Work Text:
180 year daydream
The ride to and from Edinburgh had been tiring but the work was simple and he found pleasant conversation along the way. Most humans really were quite funny especially if he didn’t startle at bawdy humor.
Hamlet became a huge success. Crowley was gone by the time Aziraphale was back in London, which was disappointing but not surprising. In the quiet of evening when everyone had fallen asleep there were lingering thoughts about the demon’s legs in dark stockings, more alluring than he had imagined.
It gave him pause, how often as the years passed by, that Crowley would cross his mind. Even after twenty years since their last visit when the style had changed and the collars were gone he would think of Crowley’s throat or brushing his hair to the side.
He chastised himself for the indulgent thoughts. He reminded himself about the evil nature of demonic forces. He smiled when he though of the offer of a miracle that was unprompted. DEMON. Elegant demon. Sultry demon. Fallen. Corrupter. Tempter. With the long graceful fingers and golden eyes.
Seventy years later he didn’t think of that brief exchange at The Globe often, but in the rare nights that he slept there were dreams. They never made sense completely but he always woke up with a sense of loneliness and the memories of arms, legs, and long red hair.
As the world got bigger with humans exploring Aziraphale worried that they would get too far away from each other for acts within The Arrangement. It got more difficult to know what continent Crowley was on. Aziraphale kept returning to London trying to “accidentally” bump into his ... friend?
The crepes thing was genuinely an accident.
Really.
Well.
Pretty much.
It had been a long time since he had crepes. It had been a long time since he had a Crowley dream. It was all so dreary and sad and crazy with people’s head rolling all about. It wasn’t that he wanted a discorporation so much as he wanted some excitement and indulgence. He had been feeling wanton for a decade or so and even for someone who was timeless it had been quite awhile.
So he went to France. His standards were high in general and higher when he was putting a little bit of a hint into the air. He knew the fashion of the time suited him and he imagined every lanky gentleman in dark clothing a possible portrayal of Crowley.
The capture was frustrating and after the strongly worded reprimand he didn’t want to miracle if he didn’t need to. So he waited. His mind wandered to calves, and chatted internally with Crowley. If he could set a wish into the sky without miracles his was the shape of a lovely visit just as soon as he was unshackled maybe with a bit of scratch on the wrist if Crowley was agreeable to such preferences.
Then Crowley arrived. And damn he was worth the wait. He was as delicious as the crepes.