Work Text:
Crowley’s houseplants had first been set on edge when he had walked into the apartment late on a rainy Thursday night, holding a pot with seemingly only soil in it. They were set even further on edge when he set it down in the middle of the room, and left without saying a word. Usually, when the demon purchased a new plant, he’d give the ones already there a little inspection, not yell at them properly, but give a few stern words to let the new one know what it was in for. If he didn’t feel like doing that, he would at least give instruction to the other plants to make very clear the standards Crowley set. Not today, however. Just mysterious, icy silence.
For the first time since he bought it, the atmosphere in Crowley’s apartment was not one of total terror. It was one of terror-plus-apprehension-and-confusion. But still mostly terror.
Three weeks passed, and it had been unusually quiet in Crowley’s apartment. Admittedly, he had been out a lot more frequently than usual, but to not take time at least once a week to give one of his “motivational growing speeches” was highly odd. His houseplants were just beginning to relax for the first time in their lives when it happened.
Small shoots had now poked their heads above the surface of the soil in the new plant. They were very healthy - Crowley may not be the nicest to his plants, but he knew what he was doing all right. The demon sauntered into his apartment, slamming the door shut in a way that seemed triumphant rather than angry.
“Morning all,” he shouted at his houseplants. It was the first word he had spoken to them since he had brought the new plant in. “Ooh, what do we have here,” he exclaimed upon noticing the new shoots. And then, with an evil grin, “Finally.”
“Now,” he said, raising his voice to address all of the botanical inhabitants of his apartment, “You may have been wondering why I have been so neglectful of you all these last few weeks.”
If plants could nod nervously, Crowley’s would have done at that moment.
“Well,” he began, and turned to address the newest addition, “It’s all to do with you. You see, many have been and gone from here, and I’ve learnt that if you try to, um, motivate seeds, as I do with the rest of you, they simply do not germinate. But there’s no going back now! So, little one, I’m going to start by telling you that you aren’t going to stay here long.”
The shoots gave a tremble. It would be their first of many.
“No,” Crowley continued. “Because you’re for someone else. Someone who is very, very important to me, more important than anything else in the world, in fact. So if you disappoint me,” the angel growled, lowering his voice and leaning in close to the plant, “The consequences will be dire.”
He sprayed each plant with the mister, once, and left the room.
-
To say that Crowley was in love was an understatement. Since the apocalypse-that-wasn’t, he and Aziraphale had had a lot more time to spend together, and after a few dinners, picnics and walks in the park they had come to admit that their feelings towards each other were very much more than friendly. Crowley had been in paradise ever since. His own, earthly paradise in which he and his angel could express their love for each other freely, without having to worry about the prying eyes of heaven and hell.
And all this, well, it was just that Aziraphale did so much for him. He showed him all sorts of delicious food, and read him poetry, and tried to listen to the music Crowley liked, and, well, Crowley wanted to give his angel something back. But he wasn’t good at romance like Aziraphale was. The thing with Aziraphale was that he possessed no shame whatsoever when expressing his feelings, and would happily just say things that made Crowley’s metaphorical heart skip a beat, simply because he wanted to. Both had developed human traits, having been on earth so long, and unfortunately one of Crowley’s was being embarrassed to express his feelings. He couldn’t put into words how much he loved Aziraphale, not without a lot of coughing and stammering and possibly hissing at least. He was honestly surprised he didn’t spontaneously combust every time the angel kissed him. So he had decided he’d show him. What was the saying the humans had? “Actions speak louder than words.” And aside from causing minor inconveniences to the entire city of London, what activity was Crowley good at? Gardening.
So he’d gritted his teeth and went into a bookshop (which had been nowhere near as nice as Aziraphale’s) and bought a book on flower languages. He assumed that the angel would have learnt them, which would minimise discussion about the way the demon felt, and even if he hadn’t, that meant he probably wouldn’t ask. It was a win-win situation.
He’d had a little flick through, and a two-word phrase had caught his eye. “Divine love.” Well, he’d thought, Aziraphale was divine, and he was in love with him, so it was perfect! The flower that the phrase had belonged to had been a carnation. He’d then had to take the trouble of reading through the meanings of various different coloured carnations, which had been a right bore, although undoubtedly a useful bore, since yellow carnations apparently stood for rejection, which was the opposite of what he was trying to achieve. He’d eventually decided on white, as they signified sweetness, loveliness, and innocence, all of which applied to Aziraphale, and besides, white would look nice in the angel’s office.
So he’d gone out again and bought some seeds, a pot, and some soil. He’d planted the seeds, watered them, and placed them directly underneath his most expensive UV light. And thus, Crowley’s houseplants had entered their current narrative.
-
Two months passed, and the first flowers were beginning to bloom. Crowley gazed at Aziraphale’s gift with pride. Though of course, he’d never let on that pride. Reputation to keep and so on. “Come on,” he hissed at the flowers. “That’s not enough, not nearly enough. Do you honestly think that I’m going to be happy with all those unfurled buds? To present to my angel? Of course not! You’ve seen what happens when you disappoint me. Would that fate be worth it, after all the care I’ve given you? I’ll give you the answer - certainly not. So, damn you, grow better!”
The flowers obeyed. They wouldn’t have dared not to. Within a few weeks, Crowley had grown enough for a bouquet, and a big one at that. Fit for Aziraphale. He was very proud of himself. He went out and bought a lovely white ribbon, and with uncharacteristic gentleness (at least, from the plants’ point of view) tied the flowers into a neat bunch. They looked very pretty. Beaming, he picked up the phone and asked Aziraphale if it was a convenient time for him to pop in to the bookshop. Aziraphale replied, “I have all the time in the world for you, my dear.” Crowley had half expected his legs to give out. Nevertheless, he managed to walk the short distance to Aziraphale’s bookshop. Admittedly, he could have teleported there, but he didn’t like using his demonic powers these days, and besides, he needed time to think about what he was going to say. He wanted some kind of smooth line with which to deliver the flowers. Crowley after suave, and most of the time he was able to be, but not with Aziraphale. Aziraphale turned his whole personality inside-out and made him forget who he was. He always had done.
When Crowley reached the front door of the shop, which was equipped with the “closed” sign as ever, he paused a moment, still with no idea what to say. Oh well, he decided. He’d come up with it on the spot. And so he knocked at the door, hoping that he wouldn’t say anything too idiotic. “It’s unlocked, darling, come in,” came the shout from inside. “I’m just moving a few things!” Darling. Crowley shivered.
He let himself in, only to see Aziraphale struggling with a large, rather heavy-looking box. Setting his flowers down on a nearby shelf, he rushed to help his angel, taking hold of the other side of the box. “Ah, thank you, dear, just into the back room, please.”
Together, they shifted the box full of books, and set it down in the back room, where Aziraphale had once kept his most important volumes. Now, however, it had become just like any other back room in a bookshop - a storage facility. Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, who smiled and leaned down to kiss him. Crowley had always thought of himself as being a good kisser, and he delighted in the way that his angel was slightly breathless after they broke apart.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Aziraphale asked, combing a hand through the demon’s hair.
“Why does there have to be a reason, hm? Can’t I just come and see my boyfriend because I want to?” Boyfriend. Crowley blushed at his own words, wishing he could get a grip. “Actually, I’ve brought you something.”
“Oh, how kind! You are good to me,” Aziraphale smiled, looking for all the world as if he was completely innocently in love, and not at all deliberately saying these things to make Crowley squirm. “What is it?”
“Come and see,” the demon replied, taking Aziraphale’s hand and leading him through to the main area of the bookshop, where he picked up his bouquet from the shelf he had rested it on and thrusted it at Aziraphale. “Ta-da,” his mouth said. “Why are you such a fucking idiot?” His brain said.
“Oh, dear me, Crowley, they’re beautiful,” the angel exclaimed, admiring the flowers, while the demon’s face went through all kinds of shades of red. “Wherever did you buy them?”
“I, um, I didn’t,” Crowley replied, and then, with a touch of pride, “I grew them myself.”
“Did you really?” Aziraphale asked, sounding both shocked and delighted. He hadn’t been to Crowley’s London apartment many times, so hadn’t had time to admire the houseplants. “However do you get them to look so nice?”
Crowley panicked. He didn’t exactly feel like ruining this beautiful, rather joyous moment by telling the angel that he yelled at his plants until they quivered in fear. Aziraphale wouldn’t approve of that at all. “I have my ways,” he settled for, choosing to remain mysterious. Aziraphale didn’t push the matter any further.
“What kind of flowers are they, sweetheart?” Aziraphale called to him as he went upstairs to find a vase. Crowley followed him.
“They’re carnations,” Crowley said without thinking. His brain may have been slightly fried from being called “sweetheart.”
“Oh, lovely,” Aziraphale said. “Why carnations?”
Shitshitshitshitshitshit.
“Don’t you like them, angel?” Crowley asked, trying not to answer Aziraphale’s question.
“I love them, don’t be silly, I’d just like to know why,” Aziraphale said with a sly look. “Isn’t it roses that humans normally consider to represent romantic love? Ah, here it is.” He held up a beautiful cylindrical crystal vase, and placed the flowers into it.
Damnit, the pet name trick hadn’t worked on him. Crowley should never have started calling him “angel” before they were dating. “Well, yes,” the demon stammered, looking at the floor. “But, I, um, I happened to come across a book on flower languages, and...” he trailed off.
“Yes?” Aziraphale asked, setting the vase down gently on the desk of his upstairs study. Crowley had been right - they did look good in the angel’s office.
“And, well, it told me that carnations were symbolic of, uh, divine love.” He practically spat out the last two words.
“Divine love, hm?” Aziraphale blushed, smiled and hooked his arms around Crowley’s neck, pulling him closer, so that their foreheads were touching.
“Yes, angel,” the demon sighed. “Divine love.” He moves in to try and kiss Aziraphale’s lips, but the angel dodged it, giving a little laugh as he did so. Crowley pouted.
“Why?” Aziraphale asked, in a tone that suggested his question was perfectly justified, and wouldn’t make Crowley despair that he was in love with an annoying bastard.
“What d’you mean, why?” Crowley pulled his head away from Aziraphale’s, looking incredulous. “You’re divine, and I love you, shouldn’t it be obvious?”
Aziraphale laughed. “It is,” he said. “I just wanted to hear you say it.” And, well, the angel just looked so endearing at that point that Crowley had to forgive him.
He leaned down and kissed Aziraphale sweetly, lingering, and buried his head in the angel’s neck when they broke apart. The angel stroked Crowley’s hair, and sighed. “You are nice, Crowley, I’ve always said it,” he mused. “In fact, you’re not just nice, you’re sweet, yes, and thoughtful, and...”
Crowley didn’t listen to whatever else he was. He busied himself with kissing Aziraphale’s neck, and rubbing his lower back. Frankly, the whole verbal affection thing made him uncomfortable, as he wasn’t used to receiving compliments, and he still had his hellish side, which didn’t believe that he should be any of the things that Aziraphale called him. At the end of the day, he was sweet, and he was thoughtful, but he wasn’t quite ready to accept that yet.
His houseplants would disagree, but really, who cared about them?