your gran.” Ezra replied distractedly as he tried to fold his hands in front of him to keep them still. “I’m worried, Crowley. I don’t want you to be thrown out of school.”
Crowley gave an unconcerned sniff. “We’re not doin’ anything wrong. Jus’ asking questions. Dinnae y’ever wonder why things have to be done the same way forever? Fuck’sake we still have to go t’chapel and wear bow ties. It’s the 21st century!”
“It’s just tradition.” Ezra defended weakly. He might have privately thought that Coimhdeachta College was stuck in its ways, that its elite reputation was a poor cover for snobbery and prejudice. He may have thought learning ancient greek was less useful than IT. But he wasn’t going to shout about it in the middle of a lesson on Aristotle.
“Just because you look good in bow ties.” Crowley countered, grinning his sharp grin now, and took a step forward. Ezra knew he was flirting to change the subject, but this was too important.
“Father’s making an announcement today. He’s already in the building meeting the rest of the Board.”
Crowley stopped his approach, his grin turning into a sneer. “Best not be seen fraternising with th’enemy then.”
“Fraternising?” Ezra gave a weak chuckle. “Is that what we’re doing?”
“There’s another F word I could use.” Crowley said lightly, turning his head away to fiddle with his hair in the mirror. “Anyway. You’ve made y’point. Can I go now, Mr Teachdaire sir?”
Chapter 3: Present Day, Carlisle
Summary:
Back to present day - Ezra and Maggie spend time together in Carlisle and his relationship status comes up.
Chapter Text
Maggie and Ezra decided to have a late lunch after the estate sale, tapas and a bottle of red. Maggie talked about Nina, her neighbour who she had been mad about for months and who had finally seperated from her partner Lyndsey.
“She wasn’t happy. Every time her phone beeped she would get this look on her face. But now they’ve split up she seems even sadder, and I don’t want to be insensitive by just saying she’s better off...” Maggie trailed off to take a drink, eyeing Ezra over the top of her glass. “I suppose it’s difficult for people to see when they’re in a toxic relationship.”
Ezra raised an eyebrow. “Is this an unsubtle attempt to prompt me to talk about Anthony?”
“Only if you want it to be.” Maggie rushed out, earnest and wide eyed.
Ezra’s mouth quirked in amusement. “You know everything worth knowing, my dear.”
“You sound resigned.”
“Content.” He countered.
“I’m sorry, Ezra, I don’t want to overstep I just... I think of you as someone who wants to be romanced and..” she gave a huff and spun the stem of her wineglass thoughfully. “Not be in a... Situationship.”
“Actually we’ve always referred to it as an arrangement.” Ezra replied, chuckling at Maggie’s appalled expression.
“My God that’s so transactional!”
Ezra put his hand on hers on the table, knowing she could never understand. He didn’t resent her concern, he just didn’t need it.
“The thing is, my dear,” he smiled gently. “Anthony and I have been together forever. I know him better than I know myself. And I love him unconditionally. When you love someone like that, you have to love them for who they are. Not what you think you can shape them into.” He sighed and looked away into the middle disatnce. “People say it all the time, I know. It's trite. But I don’t think many people truly do it. I’m not blind to what he is. But i’ve chosen him. And I love every part of him.”
Ezra had been thinking of Crowley at his worst and his best with equal amounts of affection, but when he came back to himself and looked back at Maggie, he realised her eyes were filling.
“Oh! My dear, really.” He squeezed her hand. “Please, don’t worry about me honestly, I—”
“Oh it’s not that.” She croaked, wiping under her eyes with her free hand, checking her fingers for mascara. “It’s just you make it sound so beautiful. Weirdly.” She cleared her throat. “Can I ask you something?”
“Oh course my dear.”
“Is that how he loves you? Unconditionally?”
Ezra smiled and dropped his eyes to their hands. “Yes. He loves me the only way he can.”
“Well that sounds like a red flag if ever I heard one.” Maggie muttered, sniffing. “Do you have a hankie?”
Chapter 4: Age 19. The Teachdaire Family Home.
Summary:
Second flashback, two years after the first. Crowley has been expelled from school, but he and Ezra are still together.
Notes:
CW for minor injury, vomiting, drunken sex (not explicit and consensual)
Chapter Text
“Eyyyyyy annnnnggelllll!!!”
Ezra took his phone away from his ear and winced. He waited for the stream of garbled shouting from the speaker to subside before he carefully brought the phone back, “Crowley? Are you safe?” From experience, he knew an incredibly inebriated Crowley was nothing to worry about, as long as he wasn’t stranded miles from home.
“Aye!! M’ssssplendid!!”
“Where are you?”
“Ehhh…. Not sure ashtually. Will ye’come get me?”
Ezra frowned. Something sounded off – Crowley’s voice was too wet, somehow.
“Do you remember how to turn the location on on your phone?”
“Ayyyee!! You’re a clever one eh!?”
“Ok do that now.”
Ezra took the phone from his ear and opened the map app that allowed Crowley to drop a pin on his location. He blinked when it appeared.
“Crowley.. what on earth are you doing in Dalgety Bay? Actually… never mind. Do you need me to take you home? Or… is your father…?” Crowley had been staying off and on at his father’s house since he’d been expelled, his continued lodging dependent on his ability to pay rent. After a too brief stint at the factory, Ezra knew Crowley was currently unemployed, and he wasn’t sure if Crowley would be welcome at home.
“Nyyeehh.. don’ think thassa good idea right now,” Crowley paused, and Ezra heard him spit. “You’ll look after me though aye?”
“Aye. I mean, yes, of course. Ok, I’m on my way. Just… sit somewhere safe ok? don’t move.”
Ezra’s parents and brother had been asleep for hours, and always left Ezra the night owl to lock up and come and go relatively unhindered. Still, he slipped out of the house now and summoned a taxi from his phone to meet him a little further down the lane. He spent the twenty-minute drive out to the coastal town south of Dunfermline wondering what he would find when he arrived. It was close to midnight when the taxi pulled up at a bus stop in a residential area where, according to GPS, Crowley should be. He asked the driver to wait and hopped out, quickly finding Crowley sitting in a nearby front garden, legs spread out in the wet grass.
“There’s my ride!” Crowley declared when he saw Ezra appear on the other side of the hedge. “Or is it your turn tonight?” he cackled at his own joke and looked up at the stars, arms braced behind him. The sweep of headlights of a passing car illuminated Crowley’s face for a moment, and Ezra saw his teeth were stained with blood. He looked like a demon, his golden eyes glowing with mischief above his wicked, sharp red grin.
“What have you done?” Ezra stepped over the shrubs, suddenly not caring that he was trespassing, and crouched down next to the young man still sprawled in the grass.
Crowley beamed up at him, unfocused. “Hello gorgeous.”
Ezra put his hand to Crowley’s jaw. “Have you lost a tooth?”
“Nah. Jus’ rattlin a bit.” His smile shone crimson, and he looped a slender arm around Ezra’s neck. “Will ye’ take me home, darlin?”
“Home?” Ezra put his arms under Crowley’s and pulled him upwards, taking most of the man’s slight weight as he pitched forward.
“Aye! Wherever you are angel.”
“Oh Crowley.” Ezra’s chest ached for the boy in his arms. He might have said something foolish then if Crowley hadn’t chosen that moment to place a smacking kiss to his cheek and nuzzle under his ear. Ezra could feel the warm smear of bloody saliva across his face and cringed.
“Ok. The taxi’s just over here. Let’s go. Don’t be sick or we’ll get thrown out.”
They wobbled to the car and, though the driver looked askance as Crowley slumped against the door, Ezra quickly got his attention with a large tip.
“Would you mind taking us to a hotel back in town?”
“A hotel, lad?”
“Yes uh… my friend needs to sleep this off. Do you know somewhere I’d be able to get a room this late at night?”
“Oh aye, nae bather.”
Ezra had never checked into a hotel on his own before. He was only 19 after all, it wasn’t something he’d needed to do. Still, how hard could it be? He had his bank card and driving licence with him.
Securing a room at the Travelodge in Dunfermline turned out to be simple enough, the sleepy night-receptionist handing over the key without a second glance as Ezra made his way to the lift where Crowley already stood, propped strategically against the wall. The minute they were through the door, Crowley – who had grown stiller and paler during the ride back – stumbled towards the bathroom and brought up what seemed to Ezra like litres of flammable-smelling liquid.
“Well done holding it in until we got here.” Ezra said as he held long strands of bright red hair out of the toilet bowl, rubbing Crowley's back.
“Aye I’m…” his words were punctuated with another bout of wretching, “fuck... I’m nae an amateur.”
“Quite.”
Once he declared he was done, Crowley sat slumped on the toilet lid and allowed Ezra to pull his T-shirt off. Ezra gave him a wipe down, hair to waist, with a warm wet towel. He then inspected the inside of his mouth for split lips and loose teeth.
“What happened?” he asked, wringing rust-coloured water out into the sink.
“Luke got blootered and picked a fight with some local lads in th’pub. A’ got in the way of a fist.”
“Where are they now?” Ezra hadn’t spotted any of them from the taxi.
“They all legged it and jumped on a bus.”
“They left you behind?”
“S’not like that. Fancy a shag?”
Ezra raised an eyebrow at Crowley’s change of topic. He knew what Ezra thought of his so-called friends in any case, especially after Luke was instrumental in getting them all expelled.
“What? We’ve got a bed right here!” Crowley waved his arm out towards the bedroom. “We’ve never done it in a bed!”
That was true. The back of the Bentley, still on bricks in a local scrapyard, was the closest they’d gotten to horizontal in nearly four years of illicit hook ups against brick walls and over sinks. Crowley could see Ezra was wavering and jumped to his feet, slapping his hand against the counter to steady himself. Ezra stepped back slightly as they bumped knees in the tiny bathroom.
“Come on, proper big bed! Like grown-ups! I feel alright now i’ve boked.”
“Christ.” Ezra scrubbed his hand over his face. “Ok. If you’re sure. But we’re not kissing.”
“I’ll rinse my mouth!”
“It’s not that, you tool. It’ll hurt you if we kiss.” He cupped Crowley’s cheek and raised an eyebrow when Crowley opened his mouth to argue, and the other man deflated. “Fine. No kissin.”
Despite Crowley’s assurances that he felt fine, he was still drunk enough to be unsteady on his feet and Ezra had to help him with his jeans and settle him under the covers. He pulled his own clothes off and slid in behind, curling up around Crowley’s back and kissing his shoulder, enjoying for a moment the new feeling of them both being completely naked and pressed together. Crowley gave an experimental wiggle back onto Ezra’s growing erection.
“Oooh this is nice.” He chuckled. “Not having to stand, nice and relaxin’.”
Ezra was grateful, then, that Crowley was still drunk. Sober, he might have balked at the intimacy of this new position and said something snarky to diffuse it. As it was, he simply rested back against Ezra’s chest and gave a contented sigh, lifting his leg and guiding Ezra’s hand.
Ezra was gentle, and slow, and tender, studiously ignoring Crowley’s bratty demands to change the pace. Still, Crowley gave him a sleepy, blissful smile as Ezra carefully wiped them both down with another towel some time later. “You’ll stay, angel?”
“I can’t darling. It’s after 2, I need to get back to the house before everyone’s up.”
“Aye. Course.”
Ezra brushed Crowley’s hair from his face. “I’ll stay here till you’re asleep.”
Crowley grunted and pushed his face in the pillow, grasping Ezra’s hand. Within five minutes Ezra could hear the steady sound of his breathing. He sat and watched him for another ten, stroking his hair. Then he cleaned the bathroom, laid out Crowley’s rumpled clothes over the radiator, and set his phone alarm before calling a taxi.
He was at the family breakfast table barely a handful of hours later, but it wasn’t till eleven that his phone chimed.
Crowley>>> We should book hotels for fckin. Beds lovely.
Chapter 5: Present Day, on the train to Dunfermline
Summary:
Back to the present, Ezra makes his way back from Carlisle to find his father and brother arguing at home
Chapter Text
Once he and Maggie parted ways, Ezra got the late train back to Dunfermline, checking his phone once he’d found a seat.
Crowley>>> You not home yet?
A text from Crowley sent an hour before. He’d never asked Ezra to message him to let him know when he’d gotten home, of course, but Ezra always did.
Ezra>>> I bumped into my friend Maggie at the auction, we went for dinner
The response came immediately.
Crowley>>> Just been past your dad’s. Lights are on like blackpool front
Ezra raised an eyebrow. Not because Crowley had most likely driven out to his father’s house to check on him (looking up at his darkened window from the end of the drive, it was another thing they didn’t talk about) but that someone was awake at this time. Gabriel and Enoch were early to bed types. Gabriel would rise at 6 for a run while his father would be checking emails by 7.
Ezra>>> No idea why. I’m still 90 minutes away, I imagine it’ll all be quiet by the time I get there.
It was not, in fact, quiet when he arrived home. The taxi pulled away and Ezra took stock – study, kitchen, living room windows all ablaze. He let himself in, alert, and heard raised voices from the study. He made his way there.
“Hey buddy!” Gabriel slapped Ezra on the shoulder as they passed each-other at the study door. His standard cheery welcome sounded strained, and he didn’t stop to talk. Ezra watched him go before quietly letting himself into the study. His father stood at the desk, flushed, and his eyes flashed as he lifted his head towards the sound at the door.
“Ah! Ezra there you are. You’re late.”
“I told you I was spending the day in Carlisle.”
“Did you? Well, no matter.”
“Is everything… in order, father?”
“Hmm?” Enoch was shuffling papers distractedly. “Oh, yes. Yes. Perfectly in order. Have you resolved the unpaid rent at the Young’s farm?”
“Oh, yes. I thought I would give him until the end of the month, the big cattle auction is just next week and—”
“Absolutely not. If we start letting tenants pay their debts on their terms, where will it end? No no. Far better to serve the eviction papers now.”
“But father… The Youngs have been there for thirty years. They’ll be in the black again in just a few days.”
Enoch thumped the table. “You will do as I say, lad.” He hissed, his face flushing with anger. “I will not have another son of mine defy me.”
Another son? Ezra’s face remained impassive as he inclined his head in deference. Back in his room, he pulled out his phone.
Ezra>>> Looks like Gabriel has had an argument with my father, but I don’t know what about
Crowley>>> The golden boy? Heaven forfend! Maybe you should ask for his job
Ezra>>> Don’t joke. Anyway I have more important things to worry about. I need you to help me think of another workaround – the Youngs are behind on their rent and I don’t want to evict them.
Crowley>>> They’re alright them, Arthur gave me a lift once. I’m sure we can cook something up. call?
Chapter 6: Age 21, Teachdaire Business School
Summary:
Our third flashback, 2 years after the second. Ezra graduates from University and once again warns Crowley about the risks he's taking. Ezra suggests they run away together. It's a big universe out there, after all.
Notes:
CW reference to drug dealing
Chapter Text
Ezra stood next to his father on the lawn of the eponymous Teachdaire Business School, founded by his great grandfather. Cold sweat was gathering on his neck as Enoch held court, telling amusing anecdotes to professors and alumni who had gathered around them as soon as the graduation ceremony had concluded.
His father had handed him his certificate and shook his hand that morning. But the older man’s smile and “well done” up on stage was no warmer or more sincere than any other he had bestowed on the other young men and women who’d graduated that day. And now Ezra was stuck here listening to the man ponitifcate about his family’s legacy, struggling to hold still against a tide of anxiety that was soaking into his shirt. He glanced at his watch surrepticiously, knowing he had to slip away any minute now if he’d hoped to meet Crowley on the bench across the park.
Ezra had texted him that morning.
Ezra>>> I need to talk to you.
Crowley>>> sex or talk?
Ezra>>> talk
Crowley>>> ffs. Bench 2pm. ditch the cap though u look like a prat
It was now ten minutes to 2, and Ezra had to make his move. He downed the last of his champagne, wincing at the sharp burn. “If you’ll just excuse me,” he said politely to no one in particular, wiggling the empty flute, before strolling towards the drinks tables. Rather than collecting a refill, however, he deposited his glass, graduation cap and cloak on the nearest surface and slipped through the hedges before striding towards the park.
“You’re late.” Crowley said as Ezra dropped down next to him on their bench, catching his breath. They didn’t look at eachother.
“I had to get away from the drinks party.”
“So what’s so important we need to sit here and talk in the middle of the day?” Crowley asked now, slouching further onto the bench, stretching his legs out and squinting at the sunlight reflected on the pond.
“I hear things.”
“What things?” Crowley scoffed.
“That you’ve been setting up a... caper.”
“You mean those horrible green things?”
“Please be serious Crowley. A caper. With Haz, and Luke. Stealing something from the church.”
“Yeah had my eye on that big gold eagle...”
“The Church drop in clinic. Obviously. Some of the students from my class are arranging a graduation party tonight. Said they knew people who could get... substances, you know. Former classmates of mine, apparently. Very convenient.”
“I fail to see how a bit of posh boy gossip has anything ta’do with me.”
“Don’t do that,” Ezra wiped the perspiration from his forehead wearily. “If your crowd are dealing drugs—”
“Then it’s nae yur fucking business.” Crowley cut him off, his temper making his accent slip, before letting out a humourless laugh. “This is like school all over again. Warning me about my behaviour. Fucks’ake.”
He stood and took a few steps towards the water, hands tucked into the pockets of his too tight jeans, elbows sharp. Ezra came to stand next to him in the sweet-spot: close enough to be heard but far enough apart to explain away should they be seen. They had become expert at judging that distance over the years.
“Yes, Crowley. Just like school.” He murmured urgently. “I was right then, and i’m right now.”
“Must be wonderful being right all the time, always doing the right thing.” Crowley hissed back. “So, angel, what would you have me do? Tell Luke to just.. pack it in? On your say so?”
Ezra hesitated, then suprised himself by saying, “It’s a big world Crowley. We could... go off together.”
Ezra wasn't sure where that idea had come from. But he suddenly realised, as he stood there gazing at the water, that for the first time in his life he was free. He’d graduated, like he’d said he would, and fulfilled his obligation to his father. Now he didn’t need to stay in his home town any longer. He could just... leave. They could leave.
“Together?” Crowley sounded staggered enough for Ezra to risk a glance over at him. Crowley was looking directly at him, and Ezra saw... something there. But it was gone in a blink, and Crowley’s expression was in a more familiar sneer as he scoffed, “Listen t’yoursel’.”
“How long have we been friends? Six years? At least?” Ezra asked.
“Friends? we’re ne’er friends. We’re...”
“Hereditary enemies?” Ezra raised his eyebrow and tried not to smirk at Crowley’s spluttering.
“We have nothing in common!” Crowley blustered. “I don’t even like you.”
“You do.” Ezra rolled his eyes.
“We’re on opposite sides!”
“We’re on our side.” Ezra snapped back, leaning closer.
Crowley stepped back to re-establish the distance, and kept his eyes fixed to the water. “We have an arrangement.” He said cooly, removing a pair of sunglasses from the neckline of his faded black vest and popping them on his nose. “We don’t comment on eachother’s lifestyle choices. Or talk nonsense about running off together.”
Ezra cleared his throat, gathered himself. “Of course. I'll remember that in future.”
“Good. So. Fancy a blowjob? My treat, with you graduating an’all.” Crowley gestured with a shrug of one shoulder towards the toilet block.
Is this how it's always going to be? Ezra thought as he looked at the squat white toilet building, his chest tightening. What on earth are we doing?
“No, I—” Ezra took a breath to steady his voice. “I don’t think so. Not today.”
Through the corner of his eye, Ezra could see Crowley’s carefully careless expression drop – just for a second. Ezra had never turned him down before. “Why not?”
“I’ve a graduation party to get to,” Ezra said lightly, as he prepared his jab. “Perhaps I’ll see you there, if Luke’s got you making deliveries.”
Ezra turned then, heading towards the Business School. He didn’t look back.
Chapter 7: Age 23, Ezra's flat in Dunfermline
Summary:
Our fourth flashback, another two years on. Ezra is now living in his own place, Crowley has been sent to prison.
Chapter Text
Ezra hadn’t seen Crowley since that day at the lake. Crowley had reached out a few times, sending him texts asking to hook up as if nothing had happened, but Ezra hadn’t replied.
He hadn’t been sure how long he would stay angry for. He’d held out for about 8 weeks after Crowley had gotten himself expelled from school. But in the end, the decision was taken out of his hands. Before they’d reconciled, Ezra heard through the grape vine that Crowley had been arrested for handling stolen goods and sent to prison with Luke, Haz, Ligur and Dave Dagon.
Ezra had carried on as best he could for over a year, as if a vital part of himself hadn’t been ripped out and locked in a cell in HMP Addiewell.
The certain knowledge that the torment would end helped him out of bed every morning as he went through his daily routine. But he felt like he was living in a bubble, where the world went on around but not quite touched him. Everything was muted. Numbed. Less. And then, one morning, the bubble burst.
Crowley>>> Hey angel. I’m out. where can we meet?
Crowley’s hair was shorter, his cheekbones sharper. Crowley never said “you were right, I was wrong.” But his hands, urgent yet so achingly gentle, and trembling as he stepped through the doorway and drew Ezra to him, told Ezra everything. They were in bed together less than thirty minutes later.
“How long have you been here then?” Crowley was standing now, picking his jeans from the floor and pulling them up his legs.
Ezra sat up in his tumbled bed and pushed his curls back from his forehead. “Oh, nearly a year now. Father didn’t want me to move out, so I got a job to pay for it.”
Crowley paused dressing to frown down at him. “You’re not working at Aird-Nèamh, then?”
“Goodness no. You know I never wanted to.”
“Yeah but I just thought, y’know. After going to the college. You’d cave.”
“I told Father I’d go to the business school, study all that MBA nonsense. But that would be where it ended.”
Crowley blew out a breath and pulled his T-shirt on. “How did he take it? And what do you do now then?”
“Look do you… Have time for a cup of tea or something? I could get dressed. Catch you up.”
Crowley hesitated for a moment, restless eyes shifting around the bedroom, before the corner of his mouth twitched. It was gone as soon as it had appeared, but it was enough for Ezra to know what his answer would be.
“Yeah. Yeah ok.”
Had things changed, after that? It was never acknowledged. Someone else – someone who didn’t know Crowley like an extension of his own self – might have put it down to the fact that they had a flat to go to. Hooking up was easier. Privacy assured. No need to rush or sneak around as much.
But Ezra knew it was more than that.
He didn’t need words. He could see it in the way Crowley opened the fridge to get the milk as if he had every right to. Ezra could feel it in the way Crowley’s hands cupped his face when they kissed. And in the way Crowley looked at him when he thought Ezra wasn’t watching.
Many times, Crowley would turn up unannounced, drunk, claiming he needed a place to crash and that he couldn’t go to his father’s. But he would reach for Ezra before the front door had even clicked shut with a lot more purpose than a drunk man should, and in the morning, Ezra would wake to feel Crowley big spoon and their legs tangled. Ezra would pretend to be asleep and let Crowley kiss his head and slip away without a word.
When Crowley left a toothbrush under the sink, Ezra pretended he hadn’t seen it. He also ignored the phone charger that appeared in the kitchen drawer.
Ezra started to keep a few bottles of wine in the cupboard and Crowley’s favourite biscuits.
“Luke’s been sent down.” Crowley said one day after a few months of this, as he sat on the edge of the bed.
Ezra watched the black wings tattooed on his shoulder blades flutter and twist as he pulled his jeans up his legs.
“Oh?” They never spoke about the rest of the boys from school – now men – who Crowley had been expelled and sent to prison with. Not since their argument at the lake.
“Eight years. Big stretch.”
“Hmmm.”
Crowley looked back over his shoulder. “Are you not going t’ask what he did?”
“It isn’t my business.”
“Don’t be pissy.”
“I’m not.”
Crowley huffed and stood, pulling his top over his head. “Drugs. And we’re all still on suspended sentences so...”
Ezra frowned – that caught his attention. “I didn’t know you were on a suspended sentence.”
“Only for a year after release. Just a few months to go now.”
“You never said.”
“Didn’t want to worry you.”
Ezra wasn’t sure what to say to that. His surprise must have shown, as Crowley then hesitated, fumbled a little with his belt. “Anyway. I’m not involved in any o’that. So, y’know. You can skip the lecture.”
“I would have skipped it anyway.”
Crowley scoffed and shoved his feet into his boots. “That would be a first.”
“I learn my lesson eventually.”
Crowley’s eyes lifted, holding Ezra’s gaze. Ezra could see he wanted to say something. But the moment passed.
“See you next week maybe.” He muttered as he slipped out of the bedroom door.
There was no maybe about it, of course. “Mind how you go.” Ezra called behind him, laying back on the pillows until he heard the front door slam.
Chapter 8: Present day, the Teachdaire Family Home
Summary:
The day after Ezra's return from his day trip to Carlisle, the atmosphere is frosty between his father and brother. He comes home in the middle of the day to find Gabriel packing in a hurry....
Chapter Text
The morning after Ezra’s trip to Carlisle, he came down to the dining room to join the two other men of the family at the breakfast table, where Cook had laid out toast and eggs. Ezra felt like asking for an extra knife to cut the atmosphere.
“So, the Youngs.” His father prompted before Ezra had even taken a seat.
“I’m going there after breakfast.”
“Surely a phonecall….”
“Farmers are never home during the day. It’s impossible to get Arthur Young on the phone.” Ezra lied smoothly, reaching for the jam.
“And you, Gabriel?” Enoch’s small, watery blue eyes turned to glare at his other son, who seemed supremely unconcerned with the frosty tone. Ezra looked from one to the other, toast suspended mid-air, waiting for some sort of explosion.
“I need to be in the office by eight.” Gabriel said, throwing down his napkin. “I should probably get going.” He stood, and squeezed Ezra’s shoulder as he passed behind his chair before leaving without another word. Ezra turned to look back at his father, who, apart from cutting angrily at his eggs, gave no other indication that anything was wrong.
Ezra returned from the Young’s farm by mid-morning with a basket of eggs, some lemon curd and a pound cake – expressions of gratitude in return for Ezra’s leeway with their rent payment. There had been no need for a clever ruse in the end - given the rather modest shortfall and trustworthiness of the Youngs, Ezra and Crowley had agreed the simplest solution on this occasion was to use some of Ezra’s personal savings to balance the Teachdaire books, which the Youngs would pay back the following week once their cattle had gone to market. Ezra had sworn them to secrecy and was ready with an elaborate story to tell his father of the family’s good fortune in being able to pay their rent on time after all.
But rather than being greeted with an empty house, he heard movement upstairs. Following it to Gabriel’s bedroom, he stood in the doorway and watched his brother pack a holdall on his bed.
“Gabriel? What’s going on?”
“Jeees… Christ Ez! I thought you were dad!” Gabriel bent over, hand on his chest.
“Are you… Running away?” Ezra realised how absurd that sounded – Gabriel was in his 30s after all.
“I’m… leaving. Yeah. And no one knows.”
Ezra frowned. “But why? Is this because of whatever happened last night?”
Gabriel looked pained. “I was going to call you to explain everything. Once I got to LA.”
“LA?” Ezra squeaked.
“You remember I spent some time out there interning? I’ve still got some good business connections.”
“Of course I remember. Your accent won’t let me forget. But I don’t understand.”
Gabriel stuffed a few more items into his bag and zipped it up, then looked at his watch. “My cab’s not here for a while. Let’s go make some tea.”
They sat at the kitchen island with two mugs. “So. Uh, I met someone.”
“Oh?” Ezra thought to the love bite he’d spotted at his birthday dinner the week before.
“Yeah.” Gabriel looked into his cup thoughtfully. “It’s serious.”
“Oh, well congratulations.” Ezra smiled. He had nothing in common with his brother, but despite his mother’s favouritism and his father’s indifference, he had never held any ill-will towards the man.
“Thanks, sport.” Gabriel gave a strained smile. “But uh… dad doesn’t approve.”
“Ah. I see.”
“He said, uh… my association with Bee would tarnish the Teachdaire name, and that I had to end it or he’d cut me off financially.”
“Oh my God.” Ezra gasped. That sounded drastic, even for his father. “Surely he was exaggerating?” Then he caught up with the rest of Gabriel’s sentence. “Wait… Bee? From school?”
Bee was part of the group who had been expelled along with Crowley. They were short, black haired and feisty, and decidedly not feminine, willowy or placid, like all of Gabriel’s previous girlfriends.
Gabriel’s face morphed into a dopey grin at Bee’s name, and Ezra gawped at him. “We’re getting married, Ez. Going to the States and starting again.”
“I… er… Well.” Ezra was lost for words.
Gabriel’s brows came together. “You probably think I’m selfish just running and leaving you to deal with this. But he won’t listen, Ez. He wasn’t just spouting off in a temper. He was totally serious. Said the family fortune gives me a responsibility to live my life in a certain way.” He rubbed his forehead in frustration. Ezra took a fortifying gulp of tea, as Gabriel went on thoughtfully. “My whole life was set out from when I was born. But I never wanted it. Never wanted… this.” He looked around then, and Ezra saw what he saw – the expanses of gleaming granite worktops, the pristine top of the range appliances, the pictureless walls. It was like a show home. Ezra thought for a moment back to his little flat. It had been 4 years since he’d moved out, but he still had fond memories of the cluttered tables and shelves full of nik-naks.
Gabriel was picking his nail, hand curled around his teacup. Ezra had never seen him do something so... human. He was always so perfect and poised. Ezra let his eyes roam over his brother now. His hair was missing its usual amount of product, and he was wearing a sweater and jeans. Ezra couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his brother out of a suit. Perhaps when his mother died? No, not even then. He’d been sent to the office, expected to work through his grief, quite literally, in the gleaming glass of Teachdaire Tower in the middle of Edinburgh.
“You’re ruining your manicure.” Ezra murmured gently now, putting a hand over his brother’s fingers to still his anxious fiddling.
Gabriel looked at their hands for a long moment, then levelled Ezra with a serious expression.
“Ez. Dad exploded because Bee doesn’t fit with what he has planned for me. He’d rather never see me again than change that. How do you… how do you think he’ll react when he finds out about you?”
Ezra pulled his hand away and leant back. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Come on. I know you’re gay, ok?”
Ezra felt his face flame and blood rush in his ears. “How did you..? I mean—"
“I’m not going to tell anyone.” Gabriel cut in, putting his hand back over his brother’s now and squeezing. “Just relax, ok? I’ve always known. It’s fine.”
“But… how?”
“Crowley.”
“He didn’t tell you.” Ezra replied flatly.
“No! of course not. I’ve never even spoken to the man. But at school I could see how he was. Always floating around you. Watching. I still see him now sometimes ya’know. Near the house in that weird car of his. He can’t stay away.”
“He’s my best friend.” Ezra reasoned. “That doesn’t necessarily mean—"
“Yeeeahhh,” Gabriel smiled as he cut in. “Like Bee’s my best friend. Plus y’know. You’re kinda… soft.” Gabriel waved his hand vaguely around Ezra’s face and body.
“Why thank you.” Ezra replied dryly.
“I don’t mean that in a bad way, buddy.” He squeezed Ezra’s hand again. “To be honest, I’m glad you’ve always had someone. I sure as shit haven’t been there for you like I should. And now…” he winced. “I’m worried about leaving you here. With dad.”
Ezra thought for a long moment, running his finger over the patterns in the quartz counter. Then, “I’ll be ok, Gabriel. Father’s put you in an impossible position, I can see that. If I was in your shoes—”
“You are in my shoes, Ez. You know that, right?” Gabriel spoke urgently. “You always have been. Bee might not be the right fit, but… Crowley?” he sucked air through his teeth.
“And what would you have me do?” Ezra saw movement through the front windows. “There’s a car.”
Gabriel stood, Ezra followed him to the front door where he realised a suitcase had been tucked to one side. Gabriel hoisted his bag onto his shoulder, but before he took hold of the rolling case, he swung back round and held his brother’s eyes.
“Get away, Ezra. Leave. And take Crowley with you.”
Ezra had waved his brother off with promises of further communication, and watched the car until it had disappeared though the gates at the bottom of the drive. He turned back to the kitchen and slumped at the table. His father would be back from work in a few hours. Gabriel had left a letter on his father’s desk explaining his actions and then, Ezra knew, all hell would break loose.
Still, he couldn’t blame Gabriel for it. As it turned out, the heir to the Teachdaire dynasty, the first-born golden boy, was as much a victim of his family birthright as Ezra. If anything, he had it worse. Yes, Ezra had been overlooked, but with that had come relative freedom. Gabriel, on the other hand, had been subject to the full focus of his parent’s ambitions. Primed for his role in the family business from birth. Every move he’d made in 30 years mapped out for him. Ezra just wished he’d realised when they were younger that he had much more in common with Gabriel than he’d thought. They had shared a house, but little else, for much of their lives. If they had shared their secrets, who knows how they might have been able to support one another? Gabriel had been right though – at least Ezra had had Crowley. His rude, scowling shadow, always there for support, even if he would never admit it. Who had Gabriel to turn to?
With that thought in mind, Ezra lifted his phone.
“Two calls in two days. You getting needy Angel?”
“Gabriel’s left.”
“Whadya’mean, left?”
“He’s run away to America with Bee. My father doesn’t know yet.”
“Bee? As in, Bee? Uh… ok start from the beginning.”
Ezra recounted how Enoch had threatened Gabriel, and how Gabriel had made his choice to start again in LA. “Oh, and Gabriel knows I’m gay.” Ezra tacked on breathlessly.
“What? You came out?”
“No. He already knew. Because of you.”
A long pause then. Ezra could hear Crowley breathing down the line. “He saw us together?”
“Not like that, no. But you’re always around me. Since school. He put two and two together that we were probably more than friends.” Ezra waited for Crowley to reply, but was met with silence. So he went on. “He isn’t going to tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s always known and he’s not said a word.”
“He’ll tell Bee.”
“Perhaps. But they’ll be in America by tonight. Is Bee likely to be face-timing with Haz just to tell them about me?”
“Don’t really want to chance it.”
“Look… Even if Gabriel tells Bee I’m gay, I don’t think he’ll mention you. Or if he does, he’ll swear them to secrecy. He won’t risk my father finding out.” He was met with silence again. He wished he could see Crowley’s face. “Would you… like me to text Gabriel to make sure he keeps everything to himself?”
“Yeah.. yeah wouldn’t hurt.” Crowley said then, sounding distracted. Ezra frowned into the phone, trying to get a grip on his mood. “Anyway.. gotta go.” Click, silence. Ezra heaved a sigh and went to the kettle. He was exhausted and still had his father to face before this day would end.
International, unknown>>> Hey buddy, this is my new number for the states. Just landed in LAX. How was dad?
Ezra>>> As expected. He found your letter as soon as he got home last night. Yelled, asked me if I knew what was going on. I pleaded ignorance. He left for the office first thing, called an emergency meeting of the board.
Gabriel>>> Shit I’m sorry you’re having to go through that. I’ve not turned my UK cell on since we left heathrow, can’t face it yet.
Ezra>>>It’s ok, Gabriel. I understand. And you won’t have gotten my text then? I wanted to check what you’d told Bee about me and Crowley. I spoke to him last night and he’s concerned.
Gabriel>> No worries bud, I’ve not said anything. Not my business to share.
Ezra>>> Thankyou
Gabriel>>> No need to thank me. but think about what I said, ok? you don’t need to be there, neither of you do.
Chapter 9: Age 25, Ezra's flat in Dunfermline
Summary:
Our fifth and final flashback in Part One (Ezra's POV). Another two years on. Ezra is still living in his flat, Crowley is still visiting him. But this all ends when Ezra's mother dies.
Notes:
CW for minor character death (not seen or described), grief.
For non-locals, "boke" is puke, vomit.
Chapter Text
Crowley>>> angel you home?
Ezra>>> yes but don’t come over
Crowley>>> why?
Ezra>>> I’m sick
Crowley>>> so? been sharing your colds for years
Ezra>>> Vomit sick. Gross. Will msg when better.
Crowley>>> omw
Ezra>>> no don’t
Crowley>>> i’ll use the spare key don’t get up
Ezra never gave Crowley a key to his flat. He wouldn’t have accepted it. But he told him, in passing, where he hid a spare, “for emergencies”. Crowley obviously felt Ezra having a tummy bug constituted an emergency, as he appeared in the bathroom doorway with a bag of supplies like some gothic Florence Nightingale not twenty minutes later.
Ezra wasn’t in any fit state to argue with Crowley, or stop him, as he pulled his sweaty T-shirt over his head, emptied bowls and gently helped Ezra from bed to toilet and back. He nagged Ezra to take sips of apple juice and sat on the bathroom floor for most of the evening, rubbing Ezra’s shoulders and talking nonsense to distract him from the rolling of his guts.
By the following morning, Ezra woke feeling washed out, but his stomach wasn’t cramping any longer. He noticed he was in clean, dry pyjamas, in a clean, dry bed, and Crowley was a sleeping big spoon behind him, his hand curled against Ezra’s chest. Ezra enjoyed the moment, shutting his eyes again and basking in not feeling awful. After a while Crowley shifted against him and yawned, a familiar hardness nudging the small of his back.
“Good morning Crowley.” Ezra murmured.
Crowley grunted, rubbed himself against Ezra once more for good measure, before rolling onto his back. Ezra felt the cool air rush in.
“How you feeling?” Crowley's voice was rough.
“Better.”
“Aye you’ve a constitution of an ox.” A gentle pat on his flank.
“Thank you for looking after me.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“You didn’t have to, you know.”
“No, really. Don’t mention it.”
Ezra huffed against the pillow. The man was impossible. He didn’t open his eyes as he felt Crowley slip out of the covers and tuck them back up around him.
“Is that you off?”
“Nah. Got to get my clothes out the wash first, got covered in boke.”
“Oh God I’m sorry,” Ezra half opened an eye to see Crowley standing by the bed in one of his own pale grey T-shirts, hanging to mid-thigh. “This is mortifying.”
Crowley scoffed. “I’ve literally had my tongue up your arse, angel. I think I can cope with a bit o’ splash back.”
Ezra groaned and pulled the duvet over his head. “You’re disgusting.”
“Aye but you love it.” A gentle scratch in the curls on the top of his head, the only part of him exposed.
“I love you.” Ezra snarked back.
It was the first time he’d said it. He had tried once before, though, when they were 16. But he’d barely managed “But Crowley, I lo—” when the object of that new, young love had clamped his hand over Ezra’s mouth and hissed angrily. “We’re jus’ messin’ around, wee Teachdaire. And dinnae forget it.”
Of course, Ezra had gained a great deal of perspective over the ensuing decade.
While he may have believed Crowley in the early years, that ship had long since sailed. He loved Crowley, and Crowley loved him. It was out of love that Ezra didn't acknowledge it. Crowley regularly tied himself in knots trying to hide his feelings from Ezra, and Ezra gamely pretended he didn’t find it rather endearing. If Ezra was ever too fond, Crowley would snark and grumble, but it felt more like a token objection recently - and after being looked after so tenderly he was feeling rather fond. And it seemed he wasn't above teasing the other man by dropping the L-bomb in retaliation for embarrassing him.
He waited under the duvet with his lips pressed together, visualising Crowley’s blush and half-opened mouth, listening out for the tell-tale sounds of Crowley beating an awkward retreat. It came in the form of a swish of the bedroom door opening across the carpet. “I’m making you some dry toast while I use the tumble.”
Ezra smirked as he called after him. "Thank you!"
Ezra had his cosy little flat where he and Crowley could be together away from prying eyes, and his job in the bookshop down the road. He was happy.
But he should have known the precious, peaceful, fragile existence he had carved out for himself wouldn’t last.
Not six months after the tummy bug incident, Ezra had been sitting at his kitchen table having breakfast. Then the call came. His aunt Michaela politely informed him that her sister, his mother, had had a stroke and died peacefully in the night, and that he was to return home immediately to assist with the arrangements.
Ezra had placed his phone on the table with a shaking hand, only to snatch it back up. It only rang once before Crowley picked up, his voice groggy with sleep.
Ezra had only opened his mouth to respond to Crowley's greeting, but it seemed the man could detect a difference in his breathing over the line. He was immediately on alert. “Angel? Wassrong?”
Ezra had wept into the hadnset while Crowley had murmured to him for almost an hour. When he felt ready, he dressed and went to the family home to face whatever was waiting for him.
In the large hallway in front of the sweeping staircase, Ezra found his aunt and cousin talking to the family doctor and lawyer. Cousin Sandalphon came to him and grasped him by the arm, turning towards the study. “Your father’s waiting for you.” He said.
“Where’s my mother? And Gabriel?”
“She was taken away first thing. At the funeral home if you want to visit later. Gabriel’s at work.”
“At work!?” Ezra came to a halt in the wood-panelled corridor and Sandalphon tugged at his arm. When it was clear Ezra wouldn’t be led, he stopped too and turned back to him. “Yes, at work. Your father has too much paperwork to deal with here. Someone has to be at the office to keep things going. The world doesn’t stop just because—” He snapped his mouth shut. “Anyway, I was told to bring you straight to him when you arrived.”
Ezra let himself be tugged along then, feeling somewhat outside of himself. He was pushed through the door to stand in front of his father’s desk.
His father was frowning down at a pile of documents in front of him, and barely glanced up at the sound of the door. Ezra noticed his eyes were red, but dry.
“Right then.” Enoch said then, clearing his throat. “Lots to do, busy busy. First things’ first, I’d like you to take over the running of the Teachdaire estate and properties. Your mother..” He faltered, for just a moment, and Ezra held his breath. “..did a stellar job for 50 years keeping the accounts in order, managing staff and tenants, and so on. I don’t expect you to fill such big shoes, but I’m confident you’ll make a decent go of it.”
“But I... have a job already.” Ezra said weakly, feeling as if he’d walked into a parallel universe. Were they actually talking about this, now?
“Well of course you won’t need that anymore,” his father dismissed. “This role pays a stipend, and you won’t be wasting money on rent.”
“I… what?”
Ezra trudged back to his flat a few hours later. The front door was pulled open before he’d fished his key from his pocket and he was being pulled inside by the lapels and crushed into a narrow chest by long, surprisingly strong arms.
“It’s not like we were close... you know what she was like.” he wept into Crowley’s t-shirt. Crowley had ushered them into bed and had curled himself, black and spider like, around Ezra. He ran his hand up and down Ezra’s back and murmured reassurances while the man rambled through his tears, his hands gripping the back of Crowley’s waistband. “She barely noticed me. But she was my mother! It’s all so sudden.” He hiccupped. “And… I feel awful. Because I’m devastated, but not because she’s gone. Or not only. I’m devastated because I have to give up this place.”
Crowley’s hand stilled. Ezra groggily lifted his head to meet the familiar golden-brown eyes.
“What?”
“I’m the new estate manager.”
“So?”
“I can’t work in the bookshop anymore.” Ezra sniffed and hiccupped again. “My father’s insisting I move back to the house so I can run it and the rest of the estate from there.”
Crowley looked at him in silence, but Ezra could read everything in the other man’s eyes anyway. Crowley was still lodging in his father’s terrace, unable to afford a place of his own. They would have nowhere to go. He laid his head back down on Crowley’s chest and gave a miserable sigh. Crowley was entirely still and Ezra counted the thud of his heart beneath his ear. Seven, eight. Then he felt a hand slip up into his hair to hold him tighter.
Chapter 10: Present Day, Holiday Inn, Dunfermline
Summary:
Back to present day, and in the aftermath of Gabriel's departure, Ezra and Crowley get some private time together. Ezra's father gives Ezra Gabriel's job.
Notes:
CW for Mature smut content, dry-heaving (not at the same time!)
Chapter Text
Ezra hardly saw his father for the next few days as the older man scrambled to fill Gabriel's sudden absence. He would stay at the Edinburgh office until after dark, leaving again with his driver at first light. With only the unobtrusive presence of the cleaner and Cook for company, Ezra found himself unable to settle on his book.
Ezra>>> Are you free to meet?
Crowley>>> Bench?
Ezra>>> I was thinking HI
Crowley>>> Now ure talking. C u in 30.
The good thing about the Holiday Inn Express, Dunfermline, was that you could check in via their app and bypass the front desk entirely. Ezra had set up an account with his card details years ago, Crowley and he both accessed it via their phones, and it meant they could arrive separately, speak to no-one, and meet safely behind the locked door of a small but serviceable room.
A QR code had appeared on Ezra’s phone as he’d climbed off the bus, and he’d walked straight through the un-manned lobby, swiped his phone at the lift and went up to the assigned floor. He’d barely knocked before he’d been pulled inside and kissed, hard, against the back of the door. Crowley had already finished unbuttoning Ezra’s shirt before they’d parted for a moment to catch their breath.
“Afternoon.” Crowley said, pulling the shirt-tails from Ezra’s waistband. He’d become adept at dealing with Ezra’s bespoke shirts, waistcoats, braces and bow ties over the years. That wasn’t to say Ezra hadn’t lost more buttons than he could count thanks to Crowley’s impatience.
“Hello.” Ezra replied, looking at Crowley from beneath his lashes.
“Are you going to help with your skivvies or make me do all the work?”
“I rather thought I’d let you do it, actually.”
“Bastard.”
“I see you’ve gotten a head start.” Ezra let his eyes wander over Crowley’s bare chest, his torso a map that Ezra could plot his life by.
There, in the ball of Crowley’s shoulder, a neat line where he had had keyhole surgery to repair a torn rotator cuff when he was 20 (Ezra had banned all strenuous activities, and Crowley had sulked until he’d realised it would mean Ezra was on his knees every time they met, for at least a month).
There, a tattoo of a gleaming red apple that had appeared just a year earlier, next to the black snake that had been wrapped around his ribs since his teens. When Ezra had asked about it, Crowley had said he was the snake and Ezra was the apple, the ultimate temptation.
And there, a jagged silver scar below his ribcage. Ezra had discovered it, still pink and tender, the first day Crowley had been released from prison and turned up at Ezra’s new flat still smelling of institutional soap. Crowley refused to tell him how he got it.
“Are you just going to stand there and gawp, or fuck me?”
Ezra realised his trousers were hanging loose around his thighs, and Crowley now stood in front of him: completely naked, eyebrow raised, hand on sharp hip. He just needed to be tapping his foot to complete the picture.
Ezra resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he stepped out of his trousers and tugged his loose shirt free from his arms. As soon as he was clear of all clothing, Crowley pulled him to the bed and pushed him down, climbing onto him with that grin Ezra so loved, as sharp as a knife.
“Easy!” Ezra hissed and tried to slap Crowley’s hand away as he wiped him with a scratchy hotel hand towel. “I’m still sensitive.”
“Don’t be a baby. Anyone’d think you were the one who’d had a dick up your arse.” Crowley made a show of wiping between his legs as he stood by the bed.
“The mouth on you.” Ezra tutted, pulling the duvet over him.
“You love it.” Crowley smirked and slid in next to him. Blood red hair, long and smooth, slipped round his neck as Crowley settled his head beneath Ezra’s chin and yawned obnoxiously against his chest. Ezra stroked the sharp bumps of his spine, thoughts meandering drowsily over inconsequential things. Like how Crowley’s accent had softened over time, from hard, almost Glaswegian when he’d been in Luke’s gang at school to a gentle, barely Scottish lilt now. Neither sounded native to their hometown. But then again, Ezra sounded English thanks to the pedigree of his family. Perhaps his accent had been rubbing off on Crowley.
“How’s Enoch?” Crowley interrupted his musing after a while.
“I’ve hardly seen him.”
“Well every cloud, s’pose.”
“Hmm. But Gabriel’s texted me a few times. Showed me photos of their new apartment. We’ve spoken more in the last week than we have in the last five years.”
“He’s still a smug twat. No one’s jaw should be that square.”
“Mine certainly isn’t.” Ezra chuckled. “Not sure what happened to the family genes there.”
“Mmm yours is just right,” a hand slid up from under the covers to scratch at the stubble just starting to appear on Ezra’s chin. Ezra smiled but didn’t reply, anticipating Crowley’s awkwardness that always followed an unthinking show of affection on his part.
“So what were you looking at?” Crowley predictably changed the subject.
“Hmm?”
“Before. You were ogling me in the doorway.”
“Oh,” Ezra made to turn on his side, and Crowley duly slid off to prop himself up on his elbow. Ezra mirrored his position so they faced one another.
“I was just thinking, all these marks,” he brushed the back of his hand over Crowley’s chest. “They’re like a history of my life. I remember all of them.”
Crowley scoffed “So do I. They all bloody hurt.” He wrapped his free hand against the jagged scar under his ribs.
“These didn’t,” Ezra’s fingers danced against the cluster of freckles on Crowley’s collar bone, causing him to shiver. “I was 16 when I first kissed these freckles. In the boys’ shower cubicle in the gym, do you remember?”
“Ha! Course. That cubicle saw some serious action over the years.” He covered Ezra’s hand with his and gave a brief squeeze. “Remember when I pulled the soap dish off the wall?”
“Oh my lord yes! I forgot about that. I’m not sure why you thought a piece of plastic would hold your weight, you fool.”
“I wasn’t exactly thinking straight at the time. Just grabbed onto anything I could so my knees didn’t go from under me.” Crowley’s smile turned thoughtful as he ran his fingers over Ezra’s chest. “I remember when I first kissed your freckles, too.”
“I don’t have any freckles.”
“You do.”
“No I don’t.”
“You have five freckles.” Crowley said matter of factly. “The last appeared while I was in… while I was away.”
Ezra scoffed. “Where are they then?”
“Turn over,” Crowley pushed at his chest. Once Ezra was laying on his stomach, head pillowed on his arms, Crowley trailed his fingertips down Ezra’s leg.
“One here,” he circled the back of Ezra’s knee. “I first kissed this one just after I was thrown out of school. We were in the back of the Bentley, when it was still on bricks. Then twelve paces north,” he walked two fingers up the back of Ezra’s thigh and counted to twelve. “My personal favourite” Ezra felt a gentle bite to a spot just under the cheek of his arse, and an answering twitch of arousal between his legs. “I was twenty before I got my mouth here, had you bent over in that awful B&B in Glasgow.”
“Lord, that was appalling. Sticky carpets.”
“Bleurgh. Still… didn’t stop us. Then we take a long journey over the open planes.” Crowley let his hand sweep in a diagonal line across Ezra’s back before tapping a spot on Ezra’s opposite tricep. “I actually saw this one first. Swimming lessons.”
“Mr Dagon.”
“Sadistic bastard. No wonder Dave's a mess. Flip over.”
Ezra dutifully rolled onto his back as Crowley knelt up beside him. “Number four.” He dipped his finger into Ezra’s belly button, making him squirm, and grinned mischievously. “This is the newest addition. Spotted it the first day I came back, you remember you had your flat?”
“Yes of course I do. Shouldn’t this be number 5, if this is the most recent?”
“I’m saving the best for last.” Crowley swung a leg over Ezra’s body and leant down, placing his hands on either side of Ezra’s head on the pillow.
Ezra stroked Crowley’s hips as he gazed up at him. “I’m curious now.”
“It’s just…. here.” Crowley leant in and placed a deliberate kiss in the hollow behind Ezra’s left earlobe, making him shiver. “The one on your arse is my favourite,” Crowley’s mouth stayed over the spot. “but I’m best acquainted with this little guy. We go way back.” Another slow kiss. “Been me and him since we were 15.”
Ezra shut his eyes, letting his hands slide round and down to cup Crowley’s arse. Crowley squirmed a little. “Round two?” he asked the freckle.
“Absolutely.” Ezra replied.
Ezra spent the next few days in a sort of limbo. He kept himself occupied sorting out tenancy issues, ate in the kitchen. Cook couldn’t convince him to sit at the enormous dining table alone.
The only highlight was meeting Crowley – without his father and brother’s constant presence, Ezra was more free to come and go. They met again at the Holiday Inn, and then had a more impromptu but no less memorable encounter in the back of Crowley’s car, parked in a weed-strewn bay behind a boarded-up sofa shop on the outskirts of town.
“We’re getting too old for this.” Ezra had clambered out of the rear door with a groan to right his clothes.
“Speak for yourself.” Crowley followed him out, readjusting himself in his trousers and running his hands through his mussed hair.
“You’re all bendy limbs.” Ezra groused. “I’m going to do my back in one of these days.”
“Want me to swap the Bentley out for an RV, grandpa?”
Ezra didn’t dignify that with a response. Crowley loved the Bentley more than anything in the world. He’d had it since he was a teenager, buying it as a wreck and restoring it himself over the years. He’d even had to live in it for a while, when his father threw him out. And now - broke as he was – Ezra knew he’d never sell it.
Ezra might have been jealous, had it not facilitated years of clandestine meetings between them.
“Lift home?” Crowley said now, moving round to the driver’s door.
“That’s the least you could do after that.” Ezra shot back with a mischievous smile, sliding into the front passenger seat.
Finally, nearly two weeks after Gabriel had gone, Ezra came down to breakfast on Friday morning to find his father sitting at the dining room table, cutting into his eggs as if nothing had happened. Ezra shot a wistful look through the door into the kitchen, before pulling out his chair. Gabriel’s place remained empty.
“So.” Enoch Teachdaire began before Ezra had even managed to butter his first piece of toast. “I’ve been busy smoothing things over, but now it’s time to move forward.”
Ezra reluctantly put his toast down and waited for his father to continue.
“In short, we need to formalise your role in the firm.”
“Father, I don’t have a role in the firm.”
“Well that needs to change, obviously. We can’t operate with an interim CEO indefinitely.”
“I… don’t understand.”
His father’s small, glittering eyes lifted from his plate. “You are many things, Ezra, but stupid is not one of them. I find I am in need of a new CEO. And there’s only one person suited for the job.”
Ezra could hear his heart thumping in his ears. “I’m not... I couldn’t possibly. I have no experience.”
“You’re a Teachdaire.” His father said, as if that explained everything. “You attended the business school just like myself, and grandfather.”
“What about Sandalphon? Or Uriel? Even Michael could—”
“Don’t be absurd, Ezra. Why on earth do you think your mother and I had two children? For just this eventuality. My sister and her progeny are all well and good to cover the departments, but the top job? No, no. There's only one candidate who makes even the slightest bit of sense. And that's you. A Teachdaire. My line. Your line. And of course, you’ll hand it down to your children, when the time comes.”
Ezra was going to be sick. He could feel it now, the cold sweat breaking out on his neck as his stomach lurched. Was this how Gabriel had felt? Is this why he was so adamant that Ezra had to leave? He swallowed frantically, trying to hold his gorge down. “I wouldn’t have the first clue….” He choked out.
“I’ll be there of course, as chairman.” Enoch pushed his plate to one side. “You don’t need to worry about a thing. I’ll tell you what to do.” He stood. “Now, I have to get to the office. I want you to spend today and the weekend handing over the estate management to cousin Muriel. It’s all been agreed. And I’ve arranged for the Board to come in at 9 on Monday. We’ll vote through your tenure as CEO then and press release in the afternoon to make the 6’o’clock news.”
Ezra watched his father’s back disappear and the door close behind him before he dry-heaved into his napkin.
After a while, once Ezra had wiped his eyes and blown his nose, he managed to bring up his message app with trembling hands.
Chapter 11: Present Day, The Bandstand
Summary:
Ezra asks Crowley to meet at the derelict bandstand to tell him about his father's bombshell. It's at the bandstand. You know what happens next (but reverse).
Notes:
CW for the bandstand. I use some final 15 script. Fair warning.
Chapter Text
Ezra>>> Need to talk. Bandstand.
Crowley>>> ooo bandstand talk. Serious. gimme an hour still in bed
Ezra left on foot, hoping the twenty minute walk to the overgrown, abandoned playground would give him enough time to pull himself together.
When Ezra was nine, this playground was still in operation. It was close enough for him and Gabriel to cycle together to play here. Ezra still remembered watching Crowley, turning the swing seat round and round so the chain twisted, then letting go and spinning in a blur of bright red hair and cackling laughter. He looked at the rusted frame now, seats long gone, one broken chain dangling uselessly.
Back then, lines were yet to be drawn. Ezra and Gabriel played with Luke, Crowley, Bee and the rest of them. David Dagon and Uriel were inseparable. Sandy, Haz and Ligur were the three amigos. But Crowley was always Ezra’s favourite. He would push him on the swing and they’d talk about their favourite Transformers.
Of course, his father put an end to all of that. It wasn’t becoming, he’d said, for the Teachdaires to be socialising with the local workers’ kids. Even though some would be given a place at Ezra’s school - Coimhdeachta College – that was charity. They didn’t belong. Once his father had bullied his way onto the school board, those free places given to deserving local families had all but dried up in any case. It wasn’t a coincidence that it was the scholarship children who were removed during Enoch Teachdaire’s crusade against insubordination.
Ezra was miles away, leaning on the peeling white paint of the handrail, when the low rumble of the Bentley’s engine roused him. He looked up to see Crowley step out of the car and stride across the grass, a long line of black, damp hair in a messy half-bun.
“Wassup?” he said as he bounced up the two steps into the derelict bandstand. He pocketed his sunglasses and let his eyes dart around them to check they were alone.
Ezra straightened himself up, took a deep breath. Tried to stop himself wringing his hands.
“My father. He uh... he wants me to take Gabriel’s place. Join Aird-Nèamh as CEO.”
Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “Oohhh...... kay...”
“I can’t do it, Crowley.”
Crowley’s eyebrows dropped back down and he lifted a hand. “Well, hang on. What exactly did he offer you?”
“It’s not an offer!” Ezra gave up trying to stand still and wrung his hands in earnest. “It’s been decided. We’re meeting the Board on Monday. I’m taking over Gabriel’s job as CEO. Running the whole thing. I’ve told father i’ve got no experience and wouldn’t know what to do but that doesnt matter. I’m the spare to the heir, aren’t I? Now I need to step up.” He gulped a breath. “Oh Crowley what am I going to do?!”
“Ok, ok...” Crowley put his hand to the back of his neck and started to pace. “Let me think for a sec. I mean... it’s not every day you get put in charge of one of the biggest businesses in Scotland.” He puffed out a breath. “I mean...” he said slowly as he ruminated. “If you’re in charge... you can… make a difference.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“I mean… like…. Aird-Nèamh closed the factories here. Built over the farms, changed the school, gutted the union… look around. You could undo all… this.” He flapped his hand at the decay around them.
“My father’s the chairman. It’s obvious I’ll have no authority to do anything. I’m just the puppet.”
“Bet you could find workarounds. Like we always have. Oh! You could hire me! You'll run it, I’ll be like a sleeper agent helping you. We could make a difference.”
“Is this just about you wanting a job? Crowley, how many arguments have we had about you refusing to take my money?”
“No, it’s not about a job. Not exactly. But it wouldn’t go amiss. There’s no jobs cause Aird-Nèamh sucked the place dry. You could undo that.”
“Oh. Oh, God. Right, okay. Right.” Ezra scrubbed his hand down his face, realising Crowley was entirely missing the point. “Crowley.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, steeling himself. “We've known each other a long time. You could always rely on me. I could always rely on you. So I need you to listen now, and trust me.”
Crowley’s eyebrows pulled together. “Ok…?”
“We've always been together. I mean, you and me. But we've spent our whole lives pretending that we aren't. I mean, the last few years...” Ezra puffed out a breath, frustrated with how muddled he sounded. He tried again. “If Gabriel and Bee can do it, go off together, then we can. Just the two of us. We don't need Aird-Nèamh. Or your old school friends. And it doesn’t matter if you don’t want to be ‘boyfriends’, or ‘partners’. We don’t even have to name it if you don’t want to. We can just be an... us.” Ezra paused, studied Crowley’s face, frozen in shock. “What do you say?”
Crowley blinked, gave a disbelieving laugh. “Are you serious? You’ve been given the keys to the castle and you just want to... leave? Jack it all in?”
“I don’t want to run Aird-Nèamh, Crowley. I want to run a bookshop. And live in my own place, free of the family legacy. And I don’t want to hide what I am or who I... love.” Ezra felt his face flush. “My father wants me to have an heir, for god’s sake. Marry a woman.”
“I can be your bit on the side.” Crowley retorted.
“Don’t be ridiculous Crowley!”
“It’s alright for you!” Crowley snapped. “You were born with everything! Not all of us have the luxury to turn down a top job and a fortune and choose to run a fuckin’ book shop!” he took a breath, then spoke more calmly. “I’ve got nothing, Ezra. No education, no prospects. What the fuck would I do while you’re choosing the righteous path?”
“You’d find something Crowley, you know you would. There’s just nothing for you here. But in other places—”
“I don't think you understand what your dad’s offering.”
Ezra looked at him steadily. “I understand. I think I understand a whole lot better than you do.” He took a step closer, and reached out, almost touching the other man’s arm. “Crowley. I’ve never asked anything from you. All these years. I’ve let you love me as much as you were able to, and never asked for more. But now. Now i’m asking you. I’m begging you. I need you, Crowley. Please. Come with me.” He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “Stop pretending. For me.”
Crowley scoffed, chuckled, but quickly sobered as he took in Ezra’s expression. “I’m not... pretending. We just have an arrangment.. ngk... y’know, just...”
Ezra waited for him to finish the sentence. Then waited longer, searching Crowley’s eyes in silence for something. Something that told him Crowley was ready to drop the fiction. But it wasn’t there.
“You idiot,” Ezra whispered, the shock that it had come to this washing over him like ice water. “We could have been... us.”
Crowley glared, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders hunched.
Ezra shut his eyes and dislodged the tears that had gathered.
“Don’t cry, angel. You know I hate it when you..” Ezra heard Crowley’s voice crack before he cleared his throat.
Ezra took a deep, deep breath, then opened his eyes, wiping the tears away with the back of his hand. He smiled as his heart broke. “Quite right too. Sorry.”
Crowley puffed out a breath of relief and gave a tight smile. “I forgive you.”
“Oh darling,” Ezra sighed, his smile trembling as he shook his head. “You needn’t bother.”
Crowley’s smile faded, replaced with a look of confusion.
Then Ezra leant forward and pressed his lips to Crowley’s. Ezra felt him freeze in shock – they were in public after all – but still felt the ghost of a hand on his ribs before he pulled back. Crowley’s confusion had turned to alarm. Ezra gave the man he loved one last smile, letting his adoration shine through his eyes even as they filled with tears again, before turning and stepping down off the bandstand, across the patchy, weed-ridden grass.
“Angel!” Crowley called after him. “Ezra! Where you going?!”
Ezra didn’t look back. He let the tears fall.
“Ok.. call me later ok?” Crowley called. “We can work out how to make this whole job thing work for.. for.. us.”
Ezra heard Crowley stumble on the last word as he strode down the lane back to his father’s house. Even now, he thought. Even now, he can’t say it.
“Hello Maggie dear, are you free to talk?”
“Yes of course! Is something wrong? You sound...”
“Well, yes as a matter of fact. I wondered if you would be able to help. You mentioned a couple of weeks ago at dinner in Carlisle.. um... about helping if ever I needed to get away?”
“Oh, Ezra...”
“It’s quite alright, my dear. I had a conversation with my father this morning and i’m in rather a tight spot . And Crowley... well... hmm.. perhaps we could meet and discuss my options? It’s rather urgent.”
“How do you fancy coming to stay with me tonight?”
“Don’t you have plans? It is Friday after all.”
“I’m planning a take away and a bottle of wine. The spare room’s ready. How does that sound to you?”
“I’ll text you when i’m on the train.”
Chapter 12: Present Day, Dunfermline
Chapter Text
PART II. 3 MONTHS LATER. Crowley's POV
If you were to ask Anthony Crowley how he ended up slumped in the doorway of a boarded up bookies that stank of piss and vomit, feeling like someone had reached into his chest and pulled his heart out, he wouldn’t be able to tell you, exactly.
He thinks his downfall must have come at age 15, when he fell in love, completely and irrevocably, for an angel. His name was Ezra Teachdaire, and he shone with joy and kindness. He was blonde, beautiful, and smiled all the time. He was everything Crowley wasn’t but for some reason, seemed to like Crowley back. He lost his heart and filled his head with dreams of the two of them living together in a cottage in the countryside, tending a garden and reading books.
Then again, his long slide into hell might have started even earlier, when his dad had warned him that the little boy who pushed him on the swings and talked about Transformers and was brilliant was a Teachdaire, one of the most important families in the area. Ezra’s father bought factories – Crowley’s father worked in them. Some lines were not made to be crossed, he was told. The Teachdaires and their wealthy friends, living in big gated houses and sounding like Southerners, were not the same as Crowley and his friends, born in the terraces on the other side of the cemetary.
In recent years, he’d agonised over the choices he’d made back then. Trying to pinpoint exactly when he’d taken the wrong path. What if he’d just kept his head in his books, when Luke started spouting all that stuff about class oppression? What if he hadn’t agreed to help Haz drive that dodgy car? But looking back now, as he slumped, drunk, trying to stay out of the rain, he knew his cards had been marked from the start. There was no possible universe in which he and Ezra could have had a happy ever after.
He’d gone to Coimhdeachta College hoping for a chance to better himself, away from the factory job that was waiting for him. But within a week he’d realised how things were. A handful of poor locals got a spot at the posh school if they were bright enough, but that didn’t mean they were welcome. They were thrown into a crowd of their social betters and expected to understand their place. Ezra and Crowley were never supposed to mix.
Except Crowley couldn’t stay away from Ezra Teachdaire, that forbidden fruit, however much he tried.
The gulf between them grew with every passing year, even as they took eachother’s virginity and managed to find more and more creative ways to be alone together. By the time Crowley was old enough to put a name to what he felt when he looked at Ezra across the classroom, he made sure to glare so no one saw the hearts in his eyes.
Then Luke had gone and challenged the system that kept the Free Place kids down. It hadn’t worked, in the end. Enoch Teachdaire had made sure of that, ridding the school of all of the pupils who didn’t fit.
But Crowley still loved the bones of Enoch’s son. Loved him to distraction, and hated that he did. Hated himself more that he wasn’t strong enough to stop, and put Ezra out of his bloody misery.
Without meaning to, he realised he’d spent his whole life loving one person, and making sure no one ever knew. Least of all Ezra Teachdaire.
Goddamn angel, he bought Crowley’s bullshit for years. Kept agreeing it was just an arrangement - a physical compatability, nothing more. Then forgave all the shitty things Crowley did to convince them both of it. Settled for scraps, rather than ask Crowley for more than he was prepared to give.
Until he did ask, and broke both their hearts.
Chapter 13: Age 17, Coimhdeachta College, Dunfermline
Summary:
Our first flashback from Crowley's POV, back at school with Ezra. Ezra first gets his nickname.
Chapter Text
Crowley sprawled in his chair. Around the dining room table (they didn’t have a “canteen” like normal schools) sat his gang of friends: Dave Dagon, their sadistic swim-teacher’s son. Luke, whose dad was a foreman in the linen factory where Crowley’s dad also worked. Haz and Liam, sons from neighbouring farms, and Bee, whose mum was a cleaner at the train station.
They were all sniping about latin lessons or something, but Crowley was watching Ezra Teachdaire collect his meal from the counter. Crowley always watched Ezra.
He was smiling and talking to the middle aged dinner lady now, who was ladling extra portions of apple crumble into Ezra’s bowl and chatting happily back. Probably asking after her kids, Crowley thought with a reluctant swell of affection. Ezra turned then, caught Crowley looking as him, blushed and lowered those golden lashes. God but he was pretty.
Crowley realised the shortest route to Ezra’s friends’ table was past his own, so he dragged his eyes away and turned to look at Luke. He sensed when Ezra walked behind him, the skin prickling on the back of his neck, a radient heat across his shoulders, like Ezra was the bloody sun.
“Oh look it’s wee Teachdaire!” Haz guffawed, elbowing Liam, and Crowley winced.
“Carrying your own tray?” Liam snickered. “Thought likes ‘o you’d have table service.”
“Bee’ll carry your lunch, she’d make a good waitress.”
“Shut it Ligur. And it’s they now remember.”
“See something tha’ takes your fancy, wee Teachdaire?” Luke asked smoothly, his eyes dropping to Crowley for a moment. Crowley felt his face heat up but dared not turn around. He lifted and gulped from his water bottle instead. Ezra didn’t say a word, and Crowley caught a flash of blonde from the corner of his eye as he weaved between the backs of seats and over to a neighbouring table.
“He’s got the hots for you, Crowley.” Luke grinned, his black eyes flashing with mischief.
“Well ‘am a braw wee lad am I not?” Crowley responded flippantly, making a show of looking at the clock on the wall. “We’ve got time for a walk to the lake before physics.” Their gang often went to the lake in the school grounds, throwing in pebbles and chasing the occasional duck.
Luke wasn’t getting distracted though. “Maybe you should tap that.” He smirked and tipped his head in the direction of Ezra’s table.
“Too sweet for me.” Crowley scoffed loudly, causing them all to chuckle.
“If ye want dark and bitter, Bee’s single again aren’t ye Bee?” Luke grinned and waggled his eyebrows.
Bee’s expletive-laden response was enough to set the rest of the table off into howls of laughter, and the conversation moved on. Crowley released a long exhale.
Liam and Haz had been a couple for as long as anyone could remember. Bee had recently changed their pronouns, and Luke declared anything went. So Crowley hadn’t had any problem coming out. But being gay was one thing - being wholly devoted to just one boy? A Teachdaire, at that? That was something else entirely. Even if the worst happened, and it was discovered that he and Ezra were hooking up, Crowley would have to dismiss it, laugh about it with the others. Join in with the mockery. There was no way Crowley could protect Ezra from the fall out without showing the tender heart of him.
And no one could know about that. Not even Ezra. Worse still - Ezra wasn't out, and the school was stuffed with his cousins and his macho big brother. Being discovered was unthinkable, for both of them.
“Don’t be looking at me in the canteen.” Crowley growled into Ezra’s neck after school that day. They were among the trees behind the recently closed playground near Ezra’s house.
“You looked at me first.” Ezra replied, his breath stuttering in his chest as Crowley finally got his fly down and his hand wound its way inside his trousers.
“Well I didn’t get caught.”
“Neither did I. Luke was just messing around.”
“You heard that?”
“Yes. Too sweet for you am I?”
“Was just words, Angel.” Crowley muttered, leaning in and kissing the freckle under Ezra’s ear.
“A-angel?” Ezra gave a soft gasp as Crowley used his teeth.
Crowley leant back and gave him an appraising look. “Well look at you. With your curly little... and your neat white...” he waved his free hand from Ezra’s hair to his starched collar, and wrangled the fondness he felt threatening to soften his smile and eyes.
Ezra’s smile turned michevious. “If i’m an angel then perhaps you should kneel before me.”
Crowley grinned sharply, grateful Ezra had put them on more familiar territory. He dropped to his knees in the grass.
Chapter 14: Present Day, Crowley's Flat
Summary:
Back to present day, with Crowley. He manages to get home before passing out. He finds out Luke is being released from prison early, and has a decision to make.
Notes:
CW - alcohol abuse and reference to past drug abuse
Chapter Text
The sun was breaking over the tops of the roofs by the time Crowley had sobered up enough to attempt the walk back to his new flat above the chicken shop. The rain hadn’t stopped though, so when he fell through the door some time later, he was soaked to the skin and going blue with cold, his hair dripping on the lino hallway.
He pulled his sodden black hoodie and T-shirt off and stepped out of his boots, but his tight jeans wouldn’t budge now they were wet. He yanked them to mid-thigh, his legs red and chaffed, before he slipped on the puddle he’d made and banged, knees first, to the floor.
I can’t do this any more. He let himself slump onto his side, desperately trying not to think. His tears felt hot and viscous against his freezing face.
He hadn’t called Haz to get him pills for years. Not since he’d gotten so wasted he’d lost two days and woken in a flat he didn’t know with eight unread messages from Ezra on his phone.
But he didn’t need to avoid things that kept him from his angel anymore - and didn't that thought make his chest cave with the weight of his grief. Suddenly couldn’t catch his breath. No – no more remembering. He twisted and tugged his phone from his back pocket and squinted at the cracked screen, trying to focus on his contacts.
When Crowley next woke, it was to the tinny ringtone of his phone, still in his hand from where he’d passed out. It felt like his head was in a vice, a crushing pressure in his forehead and the base of his neck. His mouth was gritty and tasted like burnt rubber, and he could smell dead alcohol, sweat and vomit. That was possibly his own.
All of this was second, however, to the fact that he was freezing. As soon as he was conscious enough to register his body, he started shaking with cold that seemed to be coming from his core. He dropped his phone and got himself slowly to hands and knees, shaking violently, wretching, wincing at the pain in his knees, back, head. He crawled the short distance to the bathroom, his thighs still trapped in his fucking jeans, and pulled himself into the tiny shower tray, ringed with black mold. Using the hot water would eat up the last of the money in the meter. But Crowley didn’t care. He curled into a ball, his forhead resting on sharp knees, and let the shame and misery wash over him.
When Crowley staggered from the bathroom a long time later, warmer and slightly more aware of his surroundings, he lifted his phone from the mess in the hall and went to retrieve pain killers and water from the kitchen. The sight of the pills in his hand reminded him of the thoughts he’d had that morning. He snorted, disgusted with himself. What would Ezra think if he saw him now?
He scrubbed his hand over his stubbly face and downed the paracetamol.
In the first few days after Ezra had gone, Crowley hadn’t believed it. Even though his phone number stopped working and dozens of messages were left unread. Even when Aird-Nèamh made the local news by announcing they were appointing someone who wasn’t a Teachdaire as CEO for the first time in the firm’s history. Even when a cold, sinking feeling settled in his chest, like his heart was winding down now it had no one to beat for. His head remained in denial.
He spent days sleeping in the Bentley, parked in the lane down from Enoch Teachdaire’s house, expecting to see a blond head appear through the gates at any moment. But the house remained dark. Years of keeping their lives separate came back to bite him, as he had no one to ask where Ezra had gone.
It took over a week for it to hit him. He’d been sitting in the oppressive silence of his flat, holding his phone, waiting for it to ring. And then suddenly he couldn’t breathe. There was a crushing pressure on his chest and for a moment he thought he was dying, before realising it was worse than that.
Ezra had gone.
The weeks after that were a blur. He’d drunk like a man on a mission, his heart an open wound burning sharp in his chest and all he could do was drown it with wine, then vodka, then whatever he could get hold of.
Slowly, the shock and seizing panic subsided. In its place was a grief that settled into a whole-body ache. It wasn’t as easily numbed with alcohol. He slept a lot.
His phone rang again where he’d thrown it on the kitchen top. He downed the last of the water and snatched it up to answer it, if only to stop the noise drilling through his skull.
“Alright shite stain?”
“Haz?”
“Aye. You called me? Was sleepin.”
“Oh. Right. Pocket dial. Sorry.”
“You sound like shite. Y’get fucked up again?”
“Bit. Not really.”
“Well was going t’call you anyway. Luke’s out on Thursday, we’re going down th’pub.”
“Luke?”
“Yeah, y’know, Luke? Tall fella, been mates since school?”
“Yeah I know, fucksake. Just thought he had another year.”
“e’s been a good wee lad. Lettin’im out early. I told you last week.”
That was possible. All the days had blurred into one long drinking session. “kay.”
“So you’ll be there?”
“I—” Crowley closed his eyes.
This was one of those moments. He could feel it. One of those choices that would take him further from Ezra and the life he wanted.
It was too late now, of course. It was always too late.
He thought of Bee then, who’d so easily left them all behind. They’d never agonised like this. If Bee and Gabriel can do it, go off together, so can we. He could remember every word Ezra said to him that day, but he could barely remember what it felt like to still have him. What it felt like not to bear this crushing grief that most days made it impossible to get out of bed.
He suddenly wanted to talk to Bee.
“I dunno.” He finally said.
“Come on man, you’ve been a right mopy bastard recently. ‘ll do you good. And e’ll expect you there.”
“Have to speak to someone first.”
Haz grunted and hung up.
Chapter 15: Age 17, Scrap Yard, Dunfermline
Summary:
Second flash back - age 17, Crowley has just been expelled from Coimhdeachta College and is living in his car.
Chapter Text
Crowley woke in the back of his car as the rising sun and the cold made it too uncomfortable to sleep any longer. His father had given him two weeks to find a job and start paying rent once he'd been expelled. That had gone down like a lead balloon, and Crowley had assumed he’d be calling the Bentley home for the forseeable. But Luke had come through for him. He pulled his phone from his pocket.
“Crowley? This is early for you to call.”
“Yeah well wanted t’catch you before you got to school.” Crowley pulled a face to himself at the sound of his croaky voice. “Happy birthday angel.”
“Oh, thankyou dear.”
“First one we’re not in class together. Big 18 too. Is’shit you miss your birthday blowjob.”
“Yes, that’s definitely the worst thing about your explusion. Missing out on getting groped in the boys toilets.”
“After the last two I was going to make it a tradition!”
“What happened to a wrapped gift?”
“Yeah... well. M’skint aren’t I.”
“Oh, Crowley... I didn’t mean—”
“S’fine. Actually going to be starting at the factory next week. So i’’ll’ave a bit o’cash. Might even buy you one o'them fancy pastries you like.”
“Oh! Oh.. but.. don’t you have to be 18? Your birthday isn’t for months.”
“Yeah... well.. Luke’s da’s the one who checks that before new people start. S’long as I don’t get my armed ripped off in the press he’ll look the other way.”
“That’s worrying.”
“Well you dinnae own the place yet, no need to concern yo’self about health and safety.”
“Now what are you talking about?”
“There’s talk your da’s about to buy the linen factories. All o’them. Shut 'em down and turn 'em into fancy flats. Rich people like all that industrial shite.”
“I... had no idea. You know I don’t get involved in any of that. So you might be out of a job before you even start?”
“Yeah might be. Teachdaire name’s mud down at the pub.”
“Not all of us I hope.”
“Well I’ll make an exeption for you, only ‘cause you’re pretty.... Ha! I can hear your eyes rolling angel. Look, how about you come to the scrap-yard after school? the back o’the Bentley’s pretty comfortable now i’ve done the seats.”
“What an offer. Anyway, you know I’ve got my family dinner thing.”
“We’ll be quick. Get you back home in time for the amuses-bouches. And you know, I put your birth date on the factory form? So officially it’s my birthday today too. You owe me a blowjob.”
Chapter 16: Present Day, Crowley's Flat
Summary:
Back in Crowley's flat, he isn't coping well. He has a serious conversation with Bee and Luke contacts him about a job.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It didn’t take long to get a message to Bee – it was a small world, after all, and Crowley’s dad was friendly with Bee’s mum.
Crowley sat on the living room floor in silence, staring at the rain making tracks down the window and waiting for his headache to ease. He felt nauseus and his eyes were itchy from too much crying and too little sleep. His joints looked pointier than usual too, he thought. A pile of akward angles, like a puppet with its strings cut. He supposed Ezra held the scissors.
His phone started buzzing with an international number. He looked at it vacantly for a moment before coming back to himself and putting it to his ear, but he couldn’t gather the energy to speak.
After a few moments, a familiar voice came down the line. “Crowley you there?”
“Yeah. Hi Bee.”
“Me’mam texted me. Said you wanted to talk to me. Whatsup?”
Crowley put his hand over his eyes as he suddenly felt dizzy. He didn’t want to think about Bee, and Bee’s new husband, and Bee’s brother in law. Jesus christ, Ezra was her brother in law. This tenuous degree of seperation was as close to him as he’d gotten since he’d left.
“Uh... s’just....” he swallowed down the lump in his throat.
“I know about you n’Ezra.” Bee interrupted when he’d hesitated for too long.
“Nothing to know.” Crowley replied, the denial slipping easily from his mouth.
Bee snorted. “Why you still putting on a front Crowley? For me? For your da’ and his washed up old mates? Or for those losers from school?”
“I...” Crowley didn’t know what to say to that. He’d never had to defend himself like this. Not even to Ezra.
“We’re nearly thirty, mate.” Bee said flatly. “Why do you care what Haz and Liam think, sitting in their barn smoking weed all day? And Luke? with all that sticking it to the system shite, he’s just another theiving scumbag. You shouldn’ae be living your life for them. You owe ‘em naught.”
Crowley was stunned. Had Bee always been so.... clear sighted about everything? Maybe living 5000 miles away gave them some perspective. He couldn’t think of what to say, except: “He’s gone anyway.”
“Yeah. I heard. Is that why you wanted to speak to me? You wanna know where he is?”
That hadn’t even occurred to Crowley. But of course, Gabriel would know where his brother was, and so would Bee.
“No I... I just...” Crowley shut his eyes and took a deep breath. A couple of tears dislodged, but he didn’t bothered wiping his face. He had been going to ask if Bee was worried what people had thought when they’d left with Gabriel, but they’d answered that, hadn’t they? They didn’t care. And they wondered why he still would. It was a good question.
So he asked instead, “What made you leave.. your mum and your mates and everything. Was it Gabriel Teachdaire? Like, really?”
“Oi watch it.” Bee said levelly, clearly not offended. “We kept bumping int’ae eachother in a bar in Edinburgh. Didn’t like him at first. Then I started to remember how he was when we were wee. Before all that shit between our parents got to us. And I started to see... something behind the front he puts on.” A sudden clearing of a throat down the line told Crowley Bee had showed more emotion than they were comforable with.
“Anyway. Turns out I found something that mattered more to me than choosing sides.”
There was a weighty pause as they chose their next words.
“Woulda’ thought was the same for you. With Ezra. I mean… when Gabe told me about the two o’you, a lot o’things made sense. You’ve been together forever, have you not? Still. No’ma business.”
Thursday came and went. Crowley didn’t get out of bed.
Saturday night found him sitting on his kitchen floor in the dark, cradling a bottle of Buckfast1,. He’d spent the last of his money on it and had nothing left to put in the meter.
He probably should get some cash together, he thought between deep swigs from the bottle. His rent was due in a week or so.
Before Ezra had left and Crowley’s life had gone down the toilet, he’d actually found a job he thought he could have stuck with – helping at the garden centre. It paid enough with regular hours for him to get a flat of his own, for the first time. It was small and filthy, but Crowley had been cleaning it up and had saved up for a bed and a new kettle. He had been almost ready to suprise Ezra with it. As soon as he’d stopped showing up for work, though, the garden centre had found someone else to take his place. Benefits were just enough to cover his rent, but he’d used it all on booze already. Something would have to give soon, he thought, as he tipped the bottle to finish it off.
As if the thought summoned the devil himself, Crowley’s phone buzzed with a message from Luke.
>> missed you at the pub. Around this weekend? Got a job for you
Crowley stared at the message for a long time, spinning the now empty bottle on the discoloured kitchen tile between his spread legs.
Spin. He felt like he was drifting now. Counting time. Spin. Until when? He’d spent his life counting time between seeing Ezra. Spin. Without those points to mark his life, what did it all mean? Spin. What do you do with your life, when you’ve lost the only thing worth living for? Spin. Why was his heart still beating, if not for Ezra? Spin. What if this never stopped? Spin.
He looked at Luke’s message again, his phone screen illuminated in the darkness on the floor. Another choice. Another step downwards. It was too late to worry about what Ezra would think. Always too late.
He flipped the bottle up and let it fall, the glass smashing on the floor, sticky green shards in his lap.
He picked up his phone.
Notes:
1. Buckfast is a fortified wine popular in Scotland for getting very drunk. It is 15% proof with added caffeine, also known as "Wreck the hoose juice". return to text
Chapter 17: Age 26, The Hope & Anchor, Dunfermline
Summary:
Third flashback from Crowley's POV. Ezra's mother has died, he's become tenant manager for the Teachdaire propery portfolio. Crowley sees him in the pub.
Chapter Text
After the linen factory closed, it was not unusual to find Crowley, the men in his family, and many of his friends, in the pub in the middle of the day.
It was the last place he’d expected to see Ezra, however, and he choked on his pint when he spotted the back of a blond head weave his way to the bar. Crowley could see in the tense line of Ezra’s shoulders that the man had spotted Crowley already.
Crowley’s dad was still thumping him on the back from his choking fit when he heard Luke call from beside him, “Oi! Teachdaire! Buy us a drink!”
His tone was nasty – the mischevious teasing from school had turned bitter. The community blamed Ezra’s family after all: for expelling a whole cohort of their kids, then closing the factories and buying up farm land, removing hundreds of local jobs in the process.
Ezra pretended he hadn’t heard, kept his back to them and took a pint from the bar. He moved to a table across the room where a lone young man was nursing an empty glass. Ezra sat and placed the drink in front of the man. Crowley knew it was one of Enoch Teachdaire’s tenants, and knew Ezra would be trying to find a way to keep the man in his home even though he couldn’t afford the rent. Another workaround negotiated under his father’s nose.
“Posh bastard.” Luke’s father spat on the floor. “Thinks e’s better than us. S’not welcome in’ere.”
“Wass’e speaking t’Eric far?” Liam Ligur leant back on his stool to get a better look. “Oi Teachdaire! Leave th’man alone! No debt collecting in’her!”
Crowley took a deep draw of his beer and watched from beneath his lashes as Ezra’s face flushed. He carried on speaking quietly to Eric, who was nodding, wide-eyed. A general grumbling started around the table, and a few others at the bar started to take notice. Crowley felt the atmosphere shift.
Luke no doubt felt it too, and took the opportunity. “That ther’s Enoch Teachdaire’s wee boy everyone!” he called the room’s attention, pointing across to where Ezra sat. “Pressin’ another poor fella for money he dinnae’ have! How manys’us in here don’ have a job cause’a tha’ family? Eh?”
Luke lifted his hand and looked around the room expectantly. Slowly, hands were raised. Almost everyone in the half-full pub, Crowley noted. It was hardly suprising, really – who else but the unemployed would be in there drinking before lunch on a Tuesday?
Crowley felt an elbow nudge him in the ribs. Sat as he was between Luke and his father, Crowley had no choice. He slowly lifted his arm.
Ezra glanced up, noted what was occurring. His eyes flickered imperceptibly when he saw Crowley was among the men who had raised their hands.
“You’re nae welcome here, Teachdaire.” Luke called out. “Ye’ hav’nae’ bought this pub out fro’under us yet!” The room was filled with mutters and jeers in agreement. Some men shifted in their seats. Crowley felt sweat break out on the back of his neck.
Ezra said a last word to Eric, who was staring at him, looking overwhelmed, before he stood and made his way to the door. Nearly twenty sets of eyes followed him. Crowley held his breath.
It would only take one more word from Luke and Ezra wasn’t getting out of that pub.
“What would you have done?” Ezra asked as they sat on a bench overlooking the lake later that afternoon. A bag of frozen peas sat in the space between them but neither had touched it. Crowley kept his arms crossed over his chest and scowled at the ducks from behind his sungasses. “If someone had thrown a punch?”
“Dunno.”
“Hmm.” Ezra folded his hands in his lap.
“What’s hmmm mean? What would you’ve expected me to do?”
“Not stick your arm in, certainly.”
“Well obviously I wouldn’t have hit you... fuck.”
“You raised you hand though.” Ezra replied. “When Luke asked everyone to.”
“Uggghh! I knew you’d be fucked off.” Crowley’s defensive posture broke as he slid down on the bench and pushed his hand thorugh his hair.
Ezra sighed. “No. Not fucked off. Just...”
“If you fucking say ‘disappointed’....” Crowley sneered, but without much heat.
Crowley could see Ezra gather himself in his peripheral vision. “I just wish we weren’t so obviously on different sides.”
“S’how we were born, angel.”
“I know, my dear. I know.” Ezra took a few peas from the bag and threw them one at a time into the water. Ducks started scooting across the pond, and they watched in silence. When Ezra put his hand into the bag again, though, Crowley did too, and let their fingers tangle among the cold little balls for a moment before pulling his hand away. “I do wonder though.” Ezra paused long enough for Crowley to chance a glance over at him. Ezra flicked his eyes to the side and caught his gaze for a moment, before looking down at the remaining peas in his hand.
“I do wonder. Whether we’ll let how we were born dictate our whole lives.”
Chapter 18: Present Day, Crowley's Flat
Summary:
Crowley talks to Bee again and makes a decision.
Notes:
I've got Bee speaking in broad Glaswegian here. Apologies... will do English translations in comments on request :)
Chapter Text
Crowley >>> he’s more important than choosing sides
Bee >>>fcksake man its 3 in the morning here
Crowley >>> your phone not on silent?
Bee>>> didnae think any dickhead would wake me up in the middle o the night.
Crowley >>> ok speak to you later then
Bee>>> no I’m getting up for a piss now anyway. I’ll giya a ring once I get out the bedroom, don’t wanna wake gabe
“So,” Bee yawned noisily down the line as soon as Crowley picked up their call. “You got yur heed out yur arse now ha’yee?” their accent was particularly strong when they were tired and Crowley had to listen hard to understand them down the crackly international line.
“Dunno. Luke’s offered me a job.”
“Luke? Is he not away?”
“Got released early.”
Bee grunted. “Obviously not learning his lesson then aye? Question is, you gonna learn yours?”
“I need the money.”
“An’ am assuming this job is’nae a few shifts in a wee coffee shop somewhere.”
“No. Deliveries. I’m to meet him tomorrow.”
“Shite I dinnae need to know, man.” Bee cut him off. “You’ve a choice now, right? A big one. Where d’ya see your future?”
Crowley closed his eyes. Thought about his cottage in the country with the boy of his dreams. Another tear slipped down his face. He wondered how he had any left.
“That’s all gone.” He replied thickly.
“Ach bollocks.” Bee made a dismissive sound. “Remember watching you two when we were just bairns, in the playground dropping your cars down the slide. Coud’nae part ye, even then. S’been a few months, Crowley. Nothing in the grand scheme o’things is it? You were in prison for longer.”
“This is different. He asked me to go with him. Asked me to stop pretending we weren’t.. y’know.”
“Aye, an’ you let him down." Bee sounded like she was talkign to a toddler but Crowley was too hollow and exhausted to care. "So what? You tellin me that’s the first time? You ne’er gone back wi’yer tail between yer legs and he took ye’back?
“Yeah. He has.”
“Well then. Get your shite together and go to London. What are you staying in Dunfermline fuh, man?”
Chapter 19: Age 27, The Shakespeare North Playhouse, Merseyside
Summary:
Fourth flashback from Crowley's POV, it's Ezra's 27th Birthday (i.e. the year before their trip to Carlisle). Crowley prefers the funny ones.
Chapter Text
“Fancy seeing you here.” Ezra smiled as he sidled into the seat next to Crowley.
“Yes, fancy.” Crowley kept his eyes on the darkened stage, a brief quirk of his mouth the only indication of his giddy joy. He reached down and handed over a plastic glass of wine that had been waiting at his feet. “Happy birthday, Angel.”
Ezra beamed at him and took the glass, lifting it in salute. “Thankyou, my dear.”
During the intermission, they stood at the crowded bar for more drinks.
“I’m just saying I prefer the funny ones.”
“I know you do. You tell me every time we go to see Hamlet.”
Crowley humphed and Ezra grinned. “You know i’m quite happy to see Midsummer Night’s Dream, I know it’s your favourite.”
“But Hamlet’s your favourite.”
Ezra gazed up at him so fondly that Crowley started to itch. He looked around the room and took a deep slurp of his fresh glass of wine, but his bloody eyes, like a magnet, always drifted back to the angel at his side.
“No idea why though. You’re so chirpy all the time and Hamlet’s so bloody gloomy. It’s not like you don’t know how it’s going to end.”
Ezra rolled his eyes – they had had this argument more than once, and yet Crowley had taken him to see different productions of Hamlet on three birthdays now, and a Christmas.
“Exactly!” A man chimed in from Crowley’s shoulder, startling him. “I was just saying to the missus, she made me come to this because she likes whatisface in it, but we know they’re all going to die.”
“Yes but his journey of revenge is a thrill to watch!” a short blonde woman – the “missus” Crowley presumed – jumped in, coming round from behind her husband’s broader frame. “What does your friend think?” she looked at Ezra to back her up. He opened his mouth – probably to say something terribly nuanced and clever about the corrupting influence of power – but Crowley cut over him.
“Oh he's not my friend.” Crowley glanced at Ezra, who just smiled serenely while his eyes twinkled with amusement. “We've never met before. We don't know each other.”
“Oh, apologies—” the woman began, looking between the two of them in confusion, but Ezra waved it away. “Not at all. And for what it’s worth, I think the fellow playing Hamlet’s very good.”
“Oh isn’t he!” the woman put her hand to her chest, just as the lights dimmed and glowed again to call them back to their seats.
“Yeah, dream boat.” Her husband deadpanned with an eye roll, tucking her arm into his elbow and pulling her away with hand held up in farewell.
Once they were out of sight, Crowley turned back to Ezra and scowled at his gently amused expression. “What?”
“Oh, nothing.” Ezra raised his eyebrows and pressed his lips together as they made their way into the auditorium. He couldn’t keep it in for long, though.
“You know, my dear,” he murmured in the low light, “we are four hours from Dunfermline.”
“I’m aware. I drove.”
“Hmm. So the chances of anyone knowing us here is vanishingly small. We could, in fact, be in the same building at the same time without the world ending.”
Crowley scowled some more and opened the door to the auditorium. “After you.” He muttered grumpily.
“Oh! Thankyou kind stranger.” Ezra said theatrically, and smirked.
Crowley rolled his eyes and followed him in.
Chapter 20: Present Day, AZ Fell & Co, Soho
Summary:
We briefly swap to Ezra's POV, to see what he's been doing while Crowley has been drinking himself into a hole in Dunfermline
Chapter Text
Ezra ran his hand gently across the gleaming wooden counter with its vintage Victorian till, and managed a small, stiff smile.
That was progress, he thought dully. He was sure in a few years he might even manage to laugh again. The smile slipped away, the effort to keep it pinned to his face too much at that time in the morning, and he turned to the front door of his new bookshop. He flipped the sign and unlocked the door to find Maggie waiting for him, a bakery box in her hand.
“Good morning!” she beamed. “How’s day three going?”
“Well you’re the first person at the door, my dear, so I don’t yet know.”
She ignored his flat tone and laughed as if he’d said something hilarious, and bustled her way passed him. “I brought some brioche. I bet you haven’t eaten again.”
Since Maggie had convinced Ezra to follow her to London, where her grandfather’s passing had led to the inheritance of a quaint record shop in Soho, she had made it her mission to ensure Ezra thrived in his new life. This included dragging him to the pub on occasion, and making sure he ate.
She also - most serendipitously – introduced him to many of her grandfather’s old friends who ran businesses in the area. One such friend was Terry, an eccentric gentleman with a big white beard and twinkling eyes. He had declared he was leaving Soho, retiring to Wiltshire, and needed rid of his shop and flat above. A few short weeks later and Ezra was the owner of a large corner property in need of some TLC, from which he planned to run a rare book dealership. He worked tirelessly, grateful for the excuse to keep busy, and cleaned and repaired and hired tradesmen, and filled out paperwork and browsed online auctions late into the night until he collapsed for a few hours on the downstairs sofa, only to repeat it all the following day.
It turned out his business degree came in handy after all. He managed the relevant council paperwork and the business planning, inventory, stock, pricing and so on with ease, and wondered how anyone found such tasks challenging. Perhaps he’d taken more of the family traits than he realised. It was ironic, he thought, that Ezra was now a small businessman, while Gabriel had recently packed the corporate world in and “found himself” as a health guru and blogger located on some Californian beach.
Of course, running a rare book dealership was not on the scale of Aird-Nèamh Venture Capital, but his father had been mildly approving when Ezra had kept him apprised of the development. Buying up a substantial property in central London at a bargain price was a canny investment, if nothing else.
When Ezra had packed his bags that Friday afternoon, heartbroken but resolute, he had decided against leaving a letter and running away as his older brother had done. Instead, he took a taxi to Edinburgh and strode into his father’s office.
Perhaps it had been the fact that he’d torn his own heart out not two hours earlier, but Ezra felt no great emotion – neither fear nor guilt – as he squared up to the great Enoch Teachdaire. He told him plainly he had no interest in the Top Job, or any job in Aird-Nèamh for that matter. He told him he was leaving town, and would not be living the life that had been set out for Gabriel as some stand-in.
Enoch Teachdaire had surprised him. The man had pinned him with his small, glittering eyes and Ezra had expected, in a numb and detached way, a moment of explosive rage. But then the older man had suddenly leant back in his chair, his gaze becoming appraising.
The ensuing conversation had not been… pleasant. But Enoch had drawn a comparison between his two sons’ approaches to dealing with him and, for the first time in Ezra’s life, it was Gabriel who had been found wanting.
And there he was, nearly 5 months later, with his own home and business, a small circle of friendly acquaintances, a tentative relationship with his father and a much improved one with his brother. He supposed he should be happy. Or at least content.
But all he felt was numb, as he went through the motions of adult life. Now that the shop was finished, and opened, there was less to do to fill each 24 hours. Sleep was elusive, books only held his attention in snatches. Food and wine and outings no longer held much allure, even in a city he had always wanted to explore. But he kept putting one foot in front of the other.
It would get easier, so Maggie had said. Ezra didn’t believe her. But he did believe he would get used to it. Like one gets used to losing a limb. Or something more vital.
In the ensuing weeks, the bookshop flourished. Ezra kept strict, and long, opening hours, in order to keep any unoccupied time to a minimum. In idleness lay too much reminiscing, too much introspection. And if that was combined that with alcohol… well. He’d find himself weeping in bed, holding onto a single long red hair he'd found caught in the pages of a book when he unpacked. He'd look at the train times to Edinburgh when he was a bottle in, calculate how many hours and minutes away he was from being in Crowley's arms, and had had to put his phone in a drawer to remove temptation. It was bad enough that Crowley’s was the only phone number he knew by heart, so that changing his phone and deleting his contacts hadn’t been as decisive a break as he’d hoped. So – his only solution was to keep himself too sober to slip and too busy to think.
He had arranged the shop so that the front half held second-hand books to browse and purchase, perfectly ordered and dust free. The back half housed the rarer editions which buyers booked appointments to view, with white gloves. One area, under glass, held his rarest gems, which he wasn’t parting with but liked to display to demonstrate his skill at restoration. When he wasn’t seeing to the needs of a steady stream of customers, he would restore rare editions to be sold, or kept. He purposely bought boxes of mixed tomes in disrepair so he always had a backlog to work on, and in quiet spells in the shop he could be found bent over the workbench at the back, wielding a scalpel under a swivel light and magnifying stand. Long after closing, the light could still be seen through the original leaded windows.
On one such evening, there was banging on the front door. Upon opening it, Ezra found an effervescent Maggie standing on the step, clutching the hand of a more reserved woman with long dark plaits. “Ezra!” Maggie all but squealed. “This is Nina!”
“Oh!” Ezra put his hand out to greet the woman. Nina – Maggie’s downstairs neighbour who she’d pined over and left behind when they’d moved to London – had seen the light shortly after their departure. The two women had been in phone contact for several weeks and Nina had finally decided to visit for a date. Ezra had assumed he wouldn’t see much of Maggie during this highly anticipated visit, so was surprised to find the pair on his doorstep with an invite to the pub across the road from the bookshop.
The evening was lovely. Maggie was bubbly and tactile and Nina – while far more reserved – couldn’t help but smile softly at the blonde woman as she recounted some anecdote or other between giggles.
When she nipped to the bathroom, Nina turned to Ezra thoughtfully. “Maggie mentioned you’ve recently come out of a relationship.”
Ezra had become accustomed to Nina’s forthright manner over the course of their evening together. Still, he hadn’t been prepared for the question. It must have shown on his face as Nina added, “She didn’t tell me any details or anything. Just explained why you’d agreed to come to London with her quite suddenly.”
“Ah, well. Yes.” Ezra picked up his empty sherry glass, the one drink he allowed himself, for something to do with his hands. “It was… complicated, as they say. I couldn’t stay.”
Nina made a noise of understanding. “I’ve been single less than a year myself. It’s hard to… try again. Trust again. I’m not sure I’m ready yet. But Maggie’s been…” her expression softening. “She gives me hope.”
Ezra smiled fondly. “She’s a wonderful woman.”
“And you?” Nina looked at him appraisingly over the rim of her glass as she finished off her G&T. “You think there’s hope for you?”
His smile grew strained. “Oh, I don’t think so my dear. But I made a choice. And now I have to live with it.”
Nina raised an eyebrow. “You’re what, 30? You’re not planning on being single for the rest of your life, are you?”
Goodness, this woman was forthright. “Crowley’s the only man I’ve ever loved,” he said, deciding to be as frank with this relative stranger as she was with him. “The only man I ever will love.”
Nina blew out a breath and raised her eyebrows. “That’s quite the statement. Who knows what’ll happen years from now.”
Ezra felt the familiar ache in his chest blooming again, her words pressing on a bruise.
“Some things last forever.”
Chapter 21: Present Day, Dunfermline to Soho
Summary:
After his heart to heart with Bee, Crowley decides to travel down to Soho for some sort of apology.
Notes:
CW for the impact of alcohol abuse
Chapter Text
Crowley approached the ticket counter at the train station, and tried not to roll his eyes when he saw Sharon sitting behind the glass. She was Bee’s cousin, and hadn't passed the exam to get into Coimhdeachta College with the rest of them. She’d been unbearably smug when they all got expelled and even more so now that she was one of the few in their circle who actually had a proper job.
“Morning Crowley.” She said, looking unnecessarily officious as she took the bit of crumpled paper he'd slid across to her, where his booking reference was scribbled.
“Morning Shaz.”
“It’s Shax.” She tapped away on her keyboard, trying hard to look down her nose at him.
“Oh yeah. Forgot.”
“You’re looking rough.”
“Thanks.”
“London? One way?” She smirked as she read the screen. “You running away from home?” The money he'd gotten from Luke hadn't been enough for a return ticket. But Crowley couldn't think that far ahead.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He watched the printer rattle away behind her.
“That wee blond Teachdaire is in London now, ye’ken?” she said with a smirk. She loved her gossip. When Crowley didn’t reply, she turned in her swivel chair and collected the orange and white tickets from the machine. “Y’know, I heard a rumour about you and him. Years ago. That you were an item.” She chuckled, her eyes calculating as she watched his reaction. “You don’t seem his type at all.”
Crowley kept his face impassive. The twitch of one eyebrow was hidden behind his sunglasses.
When Sharon realised she wasn’t going to get a flustered denial – or any response at all – her mouth twisted and she threw his tickets into the tray.
“Thanks Shaz.” Crowley finally spoke, scooping them up and turning towards the platforms.
“It’s Shax!” he heard from behind him.
I learn my lesson eventually
Crowley startled awake, his knees banging the table in front of him and earning him a glare from the woman sitting opposite.
“Sssorry” he scrubbed his eyes, then used his sleeve to wipe the perspiration from his forehead, wincing when he noticed how much his hands were trembling.
He hated sleeping, now. Passing out drunk was a dreamless black hole, a blissful relief from his reality. But since he’d stopped drinking, sleep was a place where his brain let loose, wallowing in all things Ezra. Conjuring the sight, sound, smell and feel of the man perfectly – replaying memories from their long history with an accuracy his conscious brain had lost, or worse, recreating situations that never happened. For the past week Crowley had slept fitfully, and would jackknife up in bed, screaming soundlessly or sobbing, more exhausted than when he went to sleep.
And Crowley was always exhausted. He peered at the heavy watch on his wrist, the strap pulled to the first hole now. Two hours to London.
Crowley was watching Ezra watch TV in Ezra’s new flat. Crowley could never see the point of looking at a television when Ezra was in the room.
“I have a gift for you.” Ezra said suddenly, eyes still on the screen.
“No gifts.”
“Yes, well—” Ezra leant over and lifted a small box from the side table, and held it out.
Crowley took it, looking at him warily, before opening it then snapping it shut.
“No.”
“It’s my fault you broke the last one.”
“I’m the one who put my hand in the pond.”
“To save my books.”
“We agreed, angel. No gifts.”
“Well yes that may have made sense while we were at school. But now I thought…”
“No. My birthday blowjob is the only gift I get from you.”
“You get those all the time. And you don’t have a watch.”
“I’d prefer a blow job.” Crowley held the box out to him.
Ezra pushed is back towards him. “Sell it if you like.”
“Maybe I will. Spend it on booze.”
“That’s fine.”
“Don’t think I won’t.”
“Of course.”
Crowley grunted a begrudging agreement, opened the box again.
“I’ll keep it ‘till I need the cash.”
“Quite so.”
“No more presents y’hear?”
“No more.”
Crowley pulled it out and fiddled with the strap for a while. “Thankyou.”
Ezra never gave him anything else.
Crowley flinched awake again, his head thumping against the train window. He wiped his eyes to clear the tears that had gathered in his sleep. Ezra always learnt his lesson eventually.
The train pulled into Kings Cross by lunchtime. The tube was cramped and stuffy, and Crowley felt like a tourist, relieved to be in the open again as he emerged near Soho. He’d studied the route on his phone, top down and street view, so many times since Bee had given him Ezra’s address that he could have walked it from memory.
Finally, he stood outside A Z Fell & Co. The paint was fresh, the windows sparkling. Crowley thought, again, that he should have just called Ezra rather than giving in to the need to be near the man. Still, his feet seemed to move on their own accord towards the door, even as his stomach lurched.
He took a breath – one, two – then pushed the door open. He bell above the door seemed too loud and made him jump, as jittery as he was, but he barely noticed that over the smell that hit him. This was definitely the place. Beneath the smell of old books and wood polish, Crowley could smell Ezra. That smell had faded too quickly from the Bentley. These past few months, Crowley had occasionally caught a hint of it on a T-shirt or hoodie. But it was quickly lost when he buried his face into the cloth to chase it.
It made his poor battered heart thump feebly now, and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick. And then, “Hang on! I’ll be with you in two shakes—” Ezra’s voice died as their eyes met. Crowley couldn’t hear anything over his breath labouring in his ears, and the edges of his vision greyed out.
Ezra had always known Crowley would turn up at his door eventually. He wasn’t hiding, after all. But as the weeks turned into months, he dwelt on it less. And now he was face to face once again with the love of his life, he didn’t seem capable of words.
Crowley had lost weight – a considerable amount – and it had left him looking frail. A threadbare sweater Ezra recognised hung from his shoulder, exposing the deep dip of his clavicle. His hair was longer than usual, and looked dull and lank where it hung around his shoulders. His eyes looked haunted as they moved rapidly over Ezra’s face and body, taking him in, and Ezra could see purple bruises under them. His bottom lip was chapped and split, and his complexion was sickly. He looked almost grey in the hazy light coming through the open doorway, apart from two patches flushed fever-red high on his cheekbones
He was the most beautiful thing Ezra had ever seen.
They stood and looked at one another for a minute, perhaps more, in silence. Crowley stood with one hand grasping the doorframe as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.
Once Ezra had swallowed round the lump in his throat, he turned and made his way to his desk in the far corner of the shop.
“You’d better come in then. Lock the door behind you.”
Crowley’s legs felt wobbly and his head was fuzzy as he staggered across the room, feeling very much like the moth to Ezra’s flame as he followed him. He had a vague impression that the bookshop around him was grand and high-ceilinged, but he couldn’t take his eyes from the back of that blonde ahead, afraid it might disappear if he lost sight of it for even one moment.
Ezra sat primly in a wingback chair and gestured at the small sofa opposite him. Crowley sunk down into it slowly, his joints creaking, and dropped his bag at his feet.
“I would ask how you’re doing, but I can see.” Ezra raised an eyebrow and folded his hands on his lap.
“Aye.” Crowley rubbed the back of his neck with a trembling hand. He felt how damp it was and cringed. “I’ve stopped drinking, you know how it is.”
Ezra did know. You couldn’t grow up in Dunfermline – even in the middle-class parts – and not be familiar with the physical side effects of drying out after spending too long in a bottle.
“Mmm.” He looked at Crowley expectantly, and Crowley realised he wasn’t even bothering with the unnecessary Why are you here?
All he could do was press on.
“So… Do you want a big, ‘I think I said the wrong thing,’ sort of an apology, or can we take that as said?”
Ezra’s eyes narrowed. “Is that seriously the best you can do? After everything.”
Fuck. Crowley winced. “S’just words, angel.”
“Words are important!”
“Ok ok. Look, I’ll say it. I fucked up, ok? I was wrong, you were right. You wouldn’t be happy at Aird-Nèamh. I was just thinking of how it would make our lives easier.”
“Your life. Not mine.”
“I thought it was our life.” Crowley shot back.
“So did I!” Ezra snapped, then closed his eyes and took breath to gather himself.
“I can’t…” Crowley swallowed and deflated. “I can’t do this, angel.”
Ezra’s eyes were soft when they opened. Crowley felt his poor bruised heart lurch with a faint echo of hope, until Ezra spoke.
“You can, my dear. We both can.”
“No!” Crowley leant forward. “No, I can’t. You might, you were always the strong one. But I... don’t know how to be me without you.”
“You need to find your own way now Crowley.” Ezra said gently. “Start a new chapter.”
Crowley shook his head rapidly. “No. I can’t. I’ll do anything, angel. Anything. Just tell me, and i’ll do it.”
Ezra reached forward and placed a hand on Crowley’s frail, trembling arm. Crowley braced himself.
“Let me go.”
Chapter 22: I slithered here from Eden
Summary:
Two years have passed. Ezra is in his bookshop and hasn't heard from Crowley since he told him to let him go. Crowley arrives back from Tadfield, having built a whole new life for himself.
Notes:
Everything in part 3 is in the present. No more flashbacks!
Chapter title from... yeah everyone knows that one
Chapter Text
PART III - TWO YEARS LATER
Crowley checked the time on the watch Ezra had given him as the train from Tadfield came to a slow stop on Victoria platform 11. Only a few minutes late. He stood and made his way along the route he had plotted in his mind dozens of times. It was warm in London, too warm to go on the tube, so he went on foot – along Birdcage Walk, across St James Park, through the narrower side streets of Soho until he turned onto Whickber street and towards the bookshop on the corner. Every inch of pavement was familiar to him, though he’d only been here once in person, two years ago.
He took a moment to gather himself as he stood in front of the wooden door. Jumbled flashes of his last visit came back to him. Let me go. Him stumbling back out of the doors like he’d been shoved in the chest, unable to catch his breath. Falling into the pub opposite and everything becoming a blur after that. He’d lost three days of this life that week, finally coming to in an A&E somewhere near Durham, with no phone or wallet and one eye purple and swollen shut.
Still, bruises heal. His heart was a different matter.
He cleared his throat, tucked a strand of hair that had come loose from his bun behind his ear, hooked his sunglasses on the neck of his henley. And opened the door.
Ezra was at his desk finalising his accounts when the bell jingled. Normally he’d call out, let the customer know he’d be with them presently, but the words died in his throat. He stared at the lines of numbers on his ledger for a moment, the old, familiar feeling of Crowley’s proximity raising the hairs on the back of his neck. The bookshop lapsed into silence, the bell still once again. Ezra turned his head slowly.
Crowley stood in the doorway, a long, dark line against the sun coming through the panes of glass behind him.
“I’m back.” Crowley said quietly, when Ezra remained silent.
“Yes. Yes I can see that.” Ezra stood and moved in front of the desk, letting his eyes take in how Crowley’s hair was gleaming, fire red in the light, his skin a pale bronze and freckled, his clothes – new, smart and fitting his broader frame.
He turned towards the armchair, his thoughts racing, and heard the deadbolt slide on the front door. Crowley came to sit on the sofa opposite him.
They silently took one another in, eyes cataloguing changes, before Crowley cleared his through. “So, how have you been?”
“As one would expect, I imagine.” Ezra muttered in reply, and watched Crowley clasp and unclasp his hands in his lap, before lifting his eyes. “Why are you here?”
“Hmm. Well.” Crowley took a breath, twisted his hands some more and looked to the ceiling. “I suppose… first I want to apologise.”
Ezra frowned, “What for?”
“Oh. You know. All of it.” Crowley’s eyes wouldn’t meet Ezra’s, but he seemed unable to look away at the same time. “Being awful to you at school… Treating you like a dirty secret for fifteen years. Not telling you how I felt and pretending feelings weren’t involved, being a prick to prove it.” He picked at the seem of his jeans. “Turning up here strung out and still not getting it. I’m sorry for all of it. And..” he paused, and Ezra watched his Adam’s apple bob. “And… I’m sorry for letting you down, at the bandstand. When you finally asked me to stop pretending. I should have left with you. I knew it then, when you asked me. I’ve known it every day since you left. I know it now.”
The silence was heavy. The ticking of the grandfather clock at the back of the shop seemed too loud.
“Well.” Ezra said softly after a long moment. He gripped his knees and tried to untangle his thoughts. “That’s… I never thought I’d hear you say all that. But... I don’t forgive you, Crowley. You threw our lives away. I can’t forgive that.”
“It’s ok. I don’t expect you to.” Crowley replied quietly, finally pulling his eyes up to meet Ezra’s bemused gaze. “Unforgivable. Thass’what I am.”
“I’m glad you said it, all the same.”
“I’ve… there’s something else.” Crowley looked even more uncomfortable and Ezra braced himself, for what he did not know. “I… uh..” Crowley cleared his throat. “I’ve been busy this past couple of years. Got a house, and a job. Run my own business, actually.”
Of all the possible things Crowley might have said to him, Ezra wouldn’t have guessed this. Something chilling slithered up his spine. “Are you here to tell me you’re getting married, or something?”
Crowley visibly startled and looked at Ezra like he’d gone mad. “What?!” he gave an incredulous laugh. “Of course not. You’re the only one I’d ever…” he gave up on that thought and gazed out of the window instead.
The tension that had been growing between them eased, just a little, and Ezra exhaled slowly.
“Ok. Well I’m glad you’re doing better.”
“I am. Better.” Crowley swallowed and looked back at him. “Angel,” he puffed out a breath, “would you give me another chance?”
Ah. There it was.
“Tea.” Ezra said, standing up abruptly. “I think I need some tea.”
“Course, yeah.” Crowley said faintly. Ezra felt eyes on his back as he hurried towards the kitchenette.
“I don’t have coffee.” He called over his shoulder.
“S’fine. Think I’m wired enough as it is.”
Ezra clicked the kettle on and held onto the kitchen counter, trying to gather himself. What had happened to the man who’d stumbled out of his door two years earlier? He’d been a mess, but a familiar mess at least. This man… with a house and a business no less? Who was he? Ezra squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deeply, wondering what other bombs Crowley might drop on him.
He jumped when the kettle came to the boil before making two cups of tea through muscle memory alone, then headed back into the bookshop. He paused on the threshold to watch the other man for a moment. Crowley sat hunched on Ezra’s sofa, arms and head hanging between bent knees. He looked… tired, and something painful twisted in Ezra’s chest. But Crowley must have sensed he was being watched, as he sat up and gave Ezra a tight smile.
“Thank you.” He murmured, taking the proffered cup and sipping it. “You remembered how I like it.”
“Of course.” Ezra replied, sitting back down, though he hardly recalled what he’d done.
“So. Um…” Crowley shifted in his seat and found his teacup very interesting. “Thing is. I did it all for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean… I moved south, got qualifications. Got the house and the plant business. For you.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Yes, you do.” Crowley said quietly. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”
Ezra opened his mouth but found he didn’t know what to say.
Crowley spoke into the silence. “When I said I had nothing. That day at the bandstand. I was thinking about a job. Prospects. You know?”
Ezra unlocked his jaw. “Yes… yes I know that.”
“I didn’t mean you. You were the only thing I had that actually mattered.” He lifted his eyes up from the cup. “Still I… I wanted you to see I could get my shit together. Have a job and make something of myself.” He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “I didn’t just want to come back with apologies and promises. I wanted to show you that I could make a life. I made a life, angel. For us.”
Ezra sat in silence for a long, long time. He looked at Crowley’s freshly washed hair, neat black nail varnish, new henley and jeans. He saw how his knuckles were white where he gripped his cup.
“You haven’t let me go at all, have you.”
Crowley gave a lopsided, apologetic grin, though his eyes were so sad. “Did you really expect me to?”
No, Ezra realised. He hadn’t for a moment thought Crowley would leave him. He’d simply been counting time since he’d sent the man away.
Ezra stood, suddenly feeling like he couldn’t sit still any longer. Crowley looked up at him in alarm.
“I’ll do better, angel.” He blurted out. “I’ll be better. If you’d just... keep me.”
“Oh Crowley,” Ezra breathed, shaking his head. “You didn’t have to be better. You just had to be mine.”
Crowley got to his feet now and took a step closer. “I am yours. If you’ll have me…” he looked down at the cup he was still clasping. “You’ll have all of me. In public. An us. Don’t care about anyone else. Any thing else.”
“Don’t let the Bentley hear you say that.” Ezra gave a week chuckle, turning to put his own cup down on his desk and gripping the edge of the wood, trying to lighten the conversation that has become so fraught so quickly.
“I gave it away.”
“You… what?” Ezra spun round.
“I gave it away.” Crowley gave a wry smile. Ezra gaped. “Well… didn’t give it. Got money for it. College courses aren’t free these days are they. And I needed money to buy a place to live, and set up the business. Bentley wasn’t finished, you know. But still got a lot more for her than I thought.”
Ezra had been too overwhelmed by Crowley’s sudden appearance to consider how he’d achieved his new life. But of course, he would have needed funds to make a fresh start. Ezra sat heavily back onto his chair, finding his knees weren’t up to the task. “I… You… you sold the Bentley? But.. but Crowley… you love that car.”
“No angel. I love you.”
Ezra’s mouth dropped open. “Ngk.”
Chapter 23: Secrets I have held in my heart, are harder to hide than I thought
Summary:
Crowley explains what he's been doing for the last two+ years. Ezra decides he's ready to come home.
Notes:
Chapter title from I Wanna Be Yours (Arctic Monkeys)
Chapter Text
What on earth had happened to Crowley? Ezra felt a bubble of hysteria rising from somewhere deep in his abdomen. This man… this man was… open, and sincere, and… Ezra didn’t know what to make of it.
Crowley had never apologized before. Not verbally. And he’d certainly never said the L word. Ezra had felt sure he never would. Perhaps he’d been to counselling? He certainly needed it. They both did, frankly, but Ezra dismissed it as soon as the thought flittered through his brain. He was self-aware enough to know Crowley and he were far more likely to hoard everything between them – even their relationship breakdown – than let anyone else enter their bubble. They were a pair, dysfunctional as that may be. No room for third wheels.
But something… something transformative had happened to Crowley. Clear eyed and clear skinned, he looked like he had actually eaten in the past week. But some bigger change had gone on beneath the surface. Those beautiful amber eyes, always guarded and shifting, looked steadily into his now, and held. Left him exposed. Let Ezra see everything.
Ezra’s mouth formed a variety of consonants to express his shock and confusion, but he couldn’t settle on the right words. All he came up with, after floundering for a moment, was:
“You’ve never said that before.”
Crowley sat back down slowly. He watched Ezra warily, as if he might jump up again and show him the door. “You knew, though.”
“I… yes. I’ve always known.”
“I suppose I wasn’t as good at hiding it as I thought.”
“You may not have said it, but you showed it.”
Crowley nodded thoughtfully, gazed out of the window again. “I freaked out a bit when you told me Gabriel worked it out, you know. Thought to myself… shit am I that obvious? If that enormous clot could catch on…” he shook his head.
“You were worried Luke and the others would realise too?”
Crowley’s gave a humourless laugh. “No. Worse. I was worried you would.”
“Oh.” Ezra nodded thoughtfully and looked to the floor. “I’m afraid that ship sailed years ago my dear.”
Another difficult silence. Just the sound of Crowley finishing his tea and putting his cup down.
“I’m a fucking idiot.” Crowley declared finally, and Ezra’s eyes flicked up to see him scrubbing his hand down his face. “I should have told you how I felt. Right at the start. You were right, you know? We were on our own side. Or, we should have been. Could have been. The whole time.” He shook his head, looking away, muttering to himself.
Ezra fought the urge to excuse Crowley’s behaviour, to tell him how they’d both been conditioned from birth to see each other as different. It hadn’t been surprising Crowley had clung to that belief, even as his touches became more tender with every passing year, and his excuses to linger in Ezra’s company grew thinner.
“I want to be on our side.” Crowley looked back at him earnestly, and leant forward on his knees. “Just the two of us. I’ve left it all behind, you know? All that bullshit in Dunfermline.” He reached behind him with one hand and pulled his phone from his jeans. He swiped at the screen and offered it over. Once Ezra took it, he said, “That’s my place. Cottage, really, in Tadfield. I picked it ‘cause it’s only an hour from here on the train.”
“I like trains.” Ezra murmured, feeling disorientated as he looked down at a photo of a picturesque thatched cottage with wisteria dripping around the windows and door.
“I know, angel.”
“It’s… very pretty.”
“Pretty as fuck. The whole village is.”
“And you live there and run a… plant nursery?”
“Yeah. Started with a polytunnel in the garden. But it’s been doing well so I bought a plot of land from a farmer just outside the village. That’s when I thought… y’know. I was ready to come back.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Ezra admitted after a moment, gazing at the picture of the cottage.
“Say I’m yours.”
Ezra held his breath. Slowly lifting his eyes from the phone, he saw Crowley looking back at him earnestly, hopefully. Stripped bare of all the layers of pretence he usually wore and with so much love and adoration that Ezra felt his nose prickle with tears.
“I—” Ezra looked back down at the phone in his hand, unable to hold that unfamiliar gaze. The screen had timed out though, and he was looking down at Crowley’s lock-screen – a picture of himself, ten years younger, white curls gleaming in the sunshine, leaning on the newly refurbished bonnet of the Bentley.
Crowley followed his eyes. “Love that photo of you.”
For the past two years, Crowley had dragged himself out of bed every morning and diligently built his life into something Ezra would be proud of. Something he’d want to share with Crowley.
Losing Ezra had… the phrase “put things into perspective” was overused, and in this case, insufficient. It had fundamentally rearranged Crowley’s life, the atoms of his existence shoved sideways, so that when they resettled nothing looked or felt the same.
He had experienced the most catastrophic loss he could have envisaged, and letting go of everything else – belongings, relationships, places, and long-held beliefs about sides and appearances – was easy. His body numb and his heart cold, he sold the Bentley with barely a twinge. The memories of him and Ezra in the car were a fresh bruise, of course, but all he could think about was how the money would get him closer to his goal. He used the map on his phone to pick a town close to London (but not close enough to be too expensive), that had a college running a horticulture course. Tadfield seemed to be the best candidate on paper. Once he had the name, he packed a bag and just… walked away.
The further he got from Dunfermline, the more he realised the chains that had kept him in his home-town were of his own making. He owed his father and childhood “friends” neither his loyalty nor respect. And yet he’d given it to them without hesitation, while he had let down the only person who had ever cared for him time and time again, for years. Leaving them all behind in the dead-end, bitter lives of their own making was the first step towards making things right.
He was pleasantly surprised when he stepped off the train in Tadfield to find it was picturesque and welcoming. Perfect for the boy of his dreams.
He rented a bedsit at first, and slowly – day by day, class by class – he got himself together. He walked everywhere, chugged smoothies when he couldn't be bothered to eat, and showered every morning with grim determination. He was a man on a mission, making himself better for Ezra.
He took no pleasure in any of this so-called self-care. It was all a means to an end. He made a few... friends? acquaintances? on the way, got himself known in the village. But his head and heart were too full of one person to think about this background noise. He stayed in the village after he’d got his qualifications only because he thought Ezra would like it. He bought the cottage because he could see himself and Ezra there. He filled it with things Ezra would like. Every decision he weighed against a ghost’s opinion.
And now, he was offering his carefully crafted life up to that ghost for the taking.
Ezra sat for a long moment with Crowley’s phone in his hand, his thumb rubbing the screen meditatively. Crowley was content to sit in silence, feeling like he was able to breathe properly for the first time in years. Maybe his lungs only accepted oxygen that had mixed with Ezra’s atoms.
He watched him, like he always did. His eyes took in the stitching on Ezra’s shoes up to the curls at his temple, cataloguing all the changes he could see. Ezra had lost a little weight, his hair was slightly longer. He’d caught some sun and his nose was adorably pink. Crowley recalled how he’d once taken an inventory of Ezra’s freckles after being released from prison, annoyed to find he’d missed the arrival of a new one while he’d been incarcerated. He wondered, now, if he’d missed any more – living down south meant more sun after all. He wondered if he’d ever have the opportunity to find out.
He hadn’t let himself consider what would happen if Ezra told him to leave again. He thought about it now though, while he waited for the verdict. What would he do? Leave Tadfield? There’d be no point to it if Ezra didn’t want it. Or perhaps he’d wait a few more years there, and try again. He couldn’t fathom ever giving up.
The sound of a delicately cleared throat startled him out of his thoughts and brought his eyes up. “I think I need something stronger than a cup of tea.” Ezra stood. Crowley jumped up too, but didn’t move, unsure whether to follow.
Ezra paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked at him over his shoulder. “Come along. You can show me more photos.” He waved Crowley’s phone and made his way up.
They sat on the sofa in Ezra’s flat, sharing a bottle of wine while Ezra swiped through dozens of photos on Crowley’s phone and Crowley narrated.
“Why do you have a photo of a bakery?”
“I thought you’d like to see the cakes.”
“They do look scrummy.”
“Five minutes’ walk from the cottage. And they make fresh crepes every morning.”
“I feel like I’m getting a sales pitch.”
“Because you are.” Crowley cleared his throat. “…and that’s Anathema and Newt. Closest neighbours, down the lane a bit. Nice enough, she’s a bit witchy.”
“Hmm. And that one’s Warlock? The boy who helps—”
“With the plants, yeah. Been training him up so he can keep an eye on things when… if I’m away.”
Ezra lifted the bottle towards Crowley, but he shook his head.
“Not for me. I don’t drink much anymore.”
“Dear lord,” Ezra muttered, the two glasses of wine making it easier for him to speak. “Who are you and where’s my Crowley gone?”
Crowley gave a wistful smile. “S’me, angel. Still your Crowley.”
That bloody silence grew between them again, awkward and heavy, as Ezra reflected on Crowley’s words.
“Crowley, I think—”
“S’all for you.” Crowley rushed out. He didn’t want to hear what Ezra was going to say. Every photo they'd looked at had wound him tighter, and now he felt like he was about to bounce out of his seat. “You can come to Tadfield, with me. Or stay here. I’ll move up here if you’d prefer. Or if you want to take it slowly, I’ll come visit. Whatever you want. We could even date,” he drew in a much needed breath. “I just want a chance to show you—”
“Crowley.” Ezra repeated more firmly, and Crowley reluctantly let the words die in this throat. “I think… I’m ready to come home now.”
Crowley’s bouncing knee stilled. He looked into Ezra’s eyes.
That clear blue-grey. The sky over a calm sea. An answer to his unspoken question.
Still, he remained frozen for a long moment, before leaning forward slowly. He kept his eyes locked with Ezra’s, not quite ready to believe this could be it. He hesitated when they were a breath apart, his heart pounding so loudly in his own ears he was sure Ezra would be able to hear it. “Angel are you…” he swallowed, his mouth dry. He licked his bottom lip, and watched Ezra’s eyes follow the motion before the man gave a small nod.
Crowley closed the gap.
They fit together like puzzle pieces, and stayed motionless for a moment, just breathing each other’s breath, feeling the warmth of the other’s lips. But then Ezra’s hand moved to gently hold the back of Crowley’s head. Crowley inhaled sharply through his nose, cupping Ezra’s face with trembling hands.
Their first kiss since Ezra had kissed him goodbye at the bandstand, it was just a simple press of lips, but Crowley had never felt anything so perfect. The despair that had settled into his bones nearly three years earlier began to lift, his muscles unlocking. A tension he hadn’t even been aware of became known by its sudden absence. He felt like he was 15 and 25 again, only better, as the familiar smell and feel of Ezra after such time apart flooded his senses with memories and longing, old and new.
Everything around him fell away as he closed his eyes. The universe began and ended with the Ezra.
Home.
Chapter 24: In the low lamplight, I was free
Notes:
Chapter title from Work Song (Hozier)
Chapter Text
Crowley slipped into his side of Ezra’s bed that night and watched Ezra join him, wearing a soft blue t-shirt and draw-string sleep pants. They both turned onto their sides and faced one another. Ezra’s hair and skin were luminous in the golden lamplight and Crowley’s breath caught in wonder, unable to fathom how he’d ever let this man slip through his fingers.
“So,” Ezra said softly. “What happens in the morning?”
“I don’t really know, Angel.” Crowley gave a brief, uncomfortable smile. “My plan was just to let you decide everything.”
Ezra arched an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like a very good plan.”
“I’ll go too fast for you.” Crowley admitted awkwardly. “I want everything, now. So it’s better if you set the pace, tell me what you want and when.”
“What do you mean by everything?”
Crowley thought for a moment, tugged his bottom lip between his fingers. Then, “When we were kids, like… ten? I used to imagine living with you in a cottage somewhere in the country. Just us. We’d watch TV and play transformers all day and eat cereal for dinner.”
Ezra’s face lit up. “You never told me that before.”
“Didn’t tell you a lot of things, did I. That’s the problem.”
“You told me enough. You’re only bad at communicating with words, you know.”
“Well.” Crowley’s throat clicked as he swallowed. He felt exposed again, wondering what other secrets Ezra knew – had always known. He dropped his eyes to the space between them. “I want that. I’ve always wanted that. Living together, just the two of us. Probably not transformers and Coco-Pops anymore but, y’know. Everything else.”
“In Tadfield?”
“Doesn’t have to be.” Crowley lifted his eyes again. “Can be anywhere, as long as I’m with you.”
Ezra held his gaze for a long moment. “I think I need some time to get to know you again. I know it sounds odd, but you seem to have done so much since we’ve been apart… you just seem different, somehow. I need to get used to it.”
“You know me.” Crowley reached for Ezra’s hand and pressed it to his heart. “I promise, angel. I’ve not changed. Well, I mean, I’ve been working on the shit bits, so—”
Ezra huffed. “You don’t have shit bits, Crowley. I love all of you. I always have.”
Crowley had thought he’d been doing well keeping it together since he’d walked into the bookshop earlier that afternoon, so he was quite surprised when he burst into tears at Ezra’s words.
Not as surprised as Ezra, it seemed, who made an “oh!” sound before promptly pulling Crowley forward and wrapping his arms tightly round him.
Crowley sobbed into Ezra’s chest, clinging onto handfuls of soft cotton and pressing into the soft warmth of him. He realised suddenly that Ezra had never actually see him cry before. This made him cry harder, but he made an effort to get himself together for Ezra’s sake, breathing deeply, and the smell he knew like his own calmed him, along with the rhythmic brush of Ezra’s hand up and down his spine.
After a time, he cleared his throat and wriggled upwards, and Ezra loosened his arms just enough for them to come face to face. Their noses brushed.
“S’alright.” Crowley reassured croakily.
Ezra’ eyebrows were pulled in, his teeth pressing into his bottom lip, as he studied Crowley’s face at close quarters in muted alarm. “Is this you trying to convince me you’ve not changed?”
Crowley tried to laught, though it came out as more of a snotty snuffle. He lifted a hand to wipe his eyes and nose roughly. “Honestly, I’ve always cried. Just never in front of you.”
“Really?”
“I mean, these past few years... a lot more.”
“Ok… ok well,” Ezra stroked Crowley’s hair back from where it stuck to his damp face and Crowley tried to keep his eyes open his gentle touch. “I think we could do with a sleep and then… then perhaps we should just spend some time together. Take it a day at a time. Let me get used to… everything.”
“Kay.” Crowley sniffed, before putting his head back down and slipping his arm around Ezra’s back. “This alright?”
“Of course.” Ezra rested his chin on the top of Crowley’s head as he cuddled in, and listened as the man’s breathing evened out.
He could tell Crowley was exhausted. He’d no doubt been working himself up to coming back to London and face Ezra for days, perhaps weeks, running on adrenaline. Ezra, on the other hand, had been oblivious to all of this until a few short hours ago, and now found himself staring into the darkened bedroom, stroking Crowley’s back distractedly, trying to process how his life had been upended so suddenly.
Eventually, though, the smell and feel of Crowley curled up against him, the familiar rhythm of his breathing, lulled Ezra into a dreamless sleep. They both slept until the sun was high the next day and only the trilling of Ezra’s phone from the kitchen stirred them.
Ezra slipped out of bed and Crowley sat up when he heard snatches of conversation coming from the other room.
“Oh... yes Maggie um, something’s come up you see…. No no everything’s fine. It’s just Crowley—”
“— yes, yes he’s here—”
“No I know my dear, but I don’t expect you to—”
Crowley winced at what was probably an uncomfortable conversation for Ezra and slid out of bed, padding to the bathroom in his boxers and taking the time to look around the flat a little. After they’d kissed on the sofa the night before, they both felt inexplicably shy and ordered food and watched A Place in the Country together (Crowley watched Ezra watch TV).
They spoke about their respective businesses and the people they’d met, until it was obvious that Crowley wouldn’t be getting the train back to Tadfield that night.
“I’ve not brought anything with me though.” Crowley had lifted his arms. “Just what I’m standing in.”
“Didn’t want to seem presumptuous?”
“Didn’t want to jinx it more like.”
So Crowley had used Ezra’s toothbrush and slept in his boxers, passing out from emotional exhaustion and waking feeling fuzzy headed – but like a new person. Or perhaps, the same person in a new world. One where he and Ezra... his stomach fizzed with excitement and he had to breathe slowly to regain control of his limbs long enough to pull his clothes back on. Early days, Crowley. Don't start counting chickens yet.
Ezra finished with Maggie and found Crowley pushing his bare feet into his boots and his socks into the pocket of his jeans.
“Don’t you want tea before you head off?” he asked. They’d agreed Crowley would head back to Tadfield, pack a bag, and move into the flat for a few days.
“I’ll get coffee on the way.”
“But not from Nina’s.” Ezra tipped his head towards the front of the building as they walked down the stairs into the bookshop together. He’d told Crowley about his friends and neighbours the night before, and they felt a gradual (and supervised) introduction would be best.
“No, won’t go anywhere round here. Sooner I go sooner I can come back. I mean, if you still want.”
“Of course.”
Crowley hesitated at the bookshop door, then leant in and kissed Ezra on the forehead. “I’ll be back this afternoon then. I’ll just pack a few bits and sort the plants.”
“Mind how you go.” Ezra let Crowley out of the shop and locked up behind him, thunking his head on the doorframe and releasing a long breath.
Chapter 25: Well, you look like yourself, but you're somebody else
Summary:
Crowley and Ezra adapt to life together in Soho, Ezra is worried Crowley has changed himself too much to fit into what he believes Ezra wants. They go shopping for the first time together, and Crowley meets Nina. Ezra finally feels like he has his Crowley back.
Notes:
CW for smut towards the end, but M rated.
Chapter title from Somebody Else (Flora Cash)
Chapter Text
The next few days were a lot.
Crowley returned later that afternoon with a bag of clothes and a particularly needy plant under his arm, and more or less moved in. For Ezra it was wonderful, confusing, overwhelming.
On the bright side, there was no awkwardness in their new proximity. Periods of familiarity slipped in, when Crowley sat and watched him quietly, or when they pottered in the kitchen making food. There had always been an ease in their silences, a coordination in their movements around each other, a natural flow when the spoke borne of deep familiarity with how the other thought, that meant living in close quarters had never felt too much. It just felt as if it had always been thus.
But suddenly being an “us” after spending years adjusting to the hard reality of living alone required considerable mental adjustment for Ezra. Whether it was walking in on Crowley stepping out of the shower in a towel, or simply finding a black band T-shirt in the laundry, he would be surprised all over again that Crowley was suddenly back in his life and in his living space as if the last two years – and the 15 before that – hadn’t happened.
Crowley didn’t help matters by being slightly… off. He was startlingly frank in their conversations, clear-eyed about their history and his shortcomings. He was quiet and relaxed as he settled into the flat and Ezra caught him smiling to himself more than once.
But the Crowley Ezra had known and loved was spikey and brash and acerbic, and as bad at talking about feelings as he was good at showing them. It meant Ezra was fluent in the quirk of Crowley’s eyebrow. He could read the tension in Crowley’s shoulders as easily as an Austen. He could spot the twitch of a ring finger, even as Crowley’s hands hung loose at his sides, from across a room. But suddenly faced with a man who actually talked about thoughts and feelings – as if they were well adjusted grown-ups in a healthy relationship for goodness’ sake – was throwing him.
And although Crowley would take his hand as they sat together, curl up around his chest at night, kiss Ezra back when Ezra leant in – he didn’t bring up having sex once.
Ezra was torn, and wrong footed. On the one hand, he could for the first time see a life ahead of him where he could live and love openly, and Crowley would accept their relationship for what it was always meant to be. But he feared that to achieve it, Crowley had sacrificed that part of himself that made him him. He didn’t want Crowley to remake himself into a version he thought Ezra wanted.
He thought often of the new tattoo he’d seen on Crowley’s back the morning after he’d returned from Tadfield - their second morning waking together.
They’d talked in hushed whispers under the duvet until the early hours the night before, and had woken late. When Crowley had sat up and fisted his long hair onto his head and stretched, Ezra could plainly see a line of scrolling text running vertically down his spine, a new tattoo between the black wings.
“ὁ γὰρ ἀμεταμέλητος ἀνίατος” Ezra read the Greek haltingly. “Is that… Aristotle?”
“Yeah. You remember the Nicomachean Ethics from school don’t you?”
“I remember you sitting directly behind me and nudging my thigh with the toe of your boot.”
Crowley snorted. “Oh yeah. Well maybe you missed it then.” he reached a long arm over his shoulder and tapped the top of his spine. “A man without regrets cannot be cured.”
“Yes, yes I see now.” Ezra murmured, his eyes running the length of the words, which finished between the dimples at the bottom of Crowley’s back, just above the band of his low-slung boxer briefs.
Crowley looked sharply over his shoulder. “Whasswrong?”
There was no point ever saying “nothing” when Crowley asked like this. He always knew. So Ezra ran his finger down the text instead, making Crowley’s head flop forward and his posture soften. His skin was still warm from sleep, and he smelt so good, just like Ezra remembered – he was reassured that hadn’t changed, at least. Ezra leant forward and pressed a soft kiss below Crowley’s hairline, where the first Greek letter was etched in thick black.
“Are you trying to distract me, angel?” Crowley sighed, swaying back slightly.
“Is it working?”
“Temporarily.”
But Ezra didn’t intend to avoid the question, only needed a moment to gather his thoughts. He moved to sit directly behind Crowley, his legs bracketing the taller man’s. He slipped his arms around him, pulling his narrow torso back against his chest. Crowley immediately crossed his arms over Ezra’s, clasping them there.
“Is that how you feel?” Ezra had asked, his mouth against the top bump of Crowley’s spine once more. “That you need to be cured?”
Crowley didn’t answer right away. He stroked Ezra’s forearms where they were pressed under his ribs, and began slowly, each word sounding carefully weighed. “You know, Angel, that you’re it, for me? and if I can’t have you, then there’s no point to anything—” Ezra made a noise in protest but Crowley cut over him. “Please angel, let me say this. By some miracle, you didn’t tell me where to stick it for fifteen years. You let me get away with some awful shit. And then, when you left—” Crowley’s throat clicked and Ezra shut his eyes and rested his cheek against Crowley’s smooth, warm skin. “I can’t risk that happening again. I need to be someone you want to keep—”
“Crowley,” Ezra began plaintively.
“I know I know. But when you say you love me how I am… how I was… all I think is that I’ve gotten away with you not knowing what’s good for you all this time. I snapped you up when you were a kid and set your expectations way too low.”
Ezra couldn’t help laugh at that, and felt Crowley give a huff of laughter too.
“Maybe the tattoo is to remind me I want to be someone you deserve then? You’re gorgeous, and kind, and stupidly clever. I’m never going to be ideal boyfriend material, but I want to have something to offer at least.”
“I do hope you don’t think I can be won over by a cottage in the country and an artisan bakery.”
“No. But I thought I might start by not being a complete fucking arsehole.”
“Don’t strain yourself.”
“Fuck off.”
“Crowley?”
“Mmm?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, angel.”
Ezra had scribbled a hasty “Closed until further notice – family emergency” sign for the bookshop door that first morning, and by unspoken agreement the shop remained closed while the pair stayed holed up in Ezra’s flat, existing together.
It took almost a week to run out of essentials (milk, biscuits, wine). They shared a look as Crowley stood holding the door to the nearly empty fridge, knowing it was time to face the world together.
The street was mercifully quiet the morning they stepped out of the bookshop. It meant no one was there to witness the ridiculous spectacle as they negotiated how to walk together in public for the first time, moving down the pavement bickering and adjusting their gaits.
“We don’t have to hold hands if it feels odd, my dear… hmm no I don’t think arms works either…”
“No angel come back here, we can be closer. Brush shoulders n’everything.”
“Stop looking so shifty. No one knows us here, remember?”
“Wouldn’t give a shit if they did. We’re out and public far’s I’m concerned.”
“Then why do you look like you’re up to no good?”
“S’just how I look. I’m usually up to no good.”
The familiar, long-established rules of physical distance and no eye contact were gradually overcome by the time they made it to the Tesco Express, and as they circled the aisles with a shared basket, discussing what they would eat for dinner and lunch in the coming days, Ezra could see the corner of Crowley’s mouth twitch. Crowley was enjoying the public domesticity just as much as he was.
Crowley reached for Ezra’s hand on the walk back, entwining their fingers and each using their free hands to carry a bag of essentials.
Ezra supposed it was too much to hope for that they could enjoy this trivial yet momentous experience as a couple. A couple! Without interruption. But as they turned the corner of D’Arblay Street and the bookshop came into view, Ezra could see Nina hovering outside on the pavement.
“Oh lord.”
“What?” Crowley followed his gaze and stopped walking. “Who’s that?”
“Nina.”
“Maggie’s partner, coffee shop Nina?”
“The very same.”
“She’d going to hate me isn’t she.”
“Undoubtedly.”
Crowley slipped his hand from Ezra’s and Ezra felt a familiar ache. But Crowley simply pulled his sunglasses from where they were snagged on the neck of his top and popped them on his nose, before grabbing Ezra’s hand again and giving it a squeeze. “Well let’s get it over with then.”
Nina had her face pressed to the bookshop window as they approached her.
“Good morning Nina.” Ezra began brightly.
She turned and crossed her arms. “Alright Ezra,” her eyes looked over him assessingly, pausing at their joined hands, then raised her eyes to Crowley. “Thought I saw someone come out earlier.”
“Yes we, uh, needed some supplies.” He lifted his bag slightly.
“Hmm.” Nina was looking directly at Crowley now, her face thoroughly unimpressed.
“This is Crowley,” Ezra supplied, uselessly.
“Yeah. Maggie told me he was back.”
“And also right here,” Crowley smirked. “Nice to meet you.”
Nina lifted an eyebrow. “So how long are you down for?”
“Was sortof planning forever, actually.”
Apparently that was the wrong answer. Nina narrowed her eyes. “He was doing alright, you know?” She tipped her head at Ezra. “Moving on—”
In retrospect, Crowley letting out an incredulous snort of laughter probably wasn’t the best response. Ezra winced as Nina’s face morphed into outrage and she took a half step forward, hands balled at her sides. “Now you listen here you dickhead—”
“Oohh-kay!” Ezra moved in front of Crowley to intercept her. “Time for us to go. Nina, lovely to see you!” he tugged Crowley along to the bookshop door, unlocked it and shoved Crowley through it in front of him. “Give Maggie my love!” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll give her a ring later.”
He locked the door behind them and puffed out a long breath.
Crowley shut his eyes. Now he’d fucking done it. He’d only managed to not be a complete twat for barely a week. “I’m sorry.” He said to Ezra’s back as the man crossed the bookshop to the stairs. “Angel, I’m sorry. It just slipped out.” Ezra was taking the stairs two at a time and Crowley hustled to catch up.
“I wasn’t thinking.” He followed Ezra to the kitchen where the man was putting items in the fridge with sharp, hurried movements. “I’ll go and apologise. She’ll be in the coffee shop, right?”
“You’ll do no such thing.” Ezra snapped, taking Crowley’s bag from his loose fingers and rifling through it to remove more items and putting them in the fridge. Then he dumped the remaining packages on the side and finally turned to Crowley as he hovered in the doorway.
“I’m really, really sorry. It’s just—”
“She said I was moving on and it was funny.”
“Yes! I mean…” he put his hands over his face. “It’s not funny if you actually were, s’just—”
“It’s ludicrous to think I am?”
Crowley cringed in on himself. “Jesus fuck, I’m such an arse.”
When he was met with silence, he dared to open an eye and peak through his spread fingers. Ezra smirking at him, his arms crossed over his chest, was not what he was expecting to see. He lowered his hands slowly and frowned. “Why do you have your smug bastard face on?”
Ezra’s face broke into a more genuine smile and he moved towards Crowley. “I’m not angry, you dolt. It is ludicrous and it was funny, and Nina was talking out of her backside.”
“Um…”
But then Ezra put his hand to the back of Crowley’s head and pulled him into a kiss that had him grabbing the doorframe to stop his knees from giving way.
It blew the handful of chaste kisses they’d shared that week out of the water and all Crowley could do was hang on to Ezra’s shoulder as his tongue swept into his mouth.
“You’re an arsehole.” Ezra muttered against him.
“I know, I’m—”
“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.” He pushed Crowley by the hips into the corridor. “That’s who I fell in love with.”
“Angel?”
Ezra pulled him by the hand to the bedroom. “You said you weren’t thinking, with Nina. But I don’t want you to think. I don’t want you to be watching what you say all the time.”
Crowley opened his mouth, then closed it again. Ezra had unbuttoned his own shirt and shrugged it off, and had his hands on the waist of his trousers. “Are you going to help with your skivvies or make me do all the work?”
Crowley gave a startled laugh. “That’s my line.”
“Hmm. And now I know why you always found me standing watching you so annoying.”
“I loved it.”
Ezra’s hands stilled. Their eyes held. Then there was nothing but the urgent yanking off of clothes, and when they were naked Crowley practically climbed on the man, kissing him with two years – and 15 years – of suppressed longing before crowding him down onto the bed. He kissed and touched everywhere he could reach while Ezra grabbed fistfuls of his hair.
Crowley didn’t actually know where to start first as he looked down at Ezra, flushed beneath him. He wanted to kiss and touch and squeeze and pull and lick and bite, and couldn’t spread himself out to all the parts of Ezra’s face and body that caught his attention. Even as Ezra reached out to the side-table, Crowley followed, biting under his jaw and stroking along the outstretched arm.
“I’m not going to last.” Ezra managed to breathe between kisses to Crowley’s throat.
“Think I am?” he hissed back, snatching the bottle from Ezra’s hand and flicking the cap. “Want you inside me but s’been years. Not… sure I can wait to be ready.”
They clashed teeth as their mouths met again. They’d been snogging since they were teenagers – they’d never clashed teeth.
“Won’t do that now then.” Ezra agreed, and sat up, tipping Crowley into his lap and wrapping his arms around his back. “We can just—”
“Yeah ‘kay.” Crowley threw the bottle behind him and reached between them, sighing into Ezra’s mouth as he touched them both. It was a euphoric sense of relief as he brought them together.
Nothing had felt right for years – it had been so long he’d almost gotten used to everything being just not quite how it should be. Until suddenly everything snapped back into place. Everything was right with the world again, sitting in Ezra’s lap with his legs wrapped around his waist and one arm draped over those broad shoulders. Nothing ever felt like this, and he shivered with the perfect sensation of holding Ezra against him, stroking them together in a familiar pattern that he didn’t have to think about, feeling like Ezra was an extension of his own body with those strong forearms crossed around his back.
It very quickly became too good to focus on kissing Ezra’s mouth, so he ran his tongue and teeth along Ezra’s neck and over his ear. Ezra did the same, setting his nerve endings alight and managing to find all the spots that had a direct link to what was going on between his legs.
“I missed you my darling…” breathed against the shell of his ear.
“Every day. Been so lonely, angel.”
“I’ve loved you forever—”
“S’always been you angel… it’s never not been you.”
They came together and Crowley felt Ezra’s climax against him like it was his own. Then he was suspended in a state of bliss where time and place and everything just stopped. He let Ezra take his full weight and floated on a high he’d never known anywhere but in Ezra’s arms.
They slumped back on the pillows, once gravity and reality reasserted itself. Crowley straightened his legs to lay on top of Ezra as the man hugged him close, ignoring the mess trapped between them. Crowley didn’t want to stop even then, insensible and love drunk as he was, so he tried to carry on kissing Ezra’s face and nuzzling under his ear. But Ezra’s hands swept soothingly down his spine and over his ribs, and soon Crowley didn’t have the strength to keep his eyes open.
When Ezra opened his eyes next, the sun had shifted to his bedroom windows, letting him know it was mid-afternoon, and it was hot. He was sweaty and sticky, and Crowley was a dead-weight on top of him, his mouth smooshed against his neck and his breath cooling the perspiration gathering in the dip of Ezra’s throat.
He reluctantly lifted a hand and scratched at Crowley’s damp scalp. “Crowley, let’s take a shower. We slept through lunch.”
“Hmmf.”
“I know darling but we’re all sticky.”
“Fshhnnuuh.”
“That's an excellent idea. A shower means I can make a start on those birthday blowjobs I owe you.”
A long pause as Crowley’s sleepy brain came back online and processed the words. Ezra felt Crowley’s cock twitch where it was pressed to his hip and he smiled to himself.
“Less’go then.” Crowley slurred groggily against Ezra’s neck after another moment. “Shower… ffff… s’all stuck, urgh.”
They had lunch late enough to be early dinner – nothing more challenging than ham and cheese toasties standing in the kitchen in their pyjamas – before changing the sheets and cuddling up on the sofa.
Ezra finally – finally – felt like he had Crowley back.
His inappropriate and obnoxious response to Nina’s telling off was so on brand that Ezra could barely wait to get the man back in his flat so he could get his hands on him. That was the Crowley he knew and loved, and he couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he thought of a future of apologising to people for Crowley’s rudeness.
Of course, Crowley’s thoughts were drifting in the same direction – from where he was tucked under Ezra’s arm he said, “I am sorry I fucked up the first meeting with Nina. We probably should have eased her into getting to know me.”
“Hmm probably,” Ezra kissed the top of Crowley’s head, the freshly washed hair soft and dry and citrusy against his mouth. “But we’ve spent our whole lives worried about what other people think of us. I don’t want to care about it anymore.”
Crowley’s head lifted and Ezra leant back so he could meet his eyes. “What if they all hate me?”
“Who?”
“Maggie, and Nina, and wassisface, Tim Brown—”
Ezra snorted. “I couldn’t care less what Tim bloody Brown thinks of anything. And... if Maggie and Nina can’t accept us… then,” he gave a shrug. “There’s no me without you.”
Crowley put his head back on Ezra’s shoulder. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“And what about your friends in Tadfield? They may not like me.”
Crowley laughed and laced their hands together on Ezra’s lap. “Ok first, they obviously will. Everyone loves you, Ezra, you’re a bloody angel. And second, they aren’t my friends. They’re just people I know. A bit.”
“Oh? I thought you said they were nice.”
“They are. Lock’s a good kid. Ana and Newt are always friendly. And old Margy Potts is hilarious. But… hmm. I never… I’ve kept myself to myself, really.”
Ezra didn’t speak, sensing Crowley had more to say. He ran his hand lightly up and down the top of Crowley’s arm and waited. “I didn’t know what was going to happen when I came back here. So my life in Tadfield’s been sort of… temporary. Until I knew if you wanted it. Wanted me.”
“Oh Crowley.”
“S’fine.” He lifted his head and smacked a kiss on Ezra’s cheek. “You’re the only friend I want anyway.”
“That doesn’t sound particularly healthy.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. “Have you met me?”
Chapter 26: Bright as the morning, as soft as the rain
Summary:
Ezra feels ready to reopen the shop, and Crowley meets Maggie.
Chapter Text
Following their breakthrough in understanding, they spent another full day in bed (and shower, sofa and kitchen table) to become reacquainted with one another. After some cajoling, Ezra eventually submitted to a freckle-audit, and Crowley was pleased to confirm there had been no new arrivals in his absence. “You’ve bulked up a bit.” He said, running his hands across the muscles of Ezra’s bare shoulders appreciatively as he knelt behind him on the bed.
“So’ve you.” Ezra turned his head and Crowley duly dropped a kiss on his mouth.
“I didn’t start with much.”
“No. But you look good. Healthier. Sometimes you’ve been so…” Ezra’s throat clicked, “fragile.”
Crowley frowned and looped his arms around Ezra’s chest, resting his chin on his shoulder. “M’sorry.”
“What for?”
“For not looking after myself. Worrying you.”
Ezra squeezed one of Crowley’s forearms. “I just wanted you to be ok.”
“I know. I was a wreck when I turned up here the first time.”
“I very nearly caved then. Just to look after you.”
Crowley cleared his throat. “I’m glad you didn’t. I wasn’t ready.”
Ezra squeezed his arm again and stayed quiet, sensing Crowley had more to say. Eventually, “You’ve always been reaching down trying to pull me up. I didn’t listen to you and I got expelled. Didn’t listen to you and I got put away. I needed to learn the lesson on my own.”
“And have you?” Ezra turned his head once more to look at the man draped over his back.
“Yes.” Crowley said firmly, holding Ezra’s gaze. “I wouldn’t be here like this if I hadn’t.”
Ezra felt ready to face the world the following day.
He opened the shop and caught up with email orders. Crowley spread himself out on the sofa and watched Ezra from behind his sunglasses, listening to him interact with people who came into the shop. Some of them must have been regulars, as they asked after Ezra and he assured them the “family emergency” that closed the shop for the first time since it had opened nearly three years earlier was all resolved.
It was glorious – the sofa was comfortable, the bookshop was quiet and warm and smelt like Ezra, and Crowley could watch his fill as Ezra flitted around him. No one gave him a second glance. He texted some instructions to Warlock, napped for a bit, and woke to a cup of coffee pressed into his hand and a kiss to his head. Yes, Crowley decided, he could happily do this every day.
Things were going swimmingly until a blond woman came through the door later in the afternoon. Ezra was at the back of the shop on the phone to a book auction, and had left Crowley with instructions to come and get him if anyone wanted to buy anything. But so far there had only been a few browsers. This woman, however, did not look like a browser. Her eyes scanned the space, caught on him, and she made a beeline over. Crowley frowned and slid into a more seated position.
“You must be Crowley.” She said, gazing at him like the devil incarnate.
Ah. “Yeahhhh…and you must be Maggie. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Hmm. And I you.” She rose an eyebrow and crossed her arms.
Crowley pulled himself to his feet and cleared his throat. God being a responsible adult was such a pain. “I just want to say.” He puffed out his cheeks. Fuckit. “I was a bit of a dick with Nina the other day. Sssorry about that. I blurt out stupid shit sometimes but I didn’t mean any offense.”
The eyebrow didn’t move so he ploughed on. “And.. err.. seeing as I’m getting it all out there, I uhh….I also wanted to say… I’m glad Ezra had you. When I fucked up. Thankyou. For looking after him.”
That made Maggies eyebrows lift to her hairline. “Oh.. uh… yes.” she gathered herself quickly and tried to look stern again, though her stern-face was about as threatening as Ezra’s. “He’s been hurt.”
“Yeah. I know. Spent the last two years trying to make it right.” Crowley rubbed the back of his neck. “Doing it now.”
“I won’t pretend to understand… this…” Maggie circled her hand vaguely around him. “This thing between you.”
“S’alright. We don’t either half the time.” Crowley fought a smirk. After the Nina disaster, smirking was probably not on. “It just… works. Can’t explain it.”
“Oh don’t you start.” Maggie huffed, breaking character and rolling her eyes. Crowley couldn’t help a startled laugh. “Ezra said it was ineffable on the phone the other night.”
“Yeah… sounds like something he’d say.”
Maggie suddenly looked very earnest, and anxious. “You won’t hurt him again?”
Crowley sobered. Clearly this woman cared for Ezra and was desperate for reassurance, even while trying not to interfere. “No. This is it. I’ve learnt my lesson and I’m done fucking about. I’ll get a ring on him as soon as I think he’ll say yes.”
He hadn’t planned on saying that last bit. It was true, of course, but he’d never been one for oversharing, particularly with complete strangers.
Maggie clapped her hands to her mouth and gave a muffled squeal, bobbing on her knees in excitement. Crowley recoiled slightly. Yeesh. No wonder she and Ezra got on.
“He’s on some phone auction thing.” Crowley said then, gesturing with his thumb behind him and hoping she’d take the hint. “Don’t know how long he’ll be.”
“Oh! Oh yes, I’ll leave you to it then.” She beamed, and bobbed again. “And uh,” she tapped her nose and gave an exaggerated wink. “Mum’s the word.”
“Riighhht.”
“It was good to finally meet you. Glad you and Ezra have finally…” she wiggled her fingers. “Maybe we can go for a drink at the pub, the four of us. You’ll need to suck up to Nina a bit before she forgives you.”
“Oh, yeah. Can do.”
He waited until she was out of the door before he curled his lip in bafflement and flopped back onto the sofa.
Not five minutes later Ezra came from the back room. “Was that Maggie I heard?”
“Yup.”
“Oh lord. I knew I should have locked the door when I went on the auction. What did you say?”
Crowley reached up and snagged Ezra’s hand where he stood hovering next to the sofa, then kissed the back of it before tugging him down. “Did you win the book you wanted?”
“The Tolkien? Oh, yes, yes I did.” He gave a pleased wiggle as he sat down. “Well?”
“Well what? She was all set on being annoyed with me, but I won her over.”
“How?” Ezra looked sceptical.
“Would you believe me if I said my natural charm?” he didn’t even wait for an answer. “Anyway, she invited us to the pub.”
“Really? You must have quite the impression. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Crowley rested his head on Ezra’s shoulder. “I can be pleasant if i’m properly motivated. And after the Nina fuck up I didn’t want another lesbian shop-keeper ready to swing for me.”
“Maggie?” Ezra chuckled. “She’s more likley to hug you to death.”
“Yeah I got that. She reminds me of you a bit. All blonde and smily, and about as threatening as a cream puff.”
“That’s not altogether flattering.”
“Well actually, I have quite a sweet tooth.”
“Oh really? I’m sure I recall you declaring quite loudly that I was far too sweet for you.”
“The lady doth protest too much, and all that.”
“Quoting Hamlet at me? You really are laying on the charm today.”
“Is it having the desired effect?” Crowley showed too many teeth as he slid his hand up the inside of Ezra’s thigh, then startled as the blasted bell jangled over the door.
“We’re closed!” He yelled over his shoulder.
“No we’re not!” Ezra corrected, giving Crowley a look as got up, tugged on his waist coat and resumed his post behind the till.
“We should be.” Crowley muttered to his retreating back as he swung his legs back up onto the sofa and popped his sunglasses back on.
And that was how Ezra found, as he locked up that afternoon, a new note on the bookshop door with amended opening hours.
Ezra ran his eyes over the spikey black writing, trying to make sense of it. “—For Sundays, see Tuesdays.. Crowley, what on earth...”
The new note stayed up.
Chapter 27: All I ever knew, only you
Summary:
Ezra and Crowley go to the pub to smooth things over with Nina and Maggie.
Title lyric by Alison Moyet (Yazoo)
Chapter Text
Ezra and Maggie arranged for a drink in the pub later that week. Ezra had been keeping regular(ish) opening hours at the shop: barring some lazy mornings in bed, early finishes to head to the park, and one or two impromptu mid-day closures where Crowley had noted the shop was empty, locked the door and pulled Ezra into a hidden spot between the stacks. It had felt slightly nostalgic of their snatched moments at school.
Today was another early closure, as he and Crowley made their way across the street to the Dirty Donkey.
“We’ve never been to the pub.” Crowley said as they approached the door. “What do you drink at the pub?”
“Of course we haven’t. We’ve never been anywhere in public. Actually, the last time we were in a pub at the same time I nearly got set upon.” He interrupted his musing and put a hand to Crowley’s chest. “The wine here is hit and miss. I’ll play safe with a sherry.” Crowley screwed up his face in disgust but dutifully headed to the bar while Ezra wove through the tables. No Maggie or Nina yet, so he picked a spot for the four of them and took a seat.
After a few minutes’ peace, Tim Brown appeared and sat down.
“Oh, er—” Ezra turned to look at the bar.
“It’s wonderful to see you out and about Ezra.” Brown interrupted, grinning. “You hardly ever come to the pub. Might I hope this is the start of you socialising again after your difficult—??"
“Helloooo.” Ezra heard Crowley’s voice come from above him, and an arm crossed in front of his face to place a glass on the table. “I’m Crowley. His difficult.”
Ezra rolled his eyes and glanced up to see Crowley looming, his eyes locked on Brown, grinning in a way that could only be described as predatory.
“Oh, well, I wasn’t aware—” Brown straightened his cuffs.
“Have a good evening.” Ezra said breezily, giving Brown an out that he immediately took. He rose from the table, muttered “you too”, and disappeared to the other side of the bar. Crowley slid into his seat and placed a tumbler of whiskey down.
“You’re showing too many teeth dear.” Ezra muttered as he took a sip of his sherry, and Crowley grinned even wider. “Must you?”
“What?”
“Next time you could just piss on me, it might be more subtle.”
Crowley raised his eyebrows in faux surprise. “I thought I knew all your kinks angel, but you know, if there’s something you wanted to try…”
Ezra looked at him with narrow eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed , and Crowley’s smile softened into something less shark-like. His hand slid across the table to take Ezra’s – but they both startled backwards when a jolly “Hello!” rang out from above them. Ezra looked up to see a beaming Maggie and a scowling Nina. Wonderful.
“Well that went rather well I think.” Ezra looped his arm in Crowley’s and led them, weaving slightly, back across Whickber street.
“Hmm though it took a wee bit more whiskey than I’d expected fuh Nina to loosen up.”
“It definitely worked though. As she left she put her arm over my shoulder and said you’re a dark horse, Mr Teachdaire. You don’t look like you’re into bad boys.”
Crowley hooted beside him as they reached the door of the bookshop. “I bet ye told her I was nice, really.” Crowley did a passable impression of Ezra’s RP even when drunk.
“I absolutely did not. Think I said something like ‘you’ve no idea’.”
“Ha! A’ wondered wass’she was sayin tae make ye go all pink.”
“Think thass probably all the sherry.” Ezra fumbled with his keys and Crowley slumped on the pillar beside him, looking up at the faint twinkle of starlight over the London glow.
“Aye, I’ve nae been this pissed n’ages.”
“Yes, you’re Scottish is showing. Here we go! Oof. Lock the door behind you.”
“Eh, remember that time I was so pissed I turned up a’ your da’s house and threw rocks at your window to wake y’up? … Bloody hell angel these ss-stairs are dangerous when yur seein’ double.”
Once they were in the flat, Ezra tugged a wobbly, loose-limbed Crowley to the bedroom and sat him on the edge of the bed to work his boots off.
“You’ve the luck of the devil, honestly.” Ezra tutted fondly. “If Gabriel’s bedroom wasn’t at the back of the house and my parents hadn’t been in Prague...”
Crowley chuckled and flopped back on the mattress to allow Ezra to unzip his fly and shimmy his jeans over his hips. “Aye we’ve had a few near misses o’er the years. ‘specially when I’m drunk and horny.”
“Yes, you’re a menace. I’m not sure if you expected me to come down and give you a seeing to in my father’s ornamental ferns… ok sit up again darling.”
Crowley sat up, laughing, and lifted his arms obediently as Ezra worked his top over his head.
“Hey did’ye come out to him? I never asked.”
“Yes I did, actually, about six months ago. We have a Teams call once a month.”
Ezra gently pulled Crowley’s hair back into a low ponytail with a band he kept on his wrist for the purpose.
“How corporate.”
“You’ve met Enoch haven’t you?” Ezra stood and pulled off his clothes, too tipsy himself to hunt down his pyjamas. He pulled back the duvet and Crowley dived in, lifting his arms and wiggling his fingers at Ezra.
“So did’ye have it as an agenda item or did it come up in AOB?”
“Oh hush. I decided it was time.” Ezra slid into bed and “oofed” quietly as Crowley pulled them together and wrapped long arms and legs around him. “He enquired about ‘romantic engagements’.”
“Huh. How’d he take it?”
“We discussed it for a while, and then he asked me if I was sure.” Ezra heard a muffled snort against his chest. “I told him I was quite sure. Then the conversation moved on to the German equities market.”
“Look at you, proper Teachdaire.” Crowley giggled against him and Ezra stroked his hair. A moment later Crowley’s hands slipped down to cup Ezra’s arse.
“I’m surprised you restrained yourself for so long.” Ezra muttered. “You’ve always been like a handsy octopus when you’re tipsy.”
“I’ve been fightin’ it, to be honest with ya.”
“Don’t hold back on my account.”
“Fancy a romantic engagement then?” Crowley pushed Ezra onto his back, wiggled his eyebrows and grinned down at him, all teeth and intent.
Ezra fought to keep a straight face. “Only if you never call it that again.”
“Fair n’uff. Wanna rail me into the mattress?”
They didn’t pass out on a wave of alcohol and endorphins immediately after their “romantic engagement”– something that surprised them both – so in the narrow window of consciousness they took the opportunity to clean up and down glasses of water to ward off the inevitable hangover, before climbing back into bed. They cuddled up, and Crowley rested his head on Ezra’s chest and yawned noisily. Ezra expected the next thing he’d hear would be Crowley’s even breathing, but then the man mumbled into his skin:
“I don’t think I’m actually gay, y’know.”
“What on earth are you on about now?” Ezra rest his arm over Crowley’s shoulders and prepared himself for one of their drunken nonsense conversations. He’d missed them, honestly. He still fondly recalled Crowley’s vodka-soaked treatise on Whales and Dolphins, years earlier.
“I just mean, I’m not attracted to men. As such.”
“Are you attracted to women?”
“No.”
“And you’ve never slept with a woman.”
“You know I haven’t angel. V’ only ever slept with you.”
“I know this may come as a shock, darling, but I’m a man.”
“Shuddup. What I mean is, I only fancy you. Not men or women. And I’d fancy you if you were a woman. Or…” he lifted an arm and waved it at the ceiling, “an angel.”
“Or an aardvark?”
“Why do you always bring up aardvarks?”
“It’s a nice word to say. And it starts with two As! Aaaaaaardvark.”
“You’re ridiculous. Anyway I’m going to call myself ezrasexual. My pride flag will be tartan.”
“And I’m the ridiculous one.”
They lapsed into silence, Ezra let his eyes close and mind drift. He was startled awake with:
“’An’you? Are you Crow-sexual?”
“Is this you trying to find out if I went on a date with Tim Brown?”
Crowley snorted. “No. I’d know.”
“Would you?”
“Aye, can read you like a book, wee Teachdaire. Just… a’ve never fancied anyone but you. Wonder if you had, s’all. S’not a conversation we’ve ever had.”
Ezra closed his eyes. He was feeling drunk and drowsy and was ready to pass out, but he fought it as he picked his words carefully. “When we were children, I thought you were wonderful. Brilliant.” He stroked Crowley’s back. “When the hormones kicked in, I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Then you kissed me, and I realised I was gay. I didn’t really... get it until then.”
Crowley was quiet, but not asleep. Ezra could tell he was digesting the sudden serious turn of the conversation.
“I’ve never thought about anyone else that way. There’s never been room in my head, to be honest. It would never occur to me to….” let his hand stroke down the length of Crowley’s spine again, “Not like I am with you.” Crowley didn’t reply. “Are you ok?”
“Yeah.”
“Shall we sleep now?”
“Yeah. Love you angel.”
“Love you too my darling.”
Chapter 28: I've had dreams of you in places I've not seen before
Summary:
Ezra visits Tadfield and stays at Crowley's cottage. It's a lot.
Title Lyrics from Nathaniel Ratecliff (You Worry Me)
Chapter Text
Ezra stepped off the train at Tadfield Station exactly one week later.
The morning after their drunken escapade in the Dirty Donkey, Crowley had brought Ezra tea, toast and paracetamol and cossetted him as if he didn’t feel just as haggard from the bottle of whiskey he’d shared with Nina.
Ezra had sat in bed, pillows plumped, and ate toast prepared exactly how he liked it, and thought about Crowley’s drunken declaration that he would want Ezra in any configuration.
He thought about how Crowley had been obnoxious (of course), but not the slightest bit jealous to see Tim Brown (a man he knew had asked Ezra on a date some months before) sitting with Ezra at the pub. He thought about how he’d laughed at Nina for suggesting Ezra would move on.
Crowley knew he was the only one for Ezra, and Ezra was the only one for him. It would always be that way, whether they were together or not.
Was there any point in stalling? They had their whole lives to get on with after all.
As if summoned by these thoughts, Crowley came back into the bedroom and crawled onto the bed, putting Ezra’s empty plate on the side table before laying with his head in Ezra’s lap. Ezra stroked Crowley’s hair back from his face and Crowley hugged his legs.
“I think I’d like to see Tadfield.” He’d said.
Crowley sat up fast enough for Ezra to flinch back to protect his nose.
“Really?”
“Yes. Assuming you’d still like to—"
Crowley had kissed him, hard. “Shuddup.”
“Well then.”
As Ezra strolled down Tadfield high street from the station, hands clasped behind his back (Crowley had slapped his hand away when he tried to carry his own bag), he looked at the small independent shops, the church, the village green. It was peaceful and idyllic - exactly the sort of place Ezra would pick for himself, in fact.
That same thought occurred to him often, that day.
As they turned down a lane lined with hedgerows and oak trees to the sound of distant tractors and birdsong.
As they approached the most picturesque cottage Ezra had ever seen, the front gate swinging open into a neat garden with fat bees bouncing across the lavender bushes.
As Crowley opened the door, the fumble of the key betraying his anxiety, into a hallway that was clearly laid out and decorated with Ezra in mind.
“Here y’go.” Crowley stepped in behind him, dropping Ezra’s bag and shutting the wide wooden front door. “Want a tour?”
Ezra nodded, looking around the space, spotting a kitchen through the door to the right. Crowley led him here first. “Kitchen dining thing.” He waved a hand. “I had new appliances put in but left everything original.” He gestured to a scrubbed wooden table in the corner. “I eat there.”
Ezra cast his eyes over the space. It was large, but cosy. There were cookbooks on a shelf over the table, vintage pans and utensils hanging on walls by the hob. His eyes paused at the vase of azaleas on the table. Crowley must have been following his gaze and rubbed the back of his neck. “I told Lock where the spare key was and got him to put some stuff in the fridge. And.. y’know. Thought it’d be nice.”
Ezra simply nodded, and Crowley turned and led them back across the hall. “Bathroom’s behind the stairs.” He gestured tightly with a flick of a finger. As awed as Ezra was by his surroundings, he still noted Crowley was like a coiled spring at his side. He opened the door to the left of the hall.
“This is nice in the winter.” Crowley said as he stepped into the living room, nodding at the large open fireplace. Ezra took in the squashy looking armchair placed on one side, complete with side-table and lamp. It was clearly set up for reading. He noted the tartan blanket folded over the arm of the sofa on the other side of the hearth. His tartan. He saw the television on the wall and a vintage gramophone in the corner. A drinks cabinet, surfaces dusted and standing ready for framed photographs and nick naks.
“And uh, there’s this.” Crowley was bouncing on his toes now, and led them to the end of the room at the back of the house, where a large bay window complete with padded bench seat (and tartan throw cushions) overlooked a garden. Ezra stopped to look out at the lawn, dominated by an apple tree. This was no manicured country cottage garden with a prim, neatly-staked tea roses. This place was stuffed full of life, its own Eden: hedges heavy with blooms encroaching from the borders onto the daisy-dotted lawn, alive with pale yellow butterflies and bees. Lupins in bawdy colours shot up between fuchsia and dahlia, everything was vying for space.
“I’ll take you out there later.” Crowley muttered. “It’s gotten a bit out of hand, I’ve not been here to keep it in line.”
Ezra opened his mouth, unsure how to articulate everything he felt, and Crowley spoke instead.
“This is what I actually wanted to show you.” He murmured, his hand fluttering at Ezra’s elbow. He opened a door leading off of the living room, at the back of the house. A sloping ceiling told Ezra they were behind the staircase now, but as he turned into the room he froze and let his eyes gather what was before him. It was a library – or rather it would be. The floor to ceiling bookshelves on three walls were empty. On the fourth wall, a wide window with doors onto the garden. The room was clearly unused, but it held a desk, two armchairs with blankets and side tables, and a small set of steps. It smelled of new wood and furniture polish.
Crowley walked across the round rug in the middle of the wooden floor and unlocked the French doors, pushing them open to air the room. He took a deep breath, but it did nothing to ease the tension Ezra could see in his shoulders. He turned back into the room.
“Well? What do you think?”
Ezra opened his mouth again, tried for a word, any word, before bursting into tears.
“Well? What do you think?” Crowley had gone for casual inquiry but probably missed by a mile.
His stomach had been in knots and his palms sweaty before the train had even pulled into Tadfield. He tried to tell himself as they strolled through the high street that it didn’t matter if Ezra didn’t like the place. He’d simply up and move – to Soho, or anywhere else Ezra fancied. Yes, Crowley had worked hard to establish his business in the surrounding area, supplying landscaping companies and florists and the like, but who cared? He’d start again anywhere, sell the cottage and all the contents and follow Ezra around the country with nothing but a toothbrush, if that’s what it took.
But still… Crowley wanted Ezra to like it. He wanted him to like the village and the cottage, because Crowley had chosen them for him, and he wanted to be proven right in his choices. He wanted proof that he still knew Ezra better than anyone.
So when he swung the door open to the cottage, his heart was in his throat, thudding unsteadily. Seeing it through Ezra’s eyes for the first time made him cringe – everything was so him, from the tartan blankets to the vintage Persian rugs, from the enamel cookware to the tiffany lamps. Crowley had gone too far – too much, too fast. Christ the man hadn’t even seen the upstairs yet, that was another shit show.
His fears were confirmed as Ezra had silently looked around every room, nodding distractedly as Crowley gestured at things like a fucking estate agent, before crying right in the middle of the library Crowley had bloody built from scratch, just for him.
Crowley had bought the cottage for this room alone – it had been sort of a office/den thing before. But he had walked in and looked at the natural light and the French doors, and had had a vision of Ezra reading a book, looking up occasionally as Crowley worked in the garden. It was an echo of the secret dreams he’d guarded in his heart as a boy, of the two of them living in harmony together, and he’d been left breathless.
It was the first bit of renovation work he’d done when he moved in, even before replacing the crap 70s radiators. He’d kept the chill away that first winter by varnishing shelves and sanding floorboards.
They were the same boards he now stood on, watching the man he loved cry at the ridiculous shrine he’d created for him in the middle of an unassuming English village.
He always felt like someone had kicked him in the balls when Ezra cried. Sort of sick, and short of breath, and hollowed out, a lurching in the pit of his stomach that made him want to bend at the waist, clasp his knees and gasp.
It was always worse when he’d been the one to cause it (and it usually was). But at least this time he didn’t have to hold himself back – he put his arms around Ezra’s back and rested his forehead on the man’s shoulder, whispering apologies.
“No no, I’m sorry.” Ezra snuffled by his ear. “I know you hate it when I—.”
“Jesus fuck angel you cry any time you like. You know I’ll deserve it.” He lifted his head and rested his cheek against Ezra’s temple, looking at the shelves around them. “S’too much, isn’t it? I did it a bit at a time and didn’t notice. But now…” He trailed off, shook his head at himself.
“It’s a lot.” Ezra conceded, resting his hands on Crowley’s hips. “But not too much. Not in the way you mean at least.”
“No?” Crowley’s heart leapt.
“It’s just.. I can’t believe you’ve been doing all…. this. For the past two years. Just round the corner from me.”
“Well I needed something to keep me busy while I pined away.”
“Oh hush.” He sniffed and wiped his eyes.
Crowley leant back, held Ezra by the shoulders and levelled him with a serious expression. “Do you like it?”
“Oh Crowley,” Ezra’s eyes were still full of tears, and looked to Crowley like sunshine reflecting on the ocean. “I love it. How could I not?”
Ezra climbed into Crowley’s bed that night still feeling like he’d walked into an alternate reality. He couldn’t fathom how this cottage had been standing empty for years, waiting for him. Barely an hour from the bookshop.
Crowley had hovered beside him all day. He squirmed at the three framed Hamlet theatre programmes on the staircase, blushed at the tea selection.
He winced when Ezra had found “his” mug in the kitchen cupboard (white with angel wings, never used), “his” empty side of the wardrobe, “his” ivory bathrobe hanging behind the bathroom door next to a black one after he’d use the shower, where he’d found his favourite shampoo.
Now Ezra got into his side of the bed, nearest the window, where an armchair, blanket, side-table and lamp stood. All lined up, waiting for him to read his book on those nights when he would wake and be unable to settle again. He thought of Crowley going to sleep here every night for months and months, looking across the empty space where Ezra was supposed to sleep, to the chair where Ezra was supposed to sit. Not knowing if he ever would.
Crowley had been living with his ghost all this time.
Ezra felt the mattress dip behind him. He pulled his eyes from the chair to watch Crowley slip under the duvet, wearing loose cotton sleep pants.
“Hello.” Crowley propped himself on his elbow and studied Ezra’s face. “How freaked out are you now on a scale of 1 to restraining order?”
“Weeelllll…” Ezra sucked his breath through his teeth and Crowley let out a laugh.
“Thank Christ you’re good at ignoring red flags.”
“You sound like Maggie.” Ezra's eyes moved around the room. “I can’t believe you’ve been living here like this.”
Crowley’s eyebrows pulled into a V. “Like what?”
“With… me, everywhere.”
“Oh.” Crowley’s expression cleared with understanding and he flopped onto his back. “Yeah, that.”
Ezra watched Crowley’s Adam’s apple move as he swallowed and studied the ceiling for a long while.
“You know… I’ve not got much of… us. Not many photos, a couple of theatre programmes. Fuck all for fifteen years, really. Should’ve had a lifetime of stuff.”
“So this was the next best thing?”
“I needed something. Some reminder of why I was carrying on.”
Ezra rested his head on Crowley’s chest and curled his arm over his ribs. Crowley’s arm came up around his shoulder, while the other reached across and clicked off the bedside lamp.
“I think things are making more sense now.” Ezra murmured into the darkness, gently lit by a few strips of moonlight escaping the edges of the shutters.
“How’s that?”
“The way you think about us. The way you can talk about it now. I thought you’d gone to therapy or something,” (Crowley snorted at this), “but seeing this place, I realise you’ve been… processing.”
“Not much else to do but think, angel.” Crowley ran his fingers through Ezra’s curls. “Think of you. These few years’ve been…. What’s the word? Formative. Nearly drank myself to death first. Then when you told me to let you go—”
“You decided to fight back?” Ezra suggested dryly.
“Well I’ve always been a contrarian bastard.”
“That you have.”
“Angel?”
“Hmm?”
“I really, really want to christen this bed.”
Ezra pushed himself up on his elbow and looked down at Crowley. His hair, like flames spreading across the pillow, his smile sharp and wicked, eyes gleaming in the dark. He looked sinister, and Ezra’s heart swelled. Still, he let his mouth form a cheeky smirk. “I’m not sure you deserve it. I’ve been here all day and I’ve barely had a kiss. I even showered alone.”
Crowley’s mouth dropped open in outrage. “I’ve been too nervous!”
Ezra feigned a look of concern, “Oh, I see, performance anxiety?”
“You bastard!” Crowley gasped as Ezra sniggered. He sat up and pushed Ezra back. “I’ll show you performance anxiety. I was going for all gentle and romantic for our first night here, but I guess I’ll just fuck you six ways from Sunday.”
“I should be so lucky.”
“Right that’s it.” Crowley dived under the duvet and Ezra burst into giggles as he felt his pyjamas being unceremoniously pulled off and strong arms shunt him onto his front. The giggles stopped abruptly, replaced by a squeak when he felt a slap to his backside. “Arse up, pretty boy.”
Crowley did get his gentle, romantic time with Ezra the next morning. He had imagined it many times while laying alone, looking at the empty space in the bed beside him, waiting for sleep. So when he woke to the sight of white curls in the morning light, fairly glowing against the dark pillow, he stared for a long time, allowing his brain to adjust to this new reality. He’s here. It’s real. You’re not dreaming it anymore.
Then he slid across and kissed all over Ezra’s face until he woke. Ezra began kissing him back before he’d even opened his eyes, his hands running blindly up Crowley’s ribs to hold him still, and Crowley swung his leg over Ezra’s hips. The morning was spent in sighs and whispers and touches so gentle Crowley felt he might cry from it.
What followed was day upon day of absolute bliss. Crowley thought he would never be happier than living with Ezra above the bookshop in Soho, but being in the cottage – a place he’d designed to suit them both, with outside space and peace and privacy – outshone all of the dreams he’d secretly nurtured since boyhood.
After a few days (bless Warlock for filling the fridge according to Crowley’s specifications, plus a variety of surprisingly accurately curated extras), they ventured into the village, a less fraught affair than their first public trip to Soho Tesco Express. Ezra immediately took Crowley’s hand as they sauntered out onto the lane, Crowley leaning into his shoulder as they walked, and they spent the short trip on foot looking out for curious robins in the hedgerows.
It was all going so well - Crowley feeling a bubble of excitement as Ezra exclaimed over the quaint shops and the village green, surrounded by apple trees. Then they reached Crowley’s ace-card – the bakery where fresh cream cakes and scones sat piled on mis-matched plates in the bay window. Ezra gave an excited wiggle and Crowley opened the door for him, pressing his lips together to keep his smug grin in check.
And that’s when Anathema walked out with a cake box.
Ah bollocks. He wasn’t even wearing his sunglasses. He never wore them when he was around Ezra, wanting the angel to see his eyes.
“Good morning Crowley.” Anathema said, her gaze fixed on Ezra. “Haven’t seen you in ages. And who’s this?”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “Anathema this is Ezra. Ezra, my neighbour Anathema.”
Anathema looked down at their joined hands, then looked deeply into Crowley’s eyes. He squirmed and she grinned.
“It all makes sense now.” She breathed, sounding awed. “Congratulations, Crowley.”
Crowley curled his lip, he had no patience for all her woo woo nonsense. Ezra looked perplexed but returned her smile as she suddenly looked back at him intensely.
“I’m so glad to finally meet you.” She said earnestly, taking his free hand with both of hers. “I know you’ll be very happy here.”
“Oh, umm…” Ezra looked to Crowley but Crowley just shrugged helplessly.
“Come over for dinner, when you’re settled. Crowley knows where we are.” She grinned again and swept out of the door as Crowley still held it open.
“Well that was a thing.” He ushered Ezra in front of him into the sweet-smelling shop.
“Did you tell her about me?”
“No of course not! You’re the only person I talk to about anything more important than the weather.”
“So why was she…?”
“I have no idea. Told you she’s witchy though. Does auras and tarot cards and all that shit.”
“How odd.”
“Yup. Pretty harmless though. Now, am I ordering the apple turnover so you can “share” it? Cause there’s no way we’re getting out of here without a slice of that Battenberg.”
Ezra seemed to bloom in Tadfield. He pottered around the cottage as if he’d always lived there, breathing light and life into a place that had stood empty and silent for years. He sat eating peaches in the garden among the hollyhocks. Made use of all the reading nooks, depending on the best light at that time of day. He left teacups in every room. Crowley’s heart felt too full with every wrinkled cushion and biscuit crumb. He loved that his angel was content and well cared for, even as he realised, in comparison, he had barely made his mark on the place. He hadn’t lived in the space he’d created – he’d just been a ghost passing through, using the bed and the shower.
That was changing now though, as Crowley was finally living as he’d imagined. It was here that they had a bath together for the first time, had their first movie night with blankets on the sofa, and took their first nap together, under the apple tree in the garden. He was so happy he felt a fizzing lightness from the moment he woke to the moment he went to sleep, wrapped in Ezra’s arms.
One morning, about a week into Ezra’s stay, he’d left the angel finishing his tea and brioche in the kitchen, and had popped out to the garden to pin up an unruly clematis that was making its way along the back fence. He was finishing up, collecting his tools, and happened to look back at the house. Ezra had relocated to his chair in the library, by the open French doors, and he was fairly shining in the morning sun. He had a book on his lap, but he was looking out at Crowley now, and he smiled and scrunched his nose as their eyes met.
Crowley had imagined this – just this – a thousand times this, since he was a boy. Before he had ever kissed Ezra. Before he knew he wanted to kiss Ezra. And it was real. His dream, quite literally, come to life.
Crowley felt the breath knocked from him. How had this happened? He was quite sure he’d done nothing in his life to deserve it. He’d somehow stumbled into Heaven – and had been in Hell long enough to know he had to do everything he could to stay put.
He shifted a little on his feet, tempted to fall to his knees in the grass and ask Ezra to marry him right there. But the ring was hidden in his bedroom, and he was standing right by the back fence. He wasn’t going to propose by yelling across the garden.
Lost in the moment, it took Crowley a moment to realise that Ezra – even at a distance – must have read something in Crowley’s face. He had risen from his chair and was striding across the lawn towards him, his own expression doing something complicated. Crowley’s feet moved forward automatically, and they met in the shade of the apple tree.
Chapter 29: Epilogue
Summary:
We're still in the cottage garden in Tadfield, but 10 years later....
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
If you’d asked Mr and Mr Teachdaire how they ended up hosting one of the most anticipated social occasions in Tadfield every year, they would be able to tell you exactly.
They would tell you they had decided to have a garden party to celebrate their engagement, and it had been such a success that they decided to hold one every year, and things had... escalated. The small number of people Ezra had insisted on inviting that first year (who Crowley only grudgingly started to call friends a few years later) swelled to include almost everyone worth knowing in the village (plus visitors from London and the US).
Now, ten years on, the third weekend in July was scribbled into calendars and diaries when they were first cracked open in January. It would be a gloriously sunny afternoon with iced cocktails, live music and lawn games for the chidlren that was a beacon in the dark days after Christmas.
If you’d asked Mr and Mr Teachdaire how they’d gotten engaged, however, only Ezra Teachdaire would offer to tell you, his eyes sparkling with emotion and a hand pressed to his chest. His husband (never far away) would blush as red as his hair and grumble around his pimms glass.
Ezra would tell you they had been childhood sweethearts, but a seemingly insurmountable social divide kept them apart for nearly 20 years. He would tell you that, unknown to Ezra, Crowley had bought a ring at age 17, with his first paycheck at the factory Ezra’s father had subsequently bought up and closed down. He had kept the ring even when he sold everything else he owned to follow Ezra down south, to build a new life for them in Tadfield.
And if you weren’t already filling up by Ezra’s breathless retelling of this tale of star-crossed lovers, hearing about the proposal would finish you off.
They had been right here, in the shade of this apple tree, he’d say. It was Ezra’s first visit to Tadfield, and he’d been reading in the library while Crowley had been tidying a honeysuckle (Crowley would interupt here – it was the clematis, angel. - Oh yes, the clematis, thankyou my love). Their eyes had met across the garden, and Ezra had just known. He had seen it in Crowley’s face.
Ezra had walked down across the lawn and had knelt in the grass in front of Crowley, asking to spend the rest of their lives together in this cottage. Crowley had looked dumbstruck, before telling him to hold that thought, leaving Ezra still on his knees. He’d sprinted into the house, coming back moments later out of breath and holding out an antique ring in trembling fingers. He’d confessed to buying it in a pawn shop at 17 and had kept it with him, not knowing if Ezra would ever see it. But he’d known, even back then, that Ezra was the love of his life. And at age 32, he was more than ready to let everyone else know too.
And if you cast your eyes at Crowley Teachdaire – often prickly and always somberly dressed, standing just behind his husband's shoulder – and think to yourself: he doesn’t seem the type for grand romantic gestures... Well. That’s intentional. Only his husband is privy to the secrets of his heart.
“I don’t know why you always leave out all the fucking, angel.” Crowley tugged Ezra’s bow tie loose and kissed his nose.
“Oh hush. Adam’s too young for all that. Would you hang my jacket? Thankyou dear.”
“He’s 18! Do you need me to remind you what we were doing at that age?”
“You remind me daily, darling. Often more than once. And anyway, I never mean to imply we were apart physically. Just... you know. Emotionally.”
“Ha!” Crowley cackled as he unbuttoned his own shirt and dropped it to the floor, revealing his torso of familiar scars and tattoos that, nearly 30 years later, still made Ezra’s heart thud with longing. “You just don’t want to ruin your Grand Romantic Tale by telling people how much time we spent in the back of the Bentley.”
“I’m sure no one would sit in it again if we did.”
“Now there’s an idea. I’ve only just got her back, i’d rather not have your brother’s sticky-fingered kids in there.”
“As if you don’t spoil the twins rotten whenever they stay.” Ezra raised an eyebrow and paused to appreciate the view of Crowley shimmying out of his trousers. “Perhaps I just want to uphold your image, darling. You’re a respectable Teachdaire after all, important local employer, pillar of the community and all that.”
Crowley’s eyes flicked up, golden and wicked in the lamplight of their bedroom. The flecks of silver at the temples glinted against the sharp planes of his face, and only served to make him look more menacing.
His slow rising, predatory grin was one he reserved for Ezra alone – sharp like a knife, full of teeth and intent. Ezra felt an answering tug low in his gut.
“I’m just a demon in disguise, angel,” he murmured with a slow wink.
“I know, darling.” Ezra gave a mischievous smile of his own. “but you’re secret’s safe with me.”
“Always has been.” Crowley’s eyes travelled from the top of his husband’s head to his socked feet, his pupils blown wide. “Now, are you going to help with your skivvies, or make me do all the work?”
Notes:
Thank you for reading what I affectionally call my "cursed fic". I really struggled with it, i'm not sure i'm happy with it.... So extra brownie points for getting to the end!
If I could give a reader Kudos it would be to @yokohamama, who started reading it as soon as I posted ch1 and has encouraged me to keep going with comments every time I posted a new chapter. I may have given up if it wasn't for them.
By the way if your Scots Gaelic isn't up to scratch - Ard-Neamh means "High Heaven"; Coimhdeachta can mean Guardian (angel); Teachdaire means Messenger. So now you know!
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