Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Crowley slammed the door to his rental car shut and shoved his hands into his pockets. It had been a fucking fridgid drive from the airport on the wrong side of the road, white-knuckling it the whole way until he could finally stop.

He yanked his suitcase out of the boot and trudged up the snow covered walk. The damn lodge was still under construction but fuck, if he was going to pay for a room in this godforsaken place.

He didn’t even want to be here. For whatever reason, his uncle had left him a half-renovated lodge in the arse end of Oregon. According to old emails, the town was idyllic and wonderful and beautiful in all seasons and, according to the will, his uncle wanted him to carry on the legacy or some shite.

Crowley was not about to do that. The place looked like the sort of town that swarmed with tourists during the ski season, and, during the off-season, festered. Why his uncle had bought real estate here, he had no idea. All he knew was that he needed to get the renovations in order and sell the fucking place.

“You must be Mr. King’s nephew.”

The posh voice drew Crowley’s attention. Received pronunciation, soft but with a bit of a lilt that sounded like they had been away from the UK for awhile. Crowley turned and his mouth went dry.

Behind him stood a chubby man in red plaid, shirt tails tucked into jeans held up by black braces. His wavy blond hair was pushed back from his forehead and even through his thick beard Crowley could see his dimples. 

His heart fluttered in his chest and he firmly told it to cut it out.

“That’d be me,” Crowley replied, thankful he only sounded about half as choked as he felt. 

The man stepped forward and reached out his hand to shake Crowley’s. When he took it, Crowley was utterly distracted by it’s warmth, the way it engulfed his, the scrape of calluses over his own smooth palm. The fluttering in his chest dipped lower, seeming to want to get his stomach in on this new exciting development.

“And you are?” he asked, withdrawing his hand and trying to keep his cool. Since when had he been attracted to chubby blond men? Or even men with beards? Not his type whatsoever. 

Even if the streaks of almost white gray at his temples made Crowley feel weak at the knees.

“I’m Aziraphale,” the man said, still smiling that easy smile that made Crowley’s heart patter. “I worked for your uncle a bit, doing some of the renovations. I was just finishing up with one of the downstairs windows. The pane was broken and needed replacing.”

“Oh,” Crowley breathed. Aziraphale. The name was familiar. He’d been in the list of contacts in the documentation regarding the lodge. Crowley had trouble piecing it all together because he was still staring but he couldn’t stop. It was the slope of the man’s strong shoulders, the pull of the red plaid over his barrel chest. The fucking braces that showed the exact curve of his belly. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone and Crowley could see the shadow of chest hair that he had the most insane desire to feel under his mouth.

Fuck.

“I’m, er, Anthony. But you can call me Crowley,” he said hurriedly, feeling like quite the fool. Tongue-tied like a boy with a crush. Pathetic.

“What has you stopping by tonight?” Aziraphale asked politely, seemingly not noticing Crowley’s awful distraction. “I didn’t expect you until the morning. Well, not if I was going by the itinerary you sent.”

Crowley frowned, still caught up in the way Aziraphale’s jeans fit his thighs. They were really fucking good thighs. “Itinerary? I didn’t send an itinerary.”

Aziraphale laughed and it was a gorgeous sound, a thing that arose deep in his belly and pealed out like a bell. It was unselfconscious in a way that Crowley simultaneously envied and found unbelievably attractive. 

“I apologize. I meant the itinerary your assistant sent. Eric, I believe,” Aziraphale said, raising his eyebrows expectantly. In the porchlight of the lodge, Crowley could see the bright blue hazel of Aziraphale’s eyes, the shot of gold in the center. “He said you’d meet me here in the morning.”

Crowley cleared his throat and looked at his boots. “Right. Eric. Well, we can meet in the morning but I’m here because my flight just got in and I’m staying here until I wrap my business up.”

Aziraphale gaped. “Absolutely not!” he said sharply, the firm schoolmarm-like quality of his voice in direct opposition to his appearance. He sounded like he was the gran from Little Red Riding Hood but he looked like the woodsman. Crowley pushed away his thoughts of rifles and axes and particularly hungry wolves.  

“There is no working heat,” Aziraphale continued, a bit plaintively. “The place is freezing.”

Crowley shook his head. “It’s fine. I can bundle up or something.”

“Nonsense. There are perfectly serviceable rooms in town,” Aziraphale said and then he hesitated. He bit his lip which was unfairly adorable, a flash of teeth in the bristles of his beard. “However, it is the high season and nearing midnight. It’s going to get below twenty tonight. You shouldn’t stay here. You can stay with me.”

Crowley gripped the handle of his suitcase. He felt like the world’s most obvious out of towner in his designer jeans and fitted shirt. Aziraphale must think him a rube, the worst sort of city-slicker, showing up in the middle of the night without checking if anything worked. 

Then the meaning of his words sank in.

Stay with me .

“Erm,” he stuttered out, mind whirling. He pictured the sort of place Aziraphale would live in. Probably full of handmade quilts with a cozy fire. 

But that was probably every place in this hallmark-movie town.

Aziraphale’s hand went to his chest. “Oh dear, I didn’t mean...that is, I’m not - I’m certainly not propositioning you. I simply have a pull out couch.”

Crowley looked at him and swallowed. He’d known that’s what Aziraphale meant and yet he still felt a sharp stab of disappointment at his obvious distress.

“Also, working heat,” Aziraphale added with a small smile, and Crowley was fairly certain his eyes twinkled. Which should have been impossible and yet…

“Fine, yeah. Appreciate it,” Crowley grumbled.

Aziraphale clapped his hands together and then jerked his chin in the direction of the lodge. “Let me turn off the lights and we can be going. You can follow my truck out.”

Crowley followed his gesture and saw a beat up red truck parked in the lodge’s drive. This man...drove a truck. It looked like the sort of truck that you filled with firewood. That you drove out to the lake with your sweetheart so you could kiss then under the stars.

Crowley’s stomach did something wobbly.

“Sure, yeah,” Crowley said, walking back to his car and then collapsing against the side of it. He watched Aziraphale go up the walk. His braces formed an X across his back, emphasizing his shoulder blades and the lush spread of his arms. And that arse. Fuck, if the jeans made his thighs look good...his arse.

Crowley closed his eyes against the very unwelcome wave of lust that smashed into him. 

It was just a month. He was here for a month and then he would be gone. He shouldn’t think about gorgeous mountain men with twinkling eyes and mouth watering arses. He should get the work done and get out.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale’s house was exactly as Crowley pictured. Some log cabin-inspired thing, complete with chimney, deck and porch swing.

He sighed as Aziraphale hopped out of his truck, thick booted feet landing in the muddy snow with disconcerting grace. Crowley watched as a few strands of hair fell over his forehead, looking like they wanted to curl. Aziraphale pushed them back, leaned into his truck, and pulled out a tool box before turning back to Crowley, smile bright in the dim light.

Aziraphale’s house had a porch light, but it didn't do much to combat the darkness created by the canopy of evergreens. The whole place smelled like moss and snow and Crowley half-expected to be mauled by a bear or something. It seemed the right sort of place for bears.

"Do you need any help with your things?" Aziraphale asked, his posh voice breaking the spell settling over Crowley.

"No, I’m...I’m alright," Crowley managed to say. He grabbed his suitcase and locked the car before trailing Aziraphale up the walk. It was cold enough that his breath came in white puffs and that the muscles of his back clenched defensively. His coat wasn’t thick enough. That was for sure.

"Where did my uncle stay when he was in town?" Crowley asked as Aziraphale slipped his key in the lock.

"Oh, down the road at the Still Creek Inn, I believe," Aziraphale said and then he pushed the door open and flipped on the light.

It was exactly what Crowley expected. A lot of exposed wood and twee quilts. A loft that overlooked a living room with a well-used fireplace in one wall. Crowley was surprised there weren’t antlers. It looked the sort of place that would have antlers.

What it did have was books. So many books. The wall beneath the stairs was entirely bookshelves, filled to the brim with hardcovers and paperbacks, some ancient, some brand new. Under the television by the sofa was a TV stand-cum-bookshelf. Two more bookshelves lined the walls of the living room. Crowley didn’t think he’d seen so many books in his life.

“Nice place,” he mumbled, following Aziraphale’s lead by toeing off his shoes by the door.

Aziraphale smiled at him again. The fucking crinkles by his eyes could commit murder. Crowley was certain of it. Or at least the murder of one Anthony Crowley.

“I’ve tried to make it homey,” Aziraphale said happily. “Let me get linens for the sofa bed. It’s quite late and I’m sure you’d like your rest. Jet lag and all.”

Crowley watched him, mute, unable to move from his spot in the entryway as Aziraphale went up the stairs to the loft where his own bed presumably was. Crowley cleared his throat, the reality of the fact that he was about to sleep in this stranger’s house. God, should he leave? His very exhausted mind protested the idea of getting back in the car and trying to find a place to stay in town.

He supposed getting murdered by a sexy axeman wouldn’t be the worst way to go.

“I hope you don’t mind wildflowers,” Aziraphale said as he trotted back down the stairs. Crowley stared at him in confusion.

“On the sheets,” Aziraphale explained and Crowley shook himself. Did his brain just stop working?

“It’s fine,” Crowley said, trying not to sound as embarrassed as he felt. He needed to get it together and stop staring at the man.

The sheets were indeed patterned with blue wildflowers sprayed across a white background. Something you’d find in a cottage. Or a log cabin apparently.

"You really don't need to go through the trouble of putting the bed together," Crowley said, feeling oddly vulnerable in only his socks as he padded over to the couch, its thick green fabric pleasantly rough under his fingers as he grasped the back. "I can sleep on the couch. It wouldn't be the first."

Aziraphale dropped the sheets on the arm of the couch. "Nonsense," Aziraphale said, waving off his concern. "Mr. King would be appalled if I let you sleep on cushions when there’s a perfectly comfortable bed beneath."

Crowley wondered a bit at Aziraphale’s words. Had the man been close to his uncle? Crowley had hardly been close to him. All he really knew was that his uncle had gone off to America after having a falling out with his mum. He had no kids, loads of money, and, at some point, had acquired a small lodge at the base of Mount Hood. He’d sent postcards to Crowley and invited him to come visit.

Crowley had not.

Crowley might need to do some research on this Aziraphale fellow. He could call Eric in the morning and get details.

Aziraphale dragged the coffee table out of the way, his red plaid shirt stretching tight over his shoulders. They were nice shoulders, broad and sloped. Aziraphale had the very definition of a barrel chest, strong and padded. It would feel amazing under his hands.

Crowley bit his lip and did his very best not to ogle. He didnt even know if the man was gay. It was creepy to fantasize this much.

"Can I help?" he offered as he stepped around the couch, uncomfortable with just standing there thinking dirty thoughts.

Aziraphale laughed and gave him another smile that took Crowley out at the knees. "I believe I can manage. Do you need anything? Toilet? Refreshment?"

"I wouldn't say no to washing my face," Crowley said and was immediately embarrassed by sounding so fussy. Not that he wanted to impress Aziraphale or anything. Of course not. His face was getting red. He knew it. Fuck being a ginger.

Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice, just offering another eye crinkling smile. "Under the stairs and to the right. If you want warm water you might need to let the taps run."

Crowley followed his directions and was stopped by a sharp, "Oh! Towels are under the sink. If you need one."

Face still burning, Crowley locked himself in the loo and tried to forcibly calm down. He looked down at the sink and was taken aback by the sheer number of pots and bottles and implements on the counter.

This man knew how to groom.

Beard oil that smelled like cedar. Unscented yet undeniably fancy moisturizing sunscreen. Lip balm. Hand lotion. On it went. Little pots and black bottles that piqued Crowley’s curiosity.

He chided himself for getting distracted about something so mundane. He was in there to rinse off the plane filth and that was it. Not to snoop around this man's bathroom. No matter how sexy he thought he was.

When Crowley returned to the living room, Aziraphale was standing over the made-up pull out couch looking very proud indeed. Crowley gave him a weak smile.

"Do you need anything else?" Aziraphale asked. "I'll head up to bed here soon. It’s getting quite late."

"Um, no. Thanks," Crowley said, overwhelmed by the hospitality. People weren't nice like this in London. Or to Crowley in general. But Crowley generally wasn't nice. You didn't get to the top of the corporate ladder by being nice. You did it by finding the cracks and slithering through them. You exploited them.

And right now he couldn't see a single thing about Aziraphale to exploit.

You're going soft, his rather tired mind hissed. He ignored it in favor of getting some sleep.

The stairs creaked as Aziraphale went up to bed and Crowley tried not to think about the very comforting stretch of his body under plaid, the soft looking texture of his beard and how nice it might feel against the sensitive skin of his own face.

Crowley woke to the smell of bacon. He blinked at the exposed pine beams above him and groaned, lifting his arms over his head and stretching until his back popped. Not too shabby for a pull out couch.

The sun was peeking through the trees outside, glistening on muddy patches of snow under the evergreens. Idyllic, it was. Crowley wanted to hate it and found he couldn’t.

He sat up and rubbed at his eyes, the dark green quilts he’d nestled under falling around his waist.

“Oh, I hope I didn’t wake you!”

Crowley twisted and saw Aziraphale in the kitchen, holding a spatula above a sizzling pan and looking quite concerned. Crowley waved it off as he hefted himself out of bed, stupidly aware of the thinness of his cotton sleep pants, the tightness of his shirt. Did he own anything that wasn’t vaguely slutty? He was going to make a fool of himself.

Aziraphale on the other hand looked like something out of a catalogue for outdoorsy types. Hunter green and tan plaid shirt, open just a little at the neck so Crowley could see the collar of a pristine white undershirt. He was still wearing those braces that made Crowley’s stomach squirm.

“S’alright,” he said, voice gruff. “Probably should get started anyway. What time is it?”

“Seven,” Aziraphale answered before flipping a few slices of bacon out of the pan and onto a paper towel-covered plate. He turned to another pan and flipped two flapjacks over, their golden color making Crowley’s mouth water.

“Early,” Crowley grumbled, rubbing at his eyes. “Mind if I shower?”

Aziraphale blinked at him. “Oh, of course not. Though I was hoping…if you’re awake. That you might have breakfast with me. I was going to leave you a plate to eat when you woke up anyway. But it’ll be better hot.”

“Erm,” Crowley said, thinking about a lot of things that were hot. Namely his face. And also Aziraphale.

“I have coffee!” Aziraphale said brightly, flipping the flapjacks out onto their own plate and turning to a french press Crowley hadn’t noticed on the counter closer to the refrigerator. “If you’re more of an espresso fellow, your only option is Tracy’s. I hate to speak disparagingly of any establishments in town but I...would advise against it.”

Crowley laughed. He couldn’t help it. Aziraphale said it like it was the most scandalous thing.

He moved closer and slid onto one of the barstools at the breakfast bar, watching Aziraphale work at the range on the other side. His hands were so broad, fingers blunt and thick which inspired thoughts in Crowley that were too dirty for before coffee.

“Coffee would be terrific,” Crowley said and Aziraphale favored him with another gorgeous smile. Eye. Crinkles.

The average person would look at Crowley and think he was suave. Careful attention to appearance, devil-may-care attitude. If they saw his work they might say the same thing. Cutthroat. Ruthless. Efficient.

But when it came to romance, the truth of the matter was that Crowley was a disaster.

In secondary, Crowley had a crush on Tina Devon and when he tried to ask her out, he had been so nervous he got the hiccups.

Tina and her friends had imitated his hiccups for the entirety of his three week relationship with Tina.

In uni, Crowley had tried to be the sort of person who could pull people at parties, go to bars and get someone to go home with him. The former often resulted in Crowley getting so nervous he puked outside whatever house he was supposed to be having a good time in. The latter had produced more than one shattered glass and, also, a little bit of vomit.

Crowley was Not Good at romance. Or seduction. He had managed to date all of three people. That included his two week relationship with Tina.

The second relationship had miraculously lasted two years. Farzad had found his pathetic attempts to woo him cute. Apparently, no one had ever spilled soup on him on a first date. It made Crowley interesting.

But then Crowley’s work—You’re a workaholic, Anthony. I’m clearly not a priority—had gotten in the way. Crowley had definitely begged him to stay. Because he was pathetic.

The third relationship had gone up in flames in under six months. Peter had said that he’d only really been there for the sex and when the fire had disappeared, so had he.

Crowley had decided then that perhaps romance was for other people. He liked his job. He liked the friends he had. If sometimes he thought about getting a cat, no one needed to know.

Aziraphale did not seem like a viable option. If he was into men—a big if—Crowley could just picture it: dropping coffees, tripping over his feet, and the worst case of hiccups anyone would’ve ever seen.

He needed to keep his shit together if he wanted to get this done quickly. He needed to focus on working with the lawyers, the real estate agents, and, unfortunately, probably Aziraphale who might be managing the renovation if yesterday was anything to go by. He needed to call Eric and figure it out.

A cup of coffee appeared in front of him.

“Cream?” Aziraphale asked. “Sugar?”

“No,” Crowley said, trying not to look at him because his hands felt unsteady and he could very well knock over the cup. New rule: No hot beverages within three feet of Aziraphale.

Then a plate followed the cup. It was stacked with flapjacks and bacon (very American, Crowley thought wryly).

“I highly recommend the real maple syrup,” Aziraphale said, retrieving said syrup and setting it on the island between them. Crowley looked at it and weighed the potential for accidental stickiness versus the desire to try to make Aziraphale smile.

He supposed he would be showering after this.

Aziraphale brought his own plate and plopped onto the stool beside Crowley before digging into his own food with obvious relish . He slipped the first bite into his mouth and he made a sharp pleased noise in the back of his throat. The sort of sound someone might make when they were kissed for the first time. Surprise and utterly pleased.

Do. Not. Think. About. It.

“So you’re from the UK then?” Crowley asked, unable to even think about eating right then. Not when he could watch the way the shining, sticky fork slipped into Aziraphale’s mouth. The way the grease from the bacon made his full lips shine.

Aziraphale put down his fork and his mouth did something unfortunate, dipping down into a frown before returning to neutrality.

“Yes, London, originally. Though I’ve lived in America for quite some time now,” Aziraphale said, tone brooking now inquiry. Strange that the man would shift from so jovial to something so closed off. It settled oddly in Crowley's stomach, complaining for him to fix it. A face like that shouldn’t be frowning.

Crowley turned his attention to his food and berated himself for sticking his foot in it.

He took a bite of flapjack and had to shut his eyes. Oh, it was good. He might have made a noise. When he looked back at Aziraphale, he was smiling again, a sort of private, pleased thing.

"S'very good," Crowley said, not thinking about the fact that his mouth was still full.

At least no half-chewed food fell out.

Aziraphale laughed with good humor—almost fond. "Yes, well, perhaps swallow it before making your verdict. I hear that’s how food is best consumed."

After breakfast, Crowley went to shower. The whole bathroom still smelled like some sort of cedar soap remnant from when Aziraphale had showered earlier. It was masculine and heady and Crowley’s very suggestible body took a keen interest in the scent. He locked the door and sighed as he stripped out of his pajama bottoms and shirt.

He brought his own toiletries of course. He hadn't traveled internationally very much but he was prepared. It was just that in the face of the toiletries lining the walls of the shower, his own drugstore shampoo seemed woefully inadequate. Crowley liked his moisturizers, his day lotion with SPF, his night cream. He liked those things much for the same reason Patrick Bateman did. The nicer he looked, the more likely it was that he would succeed in the boardroom. People liked looking at an attractive face. And there was nothing attractive about deep lines around the eyes or bags beneath them.

Except that wasn't true, was it?

As he stepped into the spray he thought of Aziraphale, the soft bags beneath his eyes, the deep smile lines, the creases on his forehead.Evidence of a lifetime of joyful expressions, and Crowley knew that he’d been terribly wrong. He’d been operating under a false assumption. You didn’t need to be slicked back hair, smooth skin, and a sharp smile. If someone who looked like Aziraphale came into his boardroom, he would listen to anything they had to say. They could have had him on his knees in a few short words. It was that smile, that easy demeanor. It made Crowley feel like Aziraphale was giving him the benefit of the doubt. Was seeing good in him.

Crowley didn't think of himself as a bad person per se. But he wasn’t necessarily good. He’d spent his twenties sowing discord with his IT co-workers at the advertising firm, making sure everyone else looked worse than he did even as he scraped by on the bare minimum of work. He wasn't lazy. That was clear in the effort he took to succeed. But he liked manipulating. He liked knowing that something that he did would have effects so far down the line, no one could ever trace it back to him. It was what kept him at his job. It was what made him good at it. It was what also made everyone terrified of him.

If only his coworkers could see him now, weak at the knees in the shower stall of a cabin in the middle of nowhere in America, going crazy over a man he had only met the night before, thinking about the fine lines on his face and fantasizing about the texture of his beard.

Crowley growled and poured a small amount of his own shampoo into his palm ignoring the desire to use some of the fancy soaps lining the window in the shower. It wouldn't do for him to emerge smelling too much like Aziraphale. He was sure he was being obvious enough, surely creepy and strange. The angry weirdo from London who stared at me all morning. That’s would Aziraphale would inevitably say down at whatever local watering hole existed in this podunk town.

When Crowley emerged from the bathroom, Aziraphale was busy loading the dishwasher, humming to himself, slightly off key. It was clear to Crowley that Aziraphale had naturally curly hair. It wasn't slicked-back the way it had been the night before. When Crowley had woken up, it had still been slightly wet from the shower but now it was mostly dry and it’s light blond color was even more evident. It curled wildly about Aziraphale’s head, some locks coiled tight and other’s sticking up into the world’s messiest halo.

Aziraphale paused when he noticed Crowley coming out of the bathroom and gave him one of those smiles Crowley realized he was going to spend the month here obsessed with. In fact, he was probably going to be obsessed with them for a long time after he left as well.

“How was the shower?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley mumbled some nonsense in return and stuffed his toiletry bag back into his suitcase. Aziraphale didn't seem to mind his taciturn behavior as he kept cleaning up the kitchen.

“I'm going to step out and make a phone call,” Crowley said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the door.

“You don't have to go all the way outside to make a phone call,” Aziraphale said, turning back to his dishes and giving Crowley a wonderful view of his broad back.

Crowley had never thought of himself as attracted to particularly masculine men. In fact, most people he was attracted to looked more like him. Willowy androgynous types. Aziraphale, on the other hand, was broad shouldered and clearly muscled beneath the thick material of his plaid shirt. He had an obvious belly and a full arse. The very opposite of willowy.

The day before, Crowley didn't think he had imagined the muscles he could see through Aziraphale’s well-worn jeans. His thighs had been wide and they looked like they would fill Crowley's hands in the most delicious way. All that and not even getting into the fascinating juxtaposition of his posh demeanor and the way he looked like he could split a log in half with his bare hands.

“That's all right,” Crowley said, getting his phone from the charger. “I don’t want to get in your way.”

He was stupidly distracted by Aziraphale’s arms as he went to walk outside. What would they feel like holding him down? Was he good in be—he walked straight into his suitcase, tripping forward and slamming his shin coffee table. He yelped and then cursed and then like lightning Aziraphale was by his side, tutting under his breath.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, broad hands fluttering all around Crowley's shoulders as he urged him to sit on the edge of the pull out couch. “Are you alright?”

Crowley let out a long noise that was primarily consonants and rubbed at his shin. It stung but he was fine. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid. Making a fool of himself.

Aziraphale’s broad hands came to rest on his arms to steady him, blunt fingers circling his own thin biceps. Crowley’s stomach lurched. Fuck. He met Aziraphale’s gaze, blue hazel, brightly gray in the growing morning light.

Crowley glanced at his mouth which was a mistake. There was something about the way his mouth was set in his beard, the bristles framing his lips and somehow making them look more inviting. Kissable.

“Ye-ah, erm, it’s - fine,” Crowley bit out, forcing himself to stare at his feet. He was being a fucking pervert. Heat was building in his stomach at Aziraphale’s proximity. He smelled so good. “Just - just not paying attention.”

Crowley managed to make it outside without any further embarrassment, jamming his fingers against his phone screen to call Eric. It was probably some time in the afternoon in London and the lad should be available. If not, there were a line of a gazillion people just like Eric clamoring to work for someone like Crowley.

“Yes, boss,” Eric said after answering on the third ring.

“Do you have the list of contacts for the property out here?”

“Oh, yes. I should have sent it to your email, sir,” Eric said and Crowley heard the sound of typing in the background. “Yes. Here it is. Want me to resend?”

“No,” Crowley bit out. “I met some bloke named Aziraphale. I’m pretty sure he was on it. What’s he do?”

Eric cleared his throat. “Um, he’s listed as general maintenance and miscellaneous. I’m not sure what that means.”

Crowley growled. Not helpful. But not exactly Eric’s fault. “Fine. What’s his last name?”

“Fell,” Eric chirped. Aziraphale Fell. Well that was pretty bad.

“Perfect. I’ll call if I need anything else.”

Crowley cut off Eric’s chipper yes,sir by hanging up and turned back to the door of the cabin. It was cold out on the porch. The seasons were turning and the snow in the foothills was melting but that didn’t mean it was anywhere near warm enough for Crowley’s liking. He was cold even in London.

He should have put on his jacket before even stepping outside, but he was starting to think that jacket might not be enough if the temperature was going to stay this low.

He pushed back into the house and Aziraphale was just coming out of the bathroom. His hair was slicked back now, just curling lightly behind his ears, kissing the nape of his neck.

“So based on your itinerary, you wanted to see the property today. Would you like to do that this morning? I have a handful of house calls to make this afternoon. It would be much easier for me to take you around now.”

House calls, Crowley thought curiously.

“Erm, yeah. That’d be good,” he said, collecting his things and stuffing them into his suitcase. He’d stop in town later today and find an open room. Something had to be free.

Aziraphale clapped his hands, smiling broadly. “Well then, no time like the present. Let’s drive over together. Plenty of room in my truck for the both of us.”

Crowley’s stomach fluttered as Aziraphale walked past him and opened the door. He turned back and then frowned.

“Oh dear,” he said to himself before going to the chest by the door and rooting through it. He withdrew a long tartan scarf and handed it to Crowley. “You’ll be awfully cold without something.”

Crowley took it, their fingers brushing through the soft material.

This was a fucking nightmare.

Chapter Text

Crowley tied the stupid scarf around his neck, not wanting to admit it was wonderfully soft and also smelled comfortingly like a cedar chest. He felt a bit like a turkey with a huge tartan wattle, and definitely like a fool.

But Aziraphale just crinkled his eyes at him and led him outside. Before he got in the truck, Crowley tossed his suitcase in the boot of his rented Mazda. He'd go into town later and find a place to stay that had heat. And didn't have sexy men with beards offering him breakfast.

Aziraphale was combing his hair back from his face when Crowley climbed into the car. The comb looked delicate in his broad hands and his nails were somehow cleaner than Crowley's, despite clear evidence that he used them to make a living. Suddenly self-conscious, Crowley wondered if he'd been washing his hands wrong.

"Pardon," Aziraphale said, breaking through his thoughts to lean over and pop open the glove box to place the comb inside. His forearm rested easily against Crowley’s knee. Crowley definitely stopped breathing until the glovebox clicked shut and Aziraphale retreated to his own side of the cab.

"So are you planning to continue the renovations?" Aziraphale asked. "I know it's not the most exciting building, but it's rather quaint."

Crowley tapped his fingers against his knee and stared out the window as the trees began to rush past. "I'm not sure. Mostly want to sell it actually."

"Sell it?" Aziraphale asked incredulously. "But it's such lovely property!"

Crowley looked at Aziraphale’s hand as the knuckles flexed and he shifted into third gear. It really was a nice hand. As far as hands went. He pictured reaching out and brushing his fingers over the back of that hand, the contrast of his pale skin against Aziraphale’s tan. A thread of want wound through him, burning into his stomach like arousal. Except it stung.

He frowned. No use feeling things like that. Shame and the like. He was allowed to be attracted to people.

"I’m not coming out here to settle down. And having the property just sit here seemed worse than foisting it off on some poor bastard who cares."

Aziraphale glanced at him and then back at the road as he shifted into third gear. "I suppose that makes sense. I'd just hate to see her demolished. That seems to be the only thing that happens these days to the property out here."

Crowley wanted to say he didn't give a shit what was done to the property but he imagined the look that would earn him so he didn't say anything at all. He'd probably just offend the man.

Not that it mattered. Crowley didn’t need Aziraphale to like him. If Aziraphale liked him then Crowley would probably start to get feelings and that would be embarassing and he would do something stupid like the soup thing or worse.

“So, how did you know my uncle?” Crowley asked. He didn’t want to ride to the lodge in tense silence, but he had nothing else to ask about that wasn’t along the lines of: Are you single? Want to shag on this bench seat?

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, lips parting slightly on the sound. He took a left down the gravel road that Crowley had traversed in the dark the night before. “I was working in Pine Grove doing odd jobs and he hired me on to work on the renovation. It’s been slow going because we haven’t had a crew, but I’ve enjoyed it very much. Steady work.”

Crowley let that information slot into his mind. It did very little to answer his questions surrounding this lodge his uncle bought. How long had he owned it? How much renovation did it need?

He had a sinking feeling this was about to become much more complicated than it needed to be.

Aziraphale rolled to a stop in front of the lodge and in the daylight, Crowley’s suspicions were confirmed.

The entire outside was raw wood that had seen better days. The front window was cracked. Aziraphale had said he’d been around to fix a window so probably not that one. How many windows were there? Were there more like that one?

Aziraphale glanced at him and his face cracked into a smile that turned quickly into a guffaw. A deep belly shaking laugh. “Oh my lord. Your face. You really had no idea did you?”

“I didn’t realize it was decrepit,” Crowley hissed before creaking open the door and hopping out of the truck. His feet slipped in the thin layer of wet snow and he clutched at the handle. It earned him another laugh as heat spread over his cheeks.

He probably looked even more like a turkey now. Red face. Big nose. Giant scarf wattle. Anthony ‘Call Me Turkey’ Crowley.

“Be careful there." Aziraphale got out gracefully. As he turned, he gave Crowley a wonderful view of the cross of his braces against his back and that same hot stitch was back in his gut.

Why did he have to be so attractive? Unfair was what it was. Temptation incarnate.

Aziraphale came around the truck and offered him his arm like some sort of gallant gentleman. “Perhaps you could use a little leverage,” Aziraphale said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Crowley grimaced and took it, immediately regretting it when his heart slammed to the roof of his mouth. Why would he touch the man when he knew exactly what it would do to his insides? Stupid.

"Let’s give you the tour then," Aziraphale said, leading Crowley up the walk. He released him as he dug out keys and unlocked the front door, pushing inside to reveal a dusty, dark interior.

Crowley's arm still felt warm from where he'd been touched and he wished he could reach out and put his hand back on Aziraphale's arm. How often did people touch him? Sometimes at work to get his attention. People brushed by him on the street. But when had someone last touched him with warmth?

His chest got tight thinking about it.

He followed Aziraphale inside and took in the main room. Stairs that still looked to be in decent condition, a large lounge area with a stone fireplace. Scores of tall windows.

"It's not too big," Aziraphale said, adjusting his braces. "But it could house a good four to six groups if you cleaned it up right. A nice cozy place for tourists looking for something out of the way."

Crowley wandered through the empty foyer and looked at the ceiling. It was much nicer on the inside than the outside. "How long have you been working on it?"

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. "Oh, off and on for about three years now."

Crowley shut his eyes tight. Such slow going. Of course his uncle couldn’t set the place to rights before fucking off and dying and leaving Crowley to clean up the mess.

He chided himself for thinking so poorly of a dead man, but it did nothing to alleviate his steadily souring mood. "And if you had a full crew?" Crowley asked. "How long would it take then?"

Aziraphale followed him into the lounge, coming to a stop in front of the fireplace. "Only a month or two I think. Though summer is a bit better for building because of the weather."

Crowley collapsed onto the cobbled bench that surrounded the fireplace. "This is such a headache."

Aziraphale dropped down beside him and patted him awkwardly on the back. The half-hearted gesture made goosebumps spread over his skin. "I'm sure you'll figure something out. It's good property. If you're trying to sell."

Crowley tried very hard not to lean into Aziraphale’s touch. He fisted his hands on top of his jeans before launching himself into a standing position. "I suppose we’ll see."

Aziraphale looked up at him with one hand still curled on the cobbled ledge. His eyes really were magnificent.

"How about that tour?" He asked, letting the words fall out in a rush because they were better than any other alternative running through his mind. God, your eyes are gorgeous. You’re gorgeous.

Aziraphale smiled. Devastating. A smile like a punch to Crowley’s chest, threatening to make him stumble back and clutch at his heart.

“Let’s start upstairs.”

Overall, the lodge wasn’t terrible. Awful wallpaper in three of the rooms. Aziraphale promised that would be easy enough to replace. The foundation was sturdy. It was simply the exterior that had deteriorated.

They ended up outside, Crowley with his hands stuffed in his pockets as Aziraphale led him around the perimeter of the place.

“The biggest issue is the heat. I’ve been putting off purchasing a new furnace until you came. I wasn’t sure if you’d want input.”

“I don’t know anything about furnaces,” Crowley said. Some of the stress weighing on him crept into his voice and he knew he sounded waspish but it was difficult to stop himself.

Aziraphale didn’t call him on it. Far kinder than Crowley deserved. “You might want to get the pipes checked as well. That’s not my area of expertise so you’ll need someone to come in from the city since there isn’t a local plumber. I can fix the odd o-ring but that’s about it,” Aziraphale explained as they came to a stop in front of the door after finishing their loop around the house. It wasn’t an entirely hopeless place, but it felt like a near thing.

“Well, if you have any recommendations I’d be grateful,” Crowley said, hunching his shoulders even further to protect from the cold. Hopefully there’d be a store or someplace he could get some cold weather clothes.

Aziraphale perked up and patted down his trousers, finally slipping out his phone from his back pocket and handing it to Crowley. “Why don’t you put your cell number in there and you can text me any questions you run into?”

Crowley scoffed lightly at cell and tried to ignore the spark of interest that traveled down his wrist when their fingers brushed. At least he didn’t drop the phone.

“Yeah. That’d be swell,” Crowley said, wincing at his own choice of words. Swell. What the fuck?

He handed the phone back to Aziraphale who tapped something out. Crowley’s phone gave an answering buzz in his coat pocket. It tingled over his chest, creating an unnecessary amount of excitement for a phone vibration.

Aziraphale led him back to the truck. “What else do you have to do today?”

“I’ve got to work,” Crowley said. “And set up some meetings with the lawyers handling the estate. We’ve not met in person.”

“Cell service at the house is a bit spotty,” Aziraphale said apologetically as he started up the truck. “But I do have wi-fi.”

Crowley rolled that statement around in his mind. “I wasn’t - I’m going to go into town and find a place to stay.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, eyebrows drawing together, the expression saying much more than his single syllable.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the hospitality, but I like having my own space. You don’t want me underfoot,” Crowley said, hoping a bit of self-deprecation might undo the frown on Aziraphale’s face.

Aziraphale frowned deeper. “You’d hardly be underfoot,” he said firmly. “But I suppose it makes sense. I do have to warn you that the lodgings in town are both slim and perhaps not up to the standard of someone like you.”

As Aziraphale pulled into his driveway, Crowley snapped, “Someone like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

The frown disappeared from Aziraphale’s face and he looked genuinely surprised at Crowley’s outburst. “Nothing untoward, I assure you. You just seem a bit posh,” Aziraphale said. “Not the sort who wants to stay somewhere called the Pink Flamingo.”

Crowley wanted to apologize but his face was burning again. He was tired. He shouldn’t have flown off the handle. He was being a prick. Like usual. "Sorry," he said, shaking his head. "I'm all out of sorts. You've been helpful and that was rude."

"Jet lag is quite the beast," Aziraphale said with a teasing waggle of his eyebrows. And that was it. No lingering awkwardness. Aziraphale just let Crowley's rudeness go like it didn't matter at all. Forgiven and forgotten.

"If you change your mind at any point, my couch is always open," Aziraphale said easily. He shut off the car and turned to Crowley. "But I do strongly recommend the Still Creek over the Flamingo."

Crowley pondered that warning as he got out of the truck - a bit more carefully - and went to his own car.

"Feel free to text if you need anything!" Aziraphale called after him while Crowley fumbled with the rental keys, just wanting to leave and find somewhere to be alone.

The owner of the Still Creek was apologetic but insistent. No rooms. Booked out for six weeks.

The Pink Flamingo was...dodgy looking at best. Half-lit sign, car park that needed a good seeing to. Ten rooms, only one of which was open. But it was open for a week so Crowley booked it, only mildly regretting the choice when he pushed into the room and saw the florid pink wallpaper, the puce carpet and the peek of green tile from the bathroom.

"It's kitsch," he told himself firmly even as he poked suspiciously at the tan bedspread.

It was when he went into the bathroom that he realized he was still wearing Aziraphale's scarf. He stared at himself in the mirror and watched his face go apple red. His hair looked awful, stuck up all over the place and flopping in others. The scarf topped off his usually decent fashion sense but it made him look even more like a fool. He ripped it off and stomped out of the bathroom, fishing his phone from his pocket.

I accidentally took your scarf. I can drop it by if…

Crowley looked at the scarf and deleted the message. He'd just give it back when he saw Aziraphale again. There was no need to make up a reason to visit him. They were going to be working together.

Speaking of work…

The closest wifi to Pine Grove was a McDonalds 25 miles away. No wonder Aziraphale bragged about his wifi.

Crowley begrudgingly made the thirty minute drive. He bought an awful coffee and scowled at his computer screen, answering emails from stupid people and yelling at even stupider ones. It left him in a foul mood, only exacerbated by the stink eyes the McDonald's employees gave him every hour or so. It wasn't his fault there was no wifi in Pine Grove.

When he finally responded to his last email, the sun was setting and he drove back along the winding roads to Pine Grove and pulled into the piddly car park by the Pink Flamingo. He needed a drink.

Thankfully, despite its absolute lack of everything else, Pine Grove had a bar. Nessie’s. Right across from the motel.

It probably served piss beer and rail cocktails but Crowley didn't care. Maybe it had food too. He’d only consumed coffee all day after that breakfast with Aziraphale, the thought of which made his stomach squirm with hunger and no insignificant amount of interest. He remembered how Aziraphale had looked while flipping pancakes. With his damp curls and slightly unbuttoned flannel. Like sex itself come to rural Oregon.

He pushed open the grimy door to the bar and grimaced. There were so many people. The sort of people who wore trucker caps and untucked shirts. Crowley sighed. He would put up with anything if it meant he got a halfway decent drink. Or any drink at all really.

He slid onto one of the handful of empty bar stools and reached out to flag down the barkeep only to nearly fall off his stool when he saw Aziraphale shaking a cocktail at the other end of the walnut bar top.

Oh god.

His sleeves were rolled up. The cocktail shaker was glistening with condensation as he gripped it in his hands, shaking it firmly. He switched it to one hand as he retrieved a short tumbler and Crowley's mouth went dry.

His hair was a bit mussed. Some curls fell out in artfully unintentional places. Crowley wanted to brush them out, brush them back, grip them tight in his hands while he -

"Mr. Crowley!" Aziraphale said brightly when his eyes finally landed on him. "I'll be right there!"

Money changed hands and then Aziraphale was happily trotting down the line and smiling at him like his sudden appearance was the greatest thing since sliced bread.

"Erm," Crowley said intelligently.

Aziraphale leaned forward and said, "I'm glad you stopped by! It can get a little rowdy but Tuesday night is usually quite tame."

He said all this with one hand poised on the back of Crowley's while he leaned in like they were co-conspirators. Crowley’s heart raced. He could feel it in the pulse at his wrists. In the tips of his fingers. Surely Aziraphale could feel it too.

Aziraphale withdrew, apparently unaware of the devastation he was causing.

"I thought you were a handyman," Crowley managed to say, the words harsh as they fell from his mouth

It was either harsh or besotted, and harsh seemed the better option. Less embarrassing for all parties.

"Oh, I am," Aziraphale said, readying a glass. "But I've been working here for over a decade and Agnes lets me pick up shifts whenever I like. Tourists tip very well."

Crowley tried to decide if it was worth asking who Agnes was when a group of men teetered up to the bar, obviously drunk. It was only 7 pm, so Crowley was pretty impressed by their level of intoxication.

"Angel," one bemoaned, slumping onto the bartop. "Oh, angel of the sweet nectar, please give me your wares."

Aziraphale shared a look with Crowley like they were both in on the most marvelous inside joke. It made Crowley's heart soar.

"I think perhaps you've had enough," Aziraphale said with a thoughtful hum, pursing his pretty mouth and raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, Rob, you've had enough," one of the guys in a big denim coat said, yanking on his friend’s shoulders.

"But the nectar.."

"Sorry, pal," the third man said, bumping into Crowley as he hefted his friend off the bar and helped him outside.

"Is that normal?" Crowley asked, pointing after them.

Aziraphale laughed, genuine and easy and utterly wonderful. "It happens occasionally. People do come here on vacation which usually leads to some sort of indulgence."

The way Aziraphale said indulgence might have been the sexiest thing Crowley had heard in his life. He could see the slight movement of his tongue behind his teeth as he enunciated. Enticing.

He forced himself to take a deep breath.

"So, I presume you’re here for a drink and not just a nice chat," Aziraphale prompted. Crowley nodded.

"What’s your poison?"

Crowley was at a loss of naming a cocktail. There were no cocktails. Only Aziraphale and his pretty gray eyes and beautiful beard. "Erm…"

"I'll make you something special," Aziraphale said with another pat to his hand. Oh no.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale methodically collected ingredients. "Why don't you tell me what you're making?"

"It's a surprise," Aziraphale said and he had the gall to wink at Crowley. To wink! Might as well yank his vital organs out and throw them across the room.

"So are you going to give me the good nectar then? Be a nice angel?" Crowley asked, leaning forward on his elbows. And then he cursed himself for being a sleazy creep.

Aziraphale didn’t seem to care that Crowley had accidentally hit on him. He rolled his eyes fondly and said, “You’ll have to be the judge of that.”

He placed a pinkish drink in front of Crowley and then spread his hands out wide as he mugged as dramatically as any magician and waggled his fingers. “A mysterious cocktail for the mysterious out-of-towner.”

“Not mysterious,” Crowley grumbled before taking a sip of the drink. The taste of grapefruit flooded his mouth followed by the tang of gin and then something floral he couldn’t place.

It was fantastic.

“Oh,” he said, blinking down at the glass and then up at Aziraphale who smiled, clearly very pleased by his response. “I guess those blokes were right. You are an angel. This is good. Fantastic actually.”

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale said, his delighted expression only increasing the wattage of his smile. Crowley was going to go blind if he continued to spend so much time with the man.

He sipped at his drink. “You wouldn’t happen to also be the angel of food, would you? I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Aziraphale frowned at him. “I’m afraid we only have the usual bar offering. Fries and burgers and the like.”

Crowley sighed but the pinch in his stomach overcame any reluctance he had to eat so much grease. “Yeah, that’s fine. Whatever you recommend.”

“I’ll put in an order for you, but you really shouldn’t go so long without eating,” Aziraphale admonished.

Another patron approached the bar, drawing Aziraphale’s attention. Crowley watched the polite interaction. His stomach squirmed with hunger and interest and all he could do was slurp at his drink, the tang of grapefruit doing nothing to quell his disappointment. He couldn’t monopolize Aziraphale’s time, as much as he wanted to.

He could just sit here and nurse his drink and creepily watch Aziraphale talk to other people. Fantastic. Yes. Great plan.

When another server finally delivered his food, he was so hungry that even the rather suspect burger looked like a gift from the gods.

“What do I owe you?” Crowley asked, digging out his wallet.

The man waved him off. “It’s on the house.”

Crowley frowned. “What?

“Aziraphale paid for it,” the man explained before rushing off to take another order.

Crowley looked down at his food. He was going to enjoy this meal far more than it deserved.

Chapter Text

Crowley pushed into his motel room. He was vaguely tipsy from his drink - apparently called a French Tart, which he learned while trying to google the ingredients. He wondered if Aziraphale knew and was mocking him. Crowley fumbled a bit tugging the key from the lock. God, the place really was awful. He collapsed on the edge of the bed with a long groan and tugged off his shoes.

Aziraphale had been at the bar. He'd been wearing a pretty plaid flannel, the same one Crowley had seen that morning, and all he wanted to do was tear it off. But he couldn't because if he tried he’d just muck it up. Probably rip his own shirt or puke on his feet or something. No. Romance and cooing and all that wasn't for him. He knew it. No more soup in laps or boyfriends who were only in it for the sex. Being a bit lonely was better than begging.

Fuck, gin made him maudlin.

He flopped back onto the creaky bed and stared at a stain on the ceiling. It was shaped like a cow.

He was pathetic. Aziraphale hadn't even spoken to him after making him his drink.

He paid for your dinner, the confident, sleazy, lying voice that got him through agency presentations whispered.

The much louder, yet much more nervous version of him who stayed up too late watching conspiracy theory videos on YouTube and generally acted like a teenager snapped back, He was just being nice.

Crowley dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw spots. He needed to shower and sleep. He’d feel better after that.

It had been a long day. He’d sat in an uncomfortable chair in a McDonald’s for most of it. He probably smelled like a fryer and burnt coffee beans.

Groaning, he heaved himself out of bed and into the small green-tiled bathroom

He switched on the shower as he undressed. It was not a nice place to be undressing in. Barely clean, small, bright green. Not exactly relaxing.

Atmosphere or no, Crowley wanted a shower.

The spray was warm and that was good enough as he scrubbed himself down.

He wondered if Aziraphale was still at the bar, if he stayed until close. The image of Aziraphale making drinks flashed behind his eyes. His forearms had looked so strong. The red light of the bar had flashed off the dust of golden hair on his knuckles, his wrists. It had been a gorgeous picture, the muscles in his arms moving as he made cocktails. Crowley felt a very specific twitch between his legs

Oh.

This was definitely a bad idea. Except…

Despite being in a bathroom the color of a bruised green apple, Crowley tentatively grasped his half-hard cock. It could be good stress relief. He'd sleep better.

He moved his hand experimentally and moaned as the first wave of pleasure rolled through him. He grew hard in his palm.

He tried to keep the fantasy distant. Hands on his body. Mouth on his cock. But his mind was all too happy to conjure the image of pretty blue eyes. The scrape of a beard on his thighs. Sinking his hands into soft, golden and gray curls.

Pervert, the teenager said. Wanking over someone you just met.

Crowley was trying to tug the fantasy into more neutral territory when the water suddenly turned icy. He yelped and slapped at the taps until the spray shut off.

He stood, shivering and dripping in the hideous green tub and decided it was probably for best he hadn't finished that particular wank.

Crowley didn’t like it, but he managed to get another full day of work done at the McDonald’s. He subjected himself to a salad that didn’t make him want to curl up and die and then stopped at a petrol station on the way back to Pine Grove to buy granola bars and fruit. He needed to figure out his food situation. He couldn’t eat at Nessie’s every day and he certainly wasn’t going to eat McDonald’s for a month.

For now, fruit and granola bars would do. He didn’t eat much anyway. He could make a pilgrimage to a grocery store. Maybe get a hot plate.

He needed to get out to Portland the following Wednesday to meet the lawyers but was dreading the drive. He didn’t like being on the opposite side of the road and driving in downtown busy streets seemed like a nightmare.

Once he had the legal stuff ironed out, he needed to meet with Aziraphale and put together a firm plan for the renovation. Aziraphale didn’t need to do it all, but Crowley wanted a task list to hand off to someone who could manage it.

He dreaded that meeting. Aziraphale explaining everything in his happy meandering tones, leaning in close to Crowley as they put a list together. His heart did something stupid just thinking about it. Ridiculous. He’d met the man twice and so what if he was nice? He was probably nice to everyone and didn’t need Crowley tripping all over him.

He hopped out of the shower on his third day at the Flamingo, toweling off absentmindedly as he ran through his work tasks for the day. He tugged on his jeans. He needed to review the executive project status reports. Maybe he could get Eric to create a pivot table of the distribution of statuses so he wouldn’t have to look at every single one.

He didn’t like being barefoot on the suspect carpet of the motel so he’d taken to slipping on his socks and shoes as soon as he had trousers on. As he pushed his right foot into his shoe, he felt something warm squirm against his toe and then little nails were scurrying over the top of his foot and over the bottom of his trouser leg before a mouse darted over the carpet and under the bedside table.

Crowley, who had never seen a mouse in his life let alone had one run across his foot, screamed.

He was out the door of his room before he even thought about it, dashing over the concrete and onto the gravel car park to collapse against his car. He could still feel the little feet on the top of his socks. His skin was covered in goosebumps and he thought he might vomit.

He wished uselessly that he had grabbed a shirt, or his keys, or anything that meant he didn’t have to go back in that room. Fuck.

“Crowley?”

That voice, soft and surprised, sent an entirely different sort of goosebumps down Crowley's spine and he desperately wanted to be able to put on an insouciant smile, cock his hip, say hello there, angel of the sweet nectar. Or anything other than what he actually did, which was spin around and clutch at the door handle of the Mazda and squeak.

Aziraphale’s eyes were wide and a concerned look descended on his face. “What are you doing out here? Without a shirt, really. It’s far too cold.”

They looked at each other. Aziraphale was slightly shaded by the overhang that shielded the motel doors, but Crowley thought he saw his eyes flicker down over his chest. He clasped his arms around his torso in a makeshift hug. He was freezing and he hated how vulnerable he felt.

Whatever look Crowley had imagined disappeared as Aziraphale stepped out into the light. He clucked his tongue and bustled over, removing his red, plaid coat as he went.

His boots crunched on the gravel and then Crowley was engulfed in the soft, sherpa-lined coat. It was warm from Aziraphale’s body and it smelled like his house. Clean and cedary. Crowley pathetically inhaled the comforting scent and jammed his arms through the sleeves, clutching at the coat. His teeth were chattering. He was breathing hard.

Aziraphale grasped his upper arm and gave him a worried look. “My dear fellow, you’re shaking.”

“There. Was. A. Mouse. In. My. Shoe,” Crowley grunted out. He was blushing. His face was hot. What sort of person was he? Terrified of a little mouse.

But it had been on his foot. He shivered with disgust at the memory.

Aziraphale grimaced sympathetically. “Ah, yes. The Pink Flamingo’s rather famous for its critter infestation. I heard room ten had a possum a while back.”

Crowley resisted the very strong desire to sag against Aziraphale and tuck his nose into his shoulder. He was wearing a thick knit, oatmeal-colored jumper that made his shoulders look absurdly strong. He wanted to sink his fingers into it.

What Crowley needed was a wall and the wherewithal to bash his head against it.

“What are - what are you doing here?” Crowley asked, finally regaining some oxygen.

Aziraphale smiled and gestured down the line of doors. “Room eight had a blocked vent. Tracy called me out to fix it.”

Crowley glanced behind Aziraphale at the open door. He was going to have to go back inside there. Stay there. His foot tingled with the memory of the mouse’s sharp little nails.

“Why don’t I pop in and take care of that mouse, hm?” Aziraphale offered, broad hand passing soothingly down Crowley’s upper arm. “Where did it run off to?”

“Under the side table.”

“Back in a jiffy,” Aziraphale said brightly, leaving Crowley to watch as he walked off. His jeans were work worn and fit his arse spectacularly.

Crowley couldn’t believe himself. Checking out this man who was helping him just after Crowley nearly puked in the gravel over some mouse.

Aziraphale appeared in the doorway shortly, hands cupped. “I’ll just drop this little fellow out by the bushes.”

Crowley stared. He just...he just went in there and grabbed the mouse. And was now taking it into the woods. God, Crowley was pathetic. Not even able to handle a mouse and here was Aziraphale grabbing the damn thing without even batting an eye.

Aziraphale returned and found Crowley still hesitating by his car.

“All taken care of,” he said, eyes still crinkling in a fetching smile. “No more mice in your shoes. For now.”

Crowley bared his teeth in disgust.

“You know,” Aziraphale began slowly. His eyes drifted to the ground, blue turning an ephemeral gray in the soft morning light. “The offer of my couch still stands. I’d be happy to host you.”

The still rioting anxiety in Crowley melted away. He could leave the horrid mousey room and stay with Aziraphale. Where there was Wi-Fi.

And where there was also Aziraphale.

“Yeah,” he rushed to say. No more hideous wallpaper. No more strange smells or apple-colored tile. “That would be - that would be great.”

Aziraphale’s smile turned blinding. “Oh, wonderful. I really do enjoy having company.”

Crowley swallowed hard. It was probably a mistake, accepting Aziraphale’s offer. Maybe he could stay for a few days and check back at the Still Creek Inn. Aziraphale had said that one was better. He could even drive over to the town with the McDonald’s and stay at some ramshackle hotel there.

But then he thought about Aziraphale’s unfairly comfortable sofa bed. How it had felt to wake up and look out the window to see the forest unfurling before him. The sharp smell of cedar and the curl of smoke. Aziraphale had made him breakfast and acted like he was entirely welcome.

Crowley’s stomach twisted up with nerves. It was all well and good now, but he knew he was going to do something stupid. Put his foot in it. Literally or figuratively.

Aziraphale’s smile had shifted into something closer to concern. “I’m sure you’ve had an awful fright. Why don’t you let me get your things and I’ll meet you at my house? Do you remember the way?”

Crowley nodded mutely, unbelievably relieved that he didn’t have to go back into that dark motel room.

“Let me just go wash my hands and then I’ll grab your shoes. Driving in socks can’t be comfortable.”

Crowley sank deeper into the warmth of Aziraphale’s coat. It didn’t fasten in the front and he had to hold it shut. Wearing his clothes made it clear how much larger Aziraphale was than him. Not taller but wider. The sleeves of the coat came down past Crowley’s knuckles. He could tug the sides of the coat until they overlapped his chest. It was nice.

Aziraphale came back out, dramatically shaking Crowley’s shoes upside down as if to make sure there were no rocks inside. “Mouse-free!” he declared, handing them to Crowley with a grin that could only be called teasing.

Crowley gave him a weak smile, feeling very silly indeed as he put the shoes on the ground and jammed his feet into them. “Thanks.”

Aziraphale passed over his car keys and his work-roughened fingers were warm against Crowley’s palm. Did Aziraphale feel that same spark Crowley did? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to look into Aziraphale’s eyes and try to figure it out.

Aziraphale shooed him away. “Run along then. I’ll handle your things.”

Crowley slipped into his car as Aziraphale went back into the hotel. He gripped the steering wheel tight and took several deep breaths. It was going to be fine.

Crowley waited in his car outside of Aziraphale’s small cabin, leaving the car running so it stayed warm.

Aziraphale’s coat was splayed open over his bare chest and he felt like a fool for behaving the way he had. He’d been overdramatic and Aziraphale had been nice and the stupid feeling inside him like he might throw up was definitely still about the mouse that had crawled over his foot and not anything all to do with the prospect of staying in this man’s house. This man that made Crowley want to fucking lay down somewhere in the dark and pretend he had zero libido. Attraction? Never heard of him.

The rumble of an engine drew his attention and Aziraphale’s truck pulled into the driveway.

Crowley took a deep breath and shut off his car. He climbed out and Aziraphale was already pulling out his suitcase and laptop bag from the passenger side of his truck. Crowley rushed to take them but Aziraphale waved him off. “No trouble.”

Slouching after him, Crowley started to mentally plan out all the things he could say for the rest of the day so that he wouldn’t go out of line. It should be fine. Keep it impersonal. They’d have a short conversation and then Crowley would make an excuse to start working. Aziraphale would probably leave to do his normal job and Crowley would be left alone. He wouldn’t do anything weird or creepy because he was a terrifically normal person who did not sniff all the toiletries on someone’s counter before using their shower.

Then Aziraphale would come back and Crowley could politely ask about his day and after that was done they could not speak for hours. Crowley could put in his airpods and watch Youtube videos on his phone while Aziraphale did whatever he did in the evenings. Maybe Aziraphale would leave and go to the lodge for midnight window fixing or whatever.

“It’s a bit messier than the last time you were here,” Aziraphale said apologetically before leaning down to unlace his boots.

Crowley looked around and all he noticed was a few more books laying around, an especially soft looking blanket crumpled on the sofa like someone had just been using it. He wanted to curl up in it.

“S’no problem,” Crowley mumbled, taking his suitcase which unfortunately left the overlarge coat hanging open over his chest.

Aziraphale glanced down at the exposed skin and put a hand to his own chest. “Dear me, you’d probably like to finish getting dressed. I’ll just...leave you to it.”

With that, Aziraphale disappeared upstairs to the lofted bedroom leaving Crowley to stare down at his own chest and regret a life of sparse meals and constant stress. To someone like Aziraphale, he probably looked like a skeleton with skin barely stretched over the bones.

He thought about the last time he’d try to pull someone at a club. He’d only had two glasses of wine, but he’d approached a nice looking woman and introduced himself, stumbling over his own name. She’d raised her eyebrows, looked him up and down, and said you’re awfully skinny before her hand had flown to her mouth and she’d apologized. It hadn’t stopped the wave of nausea that resulted in Crowley disappearing from the club and swearing off trying to find one-night-stands.

He had his memories of his two relationships to keep him from trying for anything serious and his handful of one night stands had all ended in disaster. He tried not to think about that one time he broke a finger before he’d even taken off his trousers. The man hadn’t even gone with him to A&E.

Crowley reluctantly shrugged off Aziraphale’s jacket before rifling through his suitcase and pulling out the henley he’d brought. He’d grossly underpacked. Maybe when he went to Portland he could pick up some extra clothes. Things that didn’t emphasize how thin he was. Maybe some big touristy shirts. Something comfortable.

He also still needed to get a jacket.

And probably some practical shoes.

Maybe Aziraphale would have some recommendations.

“Are you decent?” Aziraphale called from the loft, making Crowley jump.

He plucked at the henley and decided it would be weird if he put on a blazer while inside. “Yeah, sorry about that,” Crowley said. He dug through his laptop back and pulled out his glasses case. He slipped on his rather dilapidated black and silver frames and tugged his laptop out. Might as well set up shop.

Aziraphale came down stairs and paused on the landing, a small smile spreading over his face. “Ready to get to work then?”

Crowley frowned but couldn’t manage any real vitriol. “I lost about an hour to the mouse disaster. Seemed time to get back to it.”

Aziraphale brushed past the table. “I have a few more things to do over in Rhododendron so I’ll be out for the rest of the day. Make yourself at home. Mi casa es su casa as the Americans say.”

He patted Crowley on the back once, a friendly thing, and then withdrew. It didn’t stop the spread of warmth all the way down Crowley’s spine. He wanted to lean back in the chair. He wished Aziraphale had lingered. But these touches, they seemed mindless. Friendly. They didn’t mean anything. And as much as Crowley wanted Aziraphale to do it again, maybe feel the wide press of his palm for more than a mere second, he was never going to ask.

When he opened his email he had over 100 unreads. He sighed and scrubbed a hand under the bridge of his glasses to rub at his eyes. He should have taken some vacation days while he was out here.

He thought about being able to sit on Aziraphale’s porch on a cold morning, wrapped in his big sherpa-lined jacket, with nothing to do for the rest of the day. It would be cozy and relaxing and Crowley wouldn’t even think about emails or Twitter campaigns.

He wondered if he was even capable of shutting off that part of his brain.

Aziraphale was shoving his feet into his boots, sitting on the edge of the bench by the door to tie the laces. He was wearing the jacket he’d let Crowley borrow.

“What’s the Wi-Fi password?” Crowley asked before he could go.

Aziraphale looked up and smiled, eyes crinkling. Crowley liked the soft bags under his eyes. They made him look friendly, emphasized his strong nose.

“Ah, sorry. Yes. It’s tea ampersand crumpets. All lowercase,” Aziraphale replied before standing, putting his hands over his head to stretch a bit. The move pushed out his belly, making his body move in a fascinating way. Crowley stared. He couldn’t help it. God, what did that body feel like?

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” Aziraphale said, grabbing his keys. “Feel free to text if you think of anything you need.”

Crowley swallowed hard and turned back to his work.

Crowley’s eyes were tired by the time he was done dealing with the three fires at work. Hastur was completely incompetent and Beez only enabled him. He couldn’t do anything by himself and Crowley practically had to do his job alongside his own. He hated doing financials.

He was so frustrated that he sent an email to Eric at 4 PM.

I’m shutting down for the day and taking tomorrow off. If anybody calls, tell them to piss off.

Eric replied immediately, like the good little assistant he was.

Yes, boss.

Crowley slammed his laptop shut and let his head fall into his hands. Tomorrow, he would take the day and get all his ducks in a row for the renovation. He’d have a packet put together and everything. All he’d need to do was find someone to get the building up to code and then it would be fine. Everything would be fine.

The door creaked open and a blast of cold air followed. Crowley shivered, turning to look at Aziraphale who was kicking snow off his boots onto the rug outside the door.

“It’s quite cold out there,” Aziraphale said, taking off his shoes and placing them on the porch.

“Yeah,” Crowley observed stupidly. Great. One syllable responses. Fantastic.

Aziraphale shrugged off his coat and placed it on a hanger above the bench by the door. He turned back to Crowley, only to give him another of those smiles that pierced Crowley entirely. Crowley wanted to bang his head on the table but instead he smiled hesitantly back.

“Erm...welcome back?” Crowley said for lack of something better.

“It is lovely to be home,” Aziraphale said and then he did this thing where he moved his shoulders like he was delighted by something. Crowley could only call it a wiggle and it made him want to squeeze him to death.

“I was thinking of starting a fire. Would you mind?” Aziraphale asked, already moving to the living room.

“No. You’re - you’re fine. It’s your house,” Crowley stammered, very distracted by Aziraphale squatting by the fireplace. His mind was providing a very helpful commentary along the lines of Hrgg, thighs, butt, thighs.

Aziraphale laughed. “Yes, but you’re here too and I’m not attempting to smoke you out.”

“Nah, it really is fine,” Crowley assured him. He took off his glasses and stood. “Is there anything I can help with?”

Aziraphale was busy stacking wood into the fireplace. “Actually,” he said, pausing in his movement. “Did you have a preference for dinner? I hadn’t exactly thought about what to make because I was going to take you to dinner but with the snow…”

Crowley peered out the steadily darkening forest and, sure enough, snow was sifting down through the spaces in the trees. Then it hit him, take you to dinner.

The nervous teenager that refused to stop haunting him retorted, It doesn’t mean anything.

“I’m easy,” Crowley said, meaning I’m easy to please and only realizing after exactly what it sounded like. Aziraphale fixed him with a look, a smirk in fact. Like all of Aziraphale’s smiles so far, it was lovely.

“I just mean I don’t mind anything. Whatever you like,” Crowley said, going for nonchalance and probably sounding a bit rude.

“Alright,” Aziraphale said easily, standing up and brushing his hands off as the fire started to crackle. “Something simple then. There are sweet potatoes in the bottom basket on the kitchen rack. Would you be alright to wash two while I clean myself up a bit?”

Crowley, happy to have literally anything to do with his hands, nodded eagerly and followed Aziraphale’s instructions. He wondered if he could inconspicuously avoid using any knives. Would Aziraphale notice? The way today was going, he was sure to chop off a finger if he got too close to any sharp implements.

So when Aziraphale returned, it was to two very clean sweet potatoes and one very nervous Crowley.

Chapter Text

Crowley did his very best not to cut himself even as Aziraphale moved around him, plucking various kitchen implements from cupboards and making little thoughtful noises as if he were surprised by what he found in his own house.

"Sweet potato and black bean tacos," Aziraphale said when he emerged from the pantry with a small bag of tortillas and a can of beans.

Crowley's stomach jerked in response. Both with hunger and a feeling he pointedly ignored.

He continued to peel the potatoes as instructed while Aziraphale went into the living room. He heard the scratch of a record and then music filled the air. Something light and acoustic and soothing.

"A little mood music," Aziraphale said with a playful waggle of his eyebrows when he returned. He took the now naked sweet potatoes from Crowley and started dicing them with an easy efficiency Crowley couldn't help but envy.

This man was so self-assured in his quiet life. 40 years on earth and Crowley had never felt that way, hard as he tried. As much as he smirked and cajoled and laughed his way through work, it was exhausting. It was a performance and it served him well. It's why he had six figures in the bank and counting. Faking it was a skill as much as anything else. He tried to appreciate it. He really did.

But looking at Aziraphale now, all he could think was that maybe there were better ways to enjoy life. One that didn't keep him up nights or make him feel isolated even in the bustle of the city.

"Why don't you open the beans?" Aziraphale said, pointing in the direction of the can and can opener he had laid out from one of his forages into the drawers and cupboards.

Crowley pushed away his melancholy thoughts and jumped to obey.

They moved around each other as they cooked, Aziraphale with the ease of being in his own home and Crowley with the nervous desire to please and not get underfoot. But Aziraphale made it clear with every bump of an elbow or mumbled apology, that Crowley was welcome.

"These are really good," Crowley said around the first bite, the aroma of cumin and chili powder filling his mouth along the sweet heartiness of the potato. They were seated together at the table Crowley had occupied all day doing work, but that was all forgotten in favor of quiet music and Aziraphale smiling at him.

"You don't have to sound quite so surprised," Aziraphale said.

Crowley turned red. "M’not surprised. Just...it’s the best meal I've had since coming here."

Aziraphale's teasing smile softened a bit. "Well, I'm glad."

The fire crackled in the background as the record played its soft melody and Crowley felt that same envious tug. To have a life like this.

Aziraphale broke the silence. "Did you have a productive day?"

Crowley swallowed the bite of food he'd only half chewed and bit back a cough. "Yeah, er, it was fine. A bit irritating."

"Irritating?" Aziraphale asked, raised eyebrows and guileless hazel eyes. Gorgeous. "What is it you do exactly?"

"I'm the CIO at an advertising agency," Crowley said, the words not feeling like the brag they could be.

Aziraphale's eyebrows went up. "Quite the title."

The blush on Crowley's cheeks grew as he tried to explain that being in the c-suite had several downfalls. He found himself explaining the whole Hastur situation and the frustration with Beez and Aziraphale nodded sympathetically when Crowley said he was taking the next day off.

"It sounds like you deserve it. Putting up with all that."

Crowley ducked his head, realizing he'd been ranting. "What about you? Your day?" He gestured for Aziraphale to speak and a few sweet potatoes dropped out of his taco and fell onto the table. He tried to subtly pick them up but there was no way Aziraphale missed the little accident.

But it didn't matter. To say Aziraphale lit up at the question would be an understatement. He went through all his one-off jobs, cracking jokes and making Crowley laugh. Really laugh.

"But I would say the most eventful part of my day was running across a partially nude man in the middle of a parking lot. He'd been scared by a mouse!" Aziraphale said, eyes full of mischief.

Crowley's face turned red again. "It ran across my foot!" he protested.

"I think you surprised it as much as it surprised you. Imagine: a giant foot descending out of the sky and onto your bed. Quite a fright."

Aziraphale gave a dramatic shimmy as if in fear and that dragged another laugh out of Crowley.

"When you put it like that…"

After supper, Aziraphale flipped the record and they did the dishes in an easy silence. When the final plate was dried and put away, Aziraphale leaned against the counter. "You know if you're taking the day tomorrow, perhaps we could go into Portland. I could show you the sights."

Crowley's heart skipped a beat, a million possibilities running through his head. "I’m supposed to go into the city next Wednesday, to meet with the lawyers."

"We could go together then," Aziraphale offered. "Oh, that could be fun. We could make a day of it. There's this lovely riverfront cafe with the most delicious salad I've ever tasted."

"Yeah, maybe," Crowley hedged, eyes going to the floor. "I was actually hoping to get to a shop tomorrow. I need a better coat for the weather."

"Why don't I show you Pine Grove, introduce you to a few folks and then I can drive you over to get you outfitted?"

Aziraphale leaned in and put a hand on Crowley's arm as he spoke and Crowley clenched his teeth in an effort not to react.

Aziraphale swayed away, already moving towards the stairs. "Since you're taking the day off did you want to go to bed early? I usually read for a bit before heading upstairs but I can leave the living room to you."

Crowley shook his head. "No. It's...it’s alright. I can entertain myself. I'm not tired."

Aziraphale puttered around upstairs for a bit and when he came back down he was in soft looking sleep pants and a white shirt that made Crowley's higher brain functions shut down.

Aziraphale was a larger person, not particularly tall and with a decent layer of fat. He might be called chubby. A little round.

His shoulders sloped down into soft arms that spread slightly under the band of his t-shirt. Crowley could see the slight shadow in his bicep that hinted at a layer of muscle beneath all that softness. The collar of the shirt dipped enough that a puff of blonde and gray chest hair was on display. Crowley wanted to bury his face in it.

Aziraphale seemed completely oblivious to Crowley's distraction even though he felt like it was painted right on his slack-jawed face.

Fuck. The way his shirt showed off the width of his barrel chest. His forearms. Good lord his forearms. The hair there was darker than that on his head, light brown and deliciously shaded so that Crowley could see the shifting muscles beneath the skin as Aziraphale plucked a book from a bookshelf under the stairs.

Crowley was drooling. He had to be.

He forced his attention to his phone where he was rewatching his favorite How It’s Made youtube videos as Aziraphale dropped into the chair closer to the fire, crossing one socked foot over his knee.

Crowley glanced over at him and the sight made his stomach flip. He was wearing glasses. Cozy gold framed things that made Crowley think of Santa Claus. A Santa Claus he desperately wanted to have sex with.

He cleared his throat without thinking and Aziraphale glanced up.

His brow knitted in concert. "Are you alright, my dear fellow? Should I bank the fire? You're awfully flushed."

Crowley shuffled in his seat. "Yeah. Um. Warm in here. Is all."

Aziraphale set his book down and moved to the fireplace. The request had been a mistake because now Aziraphale was squatting and the jeans had been good but they had nothing on barely-there pajama pants.

Crowley pointedly tore his gaze away and stared out the window. The snow had stopped falling at some point but there was a good dusting of it over the backyard and coating the roof of a small shed behind Aziraphale's house.

"Much better," Aziraphale said, drawing Crowley's attention once more as he stood. The fire was banked behind him and Crowley gave him a weak smile.

"Yeah. Thanks."

Crowley woke the next morning to a rhythmic thudding. He squinted up at the ceiling, still groggy but infinitely more comfortable than the Pink Flamingo. He shuddered at the memory of tiny claws on his foot.

Another thud sounded. It was clearly coming from outside so Crowley stood, lifting his hands high over his head and relishing the crack in his spine. He had a jolt of anxiety at the thought of ignoring all his emails for a day but he pushed it off. He needed a break. He deserved one.

Crowley looked out the window and immediately identified the source of the noise.

Aziraphale was out by the shed, an axe poised over his head. He brought it down with a resounding crack and the log before him split in two.

Crowley dropped onto the edge of the pullout couch and took several deep breaths before looking outside again.

Aziraphale's breaths were coming in large white puffs. The smattering of snow on the ground around him even less than Crowley had thought the night before. He was wearing a white undershirt and had a blue plaid shirt tied around his waist.

He lifted the axe again. His arms flexed. Another crack.

Holy shit.

Aziraphale looked up and met Crowley's eyes through the window, favoring him with a bright smile and a wave. Weak at the knees even though he was sitting, Crowley mustered the energy to wave back.

When Aziraphale turned back to his work, Crowley flopped onto his back and groaned.

He needed a cold shower.

After taking entirely too long to get his head on straight while he shaved, Crowley resisted the urge to check his laptop as he contemplated his clothes. He didn’t have anything warm enough.

The door creaked behind him and when Crowley turned to say good morning, he saw Aziraphale. He had a handful of chopped logs in his arms and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His cheeks were ruddy.

"How did you sleep?" Aziraphale asked with a pleasant smile as he deposited the logs into the wood holder by the fireplace.

"Great," Crowley said, scrubbing at his still damp hair instead of looking directly at Aziraphale because the sight might honestly blind him at this point.

"Would you like anything in particular for breakfast?"

"Whatever is fine."

That’s how Crowley found himself munching on an apple as he absentmindedly checked his email on his phone. He'd told himself he wouldn't but he couldn't stop himself.

He needed to take a real vacation.

He heard the sound of the pipes rushing as the shower turned on and he leaned against the table. What was he doing? Tying himself into knots over some man in the woods.

Crowley had only gone through about ten emails when Aziraphale emerged from the bathroom in just a towel. The phone fell from his hand onto the table. Then he dropped the remains if the apple he had been eating. It hit the floor and rolled over onto his toes leaving a wet and sticky trail.

God, Aziraphale's chest. His chest hair.

He was absolutely soft. His stomach swelled slightly underneath a soft chest, dusky nipples that made Crowley's mouth water. His chest hair though…

A spray of blonde and gray hair under his collarbone that spread down over his belly, tapering and darkening his belly buttoning and disappearing into the towel.

Aziraphale hummed to himself as he trotted upstairs. Either too polite to point out the pool of drool forming on the table or entirely oblivious.

"Were you still interested in going into town today?" Aziraphale asked as he disappeared up the stairs, raising his voice so it would carry down to the lower level.

Crowley glanced up at the beams that cut across the ceiling and prayed for patience. He was going to die of lust. Expire on the spot.

"Yeah. If you still want to." Crowley winced. This was stupid. He was being stupid.

"Wonderful!" Aziraphale called back down. "Everyone will be so excited to meet you."

Aziraphale came back down stairs, pushing his hair back from his face as he favored Crowley with a pleased smile. "I'll be ready to go in two shakes."

Crowley ignored the apple core currently drying onto the top of his foot and hoped Aziraphale wouldn't notice it. "I would’d still like to go somewhere I could pick up warmer clothes. And maybe boots."

Aziraphale's eyes flickered and then his gaze ran up and down Crowley's body in a way he could feel. He forced himself to not tense up under the attention but it was nearly impossible.

"I suppose it would be nice for you to be able to explore the area in your free time. As attractive as your outfits are, they're hardly practical."

Crowley's ears started to burn as he clenched his jaw. His mind was screaming incoherently. Words? Normal vocal pitch? Anything?

He cleared his throat. He adjusted his weight on his feet and regretted it when the apple core rolled away. "Yeah. That's what...that’s what I was thinking."

The apple was steadily rolling toward the door and, giving up on looking at all cool, Crowley ducked to retrieve it. He held it up and gave Aziraphale an awkward smile. "Dropped my core."

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows.

Crowley smiled.

And then Aziraphale's hands went to his belly as he laughed, handsome face crinkling with joy. "You are quite the character."

Crowley let out an awkward laugh that turned more genuine as Aziraphale left him for the bathroom. Tossing the core into the trash, he looked out the window onto the drive.

He had plans for the day. Plans he was looking forward to. And no work. Wasn't that something?

Aziraphale took him into town, stopping at a little shed called "Madame Tracy's" that apparently sold coffee out of one of the windows. A woman with blonde hair opened it, looking delighted. "Mr. Fell! What a surprise!"

Crowley peered at the woman curiously, she looked an awful lot like…"This is Mr. Crowley. He owns the lodge out on Hogsback. Crowley, this is Tracy."

Crowley suddenly remembered the flamboyant red-haired woman who checked him in at the Flamingo. This was definitely the same person just with wildly different hair

"Oh we've met," Tracy said, blinking her eyelashes coquettishly. "Are you still checking out today?"

Crowley realized in his mouse-induced haste that he'd forgotten to tell the lady he was leaving. "Er, yes. Staying with Aziraphale here."

"Are you now?" Tracy said, grinning widely as she leaned out the window. "Mr. Fell has a nice place. A bit out of the way. Quite cozy."

Before Crowley could stammer out a response, Aziraphale stepped in. "I'm taking Crowley around to show him the town."

"Not much town to see," Tracy said wryly. "Can I get you anything? Cup of coffee for the road?"

Aziraphale waved off her offer and gave Crowley a meaningful glance. Right. Tracy equaled bad coffee. "No, thank you. We had plenty at home."

Crowley’s heart unwisely raced at that. We. God, he was pathetic. It meant nothing. It was grammatically and factually correct and yet, Crowley wanted it to be more. He wanted to be a we.

Crowley let Aziraphale bustle him off to a small general store that mostly held fishing tackle and sold worms by the pound. A cantankerous man sat behind the counter and grunted at them instead of responding when Aziraphale introduced him.

"That's just Shadwell. When he does speak he's impossible to understand. We aren't sure if he's from Appalachia or the Highlands. It's all possible really," Aziraphale said under his breath as they exited the shop. The cold air made Crowley shiver and Aziraphale immediately took notice.

He frowned. "Oh dear, you really do need better gear."

He slipped out his jacket, that same sherpa-lined flannel and handed it to Crowley who tried to make sure his hands didn't shake as he took it.

"I have a spare jacket in my car. We can head north a bit and go to the sporting goods store in Welches."

Crowley nodded and just as Aziraphale turned to go said "Aziraphale --"

He turned back expectantly and Crowley's words failed him for the second time that morning. What could he say? Lay me out on this gravel and kiss me until neither of us can breathe?

"Thanks," Crowley said lamely. "You've been...kind."

Aziraphale smiled softly and stepped closer, one comforting hand coming to clasp Crowley's arm. "This world can be unforgiving and I like to do my best to help when I think it's needed."

"You think I need help then?" Crowley asked with a snort.

"Everyone needs help," Aziraphale replied without a hint of irony. And Crowley really had nothing to say to that.

Aziraphale took him to a sporting goods store. The idea of which would have made Crowley grimace if he weren't so desperate for reasonable clothes.

Aziraphale must have noticed his discomfort as they walked into the giant warehouse-like store that smelled like lycra and rubber. "If we go to Portland next week and we can get you something more...your style."

Ceowley didn't like the snooty implication of that so he tilted his chin back and strode into the store. "When in the mountains do as the mountainmen do."

Aziraphale trotted after. "Am I the mountain man in this scenario?"

Crowley raised one eyebrow at him over the rim of his glasses. He'd given up on wearing contacts. It was his day off and he wouldn't be impressing Aziraphale with his looks even if he tried. Glasses were more comfortable than contacts anyway.

"If not a mountain man, what would you call yourself?" Crowley asked as they wound their way through displays of leggings. Men's was on the second floor and it looked like the stairs were in the back so he continued to press forward. "A lumberjack?"

Aziraphale guffawed so loud that Crowley paused and turned to look at him. He was practically cackling. "Lumberjack? How very cliche."

Crowley frowned. "You've got the plaid and axe to prove it."

Aziraphale wiped at his eyes as he gasped for breath. "Those are practical. A good flannel shirt will last you years."

Crowley snorted. "Maybe you should help me pick one out."

Aziraphale’s laughter faded only to be replaced by a playful smile. "Perhaps I will."

Crowley wasn't sure if he should feel threatened. What he did know was that he felt a thrill of pride. Aziraphale was laughing and not at him. Instead, because of him.

Terribly inconvenient attraction or no, maybe they could be friends.

Crowley would like that.

The men's section was lackluster but Aziraphale helped him pick out something called a Carhartt jacket that, while utilitarian, did not make Crowley's sense of fashion shrivel up in shame.

He even managed to present him with a pair of black hiking boots that reminded him of the combat boots he'd worn in high school when he thought he was very cool.

He snagged a two pack of gray long sleeved shirts that would pass for housewear when he didn't want to look like a slutty twat. When he went to Portland he could find something less...boring.

Aziraphale disappeared while Crowley was paying for his purchases and when he returned the twenty-something cashier with milkmaid braids was very obviously ogling him. Which was fair. Aziraphale deserved to be ogled, with looks like that.

"No flannel for me," Crowley asked, risking a bit more teasing as he paid.

"None of them were right. If -- when I get you a flannel, it will be perfect and you won't wish to wear anything else."

Crowley snorted, an ugly sound that he was immediately embarrassed by. Aziraphale laughed and helped him pick up his bags.

When they hopped back into the truck, Crowley ventured, despite his brain hollering that it was a terrible idea, "Are you still willing to go into Portland next week? Show me the sights?"

Aziraphale paused with his hand on the ignition. "I would love to."

"The business with the lawyers won't take too long on Wednesday. If you're free," Crowley said with as much nonchalance as he was capable of.

"I'll clear my schedule," Aziraphale said and when Crowley chanced a glance in his direction, he was smiling, quietly pleased.

Friends. Yeah. Friends.

Chapter Text

Having taken Friday off, Crowley was in for a long weekend. He needed it. He was strung out from all his time with Aziraphale who apparently could cook and bake and loved having soft music running in the background while he bustled around the cabin. He was like a ray of sunshine at all times. Crowley didn’t know how he managed it.

Aziraphale apparently also took housecalls on the weekend because he would disappear for hours and then return flush-faced and happy, remarking on a job well done.

They sat down Saturday night to discuss the construction plan. It was a blur of contractors and subcontractors, but Aziraphale gave him contacts for all of them. "If you'd like my help setting up any of it, let me know," he had said brightly and patted Crowley's hand before once more retreating outside to do who knew what. Maybe more wood chopping. Crowley started sweating just thinking about it.

Sunday night while Crowley, at Aziraphale's insistence, scrolled through Netflix to pick something to watch, Aziraphale asked from where he was busy in the kitchen, "Would you prefer sticky buns for breakfast, or muffins?"

Crowley's thumb froze on the remote. "You don't need to go through any trouble—"

"Nonsense," Aziraphale said. "I have the sticky buns in the freezer and muffins are hardly a trial."

"Whatever's easier," Crowley said, feeling uncomfortable. He was already in the way and he knew it. He didn't want Aziraphale to keep putting in so much effort. "You don't need to feed me."

"I rather think I do," Aziraphale said, giving him a sharp look. "I think you'd forget to eat if someone didn't remind you."

Crowley grimaced. Aziraphale had his number on that one. "Maybe," he grumbled. He was just bad at remembering and by the time his stomach reminded him, it was usually too late to cook anything. If he was honest, he subsisted mostly on cereal and the occasional takeaway.

"I'm making the sticky buns and you will eat one," Aziraphale said decisively.

Crowley settled on an old season of Bake Off, determined that it was a generic enough choice not to ruffle any feathers. Aziraphale hummed quietly in the kitchen while the contestants tried to make gingerbread sculptures and it was just nice. A nice thing.

In London, Crowley would finish his work and go home where his hobbies included being alone and watching television. He knew it was pathetic, but it had given him some semblance of peace.

Who knew it could be improved by company?

Finally, Aziraphale dropped onto the couch beside him, a few feet between them, but not nearly.enough for Crowley to stay calm. It was like his body wanted him to dehydrate specifically by sweating every drop of liquid through his palms. His armpits seemed to want to get in on the fun.

Aziraphale pushed a plate of sliced apples between them, a silent invitation. Crowley took one and munched on it. The soft, sweet flavor burst over his tongue, and he realized he had been a little hungry. He had a second slice, unable to ignore the subtle smile curving Aziraphale's mouth.

“Oh, shut up," Crowley snarked, biting into the apple so it made a satisfying and dramatic crunching noise.

"Shh, I'm watching television," Aziraphale chided, but he was still smirking.

The little expression, combined with the sweetness of the apple on his tongue brought out a smile of Crowley's own.

Crowley woke to the smell of baking bread and sweet cinnamon. He blinked at the exposed wood beams above him. He was still getting used to waking up in this strange place.

He stretched and made a pleased sound when his back popped.

As had become his habit in the few days he'd been here, he got up and made the bed before folding it back up and tucking it away. Aziraphale had said he didn't need to, but Crowley felt guilty taking up so much space.

He wandered into the kitchen and found a note next to a platter of what must be the promised sticky buns.

I'm headed a few towns over to do some work on a new barn. Feel free to text if you need anything! In the interim, please help yourself to the sticky buns. They are for you, after all.

There was a little smiley face in the corner of the paper that made Crowley grin for far too long.

Crowley took one of the little morning buns between two fingers, he could feel the caramel glaze sticking to his hand. They were somehow still slightly warm and when he took a bite, he tasted sweet bread and pecan, a hint of maple as he chewed. It might have been the best breakfast he’d had in his whole life. He was being dramatic. Maybe not his whole life but the last several years at least.

Crowley didn't like to admit it, but he had something of a sweet tooth. He liked fluffy desserts and snuck chocolate candies in his office when he was feeling down. He didn't like people to know. But this sweet, soft pastry currently in his mouth was exactly what he loved.

He set it down on a plate and washed his hands, deciding something like that deserved to be eaten with coffee.

As the coffee percolated, Crowley looked out the back window and smiled. The snow from the other day had mostly melted, leaving mud and hopeful grass behind. It was almost spring. Crowley wondered what Oregon was like in summer. Did the cold damp linger in the mountains? He could probably ask Aziraphale.

Just the thought of the man sent butterflies off in Crowley's stomach. His hand shook slightly as he poured coffee into a mug.

It was ridiculous. He knew that. He'd known Aziraphale for a week and yet he was so...he was so perfect. Or perfect was the wrong word. He was handsome in an unexpected way. He exuded a joy Crowley had never seen before. He had the calm energy of someone who knew themself well. Crowley envied it as much as he admired it.

Crowley took a sobering sip of coffee and sat down with his sticky bun. Aziraphale clearly liked taking care of things. He fixed things for a living for goodness’ sake. If that didn't speak to his disposition then Crowley didn't know what to think.

He hoped that wasn’t how Aziraphale saw him. As a project to fix.

After a quick shower, Crowley settled in for the morning, thinking he might get a late start for work. He put on another episode of Bake Off while he enjoyed his second cup of coffee. It was oddly nice to do nothing. He had thought he might crawl out of his skin in boredom by taking a long weekend, but his mind had latched onto the shred of peace and was holding on with both hands.

His peace was interrupted by the buzz of his phone on the side table. He picked it up and opened the screen.

E: might want to check your email, boss

Crowley growled and decided not to chuck his phone across the room. Crowley retrieved his bag and yanked his laptop out. He slipped on his glasses while the screen loaded and tried to ignore the anger and dread already building in his stomach.

When he finally clicked open his emails he saw what Eric was on about.

A twenty-count email chain between Beez and Hastur regarding the latest software they wanted to use to track promotions via social media. There were three questions in the entire chain directed to him explicitly and every single one was something the fucking sales people needed to decide. He wasn't planning their business for them.

And then they went and added the fucking CEO to chain. Crowley growled and typed out a suitably polite yet bitchy response about taking the discussion offline.

He emailed Eric.

I’m taking a vacation. While I’m in the states I’ll be primarily unavailable. Tell everyone to buzz off.

He slid open his phone and dialed Beez.

They picked up after three rings and Crowley snapped, "Dont fucking add the CEO to email chains."

"I wasn’t getting the response I needed," Beez snapped back.

"I dont give a shit. If there's a problem, you need to take it to the sales managers. I don't want the CEO breathing down our necks and you shouldn't either."

Beez grunted like they wanted to protest but Crowley interrupted, “Beez, I am not managing the sales division. That's not my job. you need to take it to not me and get their go ahead. That's how it always works. I'm here to help you with technical team support. not fucking ideas."

Beez grumbled on the other line.

"And I'm on holiday so don't bother me."

He hung up, glaring at the phone. He could feel the steam pouring from his ears and then a wave of terror washed over him. Had he just done that? It couldn’t be this easy. Just saying he wanted a break and taking one. But he was angry, exhausted, tired of looking out the bloody window and wishing he could enjoy his time here.

When he turned around Aziraphale was standing in the doorway with his eyebrows up, looking shocked. His coat was in his hand like he had been about to hang it up but had gotten distracted.

"What?" Crowley snapped, immediately regretting it. He was just so angry.

"I've just never seen you so aggressive. No offense intended but you'd struck me as rather...anxious."

Crowley pressed a hand to his forehead and took off his glasses. "I just don't like meeting new people," he said, choosing not to be offended by the anxious thing. He was anxious. You'd have to be an idiot not to see that.

Aziraphale frowned and glanced away. "Oh."

"Not," Crowley rushed to add, "Not you. Well yes, you. At first. But not anymore. You're...nice," Crowley finished for lack of something better to say.

Aziraphale's smile was relieved. "I'm so glad to hear it. I'd hate to think I'm a source of stress for you while all this is happening."

"Things are about to get a lot less stressful. I'm officially on holiday," Crowley said, trying not to sound put out by it. It was his idea. A good one. He hadn’t been on holiday in years. This was supposed to be a working trip. Every trip he took was a working trip. It would be an adjustment to shut down. But it would be good. It had to be.

"That's fantastic news," Aziraphale said, lighting up. "Were you thinking of traveling? Of course you're welcome to stay here—what’s the word? Staycation?—But there's such lovely things to see in Oregon! Oh, the coast. You absolutely must visit the coast."

Crowley was taken aback by the sudden deluge of words. "I mean...I had no plans. I sort of...just decided. Right now."

"If you’re amenable I’d happily show you to all the best places," Aziraphale said, eyes shining. "That is, if you're not tired of me."

Aziraphale's normal easy confidence was still there, but something was quavering. It was a strange thread of anxiety Crowley hadn’t come to expect from Aziraphale. He was so self-assured. Crowley didn't like seeing him so doubtful.

"Don't think I could get tired of you, angel."

Shit. He grit his teeth and hoped Aziraphale wouldn’t call him out on the nickname. It wasn’t even a nickname. Crowley could admit that. It was basically an endearment.

Crowley was fucked.

Aziraphale grinned and, like a fool, a hopeless fool, Crowley grinned back. "Wonderful! I have all sorts of ideas."

Crowley's heart skipped a few beats. At least three.

"But tonight I do have a shift at Nessie’s. You're welcome to come, though I might not be good company."

"And miss out on the appearance of the angel of the sweet nectar?" Crowley asked with dramatic distress. "I would never."

Aziraphale laughed and playfully swatted his arm. "You are incorrigible."

What Crowley felt was warm.

Aziraphale was chatting quietly with one of the servers by the doors to the kitchen. She poked his arm playfully and he scoffed, saying something Crowley couldn’t hear. But then she cackled and scuttled off.

"Anathema, you come back here!" Aziraphale shouted after her. Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. Aziraphale shook his head as he came back down the bar and stopped in front of him.

Monday at Nessie’s wasn’t very busy and most of the night had been spent chatting with Aziraphale. He had gone off a few times, mostly socializing with the servers. Crowley couldn’t help but notice the way Aziraphale practically glowed when people spoke to him. Did he look like that when he spoke to Crowley?

"She loves to tease me. Little wretch." It might have been an insult but he said it with such fondness that Crowley could feel the warmth of it.

"What is she teasing you about?" Crowley asked, poking a single finger in the French Tart Aziraphale had made him. The liquid was cool around his finger and he popped it into his mouth, sucking the juice away.

"You, actually," Aziraphale said as he chopped lemons. "She said that I was lucky the boy toy I ordered from across the pond was so handsome."

Crowley choked. He had not taken a sip of his drink yet and was unbearably glad. He would be spitting pink liquid everywhere.

“I hope you set her straight,” Crowley wheezed. Aziraphale chuckled.

“She just likes to tease me," he said like he was trying to reassure Crowley.

"Old man!"

Crowley turned and saw the young woman across the bar bussing glasses from a table. "Quit flirting and get back to work."

Crowley looked back at Aziraphale who just rolled his eyes, clearly not uncomfortable at all. What did that mean? Did it mean he thought it was so patently ridiculous that they both knew it wasn't true? Or did it mean he was flattered? Did he like the idea?

He finally snapped back into himself when Aziraphale pushed an order of chips towards him poaching one before Crowley could even do anything. "You should eat.”

Crowley wanted to point out that he really didn't need to eat very much but Aziraphale was already down the line taking an order from a newly arrived customer. He thought about their conversation the night before. Aziraphale really did like taking care of people. And Crowley was lucky enough to be included in the circle of people he put in effort for.

He bit back a smile and picked up a chip to eat. He tried to tear his eyes from Aziraphale, but he couldn’t. He just watched and admired his easy demeanor as he worked.

The young woman from before slipped onto the stool beside him

"I'm Anathema,” she said, tucking a towel into her server's apron and fixing him with a piercing look.

"Anthony Crowley," he replied. He tried to keep his tone neutral: polite but not inviting conversation.

The girl barrelled on regardless.

"You like Aziraphale then?"

"I’m staying with Aziraphale,” Crowley corrected, face already burning even though the conversation had just started. He’d only met the girl. She couldn’t know about this stupid crush. He couldn’t possibly be that obvious. “Just while I'm here. He's been nice enough to show me a great deal of hospitality."

Anathema’s button nose wrinkled. "Right."

Crowley didn't like her tone, but before he could respond she continued, "Aziraphale is nice. Are you?"

Aziraphale was back and waving Anathema off. "Stop harassing poor Crowley, not everyone enjoys being prodded."

Anathema shot Crowley a penetrating look, rather intimidating for someone in their twenties and skipped off to take an order.

"So, Crowley," Aziraphale said as he settled into the work of barbacking. "I don’t know much about your life back in England. Partner? Pets? Lavish lifestyle?"

Crowley hated this line of questioning. Because it always ended with pitying looks. Yes, I'm in my forties; yes, I'm single; yes, I live alone.

He rattled it all off for Aziraphale who nodded. "That sounds awfully freeing."

Crowley's eyes went wide. What?

"I've enjoyed living alone. I do think about getting a pet often enough though. Have you ever considered it?"

Crowley cast about for some words to answer and what fell out of his mouth was, "I like cats."

Aziraphale smiled. "I also like cats. And dogs. Oh, and sometimes I think some sort of reptile would make a lovely pet. Perhaps a turtle or a snake."

"It sounds like you just like animals."

Aziraphale stopped in his work and then laughed. "I suppose you're right."

"Makes sense," Crowley said. “Gentle mountain man and all.”

"You talk about me like I'm a rather impressive specimen," Aziraphale teased and Crowley bit his tongue as his face grew hot.

"Rescuing mice," he said, pushing through the embarrassment. "You probably put spiders outside and save bird’s nests."

"Have you been reading my diary?" Aziraphale accused, playfully squinting his eyes.

Crowley laughed. "You caught me. I dug it out this morning for some light reading."

Aziraphale smirked at him. “I let you into my home and this is how you repay me. By snooping.”

It felt so good to laugh, to be teased. It helped that it was Aziraphale. He might make Crowley’s heart race and his palms sweat and sort of make him worried he might fall off his barstool at some point, but the man was kind. Nonjudgmental.

Crowley took a long drink and did his best not to stare at Aziraphale. He really did look at home behind the counter, his shirt sleeves rolled up, the low bar light glinting off the golden blond hair dusting his forearms. Sexy. The word was sexy. For the rest of Crowley’s life, Aziraphale, just like this, would be the definition of the word.

Aziraphale nudged the plate of chips that Crowley hadn’t had an opportunity to start eating and looked down at them meaningfully. Crowley rolled his eyes and stuffed one in his mouth.

“Happy?”

Aziraphale smiled easily. “Absolutely.”

Chapter Text

Wednesday came and Crowley was nervous. So nervous that he woke up early, showered and changed his clothes three times before Aziraphale was even downstairs asking if he wanted breakfast.

It's not a date, he reasoned with himself. It's sightseeing. A friendly person showing a less friendly person around an unknown place.

"I think eggs sound good for breakfast," Aziraphale said, absentmindedly scratching his belly as he poured himself some coffee. At least Crowley had managed to make some before Aziraphale woke up so he didn’t seem like a complete layabout.

"Whatever works," Crowley said with forced calm. Aziraphale didn't even notice, humming to himself like he was the most content person in the world. It was unfair how handsome Aziraphale was after just rolling out of bed. Sure, his curly hair was wild and he had a sleep wrinkle on his cheek, but he looked like the human embodiment of coziness.

"So when is the meeting with your lawyers today?" Aziraphale asked as he put the pan on the hob.

"3 o’clock," Crowley replied, feeling very distracted indeed. Aziraphale slept in a tight white shirt that should not have been making Crowley's eyeballs burn in their sockets and yet…

"That's perfect. It's about an hour or so to the city so we can go up soon. Perhaps take in a little shopping and then lunch before your meeting."

"Shopping?" Crowley asked, wrinkling his nose. That wasn’t exactly what he had been picturing when Aziraphale had proposed showing him the sights.

"You said you wanted a few more outfits that weren't quite so 'mountain man’ as what you saw at the store," Aziraphale pointed out as he retrieved the eggs. "And I still owe you that flannel."

Crowley sucked in a breath, heart skipping around in his chest like a chicken on prescription-grade stimulants.

Not noticing Crowley's obviously squawking ribcage, Aziraphale perked up as if he'd had a wonderful idea. "Have you ever been to a brewpub before?"

Crowley tentatively approached the breakfast bar and shook his head.

"You absolutely must try it," Aziraphale said with a little excited smile. "There are so many wonderful ones in the city. We can do that after your meeting. For supper. Of course, lunch will be on the riverfront."

"Yeah, that sounds...good," Crowley said. He tentatively took a seat. "I don't want you to go out of your way though."

"Nonsense. It's my pleasure. You must know how lovely it is to show someone new around someplace familiar." Aziraphale cracked an egg, letting it drop and sizzle in the pan. His hands were so sure as he moved. Crowley swallowed around a lump in his throat as Aziraphale cracked a second egg. Yolks should not be that erotic.

"It’s wonderful to see something through someone else's eyes." Aziraphale looked up at Crowley and his heart nigh on stopped. His eyes were crinkled in a smile and he was the handsomest thing Crowley had ever seen.

Why couldn’t Crowley be better at this? Why couldn’t he just lay it out? Ask Aziraphale on a date, kiss him. Anything.

Because you’ll fuck it up and be stuck here. He probably doesn’t even like you. He feels sorry for you. Why else would he be so nice to you?

Jesus. His brain was going off the rails there. Bit mean, that.

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy it,” Crowley said, meaning it, for the most part. If he could get his thoughts on a leash. No untimely horniness and no excess negativity.

Perhaps too tall of an order.

Aziraphale placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. “Eat up. I fully intend to wear you out today.”

Fork halfway to his plate, Crowley slammed his hand down onto the edge in surprise and the plate, eggs and all, overturned into his lap. Toast hit the ground: butter side down. A sunny-side egg slid down his trousers, yolk dripping down the hem and onto the wood floor.

He looked up at Aziraphale. The man laughed, looking at him like Crowley was some brilliant comedian and not a pathetic excuse for a person. “I do believe you’re supposed to eat them.”

He set his fork down slowly and tried uselessly not to blush. Disaster. It was all a disaster. This was why he didn’t entertain attraction to people. That was how you got eggs on your trousers.

Aziraphale handed him a hand towel. “Why don’t you go clean yourself up and I’ll make you another?”

Crowley grumbled but took the towel. “Ta.”

Aziraphale huffed another laugh but it wasn’t cruel. It sounded fond and Crowley’s embarrassed blush only deepened. Maybe this was how he would die. Embarrassed to death by a handsome mountain man.

He cleaned up his mess and then went into the bathroom to change his trousers (for the fourth time). He hoped this was the only embarrassing thing that would happen that day.

Aziraphale drove them out of Pine Grove and down the mountain. In the daylight, the drive was nice. When Crowley had driven down from the airport in the middle of the night, it had all seemed dank and foggy. But with sunshine wreathing it, the tree line was beautiful. Everything felt crisp. Like the very picture of springtime.

"Do you know when I first moved here, I was absolutely smitten with the place," Aziraphale said. He clicked on the radio and something twangy played at a low volume. Crowley had serious doubts he would like it if he could actually hear it.

"Seems nice here," Crowley said noncommittally, looking out over a wide flooded plain as Aziraphale pulled onto a highway.

"Just wait until you see the city. The hustle and bustle. Oh, do you like books? We must go to Powell’s. It's a bit of a tourist trap, but the books! I’ve been in the market for some new poetry. I’ve read my current collection to death. We absolutely must go."

Crowley raised his eyebrows, fairly certain Aziraphale would be clapping both hands like an excited child if he weren't driving. "I'll go wherever you like. Never been here before after all."

Aziraphale clucked his tongue. “You can’t let me drag you anywhere against your will. If you don’t like something, say the word.”

Powell’s turned out to be, as Aziraphale said, a tourist trap. Crowley could see the appeal. If he loved books. The place was huge. A winding maze of shelves. Every room had that homey old book smell. Crowley liked it alright. However, the best thing about it was how excited Aziraphale got. Crowley had thought he’d seen him happy when he was teasing or talking to his friends. But this. Well. Crowley wished he could bottle the feeling he could in his chest as he watched Aziraphale flit from shelf to shelf, explaining things to him but not actually waiting to see if he understood or even if he was listening.

It was cute. So sodding cute that Crowley had trouble focusing on any of the books he was half-pretending considering buying.

Aziraphale was busy contemplating three books of poetry and mumbling to himself about what would be best in his collection while Crowley poked through an end cap of ‘employee recommended books.’

Finally, Aziraphale put one of his three volumes back and marched to the end of the aisle.

"Time for lunch then?" he asked. His smile still held the excitement that he’d been practically radiating since they stepped foot inside.

Crowley nodded. "Meet you outside. Gotta pick...something."

He ended up grabbing a random "summer read" from one of the many end caps, but that wasn't the only thing he purchased and how he was going to explain to Aziraphale why he bought him the book of poetry he put back he didn't know. But he couldn't stop himself. Maybe he could just say it was a thank you for letting him stay with him.

Crowley would figure it out.

Aziraphale was speaking with some stranger on the street who seemed intent on convincing him to sign a petition. Seeing Crowley, Aziraphale perked up and excused himself. Trotting over to Crowley, Aziraphale looped his arm through his. Crowley swallowed around his tongue uselessly as Aziraphale began to walk him down the street.

"I am taking you to the most marvelous bistro. They do remarkable things to avocados."

Crowley snorted. Aziraphale was so fucking cute. How dare he be so excited about avocados that he bounced?

They left Aziraphale’s truck in an all day parking deck and took a cab to the riverfront restaurant Aziraphale was so excited about. The waitress showed them to a table by the window. It was sunny out and now, out of the mountains, Crowley found the whole thing rather breathtaking. He must have had some sort of stupid look on his face because Aziraphale said, “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Crowley nodded and took a sip from his water. Some sentimental feeling was rising inside him. Like this was romantic or something. Which it wasn’t. It was just lunch. But that was difficult to remember with the scenic vista and the candle on the table and the waitress giving him knowing looks.

Pointedly ignoring her, Crowley let Aziraphale draw him into conversation. Mostly about construction plans. Did Crowley want Aziraphale to call the contractor to start managing the renovation? It would be difficult to sell without cleaning it up.

Crowley got the distinct feeling that Aziraphale didn't want him to sell the place. Too bad. Crowley might be smitten, but he wouldn't be convinced. The lodge was an inconvenience he wanted out of his life.

After lunch, they wandered through some shops. Crowley found two shirts that didn't embarrass him and Aziraphale teased him for being fancy.

"Says the man with three face creams," Crowley sniped back and Aziraphale grinned.

They parted ways in front of the law office, Aziraphale saying he'd do some shopping while Crowley attended to business.

It was dreadfully boring. Something about a secondary will in England causing some issues with the will in America. What it all meant was that Crowley would need to come back in a few weeks if he wanted to put this to bed.

Frustrated, he didn't thank the lawyers when he left.

When he met up with Aziraphale, the man was toting a small black bag and a smile.

"How did it go?" Aziraphale asked as they fell into step together, headed who knew where.

Crowley frowned. "Some nonsense with the estate. Waste of a trip. I'm going to have to meet with them again in a few weeks."

Aziraphale made a few sympathetic noises. "That is quite frustrating. I suppose I might be able to interest you in a drink?"

It was only four in the afternoon but Crowley nodded. "Definitely."

They dropped off their things at the car and Aziraphale led him to a small establishment with a wooden sign reading Parched Eagle. Crowley raised his eyebrows, but said nothing as Aziraphale ushered him inside.

The place was chic in an industrial way, with brewery equipment visible in the back through a clear window. Crowley took in the place as they followed a server to a table. It wasn't anything like he'd expect Aziraphale to like— clean lines and modern decor— but he was starting to think Aziraphale might be more complex than he’d originally suspected.

"What sort of beer do you like?" Aziraphale asked as they looked over the tap list. "I'm partial to sours, but I know they’re not for everyone."

Crowley grimaced. "I dunno. I drink wine more than beer."

"We have that in common then," Aziraphale said and flashed him a grin. "But craft beer does have its charms."

They ordered drinks and dinner and Crowley ended up with a rather unremarkable wheat ale. He tried Aziraphale’s plum sour and must have made a terrible face because the other man burst into laughter as he took the glass back.

"My dear, you don’t have to look quite so horrified," he said, before taking a placid sip of his own.

Crowley smacked his lips, rather disgruntled at the vaguely vinegary flavor lingering in his mouth, and took a cleansing drink of water. He liked the look on Aziraphale's face: pleased and relaxed. He looked settled in. Happy to be here. Maybe to be here with Crowley? His stomach fluttered pathetically at the possibility.

But that hardly made sense. Aziraphale was being nice because apparently he was a nice person who probably felt sorry for someone like Crowley who didn’t know their way around this place and did things like drop eggs on their trousers and fall down on the ice in their useless shoes.

"What brought you to Oregon?" Crowley asked, focusing back on Aziraphale. He had the lingering accent of someone from rather posh English circles and that should have made him seem out of place. And yet here he was in his red flannel and braces looking like he belonged in a catalog titled Simply Oregon or some nonsense.

Aziraphale’s gaze skittered for a moment, a flash of nerves before settling once more into a relaxed smile. “Ah, a very good question. I grew up in London of course.”

Crowley bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Of course,” he repeated, a little mocking because he hoped teasing would shake off Aziraphale’s strange expression.

One corner of his mouth quirked. “No need for sarcasm,” he said, equally teasing. Crowley grinned. Fuck, he liked him. He liked him so much.

Not expecting a reply, Aziraphale continued, “I went to university here. Reed College.”

Crowley had never heard of the place, so he settled on a noncommittal Oh, hoping that would prompt Aziraphale to continue.

“I studied religion,” Aziraphale said and his eyes did that stranger skittering thing again. “I was supposed to go to seminary after but I—that didn’t work out.”

“What kept you in Oregon, then?” Crowley asked as his dinner was placed in front of him.

Aziraphale waved his hand and shook his head. “Enough about me. Where did you go to university? I’ve gathered you work in...advertising?”

Crowley was thrown by Aziraphale’s sudden change of topic, but he let it go, deciding to ask again later if the opportunity presented itself. Aziraphale hardly seemed to be a private sort of person so it was strange to have him avoid such a straightforward question. So instead of pressing, Crowley his whole job thing. IT at an advertising firm was not exactly exciting but it paid good money. Not that he was going to brag about that.

Aziraphale nodded and asked polite questions. Crowley was pretty sure that Aziraphale’s comments and hums were actually poking fun at him a few times, but there was no bite to it. And when Crowley finally got himself to stop talking, Aziraphale hummed again and said, “It doesn’t sound like you like it very much.”

Crowley frowned. “Does anyone like their job?”

“I do,” Aziraphale said simply before waving down the server and ordering another round.

By the time the sun set, they were both fairly tipsy. Crowley was fairly certain he’d had three beers and Aziraphale was making fun of him for wearing all black.

“There are colors, Crowley,” he said, cheeks fetchingly flushed. “You’d look very nice in a green I think. But it would have to be the right shade. To go with your hair.”

Crowley swallowed around the lump in his throat. That was a compliment. Sort of. Shit. “Well, do you ever wear anything besides flannels?” Crowley retorted.

Aziraphale grinned. “I’ve been told I clean up very well.”

Crowley was certain he did. His mind supplied a vague image of Aziraphale in a three piece suit and he went a bit light headed at the thought.

“What do you say we get out of here?” Aziraphale said with a glint of mischief. “A few blocks over there’s a very nice gay bar where I think we could have some fun.”

Crowley’s heart gave a few pathetic thumps and his stomach flopped around. He’d obviously had his suspicions over the last week and a half. He thought Aziraphale might be gay, but he’d been hesitant to assume. But apparently he needn’t have worried. There was hope.

He pushed the thought away. Just because the man was gay didn’t mean he would be interested in Crowley. Why would he be? Crowley dropped eggs on his trousers and sometimes lisped when he was nervous. Hardly attractive. Not even getting into the whole too scrawny, big-nosed, can’t-wear-anything-but-black thing. He tried to be cool but was decidedly...not.

“Sure. That sounds great,” he said, with enthusiasm he didn’t feel.

Aziraphale paid the bill and they were on their way. By the time they reached the bar, Crowley had worked himself into an anxious pit of despair. His palms were sweating and his shirt felt too tight on his shoulders. Had it always been this tight?

"Aziraphale, I don't know. I'm not very— I'm not good at...I'm not dressed for this," he said when they stopped in front of a rather busy looking place and Aziraphale fished out his wallet to pay the cover.

Aziraphale tugged on his arm. "Oh, stop fussing. You look very handsome and we will have a lovely time."

Crowley let Aziraphale drag him inside the club with the loud bass and flashing lights fading into the background under the clap of thunder that was Aziraphale’s declaration that he thought Crowley was handsome. He could have stumbled over his feet, collapsed onto the nearest chair, but Aziraphale was there dragging him to the bar and demanding he order something.

Crowley already felt pleasantly tipsy from dinner, but ordered another lager. When the drinks were passed to them, Crowley forced Aziraphale to let him pay, slapping down a card and waving off Aziraphale’s protests.

They clinked their glasses. "To a wonderful day," Aziraphale said, eyes twinkling over his pretty, smiling mouth. Crowley wanted to kiss that mouth.

"Yeah," he choked out before taking a deep drink from his glass.

A man sidled up to them. He was thin and had one of those traditionally handsome faces that Crowley found utterly forgettable. With horror, Crowley watched as he introduced himself to Aziraphale and asked him to dance. Crowley wished he had anywhere near the smooth bravery required to do such a thing.

Aziraphale turned to Crowley. "Do you mind if I..."

"Go ahead," Crowley said, waving him off and trying very hard not to feel jealous. They were friends. Crowley might desperately want to jump his bones, but he had no right to be actually jealous.

Instead, he let himself feel terrible as he drank and watched Aziraphale follow Generic Handsome Man onto the dancefloor where he—

Crowley snorted into his beer. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen a more awful dancer. Where was Aziraphale's easy grace? Gone apparently. Disappeared in favor of some sort of off-rhythm hopping.

Terrible dancing or no, the man looked overjoyed. Happy— so sodding happy— to be jumping around to an nearly unrecognizable dubstep remix of Carly Rae Jepsen.

Crowley smiled into his beer. Aziraphale could go off and snog a hundred blokes and Crowley would be fine as long as he got to see this.

The song ended and Aziraphale returned to Crowley's side flush-faced. "Nothing gets the blood pumping like good old fashioned bebop."

Crowley spluttered. "Excuse me? Bebop? Carly Rae Jepsen is not -- you know what? Nevermind."

Generic Handsome Man had disappeared into the growing crowd. Crowley wondered if he'd been put off by Aziraphale's flailing. More fool him.

Aziraphale took a drink from his glass and knocked their elbows together.

"Anyone catch your eye?" he asked easily like he didnt fucking know Crowley was slobbering over him.

"What?" Crowley squeaked, horrified.

"There are plenty of attractive men here. Surely you'd like to dance or perhaps find a dark corner and…" Aziraphale wiggled his fingers suggestively and Crowley's embarrassment only increased. His face was burning so much it hurt.

"Are you asking me if I see anyone I want to hook up with in the loo??" Crowley asked incredulously.

"No!," Aziraphale replied, scandalized. "Perhaps a good snogging. Have a little fun. You know! It’s what we’re here for!"

"I’m having plenty of fun," Crowley said darkly as he finished his beer. He hated how much Aziraphale's casual suggestion hurt. It was clear Aziraphale didn't think of him the way Crowley thought of Aziraphale. Shouldn't be surprising really. Towering beanpole of a thing he was. Why would someone like Aziraphale want him?

"I didn't mean to offend," Aziraphale said, drawing close and dropping his voice. A warm hand came to settle on Crowley's shoulder, setting off a heat in his gut he wished he didn't feel.

He could turn his head just slightly. He could bring their mouths together, short and sweet. Except if he tried he'd probably bump noses and knock teeth and Aziraphale would stumble back, horrified.

"S'alright. It's not your fault I'm a disaster."

Crowley wanted to slam his head against the bar. He might have done it too if Aziraphale hadn't grasped his arm. "I didn’t mean to make you quite so melancholy," he said apologetically.

“S’fine,” Crowley murmured. “We should probably sober up anyway.”

Aziraphale tugged him by the arm until Crowley trailed him out of the bar. “Nonsense. We are here and we are going to...what’s the phrase young people say? YOLO?”

Crowley snorted, some of his stupid despondancy leaving him. “That’s not how you use YOLO.”

Aziraphale ignored him, already chattering as they walked down the street. "I should have known this place wouldn’t suit you. I know something better."

Something better turned out to be a dive bar not too dissimilar to Nessie’s in size and clientele. But there was a back room filled with arcade games that Aziraphale was determined to get him to play.

And apparently those twinkling blue eyes were as powerful in dim light as they were in sunshine because Crowley went along with it. And they had a nice time. A great time.

Crowley was terrible at all of them and Aziraphale was not much better, but they drank and laughed and Aziraphale playfully mocked his lack of coordination. And when Aziraphale nudged him out of the way with his hip when he died for the fifth time on Frogger and said, “Let me show you how it’s done,” Crowley’s heart grew so big there was scarcely room left in his chest for his lungs.

They were both wildly drunk when they stumbled into the parking deck and collapsed into the cab of Aziraphale's truck. Letting out a long breath, Aziraphale said, "’m too drunk to drive. We should sleep."

"Shhh," Crowley said, already curling onto the bench seat. "Sleep time."

Aziraphale grunted and tugged him closer, letting him pillow his head on his thigh. His drool-worthy thigh. If Crowley wasnt so fucking sloshed he’d have a problem in his trousers. As it was, Aziraphale was just warm. And soft.

"Aren't you—aren't you uncomfortable?" He slurred, looking up to see the tight line of Aziraphale's beard under his chin.

"I'm very good at leaning," Aziraphale said as he demonstrated by leaning against the door. His words were clipped like he was trying very hard not to sound drunk and failing.

They laid like that for some time, though the bright lights of the parking garage kept Crowley from sleeping, even as drunk as he was.

"You didn't answer my question earlier," he said eventually, when the world was spinning a bit less.

Aziraphale hummed in question. "Which one?"

"Why'd you stay in Oregon? After university" Crowley asked again.

Aziraphale shuffled a bit in his seat. Not enough to dislodge Crowley, but enough that he had to shimmy his shoulders to get comfortable again.

"At first it was because I had friends here. And then it was the work. I'd always been smart, bookish.A career making money with my hands wasn't something I had ever considered. My parents would have been horrified. But the money was good and there was something cathartic about just fixing things. Knowing I’d done something to help someone. Something tangible. And I liked being helpful."

"You're very helpful. All the time. Helpful to me,” Crowley mumbled, not really thinking what it would sound like. His eyes drifted shut. “Don’t know why. Seems a bit of a waste.”

Fingers carded through Crowley's hair briefly and retreated. "You're very easy to help," Aziraphale said quietly.

Crowley tucked his hands under his cheek and before he knew it, he was asleep.

Chapter Text

Crowley didn't know exactly how it happened. One minute he was calling contractors and getting estimates, and the next Aziraphale was bullying him into the cab of his truck and saying something about short holidays and how Crowley must see the coast before he let work take over again.

That was how he ended up, vaguely dazed, on a three-hour car ride with an overnight bag tucked by his feet trying not to think about waking up on that very bench seat two days prior, tucked against Aziraphale's side. He’d been overwarm and his tongue had been cottony. There had been an awful crick in his neck and yet, he had been happy.

Chipper as always, Aziraphale didn’t even act like falling asleep together in the cab of a truck was weird. He just took them to a purportedly famous donut shop, bought coffee and pastries and then they were on their way back to Pine Grove.

And now the beach, apparently. Aziraphale seemed hell bent on getting him to see everything within reasonable driving distance. If three hours could be considered reasonable. Crowley had his doubts.

"There are so many wonderful things, but first, the cheese factory," Aziraphale said, glancing at him and flashing him a playful grin.

The Tillamook Cheese Factory was...exactly what it sounded like. A strange cheese museum built around the factory itself with a bustling shop and cafe on the ground floor and an informational tour on the second. They stood on the second level staring through the glass out over the factory floor as block after block of cheddar was cut and wrapped and sent down the line.

"It really is marvelous cheese," Aziraphale said in a low voice as he leaned closer to Crowley. As if the cheese were a secret.

Crowley caught a whiff of his beard oil. A piney scent that was starting to infuse everything in his life and made his stomach curl up with want when he even so much as detected a molecule of it in the air.

"I'll trust your judgment on that," Crowley said wryly and Aziraphale glared back.

All Crowley's words got him was a bag full of several types of cheese and Aziraphale declaring that they could have a nice cheese plate someday soon and Crowley would eat his hat and then some.

When Crowley caught Aziraphale eyeing the line for ice cream, he elbowed him and said, "C'mon. My treat. If the cheese is good, I imagine the ice cream is too."

Aziraphale fucking beamed at him as they got in line. He did look lovely. He was wearing a yellow and blue plaid tucked into his jeans, braces showing off the glory that was his broad and beautiful shoulders. Crowley had been valiantly trying not to be caught staring but it did result in him being distracted enough to order the flavor of the day in a waffle cone which was far too much ice cream and also maple flavored.

Despite his trepidation, it was actually very good.

It turned out the Oregon coast was chilly in the spring, slightly overcast with a strong breeze. When they went outside to finish their cones, the wind tossed Aziraphale curls about and he laughed, trying to keep them out of his chocolate ice cream. The sight only made Crowley drool a little and he could blame it on the ice cream anyway. Excess saliva production due to the milk or something.

"How is your maple?" Aziraphale asked, a few flecks of cream in the bristles of his moustache.

"Better than I thought," Crowley said before biting into the ice cream as they wandered toward the car.

Aziraphale scoffed. "You would chew on your ice cream. It's supposed to be licked," he said without a hint of irony.

The rush of blood to Crowley's head had nothing to do with brain freeze.

As they drove down the highway, Crowley began to see why Aziraphale had been so insistent about the trip. The place was beautiful. The craggy rocks and wind blown pines had a sort of gorgeous melancholy that made Crowley want to sit and close his eyes while listening to the waves.

Aziraphale seemed to notice his descent into contemplation and stayed quiet, turning the radio on low as Crowley watched the bays and inlets pass. It was similar to some of the beaches in the UK, rugged and tree-lined. Otherwise it felt entirely different.

“This is really nice,” Crowley said when they pulled off into a look out. Aziraphale smiled, the wind rifling through his curls, ruining the way he normally pushed his hair back from his face. It was wild and gorgeous and Crowley smiled back.

Aziraphale’s grin widened and he elbowed Crowley playfully. “I knew you could smile.”

“Oi!” Crowley protested. “I smile all the time.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “I wouldn’t call your smirks smiling.”

Crowley harrumphed as the wind picked up, causing him to shiver. He was wearing his heavier coat but he still had to cross his arms over his chest to stay warm. Aziraphale patted him on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go. A few more places to see before we get to the motel.”

Crowley's heart might have been galloping in his chest and his stomach might have been doing a bit of gymnastics but deep down he knew it would be a good day. Aziraphale was his...friend. How strange. He was going to have a nice day with his friend because, against all odds and Crowley's general terribleness, Aziraphale had decided they were friends.

Maybe there was a little luck in the world for Anthony Crowley.

They finally pulled off the highway at a place Aziraphale called Pacific City; a flat stretch of houses and shops between two rising forested mountains where the highway disappeared into the trees.

The sun was out in full force when they hopped out of Aziraphale's truck. The little parking lot beside the beach was half full, people coming and going, families and couples laughing as they packed up their cars.

A young man in a wetsuit was buckling a surfboard to the top of his car and Crowley looked at Aziraphale. "People surf here?" he asked incredulously.

"Occasionally" Aziraphale said with a laugh. "I'm afraid I'm not quite brave enough. Come on. Let’s go get lunch.”

Aziraphale wrapped a hand around Crowley’s wrist, blunt fingers circling the hem of his carhartt jacket. His pulse jumped under the contact, but he was fairly certain he managed to keep his face impassive.

It was rounding noon and now that Aziraphale had mentioned it, Crowley was hungry.There was a brewery right off the parking lot that led to the beach. It looked out over the ocean where a large rock rose out of the water. It was impossible to tell how big it was at this distance and Crowley couldn’t tear his eyes from it.

“Quite the sight, isn’t it?” Aziraphale said after he ordered starters and a flight of the brewery’s offerings. Crowley was beginning to think every restaurant in Oregon was its own brewery.

“Do people swim out to it?” Crowley asked, finally turning back to Aziraphale.

“Oh, all the time. I hear it’s rather dangerous but of course some people do chase that thrill,” Aziraphale observed. He smiled at the server as they set down a wheel filled with little glasses of beer. “Thank you very much.”

Crowley peered at the varying colors of the beers. “I feel like I’m being forced to like craft beer. Is that what it’s like here?”

“Definitely,” Aziraphale said, happily sipping at something with a mahogany tint. He wrinkled his nose slightly and held out the glass to Crowley. “This is a bit wheaty for my taste but you like that, don’t you?”

Crowley sighed and resigned himself to drinking far too much. And probably having a very good time while he was at it. If a little liquid courage allowed him to bask in the way the light set off the gray in Aziraphale’s blond curls, then that was all the better. No harm in a little basking. Probably.

They were both tipsy when they ended up at the base of the large dune that overshadowed the beach.

“We’re going to climb it,” Aziraphale said, pulling off his flannel and tying it around his waist. Beneath he wore one of his white short sleeve undershirts that made Crowley’s heart go wild. Crowley allowed himself one long, lingering glance before focusing on the dune.

“I feel like I wouldn’t want to do that sober,” he replied as he tipped his head back to look up the steep incline. There were a handful of teenagers fumbling their way up and Crowley winced as one took a tumble and fell down the dune a few meters. “Besides, I’m not wearing the shoes for it.”

Crowley picked up his foot and held it out to Aziraphale as if to say, see, look at these boots.

Aziraphale huffed and rolled his eyes. “Take off the boots, my dear. It’s better barefoot. We don’t have to go all the way up, but it’s tradition. You come to Pacific City, you climb the dune.”

Grumbling the whole way through, Crowley removed his boots and socks and let Aziraphale herd him into hiding them by a large piece of driftwood by the sea grass. “I’m going to die. My legs are going to give out and it will be your fault,” Crowley said darkly as he followed behind Aziraphale, feet dragging in the sand.

It was sort of nice, feeling the grains of sand against his feet, cool and slightly damp. The prospect of climbing a mountain was distinctly less nice.

“I promise I’ll carry you down if you happen to faint,” Aziraphale said, clearly teasing if the smirk he was shooting Crowley was anything to go by.

“I’d give you the same guarantee but I think my arms might break,” Crowley said. He could already feel a slight strain in his hips from the incline. He was definitely going to fall down at some point. Maybe after. When his legs turned to jelly.

“Is that a shot at my weight?” Aziraphale said, a very small, dark thread underscoring the words.

That wasn’t good. Was Aziraphale self-conscious about his size? Choosing not to press it, Crowley snorted to lighten the mood. “Hardly. A shot at my noodle arms. Have you seen them? Barely able to lift a milk jug, me. If you collapse, I’ll roll you down the hill. Best I can offer.”

Aziraphale shook his head and laughed. “Very kind of you, but I think I’ll be alright.”

They worked their way up the dune in silence and Crowley pondered that exchange between increasingly difficult breaths of exertion. He could hardly believe Aziraphale was anxious about anything. Let alone his appearance. He seemed so confident. All the time. Though when he thought about it, Crowley supposed even someone as beautiful as Aziraphale probably had things he might want to change about himself. It might not be the laundry list that Crowley had, but maybe there was something. Maybe Aziraphale was more like him than he’d dared to believe; a little insecure under all those beatific smiles.

Crowley decided not to think about it too much. If he did, he’d probably end up saying something to Aziraphale about how pretty Crowley thought he was. Which wouldn’t go over well even if it was in an attempt to soothe any ruffled feathers.

“Fuck,” Crowley grunted when they were maybe a third of the way up the hill. Aziraphale paused in his steady climb and turned back to look at him. “I can’t go on. I’m dead.”

“Talkative for a corpse,” Aziraphale retorted.

Crowley fell onto his arse and sucked in deep breaths. He was probably getting sand in his jeans but, fuck, he needed to sit down. Maybe it would be a good exercise in exfoliation. He’d never exfoliated his arse before.

“Leave me to die,” Crowley moaned and dropped back until he was laying on the dune, staring at the sun which he was sure was laughing at him. Any tipsiness had left him long ago.

Aziraphale dropped down beside him, very much laughing at him. Crowley glared, but that didn’t stop him. “We can go down over there. Not as good of a view as the top of the dune, but decent,” Aziraphale said, pointing to an outcropping of rock closer to the sea and a few meters down the dune.

Crowley groaned again.

“Very dramatic,” Aziraphale said, clucking his tongue. He stood and helped Crowley to his feet.

The trek down the dune to the outlook wasn’t as bad as the slog up. Crowley sat on a rock and looked out over the sea. It was a nice view. They could see the waves below them crashing into a cave far to their right, washing up over the beach below and over…

“Tidepools?!” Crowley cried. “Why didn’t you tell me there were tidepools?”

Aziraphale looked at him, perplexed. “I take it you...like tidepools.”

Crowley abruptly realized he was being weird and clamped his mouth shut. He was flushed from climbing the dune so at least his blush didn’t show. “Maybe.”

“Well, these ones are nothing to write home about, but there may be a few good ones. Would you like to go down and see them?”

Having already given himself away, Crowley nodded and they made their way down the dune. They left their shoes over by the driftwood and walked to the exposed rocks that held the tidepools. The stone was covered in barnacles and slime and the texture tickled Crowley’s feet, making him laugh.

Aziraphale seemed less enthused by the tidepools and stood on a far rock as Crowley crouched by a deep pool and watched a tiny purple anemone open and close its tentacles with the waves. A little crab scuttled under a rock to the left. Aziraphale had been right; there wasn’t much to see.

Crowley liked it anyway.

When he was finally done looking through all the pools, he hopped back to Aziraphale. His toes were cold and the bottom of his rolled up trousers were slightly wet, but he didn’t care. Aziraphale arched a brow at him as they went back into the sand to retrieve their shoes.

“If I’d known you liked sea creatures this much, I would have planned for the aquarium,” Aziraphale said lightly as they walked back to the car.

“Maybe next time,” Crowley said without thinking. It was a stupid thing to say but it earned him a brilliant smile anyway.

After they washed off their feet and replaced their shoes, Aziraphale drove them a bit further south to where he said they’d stay the night. He’d insisted that they stay at the coast, saying that the sunset was worth it and if they drove round trip in one day, they’d hardly have time to enjoy it. Crowley didn’t argue. He was just happy Aziraphale wanted to spend more time with him. Not that he said as much.

The more time they spent together, the more Crowley liked him. He was kind and sweet and sometimes utterly ruthless when he felt like Crowley deserved to be teased. Which was often. It was unnerving to feel so...so connected to someone he had met three weeks ago, but he couldn’t deny it.

Sometimes, Aziraphale would touch his hand or his shoulder and Crowley would think oh, maybe he is interested. But the moment would pass and Crowley would berate himself for getting his hopes up. It was impossible. Aziraphale was confident and handsome and if he wanted Crowley, he hardly seemed the sort to do nothing about it.

They stopped at a convenience store so Aziraphale could buy things to make s'mores -- "It's tradition, Crowley!" -- before stopping off at the motel. It was a ramshackle little place, windblown and salt worn, but the inside was clean. It was when they stepped into the room that Crowley froze.

He had expected to share a room. But he'd also expected the room to have two beds.

He dropped his bag on the dresser and cleared his throat as Aziraphale fussed with his own bag.

“Do you want me to sleep on the floor or…” Crowley trailed off, not sure where to look or what exactly to say.

Aziraphale scoffed. “Please. If I were interested in you, I wouldn’t use underhanded seduction tactics like forcing you to share a bed with me.”

“Right. Of course,” Crowley said. He laughed and it sounded strained and high pitched and weird. He needed to get away from Aziraphale. For five minutes. Take a deep breath.

“I’m going to the loo,” he said quickly and rushed away, slamming the door behind him before collapsing on the edge of the bath.

He dropped his head into his hands and sucked in a shuddering breath. Fuck, what had he expected? He’d known better than to hope Aziraphale was interested in someone like him. He was an awful person. Mean and skinny and selfish. Not worth Aziraphale’s time. He’d known that, but hearing it…

If I were even interested in seducing you…

Right.

Crowley sat up and swallowed around the lump in his throat. They were friends. Crowley wanted to be friends. He hadn’t expected to come here and meet anyone he would like at all. But Aziraphale had been there and he had been bright and kind so Crowley had made a friend. He was allowed to be disappointed that that was all it was, friendship. He would get over these feelings and enjoy himself. He would.

Taking a deep breath, he stood and opened the door. “So, what’s next on the itinerary?” he asked with a grin he knew was absurdly false.

Aziraphale gave him a strange look but didn’t hesitate. “Building a fire of course!”

So Crowley ended up on a blanket on the beach, watching Aziraphale put together a fire. The sun was setting across the ocean and everything was orange and purple and Crowley had to admit Aziraphale had been right about the sunset.

With a crackle, the newspaper Aziraphale had stuffed among the logs caught fire. Sparks shot into the sky as the kindling caught, fizzling out in the cool air. Aziraphale dropped next to him on the blanket and said, “So, on a scale of one to ten, how was the day?”

Crowley hemmed and hawed in performative thoughtfulness long enough that Aziraphale made a disgruntled noise.

“Fine. I’d call it a solid seven. Only improved if it had been warmer. And maybe better tidepools.”

“Fair enough,” Aziraphale said with a sharp nod. The fire was catching now, logs going up as smoke was carried away with the wind. Crowley watched Aziraphale’s profile fall deeper into shadow, happy with the silence until Aziraphale broke it. “You seemed upset for a moment back there.”

Crowley turned to stare at the fire. The heat was beginning to warm his shins and he wriggled his toes in the cool sand. “Nah. Just been a long day,” he replied.

“I know I can be...I’ve been told I can be a bit aggressive in my friendliness,” Aziraphale said quietly. “If I’ve made you uncomfortable, or you need to make alternative arrangements, I’ll certainly still work with you on the lodge.”

Shocked that Aziraphale could even think such a thing, Crowley whirled on him and said, “Of course not — what? Why would you even think that? You’ve been...you’ve been unbelievably helpful. I didn’t exactly come out here to see the sights and make friends, but you’re that. You know. A friend.”

Aziraphale glanced up from the fire and smiled, eyes reflecting the light. "Good. I'm happy to hear that. Even when you go back to England, it would be nice for us to stay in touch, don't you think?"

Even through Crowley's earlier disappointment, he felt an acute rush of relief. "Yeah. That'd be nice. Maybe you could visit me one day."

"Maybe," Aziraphale said quietly and before Crowley could ask after that particularly strange tone, Aziraphale was poking the fire and declaring it time for treats.

As the fire burned down to a low heat, Crowley decided it wasn't worth feeling broken hearted if he could watch Aziraphale eat burned marshmallows and get chocolate stuck in his beard.

Chapter Text

The sun had set and the fire had mostly burned down when Aziraphale dragged over a small log, plopped down on top of it like it was a bench and pulled a tiny bag from the pocket of his flannel. It was filled with—

“Aziraphale, is that marijuana?” Crowley asked incredulously.

Aziraphale arched a brow and pulled out a little, black case that had been sitting untouched in the plastic bag that held the ingredients for the s’mores. “It’s perfectly legal.”

“I guess you didn’t strike me as the smoking type,” Crowley said slowly. It was hard to believe woodchopping, bartending Aziraphale smoked weed ever.

“I partake on occasion,” Aziraphale said as he pulled out a pipe from the case and sprinkled a bit of the weed into the bowl. “If I go into the city, I like to pick some up. We’re on vacation and I feel as if marijuana is part of the Oregon experience, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Crowley replied, eyes wide as he watched Aziraphale put the blue glass pipe to his lips and light it. A plume of smoke flooded from his nose and mouth as he politely blew it away from Crowley. It was more than a little attractive. Then again, Crowley was starting to think he found everything about Aziraphale attractive.

Based on what Aziraphale had said in the motel, Crowley was certain he didn’t feel the same way. It felt a bit creepy to be ogling him, but he couldn’t help himself. Aziraphale was nice to look at. Couldn’t you think your friends were nice to look at?

“You obviously aren’t under any obligation,” Aziraphale said. “But I thought it would be nice.”

Pulled from his spiraling thoughts, Crowley considered that. It had been ages. Maybe in uni a couple times. He recalled liking it well enough. He shrugged and took the pipe. As soon as it was in his hands, Aziraphale went about rebuilding the fire. The renewed warmth spread over his legs, relaxing him as he went about remembering how to smoke weed. Straightforward enough.

He lit the bowl and inhaled, the aromatic smoke filling his lung. Exhaling, he coughed a bit. It had been years since he smoked at all, giving up cigarettes in his twenties and not seeking opportunities to smoke again since then.

Aziraphale took the pipe back and lit it again, this time blowing the smoke into the sky. He laughed. "I havent smoked with someone in a while. It has a very collegey feel, doesn't it? I feel quite young."

When Crowley looked at him, Aziraphale was doing this little pleased wiggle where he was seated on the log. He looked happy. Genuinely. Crowley liked seeing it. A dull tingling was beginning into Crowley's extremities. He felt relaxed. Relaxed enough that smiling at Aziraphale being cute didn’t seem weird at all.

"Yanno, I think I like it here."

Aziraphale passed back the pipe. "I felt much the same way when I first moved here. It's easy to fall in love with."

Crowley exhaled his second hit and looked at Aziraphale's firelit face. "It really is."

At some point, Aziraphale fished out his phone and played music, the crackling of the fire underscoring the low the twang of an acoustic guitar. They ended up on their backs, staring at the sky as they ate chocolate and said stupid things.

"Do you think fish are like...planning something?" Crowley asked. The waves were shushing in the background making him think of fish. And dolphins. And tidepools.

"What on earth could they be planning?" Aziraphale said around a mouthful of marshmallow. When Crowley looked at him, his cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk and he couldn't help laughing at him. Aziraphale swallowed.

"What's so funny?"

Crowley shook his head. "You, honestly."

"Pish posh, I'm very serious," Aziraphale said with a dramatic frown that just made him look even sillier.

"Pish posh," Crowley parroted in an approximation of Aziraphale's weird Americanized RP.

Aziraphale slapped his arm. "You're a rude man."

"The rudest," he said, smiling so wide he would have been embarrassed if he were sober. It didn’t matter right then. He was having fun. They were having fun.

It was silent for a moment and then Aziraphale said, "So what do you think the fish are planning?"

Crowley rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. "I'm so glad you asked, Aziraphale."

Overall, it was a good night.

Who was Crowley kidding? It was a great night.

And even though it was a bit awkward, dancing around each other as they got ready for bed, Crowley was tired from their day and relaxed from smoking so he dropped off without even meaning to. The threat of Aziraphale sleeping on the pillow beside him was forgotten in his exhaustion.

Crowley woke up with his cheek pressed into Aziraphale's arm and his leg thrown over his hip. He'd known this would happen. There had been no possible way he would be able to share a bed with anyone—let alone Aziraphale who he had rather strong low down tingly feelings for—and not glom onto them like a touch-starved barnacle.

It might have been nice to savor the moment, file it away to pull out later. It should have been nice because Aziraphale was warm and his body was perfectly soft and Crowley loved it. He could hear the distant rush of the ocean as the sunlight trickled in through the window. The blankets wrapped around both of them just right and part of Crowley wanted to fall right back asleep.

He might have done it if Aziraphale weren’t awake.

"Is this why you didn't want to share a bed?" Aziraphale asked with no small amount of joyful teasing in his voice as Crowley withdrew, trying to make his retreat not look like a scramble for sanity. "You didn't want me to know you were a cuddler?"

Crowley laughed, forced and awkward. "Right. Yeah. Big cuddler, me."

“I won't tell anyone," Aziraphale said before swinging his legs out of bed. He stood and stretched his arms over his head with a loud groan. "Wouldn't want to ruin your image."

Crowley laughed again. It was all he could do. His only other option was to curl up under the covers and die.

They got ready in turns and Crowley managed a semblance of normal human behavior. He thought he did a pretty good job of not showing that he was obsessing about the way Aziraphale had felt in his arms. He was just as soft as he looked. Just as warm. For days, Crowley was going to lay down to sleep and ruminate on the sensation of Aziraphale lying next to him (Under him actually. Oh God.).

They packed up and got into the truck, Aziraphale insisting they stop for taffy and a candy he called sea foam. Crowley had no idea what he was on about but it made Aziraphale seem all bubbly so he went along with it. Aziraphale was very hard to say no too.

The weather was much cloudier than the day before. A constant mist sprayed down on them, leaving Crowley damp and a bit cranky. Aziraphale didn't seem to mind and eventually, his happy demeanor rubbed off on Crowley and as the sky cleared, so too did Crowley’s mood. He might have to go back to work on Monday but the weekend—the whole week—had been good.

They'd been driving for quite some time, exchanging pleasant chatter, when Aziraphale's phone buzzed in the cupholder and he glanced at it. Inhaling sharply, Aziraphale said, "I’m sorry. I have to—can we stop at the next gas station?"

Crowley nodded in confusion as the phone rang out. He hadn’t been able to see the caller ID, but based on Aziraphale’s response, it wasn’t the good sort of phone call. It seemed like an emergency sort of phone call.

Aziraphale pulled sharply into the parking lot of the first gas station they found and shut off the engine. Grabbing his phone, he hit redial before he was even out of the car. Crowley watched this all happen with his stomach tying itself into knots. Something was wrong and he had no idea what to do.

Pacing in front of the truck, Aziraphale pressed the phone to his ear. Presumably someone picked up because he visibly relaxed and started to speak.

He only caught snatches of the conversation, but the frustrated look on Aziraphale’s face made it clear it was a rough one. His mouth thinned and his bright eyes clouded over as he spoke.

"What are you—"

Crowley tried not to listen but it was impossible.

"Is she alright? Do you need—"

Aziraphale had put his hand to his forehead, scrubbing over it viciously as if he were trying to calm down.

"Why isn't Dad calling me? Yes, I know—I don't appreciate—Fine."

Aziraphale jammed his finger into the phone screen, presumably ending the call. He let out a frustrated sound and ran a hand through his hair once. He closed his eyes, squared his shoulders and turned back to the truck. Was Crowley supposed to pretend he hadn't seen that?

Hopping in through the driver’s side door, he put his hand to the keys still in the ignition before pausing and turning to Crowley with a smile that looked completely forced. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did you want to go in? We’re quite close to home but we can stop for a bit."

Crowley frowned and cast around for a way to ask after what happened that wasn't wildly rude or invasive. He couldn't think of anything.

"I'm alright," Crowley replied hesitantly. Aziraphale nodded and turned the key. The engine roared to life and the radio turned back on, a low staticky hum. When Aziraphale placed his hands on the steering wheel, they were shaking and Crowley, even if he couldn't find the right words, refused to sit there and watch him.

Before Aziraphale could start driving, Crowley reached out and put his hand on his. "I can drive. If you need me to."

It felt awkward to offer, awkward to acknowledge anything that had just happened, but Crowley didn’t want Aziraphale to just stuff it down. He didn’t know what to do besides offer to help. Aziraphale was obviously struggling with something and they were friends. Weren't friends supposed to help?

Aziraphale’s hands slipped off the wheel. "Yes...perhaps that would be best."

They drove back to Pine Grove in a silence that felt very tense. Aziraphale stared out the window, occasionally fiddling with his hands and sighing. Crowley wanted to ask. He desperately wanted to ask, but wouldn't Aziraphale tell him if he wanted to? He didn't seem the secretive type.

But that wasn't true, was it? Aziraphale hedged around why he had left England like it was some dark secret. Maybe this thing, this potential family emergency, had something to do with that. Crowley didn't know. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this worried about another human being. Probably before his mum died.

The relief of pulling into the gravel driveway was palpable. When they went inside the cabin, Aziraphale shrugged off his coat and immediately perked up. "That was a lovely trip. I'm pleased you were able to make time for it before getting back to work."

His voice was cheery and false, like he was trying to convince himself more than Crowley. Aziraphale bustled around. His frenetic energy and fluttering hands frayed Crowley's nerves until they were in absolute tatters.

"Aziraphale…" he said quietly, unsure of what else to say but feeling like he had to say something. He just wanted to help. He didn’t want Aziraphale looking like this, one wrong word from collapsing.

Aziraphale paused where he was fiddling with the stovetop, presumably ready to put the kettle on. The burner turned off with a click and Aziraphale glanced up, eyes locking with Crowley’s. They were shining and for a horrible moment, Crowley was certain he was about to cry. Aziraphale shouldn't cry. He should never have to. Crowley felt a surge of rage at whatever thing was making Aziraphale's face crumple like that.

Aziraphale looked away and, in that same forced tone said, "It's no matter. Would you like tea or coffee? Are you hungry? I could rustle up some sandwiches and we have that taffy, though that's not very nutritious—"

Aziraphale broke off and scrubbed at his eyes. "I’m sorry. I’m a bit...perhaps I should take a shower. Clear my head."

Crowley was torn. He wanted to cross the room and wrap Aziraphale in his arms, guide his head to his shoulder. He was wound so tightly. But Crowley couldn't just...hug him. It felt too intimate after that morning, waking up on top of Aziraphale.

Then again they were friends and friends hugged, right? When was the last time Crowley had hugged someone? He couldn't remember. Gosh, he was pathetic.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Crowley asked carefully, crossing the room to close the distance between them and putting his hands on top of the counter. Aziraphale looked at the ceiling and took several deep breaths.

"It really is fine. You shouldn't have to listen to me natter on,” Aziraphale said with an awkward laugh. He turned away and started rifling through the cupboards aimlessly. Was he still thinking about sandwiches?

"I don't mind," Crowley said. He felt as if he was trailing through an abandoned house, climbing stairs without knowing which were rotted through. "I like listening to you."

Aziraphale's shoulders slumped and his hand dropped from the open cupboard. He turned back and smiled again, but this time it lacked the forced quality that made Crowley so worried. Now Aziraphale just looked nervous.

"I'm afraid you'll think I'm quite silly," Aziraphale said, voice breaking on his words.

"Not on your life," Crowley replied, dead serious.

Aziraphale looked at the ground and took a deep breath. "My sister called.”

Crowley waited, fairly certain that wasn't the whole story. A thick tension was falling around them and Crowley knew if he spoke he'd finally misstep, finally plunge through the broken staircase and ruin everything.

"My mother was in the hospital,” Aziraphale said and when Crowley sucked in a sharp breath, he shook his head. "She's fine. She has a heart condition. Things happen. My sister thought I should know since no one else would tell me."

He hesitated again and Crowley said, "I'm glad your mum's alright."

Aziraphale glanced up at the ceiling like he was still holding back tears. His voice was choked when he spoke again. "I know. I'm...I'm thankful for that. I am."

He broke off, voice going tight. "It's silly and ridiculous but I suppose I hoped my father would call me to tell me something like that but...it seems our differences are still too much for him."

Crowley had a gazillion questions, but in the silence, he settled on, "That's bollocks. Your dad couldn't even pick up on the phone for that? Sounds like a wanker."

Aziraphale laughed wetly and it turned into a sharp sob. "Goodness me. You must think I'm quite a mess. Let me just—"

Crowley couldn't stand it, this way that Aaziraphale was shoving all his feelings away like they didn't matter, like he didn't matter. He was around the counter in a second, pulling Aziraphale into his arms without really thinking. Aziraphale tensed for a moment before he returned the embrace and when he did, Crowley melted into it. He was so warm and soft and he smelled nice and when Crowley tightened his grip, Aziraphale sighed and hooked his chin over Crowley's shoulder. Crowley had the insane urge to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s ear and he shoved it away. It was not the time to think like that.

Crowley closed his eyes so he didn't think any more about kissing Aziraphale’s ear. Did he like having his ears kissed? "If you want to talk about it, I'll listen. Might be a bit biased though. Say shite like your family sucks and don't deserve you."

Aziraphale laughed again, but when he sucked in a breath it sounded more like a sob. Crowley rubbed his back and kept talking since it seemed to be working.

"The other day those drunk kids called you an angel and I think they're right. You’re the best sort of person and anyone who thinks otherwise can stuff it."

Aziraphale sobbed again and tightened his embrace for a moment before abruptly pulling away and swiping tears from his eyes. "Who knew you were nice?"

"I'm not nice," Crowley grumbled as his cheeks grew hot. "I'm a big meanie. Yell at all my coworkers, I do. They're rightly scared of me."

Aziraphale nodded sagely, still teary eyed but obviously joking. "Of course. I think all scary men refer to themselves as meanies. I believe it's a requirement."

Crowley scowled; more for the fact that Aziraphale was smiling again and he wanted that smile to grow. "Go sit down. I'll make you tea."

Heaving a put-upon sigh, Aziraphale obeyed but not before clapping a hand on Crowley's shoulder and squeezing. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"Any time,'' Crowley said far too earnestly as he ducked his head. He heard the scratch of a record being put on. He was fairly certain it was Bob Dylan but he wouldn't put money on it.

They settled in with snacks and tea and watched a documentary about coral reefs which had Aziraphale teasing him about his fish conspiracy. Crowley took it in stride, happy Aziraphale was up to teasing him at all.

They'd finished an episode when Aziraphale stood to start the fire.

"Oh, bother."

Crowley set aside his tea and joined him by the mantle. "What's the matter?"

"I didn't restock the wood." He sighed. "I suppose I can go get some from the shed."

"Nah, let me," Crowley said, already halfway to the door. "I should do a bit more to help out around here."

Aziraphale looked at him askance but sat back down. "Alright. If you're sure. Keep an eye out for spiders. They like the wood pile."

Crowley did not like the sound of that. But he did like Aziraphale and he liked the idea of actually tangibly helping him. After the little interlude that afternoon, Crowley wanted something besides pressing him with tea and biscuits like he was Aziraphale's grandmother.

The woodpile was not as intimidating as Crowley had expected, neatly stacked and mostly clean. He hefted two logs into his arms and contemplated a third when he heard a noise, a tiny chirping sound from inside the woodpile. He dropped the wood and crouched down to see what it was.

In between two intersecting logs was a little black kitten, curled up and crying. The criss-crossed wood looked precarious and Crowley didn't know what to do. He was afraid trying to get it out would tip over the whole pile and injure the cat. He wasn’t coordinated or strong and he’d hurt it. Aziraphale though…

For lack of a better idea, he ran back inside.

"Aziraphale!" Crowley said breathlessly, slamming open the door. "There's a baby cat—a kitten stuck in the woodpile. I need help. I can't—I'm worried—we have to get it."

Aziraphale was on his feet in a second. "Oh dear."

Together they returned to the woodshed. The thing was still ensconced between two balanced pieces of wood, mewling pathetically. Crowley's heart clenched at the sound.

"You poor thing," Aziraphale cooed as he withdrew log after carefully stacked log. "You'll be alright."

Crowley tried to stay his anxious shaking. He couldn't stop thinking about the tower of wood collapsing. The little cat would be crushed. But he should have trusted Aziraphale because just as soon as he couldn't stand it anymore, Aziraphale withdrew the little guy. It's legs stuck out in surprise, scrabbling at nothing as Airaphale pulled it to his chest. It meowed, a tiny—and frankly adorable—sound.

"There you go. You're safe now."

Crowley let out a long breath. "What do we do with him?"

"I suppose feed him and house him for a night and figure it out tomorrow?" Aziraphale offered in between making little noises at the cat who parroted them back at him.

Aziraphale handed him the cat. Crowley took it hesitantly, mirroring Aziraphale's pose by cradling it to his chest. It immediately started to purr and he looked up at Aziraphale in awe. "Oh my God, it’s purring. Do you hear that?"

Aziraphale had the oddest look on his face. He wasn't looking at the cat though. He was staring at Crowley with his mouth slightly open. It clicked shut and his brow furrowed slightly. "Right. Yes. I—I can go to the general store and get litter. I'm sure Shadwell has some. I should just.. I'll do that. Right now."

With that Aziraphale rushed off, leaving Crowley to stare after him in confusion. He looked down at the kitten in his arms and asked, "What the hell was that?"

Chapter Text

The kitten was a rambunctious little thing. The minute Crowley got him inside, he squirmed out of his grip and scampered off to sniff the far corners of the room before toddling back and meowing pathetically at Crowley’s feet.

Crowley looked down at him, unsure of what to do.

"What do you want, little guy?"

The cat scrabbled at the bottom of his jeans and he knelt down to scratch his ears. He nipped at his fingers playfully which gave Crowley an idea.

That was how Aziraphale found him thirty minutes later, sitting on the floor, holding the shoelace he'd wriggled out of his boot, dangling it for the kitten who swiped at it playfully. .

He tossed the end of the shoelace in the air and the cat jumped after it. When he couldn't catch it, he crawled into Crowley's lap and tried to climb up his shirt and onto his shoulder. Crowley looked up at the Aziraphale where he was standing in the doorway, arms laden with cat supplies.

"Did Shadwell have what you needed?" Crowley asked, wincing as tiny claws scratched his chest in an effort to find purchase as the cat climbed.

"Ye-yes," Aziraphale said. He cleared his throat sharply then kicked off his boots. They hit the wall with a thud, a bit messier than Aziraphale's normal behavior, but Crowley supposed it had been a difficult day. He was probably stressed.

"I was thinking about names," Crowley said, standing carefully so as not to dislodge the kitten currently gripping his shoulder. "Spider. Like you said. There are spiders in the woodpile."

Aziraphale laughed, one sharp, clear sound that made Crowley’s heart skip a beat.

"That's very cute. I like it."

Crowley allowed himself a small smile that was followed by a silly swell of pride in response to Aziraphale's words. Like Aziraphale’s approval of the name actually meant something. "Is there a shelter we can take him to?"

Aziraphale set down the litter box in the far corner of the room. "Actually, I was considering keeping him. I've been thinking about getting a pet, and then this little fellow made an appearance. Seems a bit like fate, don't you think?"

Crowley reached up to dislodge Spider from where he was purring next to his ear. He let out a disgruntled mrrp but settled in Crowley's arms easily enough.

"I wouldn't know really. Not a big believer in the stuff."

"What? Fate?"

"Seems a load of bollocks,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale looked at him strangely, that same look from the woodpile. Thoughtful and...fond?

"I don't know. I think it's a nice thought. Romantic."

The little hopeful butterflies in Crowley's stomach flapped around and he nearly fumbled Spider onto the ground. The cat was clearly unimpressed and wriggled in his arms until Crowley set him down so he could run off and investigate more of his new home.

When Crowley glanced back at Aziraphale, the man had busied himself putting food in a small bowl on the ground.

"Do you think," Aziraphale ventured, "you'll still be around this coming weekend?"

Crowley thought back to his ticket with no return date, pondered the amount of work he still needed to arrange on the lodge, and added the fact that the lawyers had hardly provided him with any of the information he needed.

"Yeah," Crowley said, attempting to keep some of the frustration from his voice. It was getting difficult to manage his job remotely but he didn’t exactly want to go back home. He liked it here. It was hard to ignore that. Regardless, he said, "It's a bit difficult to leave yet."

He realized abruptly why Aziraphale was asking and rushed to add, "I can leave if you need. Get out of your hair. Pine Grove might not have a lot of options but I could go a few towns over to find a place to stay."

Aziraphale shot upright and waved his hands in front of him in distress. "No. That's not—you're still welcome here. Of course. I was asking because...I wanted to take you on a hike."

"A hike…" Crowley repeated dubiously. If it was going to be anything like the dune at the coast, it was just another opportunity to embarrass himself. Then again, it was also another opportunity to watch Aziraphale enjoy himself. Rock and hard place really.

"Yes. There's a lovely one about an hour out of Pine Grove. A waterfall and everything. I think you'd like it," Aziraphale said. "It will be a good place for us to talk."

Crowley frowned. That was weirdly vague. "Talk about what?"

But Aziraphale was already breezing by, saying something about showering and ignoring him entirely.

The next day Crowley woke up to Spider tucked on his pillow, so close his fur tickled his face. Aziraphale was already gone which had been fairly common since Crowley had started his stay with him. However, there was a note on the breakfast bar alongside cooked potatoes and eggs which Crowley devoured with gusto.

Out on a job. Be back at noon for lunch! - A

The sight of the neat handwriting made Crowley smile through his mouthful of potatoes. It suited Aziraphale. He cleaned his plate and allowed himself a tiny fantasy of living his life every day like this, waking up to breakfast and having Aziraphale’s return to look forward to. Maybe when he got home, they’d exchange a few kisses, say things like I missed you and just be happy. But it was just a fantasy and when Crowley finished drying the dishes, he pushed all his silly thoughts away and got to work.

When he checked his much dreaded email, it wasn’t terrible. It was barely over two hundred unread which was nothing for an entire week's absence.

He dug through and responded to high priority ones while Spider bonked his head against Crowley’s shins and cried until Crowley let him sit on the table beside his laptop.

"Don't tell Aziraphale I let you up here," he said sternly.

The week went by much the same. Emails and phone calls and the cat being obnoxiously cute. Most nights, he and Aziraphale cooked together and Crowley's hopeful little heart thrilled at the domesticity of it all.

Aziraphale was better at cooking than he was, but Crowley did alright. He was proud of himself actually. He only cut himself once on Wednesday when they made veggie moussaka and he got a little too friendly with the mandolin.

Aziraphale had tutted over him, warm hands on his and Crowley thought he might die from how hard his heart was beating as Aziraphale bandaged his sliced knuckle. It was just that Aziraphale's hands were so warm, slightly calloused and illogically soft. Anybody's heart would race if they were touched by hands like that.

He didn't hear from the lawyers all week so he left a message on Friday. He didn't like having his departure date so up in the air. The renovation of the lodge was in full swing, and with an estimated completion date of August, Crowley just needed final word on this will and testament business before he could wash his hands of the place.

He wished it didn't mean washing his hands of Aziraphale. But what was he supposed to do? Uproot his life for a friendship? It might have been the best thing that had happened to him in years, but it wasn't possible. Crowley reminded himself of that fact constantly. Especially in the evening when he and Aziraphale made idle chat over dinner and Crowley knew deep in his bones that losing this intimacy was going to hurt.

Saturday morning dawned sunny and bright. Aziraphale whistled in the kitchen as he packed up snacks and water bottles. Spider wound around his ankles begging for treats. It was the sort of simple morning Crowley would remember for a long time.

"It really is a lovely place," Aziraphale said as they pulled out of the driveway in his truck. He’d seemed very scatterbrained that morning and Crowley had no idea why. He'd tried to ask if something else had happened with his mum but Aziraphale just brushed him off. Another mystery he supposed.

"I bet most of this place is gorgeous," Crowley said mostly to himself as he watched the trees go by. "Don't go in much for hiking back home. Or ever."

"My friends in uni turned me on to it," Aziraphale said. "It's hard not to go out into nature when there's so much of it to appreciate around here."

Clouds gathered thick in the sky when they pulled into the small parking lot at the base of the trail. "Do you think it'll rain?" Crowley asked, contemplating bringing his jacket.

"Hm, I looked online before we left and the forecast didn't say so, but it's not always reliable," Aziraphale replied as he shouldered the small pack he had brought.

Deciding it wasn't worth carrying the coat and getting sweaty, Crowley tossed it back in the cab of the truck. He rolled his shoulders and joined Aziraphale beside the map displayed on a wooden sign at the base of the trail.

"It's not a very long hike," he explained, running his finger along a red line on the map. "There are longer options but this is a little over an hour round trip. Though it does get a bit steep."

"As long as it's not as steep as that hell dune, I'll be fine," Crowley grumbled before they took off down the trail.

As promised, it was nice. The whole place smelled of damp earth and moss, and under the canopy, it was cool enough that Crowley wasn't sweating up a storm.

"I came here for the first time with my ex nearly ten years ago," Aziraphale began out of nowhere. "He liked hiking a great deal and while I enjoyed it, he somehow made it a competitive activity. We came up the trail and I thought it was so beautiful and romantic and he decided he wanted to run the rest of the way up.”

Aziraphale paused dramatically and gave Crowley a look like they were now sharing a joke.

“Needless to say, that relationship didn't work out."

Crowley snorted. "Someone was too outdoorsy for you? That seems unlikely."

"Oh, believe me, there are many people more outdoorsy than me. One of my friends from my younger days is a professional mushroom forager and he lives in a tent."

Crowley grimaced at the thought. It sounded like a recipe for back pain.

Aziraphale laughed at his expression. "I must confess I feel similarly."

The hill was easy for the first fifteen minutes or so and then Aziraphale's promise of a steep incline began to make itself known. Crowley's thighs burned and he huffed as he marched up the hill.

"You weren't lying about the steep thing."

Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply and several things happened at once. The strap of Aziraphale's pack broke and it dropped to the ground, spilling its contents down the slope. The sudden drop startled Crowley who misstepped, rolling his ankle before he tripped, fell, and tumbled down the hill. There were some painful rocks, a knock to the head and a large root to the back that caused sharp pain to flare through his entire torso.

When he finally skidded to a stop at a flat part of the path, he couldn’t tell which parts of his body hurt and which didn't and he was pretty sure that was because the whole thing was screaming in pain.

He thought he heard Aziraphale swear, but his ears were ringing so he couldn't be sure.

Aziraphale was suddenly by his side, hands running over his body, concern clear on his face. In any other situation, Crowley would be pleased to be touched so much but right then, it simply hurt.

He tried to say as much but it came out mangled.

Aziraphale helped him sit up and Crowley yelped.

"Oh dear," Aziraphale said quietly as he examined his ankle. "I believe you need to go to the ER."

Crowley did not want to go to a doctor and was about to say so but when he moved to stand up, the flash of pain in his ribs was so intense he dropped back down to the ground.

Distressed, Aziraphale murmured little soothing phrases better suited to Spider than to Crowley as he helped him up.

"It's just a short walk and then you can sit. We can manage."

Crowley groaned and with Aziraphale's help, limped back to the truck. Jostling his chest hurt particularly and when he flopped into the truck, his whole body felt like a screaming bruise.

"The nearest hospital is 30 minutes away," Aziraphale said hurriedly, like he wanted to assure them both. Crowley didn't particularly think distance mattered. This was going to suck whether he went to the doctor or not.

"Your rib is fractured here," the doctor said, pointing at a thin line running through the bone on the x-ray. "We will need to get you on pain killers but other than that you'll just be banged up. Your ankle has a light sprain but elevating it with some ice will do just fine. If pain persists, come back in."

Crowley felt a bit ill at the thought.

The doctor glanced at Aziraphale who was busy wringing his hands in the chair by the door to the exam room. "Your partner will need to help you for the next week or so with getting around and getting dressed. Don’t over do it."

Crowley wanted to protest the whole partner thing but he was too muzzy to feel embarrassed. His head hurt and his body felt weird from painkillers and shock. Everything was so bright and his eyeballs ached.

"Absolutely,'' Aziraphale said, not correcting the doctor. Crowley supposed it wasn't worth the whole we’re-not-dating conversation just for a simple correction.

"Is there anything else I should know?"

The doctor shook her head. "Nope. We’ll send you out with prescriptions. Make sure he stays hydrated"

Aziraphale nodded politely and they exchanged goodbyes before he hurried back to Crowley’s side.

"Crowley, I am so terribly sorry."

"What are you apologizing for? I’m calm—I’m clumsy. Right klutz, me. Eggs and soups in laps and hill tumbles. That’s me. "

Aziraphale gave him a look that Crowley couldn’t interpret as anything but amused.

"My dear, you have a broken rib because I dropped things on the trail and startled you."

Aziraphale's face was scrunched up all adorably and Crowley liked it so much he reached out and booped the tip of his nose with his forefinger.

"Boop," he said quietly. He grinned to himself and did it again. Aziraphale had a great nose. So cute.

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in both of his and held it between them. "I think perhaps we should get you home to rest before you do anything else you'll be embarrassed about when you're sober."

"Soberrrrrr," Crowley repeated, trying to capture Aziraphale's weird, hybrid accent.

"Come on," Aziraphale said as he urged him to stand. "Out of the clinic with you."

Crowley let Aziraphale lead him around and out of the hospital which was nice since everything was white and labyrinthine and he couldn’t make heads or tails of where they were.

Crowley was slouched in the truck, feeling like he couldn't breathe, when he finally asked, "What did you want to talk about?"

The words hurt as they left his mouth and he winced. He needed to sleep. And to not move. The painkillers weren’t feeling so magical anymore.

"What?" Aziraphale asked, glancing at him.

"On the hike," Crowley ground out. "Said you wanted to talk."

Aziraphale let out a breath of understanding. "Right. Yes. It's quite silly."

"Not silly. If you dragged me all the way out there and cracked my ribs for it, it must be important."

Aziraphale laughed genuinely for the first time in a while. The sound made Crowley laugh too, but he regretted it immediately and swore, which effectively shut Aziraphale up.

"Goodness, I am so sorry. I wouldn't have...it wasn't a good idea anyway. And now you’re hurt because of some stupid notion I had to take you somewhere nice."

Crowley hummed, not able to talk after his little laughter experiment. Fuck, it hurt.

"I think we should focus on you healing up. You can't exactly travel in your state."

Crowley groaned. He hadn't even thought of that

Of course, he couldn't travel. Not for a few more weeks at least. He groaned again. This was a nightmare.

When they got back to the cabin, Aziraphale shooed him inside and said, "Go change out of your clothes. You're filthy. I'll get the bed ready and dig you up an ice pack."

He tossed the bag of prescriptions on the counter and waved Crowley off. Crowley steadied himself for a moment as everything came into focus. Right. Change clothes. Shuffling towards his suitcase, he yelped as soon as he tried to bend over to open it.

"Oh, bother," Aziraphale said, by his side immediately and helping him stand back up. "Probably something comfortable and loose that buttons up. Do you have anything like that?"

He was already rifling through Crowley's bag which would have frustrated him as an invasion of privacy at any other time, but pain was shooting through his torso and he was having difficulty thinking.

"Of course not. You have all those tight things. Can you manage your jeans? I'll be right back."

Crowley took several shallow breaths and leaned his forehead against the wall as Aziraphale rushed off. His head was starting to ache where it had smacked against the dirt. Probably the worst injury he’d had in front of a crush in recent years. Bloody humiliating. Had he booped Aziraphale’s nose?

A disaster. He was a disaster.

He unzipped his trousers and managed to wriggle them halfway down his legs before his body protested violently. He couldn’t bend down far enough to tug them all the way down. He tried to kick them the rest of the way off, but his bruised ankle and aching hips made it absurdly painful.

That was how Aziraphale found him, trousers around his knees as he leaned pathetically against the wall.

"Oh, you poor dear.”

And then Aziraphale was kneeling at his feet, tugging down his trousers and Crowley was thankful his body hurt or else very embarrassing things would be happening between his legs.

"You didn't take off your boots," Aziraphale said quietly. Crowley looked down at him as one hand brushed the side of his thigh and the other went to the laces of his boots.

Aziraphale undid one with deft fingers and tugged it off. Clutching at the wall, Crowley breathed through the sensations in his body. Shame, arousal, and pain all swirling together into an overwhelming tide as Aziraphale removed his other boot. Then warm hands were pulling off his trousers, one palm steadying his thigh as the other helped him step out of his jeans.

Crowley was standing half naked in Aziraphale’s living room and when Aziraphale rose to his feet, his cheeks were pink. His eyes were so bright and for a dizzying moment, Crowley thought he was about to be kissed. But that was definitely the painkillers talking. The same painkillers that made Crowley boop Aziraphale’s nose like an idiot.

"Now for your shirt. Do you think you can…"

Crowley looked down at his mud streaked black t-shirt. At least it was one of the loose ones he had bought at the sports shop. He reached for the hem and tugged it up but his back screamed, pain shooting down his side like lightning. He gasped.

Aziraphale grasped his upper arm to steady him. "It's alright. Let's just cut it off. If thats ok?"

Crowley nodded and tried to swallow. Was he going to vomit?

Aziraphale disappeared and was replaced by Spider meowing at Crowley's feet.

"Sorry, munchkin. Bit occupied," Crowley said but Spider just headbutted his shin.

Aziraphale snorted when he got back and scooped up the cat. "How about you spend some time in the bathroom while I get Crowley patched up, hm?"

Spider meowed in response, and, despite being mostly naked, Crowley couldn't help his grin. It was cute.

The door to the bathroom clicked shut and Aziraphale returned. He held up a pair of kitchen shears. "I hope you're not too fond of this shirt."

Crowley flexed his jaw and closed his eyes. "Just do it."

Aziraphale gripped the hem of the t-shirt and the backs of his knuckles brushed the flat of Crowley's stomach. His muscles jumped and he hissed in pain. Aziraphale looked at him sympathetically before sliding the fabric between the blades of the shears. A few snips later and Crowley was in his pants, shirt hanging on either side of his chest. His face was hot but his entire body had broken out into goosebumps both from Aziraphale's touch and the rising chill.

Aziraphale dropped the scissors on the end table and pushed Crowley's shirt off his shoulders. It was horrid timing, but Crowley couldn't breathe for more than one reason.

Aziraphale's blue eyes were shining, the beautiful hazel shot through with evening light. Crowley caught the scent of his beard balm, piney and cozy. But it was his mouth, fuck, his mouth, set in the bristles of his beard and framed so beautifullly that had Crowley wanting to sway forward and taste it. He wanted to back Aziraphale onto the couch and kiss him for hours.

But he couldn't do that on a good day, let alone with a cracked rib.

Aziraphale turned away, breaking through Crowley's meandering fantasies and when he turned back, he held a flannel. It was a red and black plaid and just looking at it Crowley knew it would be too big.

"Let's get you into this."

Aziraphale maneuvered him with delicate touches that still jostled him slightly. He imagined trying to do this by himself and just the thought made him want to lay down and cry.

The fabric was soft and well-worn as it came around his shoulders. The cuffs dropped slightly over his hands when he brought them up to button the shirt and the hem brushed the tops of his thighs. The shirt smelled like Aziraphale.

Crowley grasped the hem in his hand and tried to think clearly. This was a lot. Overwhelming. Aziraphale was right there and Crowley was wearing his shirt and his chest was screaming.

"Let me get you some water," Aziraphale said but before he could step away, Crowley grabbed his hand. He had to say something. Anything.

"Thank you," he said. The words came out quiet and serious in a way he didn't intend.

Aziraphale gave him a small smile and squeezed his fingers.

"It's no trouble to take care of you, Crowley."

Aziraphale went into the kitchen and Crowley was glad to have a moment to wipe at his eyes.

Chapter Text

Crowley woke up and groaned. His head was splitting, but it had nothing on his back. Pain radiated down his spine in sharp flashes. His ribs, he supposed. He tried to rearrange himself in bed to get comfortable but each movement just made the pain worse.

Spider rustled in the blankers by his knee, eyes flashing in the dark before letting out a distruntled mrrp and hopping off the bed. Crowley closed his eyes and wished he could just go back to sleep. But if he wanted to do that, he needed water and another painkiller.

"Fuck," Crowley said between tight teeth as he tried to sit up. His abdominal muscles screamed as they moved around the bruise on his torso and he had to stop and catch his breath before standing. Shuffling his way into the kitchen, Crowley absently noticed that the pain in his ankle was nothing compared to the pain in his back. He'd experienced many a twisted ankle in his day but never a cracked rib. Now he knew which he prefered. Probably knowledge he could have lived without.

He reached up to the cupboard, forgetting the whole "no arms above chest height" issue. Swearly fiercely, he dropped his hand to clutch at the counter and take a few deep breaths. Which also hurt.

"Crowley?"

"S’fine. Go back to bed," Crowley grunted, glaring at the half-open cupboard and willing himself to try to reach inside me again. He could do this.

"Nonsense. What are you after?"

Crowley turned just as Aziraphale padded into the kitchen. The moonlight illuminated his white blond hair as he approached, hands out like he was taming a feral animal. Crowley wouldn’t have been surprised if that's what he looked like, wide-eyed and a bit rabid.

"Water," Crowley bit out.

Aziraphale stifled a yawn and said, "Why don't you go sit back down and I'll get you some? Do you need another percocet?"

Crowley grumbled in the affirmative and made his way back to the couch bed. Spider had taken up residence on his pillow but obligingly moved out of the way when Crowley sat down. He closed his eyes and tried to ease the pain with shallow breaths. He couldn't remember if he'd had worse. A life of clumsiness surely meant he had but probably when he was younger and better at bouncing back.

As it was, he wanted to sleep for a hundred years and then some.

Before he could even rearrange himself back onto the bed, Aziraphale was in front of him, pressing a cold cup of water into his hand alongside a painkiller which Crowley took gratefully.

It was only after he swallowed that he noticed how close Aziraphale was standing. His knees bracketed one of Crowley's legs. Crowley's pain-addled mind offered up the image of Aziraphale ducking down, sealing their mouths together, pressing closer and pushing him back on the bed. He was in too much pain to be physically aroused by it, but that didn't mean his heart didn't kick up a fuss.

"Alright. I’m medicated. Hydrated. You should go back to bed,” Crowley said. Aziraphale was so close. He could feel the ambient heat of him through the thin material of his white t-shirt. His pajama bottoms brushed against Crowley's bare knees and it would have been overwhelming if Crowley weren’t exhausted.

Aziraphale brushed Crowley’s hair back from his forehead, fingers lightly scratching over his scalp. Without thinking, control destroyed by discomfort and exhaustion, Crowley pushed into the touch, feeling like Spider begging for pets.

"Alright," Aziraphale said softly. "I’ll head back to bed. Promise me you'll call for me if you need something?"

Crowley's throat was shut tight so he nodded.

Aziraphale gave him a small smile and pulled away. Crowley watched his retreat, and listened to his soft footfalls as he climbed the stairs to the loft. Maybe this was all a painkiller-induced hallucination. Seemed about as likely as it being reality.

With drugs in his system, Crowley was pulled back against the pillows, drifting off to the memory of Aziraphale’s comforting warmth.

"I'm going to help you," Aziraphale said sternly, hands on his hips like some sort of disgruntled school marm.

Crowley looked into the shower and grimaced. Standing in Aziraphale's bathroom with his borrowed shirt hanging open, he was certain he looked a mess. The bruise on his side was coming in starkly, a deep purple over his pale freckled skin. Deeply alluring was what it was. Surely quite sexy.

He let out a low growl. "I can do it."

"I heard you yell trying to open the shower curtain so forgive me if I don't believe you," Aziraphale chided. "You can keep your briefs on if you're uncomfortable."

"Of course I'm keeping my briefs on," Crowley snapped. He was cranky and embarrassed and apparently about five seconds from being washed by the man he'd been fantasizing about kissing for the better part of a month.

Aziraphale sat on the edge of the tub and gestured for Crowley to put a foot up. "I’ve got to take off your socks."

Crowley grumbled nonsensically but did as he was told. Aziraphales hands were soft and sure as they tugged off his thick, woolen socks. One wide palm was wrapped around his calf, disturbing the hair there and sending goosebumps over Crowley’s skin.

"Other foot please," Aziraphale said quietly with another no-nonsense gesture of his hand.

Crowley couldn’t deny it was helpful. He’d tried to bend over and do this earlier and his whole chest had screamed in distress. It might be a bit stressful to have Aziraphale’s hands on him but it was loads better than feeling as if he had been stabbed. He was trying not to think about how painful it would be to change his underwear because he was certainly not allowing Aziraphale to help him with that.

It was when the water turned on and Aziraphale was taking off his flannel that it started to feel too real. He couldn’t do it.

"I think I'll be fine," Crowley said.

Aziraphale fixed him with a look but stepped back, balling the flannel in his hands and tossing it into the hamper. He'd already brought another of what seemed to be an endless supply of warm oversized shirts and laid it out for Crowley to change into.

"Alright, I won’t force you. But I'm staying in here. I don’t want you hurting yourself again just because you want to be stubborn."

Crowley tsked through his teeth. "I'm not made of glass."

Aziraphale dropped down on the other side of the wall onto the toilet and pulled out his phone, clearly ignoring his petulance.

"You can leave the curtain open. I'll deal with the excess water after."

With that, Azirphale turned his attention back to his phone screen, seemingly content. For a moment, Crowley couldn't tear his eyes from the fascinating shape of his nose, from the tuck of his chin into his beard. He was so handsome. It was bloody unfair.

With a grunt, Crowley heaved himself into the shower and immediately hissed as the water struck his sensitive skin. That was a bitch of a bruise.

"Alright in there?" Aziraphale asked airily. Bastard.

"Fine," Crowley retorted, standing very still for a few moments as he adjusted to the spray.

Aziraphale hummed noncommittally and it sounded even more passively judgmental when Crowley couldn't see his face.

It didn't take very long for Crowley’s pants to be soaked entirely through. He wasn't sure of the point of them. Given the way they clung, they really did show off his entire...situation. What sort of modesty they were supposed to provide, Crowley didn't know. Though he supposed they at least prevented Aziraphale from seeing his bright red pubic hair which was objectively ridiculous. He'd been laughed at a few times. Well, two times. Which was two times too many.

Pushing away his musings about pubic hair, Crowley reached into the shower caddy to retrieve the shampoo and the twinge in his side made him grasp at the wall. He must have made a distressed noise because Aziraphale appeared immediately, clucking his tongue.

"Really, I told you it wasn’t a good idea. Let me just— I’ll stay out here if you’re uncomfortable, but let me help."

Crowley hung his head and nodded. This was so stupid. Maybe he was in enough pain to not become obviously aroused by Aziraphale’s touch. If he was lucky.

Aziraphale retrieved the shampoo and lathered some in his hands.

"Eyes closed, my dear."

Crowley did as he was told and then Aziraphale hands sank into his hair, blunt fingers running over his scalp. He made a noise that was probably a whimper, but he tried not to think too hard about it.

"Does that feel good?" Aziraphale asked, voice deadly quiet and Crowley was absurdly glad he had his eyes closed because he thought looking in Aziraphale’s eyes right then might kill him straight dead.

He hummed, unable to speak. Little trills of satisfaction ran down his back as Aziraphale ran his fingers through his hair.

“Let’s rinse” Aziraphale said and a sudsy hand guided him to lean his head back into the spray. Sudsy water ran down Crowley’s back. He kept his eyes closed, lingering for a moment in the feeling of being cared for.

"All clear," Aziraphale said after maneuvering Crowley out of the spray. Crowley blinked his eyes open just as Aziraphale pushed Crowley’s hair back from his face, slicking it back before he retreated.

Aziraphale’s white t-shirt was spotted with water, bits of it stuck to his skin in a way that was unfairly attractive. Crowley tried not to stare, feeling very much the waterlogged dog, but it was an impossible task. Aziraphale was so bright. So hard to look away from.

"You have some dirt on your—we should have washed up yesterday," Aziraphale said, tapping his shoulder to urge him to turn around.

Fingers ghosted over his shoulder blade and he heard Aziraphale suck in a sharp breath.

“Let me know if this hurts. I’ll be gentle.”

Crowley couldn’t say anything. What was he supposed to say? The smell of Aziraphale’s soap filled the air, heady and comforting and then Aziraphale touched his back carefully, skin obscured by a soft washcloth. He could feel the heat of Aziraphale’s hand as he ran the cloth down his back in small circles. Crowley wasn’t breathing. He couldn’t.

Aziraphale deftly avoided the bruised section of his torso, getting too close only once and apologizing when Crowley swore.

“Turn around, please,” Aziraphale said. His voice had an odd quality, thick and quiet. It reminded Crowley of the day when Aziraphale’s family had called, like he was crying. Why Aziraphale would cry while being forced to bathe Crowley, he didn’t know. He hoped it wasn’t that mortifying.

Except, when he turned around, Aziraphale had the strangest look on his face. His cheeks were flushed, bringing out the gray hazel of his eyes. Crowley’s heart leapt into his throat. He wanted…

“Just a bit more and then we can dry you off,” Aziraphale said kindly.

Being able to see Aziraphale’s face while his hands were on Crowley was torture. The washcloth skated over his chest, catching slightly in his chest hair as Aziraphale rubbed concentric circles down his sternum and over his belly. And then, with very little warning, Aziraphale’s knuckles brushed over the sharp arch of his hip bone, fingers drifting until Crowley’s hip was pressed into Aziraphale’s broad hand. The washcloth traveled down, close to the waistband of his pants, and if Crowley thought all the breath had already left him, he’d been decidedly wrong.

The washcloth paused. Aziraphale glanced up at him and everything around Crowley slowed to a stop. The thumb on his hip brushed carefully back and forth once. The water was warm but Crowley was shivering. Aziraphale cleared his throat and pulled away.

What was happening?

At the coast a week ago, Aziraphale had said he wasn’t interested in Crowley, but Crowley wasn’t an idiot. He might be terrible at romance, but this was...surely, this had to be…

“Why don’t you rinse off?” Aziraphale said primly, wringing out the wet cloth into the sink before tossing it into the hamper. “Then we can get you dried and bundled up.”

Crowley numbly did exactly that, mind whirring over the implications of what had just happened. Aziraphale had caressed his hip and looked at him like he was perfect. Like he wanted him. It seemed impossible and yet Crowley had seen it.

Aziraphale seemed to have shaken himself out of whatever strange fugue had caused him to touch Crowley like that because drying off was perfunctory and quick.

He turned his back while Crowley changed his underpants, obeying Crowley’s request for him to ignore whatever pained grunts he heard. And, yes, changing his pants had been bloody painful and afterwards, all Crowley wanted to do was lay down. He wrapped himself in another of Aziraphale’s shirts—blue and yellow plaid this time—and did exactly that.

It went on like that for two more days, but they didn’t have a repeat of the Hip Incident. Aziraphale was polite and clinical about helping him get clean and on the fourth day, Crowley could reach his hands above his head without screaming so he was granted a return to showering in peace.

He’d been working periodically throughout the haze of painkillers despite Aziraphale’s obvious disapproval. Both Eric and Beez knew the situation, but Crowley was handling it. He might hate every second, but he had things to do and money to make and that was fine.

Finally, Friday came and Crowley decided to do as little work as possible, exhausted from his week of napping and trying to stay on top of work while occasionally feeling like he was being stabbed in the chest.

“I see you’ve finally decided to rest?” Aziraphale said with no little amount of judgment as he got ready to leave for a job in town. Tracy had called. Something about the hot water at the inn.

“Oi, none of that. I’m healing fine and I had things to do,” Crowley replied from his seat on the sofa bed. They’d kept the bed out all week and Crowley was finally able to sit up in it. Quite an accomplishment.

Aziraphale grunted. “I don’t like seeing you pushing yourself to the point of exhaustion like that. You’re hurt.”

Crowley waved his hand dismissively. “I’ve worked through worse.”

“You know that doesn’t make me feel any better,” Aziraphale pointed out. Crowley heard him shove his feet into his boots, followed by a disgruntled chirp from Spider, who was probably distressed to see Aziraphale leave.

“Is there anything you want while I’m in town?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley couldn’t exactly turn to face him given the whole deeply bruised torso situation, but he imagined the man had kneeled down to pick up Spider. He probably looked adorable, stood as he was by the door holding a small cat.

“Mm, I don’t know. Did you have plans for dinner? I think I’m up to helping,” Crowley said. He’d been pushing to return to some of his guest responsibilities since he’d been able to shower by himself and he’d been rebuffed at every turn.

“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale said (like he had every day since Crowley had begun pestering him). “I was thinking I would pick up pizza and we could watch a film.”

“Fine, but let me pay,” Crowley replied.

“I’ll allow it,” Aziraphale said, a hint of teasing in his voice. Crowley bit back a smile. “Now, please rest. I’ve put a few painkillers and water on the side table and if you run into issues, call me.”

“I’m not a child, Aziraphale. I can even lift my arms above my head. See?” Crowley said, demonstrating his newfound skill. His ribs only twinged a little.

“Says the man who can’t turn around in a seat to look at me.” When Crowley moved to prove him wrong, Aziraphale continued, “Don’t you dare.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

“I’ll be back in a bit.”

With that, the door opened and shut and Crowley was alone. Despite what he’d said to Aziraphale, rest sounded phenomenal.

Crowley woke up some time later to the smell of pizza and the sounds of Aziraphale chiding the cat.

“Don’t chew on Crowley’s shoelaces,” Aziraphale said, followed by a soft shooing noise and the sound of Spider galloping off on the wood floor..

Shortly thereafter, Spider hopped up onto the sofa bed and trotted to Crowley’s side. Crowley scratched between his ears. “Is Aziraphale being mean to you?”

Spider pressed up into his hand as if to desperately say yes, making Crowley laugh. It only hurt a bit which was a marked improvement. It was like being stabbed by a small knife instead of a machete.

He heaved himself out of bed and made his way into the kitchen where Aziraphale tutted at him.

“I can bring you food,” Aziraphale said as he washed his hands.

“Maybe I like you reprimanding me,” Crowley replied (and he sort of did). “I’m just out of bed to get you riled up.”

“Well, it’s working,” Aziraphale said with a playful frown. Crowley loved when that happened, when Aziraphale teased him, eyes flashing.

“Good. I’d hate for my efforts to go to waste.”

Aziraphale flicked water at him, making him splutter. “Wretched, wretched man. I don’t know why I worry about you if you’re going to act like this.”

Crowley waggled his eyebrows and leaned into Aziraphale’s space as he dried his hands on a flower-patterned dish towel. “Because you like me,” he said, drawing out the words teasingly.

Crowley expected a sharp retort, an arch of an eyebrow, anything except the way Aziraphale’s face fell, smile disappearing. Silence fell, thick and pointed, and Crowley immediately regretted his words. What was he doing? Hamfistedly flirting?

“Crowley, I…” Aziraphale cleared his throat and looked away. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Crowley’s stomach turned to lead, every ounce of light-heartedness fleeing. That sounded serious. The silence from before returned as Crowley struggled to find a response that wasn’t begging Aziraphale to say nothing at all. But it was too late. Aziraphale was talking.

“I was going to tell you on the hike but then…” Aziraphale broke off with a wry laugh. “Well, you know how that went.”

Grasping for something to say, Crowley took a step closer to Aziraphale. “It’s not your fault I got hurt. I told you that.”

Aziraphale laughed again and then he looked at Crowley. “Crowley, I—I have feelings for you.”

Time stopped. Blood roared in his ears. His tongue grew heavy in his mouth. Aziraphale was still talking, just standing there, looking beautiful and Crowley...

All of Crowley’s breath left him in a long whoosh and he tried to speak. He really did. The sound he made was probably best compared to a block of cheese being run through a blender.

Aziraphale glanced down and wrung the towel in his hands. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but then you—” He looked at the ceiling and laughed. “You’re being so irritating and all I want is to kiss you.”

Crowley didn't need to hear anything else. Every urge he had stuff down for months came bubbling to the surface, that ill-advised want that he'd tried so hard to ignore flooding through him. He surged forward without any finesse whatsoever and pressed their mouths together. Aziraphale’s sharp intake of breath would be a sound Crowley would treasure for the rest of his life. He sank his hands into Aziraphale's curls - they were so soft - and let out a gasp of his own. The towel Aziraphale had been abusing dropped to the floor between them and then Aziraphale’s hand was cupping his jaw and Crowley was certain his legs were giving out. He was alright with that though because Aziraphale’s beard scraped over his chin so sweetly and his lips parted just a little, enough for Aziraphale to lean into him, to deepen the kiss.

Heat settled in the pit of Crowley’s stomach, a sort of intense arousal Crowley hadn’t felt in years. But now Aziraphale was kissing him like he desperately wanted to and he was so warm and so close and Crowley was certain he had never in his life been so lucky.

Aziraphale’s hands went to his hips and pulled him closer, the movement dizzying for a moment before pain flashed down Crowley’s ribcage. He grunted in pain but tried not to break the kiss. It was too late though.

Aziraphale leapt back and pressed a hand to his mouth. “Oh goodness, your ribs! And you’re on painkillers,” Aziraphale said, sounding very frustrated as he pressed back against the counter as if to put distance between them. He let out a long sigh. “This is exactly why I was waiting to speak with you about this. This is terrible timing.”

“No. It’s great timing. Phenomenal timing,” Crowley said, gesturing for Aziraphale to step closer once more. “Come back here.”

“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale said sharply, mouth thin, but when he looked at Crowley his expression softened entirely. “I don’t want you doing anything you might regret unmedicated.”

Crowley opened his mouth to reply but a sort of gravelly grunt came out. He was turned on, he was in pain, and he was deeply disappointed. Aziraphale put his shoulders back and passed his hand through his mussed hair. Which was mussed because Crowley had touched it.

“Now. We are going to eat dinner and keep our hands to ourselves,” Aziraphale said firmly, turning to the cupboards to pull down plates and acting for all the world like life had not just irrevocably changed.

Crowley groaned. Maybe he wasn’t quite that lucky.

Chapter Text

Crowley had hallucinated the whole thing. He must have. Or else instead of having a plate of pizza in his lap he’d have a warm Aziraphale. Well, more realistically he’d be in Aziraphale’s lap. Aziraphale would hardly allow Crowley to have anything heavy in his lap when he had a broken rib.

But no, Aziraphale sat on the other end of the sofa bed, munching happily on his crust as Elrond commenced the fellowship.

Going from snogging in the kitchen to watching Lord of the Rings was giving Crowley the spins.

"You know, this adaptation really is quite good," Aziraphale said when the first disk ended.

Crowley watched him get up to switch the disks, admiring the pull of his jeans over his thighs and blushed furiously before remembering that, if he hadn't hallucinated, ogling Aziraphale's thighs wasn't weird. Aziraphale might even like to be ogled by Crowley.

I have feelings for you.

Crowley's stomach flopped about with a confusing mixture of hope and dread.

He swallowed his bite of pizza and said, "I wouldn't know. Haven't read the books."

Aziraphale turned to him, gaping. "Are you serious?"

"Not much of a reader," Crowley admitted with a shrug

"Nonsense," Aziraphale said. "I've seen you read."

"Yeah well sometimes but not big bricks of books like lord of the rings."

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose in a way that had Crowley wanting to crawl down to the edge of the bed and kiss him.

"I suppose they are quite long,” Aziraphale admitted, tilting his head in consideration. “And they can get a bit wordy."

As the second disk started, Aziraphale took Crowley’s plate and their fingers brushed. Aziraphale didn't seem to react other than to smile briefly before going into the kitchen.

"Do you need any water?" he asked and Crowley glanced at his full cup on the side table.

"I’m alright."

Crowley watched the movie, distracted by the sounds of Aziraphale's quiet puttering behind him. He wanted to ask about what had happened before dinner, but Aziraphale seemed content to just move forward like there wasn't this potentially mutual attraction between them. Should Crowley respect that and not push at all? People had loads of reasons for not pursuing relationships even when they were interested in someone. Aziraphale had said the painkillers were an issue which Crowley appreciated but thought was a bit overkill. Maybe if he was still taking them every few hours he’d see Aziraphale’s point. He mentally calculated the last time he had taken one, and given the twinging in his ribs, he was fairly certain it had been at least six hours ago.

But what if the painkillers had just been an excuse? What if Aziraphale had thought he had feelings and then they kissed and Aziraphale realized Crowley wasn't worth the effort? What if it was a bad kiss?

Crowley managed to work himself into a lather by the time the door to Moria was being opened and, unable to stay silent any longer, he asked, "Was it that bad?"

"What?"

Aziraphale had turned to look at him, pretty brow furrowed.

"The kissing. Me," Crowley said. The moment he finished speaking, he realized he was being an idiot. His head wasn't in the right place, all jumbled up with hope and rejection.

"Is that what you think? That I thought it was a bad kiss?" Aziraphale asked incredulously, and those furrowed brows shot to his hairline. The warm light of the cabin threaded through his hair and stirred that now familiar desire in Crowley to draw closer, to curl up against him, to feel the soft flannel of his shirt against his cheek.

"Well, you scarpered pretty fast," Crowley replied defensively.

"You're injured!"

"I know how much I can handle,” Crowley retorted, frustration slowly replacing his disappointment and confusion.

Aziraphale scoffed. "I seem to recall a few failed shower attempts that say differently."

"I was trying to spare you!" Crowley ground out. Aziraphale wasn’t listening.

"Spare me what?"

"Having to bloody wash me like I was an invalid!" Crowley nearly shouted. He clamped his mouth shut and looked away, cheeks going hot.

Aziraphale sighed and took Crowley’s hand carefully. "It didn't bother me to help you. If anything I was bothered in a, er, different way. Felt I was taking advantage actually."

"What?" Crowley asked, barely able to grasp at Aziraphale's meaning, still stuck in the memory of the shame he'd felt that Aziraphale had to touch him, that Crowley had enjoyed it in a way he maybe shouldn't have.

Aziraphale blew out a long breath. "Crowley, you were mostly nude. You have to know the effect you had."

Aziraphale had dropped his hand and was now touching his hip, that same maddening touch from that first time in the shower, a delicate swipe of his thumb.

"You looked so beautiful with your hair slicked back. And your chest was...well." Aziraphale cleared his throat and glanced away.

"My chest was one big bruise," Crowley said dumbly. Aziraphale was just saying these things. They didn’t make sense. They didn’t line up with anything Crowley had ever heard about his appearance before. He was too skinny, too sharp.

"Yes, but you have..." Aziraphale moved closer, bringing his hand to the open collar of Crowley's borrowed flannel shirt. “The most gorgeous chest hair.”

The back of Aziraphale's hand ghosted over the notch at the base of Crowley's throat before dipping lower and softly running over the thatch of hair that Crowley had always thought was a bit too thick. A bit too much.

“And then I touched your hip," Aziraphale said quietly, eyes fixed on the barely exposed triangle of skin. His fingers continued to brush tantalizingly over Crowley's chest. "And it fit so perfectly in my hand."

Their eyes locked and Crowley's breath caught. Aziraphale was so close. He had a dusting of sun freckles over his nose. Crowley's pulse was tied to the movement of Aziraphale's hand and when it paused, so did his heart.

"Aziraphale…"

He didn't know what he was going to say but it didn't matter. The words were kissed from his mouth. The hand on his chest moved to cup his jaw, holding him in place as Aziraphale kissed him. It might have been the best kiss of Crowley's entire life. The way Aziraphale leaned into him, one hand curled at the base of his neck, the other threaded in his hair like Aziraphale knew exactly what he wanted and what he wanted was Crowley.

Drawing closer, Aziraphale rocked into him, moving slowly with the rhythm of their kisses. Crowley whimpered.

Aziraphale froze and Crowley regretted every noise he had ever made in his life.

But then Aziraphale didn't pull away, not entirely. Just drew back and looked at him. His eyes were dark, the hazel blue stormy as his jaw worked, words clearly forming in his mouth before—

Gandalf yelled, You shall not pass!

Aziraphale glanced at the TV, dissolving into helpless laughter. He fell back against the couch, hands going to his stomach as his whole body shook. Crowley scowled at first but then Aziraphale wiped at his eyes and gestured at the TV. "Gandalf says we can't."

He started laughing again and his eyes crinkled so prettily, his face flushed from laughter and kissing and Crowley couldn't help it. He laughed too.

"Maybe we turn it off?" Crowley offered hopefully once the fit of giggles passed. Aziraphale sobered quickly but he did pause the film.

"Crowley," he began, very serious. That was not a good tone. "You are intoxicated and no matter what you say it would be taking advantage.”

"Aziraphale," Crowley said, mimicking Aziraphale's far too serious tone. "I haven't had a pain killer in over 6 hours. One hundred percent sober over here. "

Aziraphale hesitated. "But your ribs…"

Gathering from the very depleted well of courage deep inside himself, Crowley took Aziraphale's hand in his. He still couldn't believe how soft it was. These hands worked so hard and yet they felt so delicate against Crowley's skin. "I've wanted to kiss you since I met you. So I'm going to ignore the ribs and...yanno, seize the opportunity here."

Aziraphale's eyes went comically wide, mouth dropping into an O. "Since you met me…"

"Yes," Crowley said, rolling his eyes. "No need to go on about it."

He was all ready to huff and puff and play down his feelings through a series of embarrassing blushes but he didn't have to because Aziraphale closed the distance and kissed him again.

"Tell me if I hurt you," he murmured the moment they broke apart.

"Yes. I'm not...you know I'd scream or something, " Crowley said, his filter entirely destroyed because Aziraphale's hand was playing with his hair again.

Aziraphale laughed, soft and fond. "You are quite expressive."

Crowley had a retort on the tip of his tongue but Aziraphale kissed it away. Tugging on Aziraphale’s braces, Crowley sighed when he leaned into him, some of the other man’s weight finally settling against his good side.

Crowley had never kissed someone with a beard and it was softer than it looked. A delicious scratch over his chin as Aziraphale moved his mouth, gently teasing Crowley's lips open and barely dipping his tongue inside. The tentative touch made Crowley gasp.

He sank a hand into Aziraphale's hair, savoring the texture of the curls. His chest hurt but it wasn't just his ribs. His heart hammered so hard he could feel it in his ears. Aziraphale was kissing him, making small sounds of delight into his mouth. Aziraphale was undoing the buttons of his shirt and touching his chest hair and…

"Is this alright?" Aziraphale asked, breaking away. His hand played with the trail of hair at the base of Crowley's stomach, tracing the thin waistband of his pajama bottoms after he pushed Crowley’s shirt to either side of his chest.

Crowley was immediately embarrassed by the awful bruise that stained his side, the way his belly sank below his ribs like he was some sort of skeleton that didn't know how to take care of itself. "I…"

Aziraphale kissed the corner of his jaw, still carefully trailing his finger through the hair on Crowley’s belly. "You're so lovely," he said in between careful kisses.

Crowley sucked in a sharp breath that sent a pang of discomfort through his side. He ignored it.

"I think we should stay above the belt but is it alright if I touch you?" Aziraphale asked. He kissed Crowley's shoulder, nosing into the collar of the shirt he'd let Crowley borrow. "I've thought about touching you quite a lot."

Crowley swallowed. "You could literally do anything you want to me." He grimaced, acutely aware that it sounded like a frog had made an appearance between them.

Aziraphale withdrew and looked at him, unimpressed. "We didn't have a conversation about consent just for you to say things like that."

Ctowley scowled, hating the cool rush of air that flooded in where Aziraphale had once been. "Fine. Yes. I want you to. Could you—"

Crowley broke off, embarrassed. He needed to be better at this.

"What?" Aziraphale asked. So bloody earnest.

"Take off your shirt?" he ventured hopefully.

Aziraphale waggled his eyebrows which was stupid but also somehow sexy and Crowley hated every moment that had led him here while simultaneously thanking God for it.

"Oh, come off it," Crowley groused but Aziraphale was already doing some sort of over-exaggerated wriggle as he slipped out of his braces. Grinning like the absolute loon he was, he unbuttoned his shirt, the world's nerdiest striptease. Didn't matter to Crowley apparently. Watching Aziraphale undress made his cock stir between his legs and he abortively reached out to tug Aziraphale's undershirt from his waistband so he could touch the slight swell of his belly.

Aziraphale knocked his hand away with an overdramatic tut. "I'm undressing for you, my dear. Lay back and enjoy the show."

Well, Crowley's dick was definitely hard now.

The flannel was tossed aside and then Aziraphale peeled his white t-shirt over his head and Crowley couldn’t fucking breathe. He pressed his hand into Aziraphale's side and felt the slight give of his body. He drank in the wealth of blonde curls covering his chest, threaded with silver. He’d seen Aziraphale shirtless a handful of times, coming out of the shower or getting dressed, but it was nothing like this. Not with permission to touch. Crowley wished he could sit up, pull Aziraphale against him, mouth over the perfect swell of his chest, feel the soft brush of his chest hair against his face. As it was, all he could was stare and tighten his grip on his side.

Aziraphale barely gave him a moment to take it all in before dropping his hand to the base of Crowley's throat, a steady, grounding pressure as he leaned down and kissed him once more. Crowley looped his arms around Aziraphale's neck and pulled him down, close, so close, felt the warmth of his skin against his, half-pressed into his own bare chest and half-obscured by the flannel shirt Crowley was still wearing. He’d take it off, but interrupting the kissing sounded awful.

Instead, he curled his hand into the soft hair at the nape of Aziraphale's neck and was rewarded with a soft sound against his mouth. His stomach swooped dangerously. Aziraphale’s hand found its way to his hip again, just holding him, the pressure sending sparks right to the pleasure centers of Crowley's brain. Could he come from a hand on his hip? That would be bloody embarrassing.

Aziraphale made a sound deep in his throat and slipped his tongue into Crowley's mouth. Heart beating desperately fast, Crowley squeezed his eyes shut tight and pulled Aziraphale as close as he could manage with half his torso out of commission.

Running his hands down Aziraphale’s back, Crowley felt the movement of his shoulder blades as he shifted closer. Their legs tangled together and Aziraphale broke the kiss, pushing a whine from Crowley’s chest as he kissed his cheeks, the corners of his jaw, his fluttering pulse. His beard brushed against the thin skin of his throat, sending a heady rush of arousal down Crowley’s body. Aziraphale pulled away, leaving Crowley boneless and surrounded by the pinewood scent of his beard oil.

Crowley made a disgruntled noise and moved to sit up but Aziraphale pushed him back against the pillows.

"Just a moment. I’m...a bit worked up," Aziraphale said in a gravelly tone that did very unique and specific exciting things to Crowley’s insides.

"Maybe I want you to be worked up," Crowley grumbled, squirming under Aziraphale’s hand. It seemed to be working because Aziraphale’s heated gaze fell to his chest and he moved his hand to hold his good side.

"Goodness, you are a tempting thing," Aziraphale said, half to himself.

Spider chose that exact moment to hop from the arm of the couch and bump into Aziraphale’s leg, chirping for attention. Distracted, Aziraphale withdrew and picked up the crying kitten.

Aziraphale shirtless was one thing. Aziraphale shirtless holding a kitten was another entirely.

Crowley’s chest seized up and words pushed up into his mouth. I think I could be in love with you.

Aziraphale was still cooing at Spider which left Crowley plenty of time to spiral into distress over his realization. Was it a realization though? He’d basically known already that he was a crumb of affection away from being head over heels. And now Aziraphale was snogging him on the couch and calling him lovely. Of course he was done for.

You’re leaving once you get the lodge sorted. This is a bit of fun. Aziraphale can’t be…

Aziraphale dropped down close to him, settling Spider between them. The kitten purred fiercely as he spun in circles, undecided of where he wanted to lay down.

When he finally did, it was tucked up against Crowley’s hip.

"I think he likes you better," Aziraphale said with pointed good humor

Crowley arched a brow but succumbed to the urge to give Spider a scritch between the ears. As soon as he stopped, Aziraphale took his hand again.

"So..." Aziraphale said and it was so serious that the hair on the back of Crowley’s neck stood on end.

"Hrgg?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale’s eyes searched his face. "I like you, Crowley."

Crowley made another noise which he managed to salvage by turning it into, "Yrrrgyeah, you—you said. Earlier. You said."

"And by that, I mean I dont want this thing between us to just be sex," Aziraphale said, blue-blue eyes still on his and making it hard to breathe. What was he saying? Maybe Crowley had passed out and was having a nice romantic dream. Except a romantic dream wouldn’t have quite so much panic.

"What do you...want?" Crowley said and the fact that his voice sounded even was something he’d be thankful for for the rest of his natural life.

"To be with you," Aziraphale said earnestly. "I know you're leaving and we will have to take it one step at a time but this...it's important to me."

Aziraphale glanced away and for the first time, after all his confidence and playfulness, Crowley realized he was nervous. Crowley's stomach dropped out. "It's important to me too," Crowley said and maybe it sounded a bit breathless but that was ok. He could be vulnerable too.

Aziraphale met his gaze and his eyes were doing that twinkling thing again. "Really?"

“Yeah. Course it is,” Crowley said with an awkward jerk of his head before dropping his eyes to inspect Spider, steadily purring away by his hip.

“Together then? You and me?”

The hope in Aziraphale’s voice was so intense that Crowley had to look at him. His heart stuttered when he took in the sight of his utterly guileless smile.

“I’d like that,” Crowley said, voice thick.

Caught up as he was, he tried to close the distance between them, maybe kiss Aziraphale again, but his ribs screamed and he fell back against the pillows groaning miserably.

Aziraphale was on his feet, swinging his flannel over his shoulders and hustling around the couch without another word. “Crowley, you can’t do that.”

“What? Move?” Crowley asked testily, hissing through the shooting pain in his side. Things had been going so well.

“You need to take a percocet. I’ll get you some water,” Aziraphale said, sounding very decided. “Then we can finish the film and you can rest.”

Crowley grabbed his wrist before he could walk away. He hissed in pain at the sudden movement. This sucked.

Aziraphale extracted himself from his grip and rearranged him on the couch. “What is it?”

“Will you still kiss me if I take painkillers?” Crowley asked, cracking one eye open despite his grimace of pain.

Aziraphale smiled. “You know what? I think perhaps I will.”

And he did.

Chapter Text

Crowley didn’t know what he thought would come of their revelatory conversation on Friday but it certainly wasn’t Aziraphale’s surge of casual affection.

It was short kisses before Crowley went to shower. Goodbye kisses when Aziraphale went to fix someone’s leaky sink. Hello kisses when he came back from fixing said sink. Stolen kisses in the kitchen while Crowley washed potatoes for dinner.

In short, it was bliss.

Crowley had never had anything like it. His other relationships had been fairly short-lived and rarely demonstrative. He had dated other people with his disposition. Reserved, busy people who didn’t have time for goodbye kisses. Aziraphale was nothing like that. He was affectionate and open. He lit up around Crowley. Those devastating smiles made something in Crowley’s chest kindle, low and hot and dangerous. It was unreasonable. How long had he known Aziraphale? Six weeks?

And what was going to happen when he went back to England? Aziraphale had made his disdain for London known but now that they were together maybe he’d change his tune. But that was probably a conversation for another day because today they were snogging on the couch again and Crowley’s ribs weren’t giving him grief so he had been able to crawl into Aziraphale’s lap. Maybe his new favorite place.

Spider was definitely at the end of the couch bed watching them but Crowley ignored him.

Tucking his nose against the corner of Aziraphale’s jaw, he nuzzled his beard. This was where the hair was at its most coarse and he liked the way it scratched over his lips. And also the way it made Aziraphale laugh when he did it. That laugh did things to his insides, sweet wonderful things. Heart racing, stomach tumbling things.

He pulled back and cupped Aziraphale’s face in his hands. His pretty cheeks were stained red. “I think you might be a little bit perfect,” Crowley said, voice raspier than he expected.

Aziraphale scoffed. “Hardly.”

His soft hands snuck under Crowley’s shirt and settled at the base of his spine, thumbs dipping just slightly into his waistband. “How are your ribs?” he asked before dropping a kiss to Crowley’s exposed collar bone.

Crowley gasped at the sudden scrape of teeth, hips grinding down without conscious thought. They’d been kissing a lot, sometimes snogging, but it had only been five days since that conversation over Lord of the Rings and they hadn’t really done anything else. To say Crowley was gagging for it was an understatement. If he didn’t feel so uncomfortable wanking in Aziraphale’s shower, the shampoo bottle would have gotten quite the daily show by now.

He expected Aziraphale to pull away, to cite Crowley’s ribs, to say they should wait, the same way he had for the last week. But instead his hands circled Crowley’s hips, palms wide and strong as Aziraphale pulled him closer. Sinking his hands into Aziraphale’s hair, Crowley let him guide the movements of his hips in a slow maddening pace.

Aziraphale was wearing his work jeans but Crowley was still confined to wandering the house in pajama bottoms so there was very little preventing him from feeling every movement, feeling Aziraphale growing hard beneath him as they moved together, Crowley's cock trapped between their bodies, pushed against the swell of Aziraphale’s gorgeous belly. It was overwhelming to be touched like this after so long without, after so long wanting.

As good as Aziraphale’s mouth felt on his neck, Crowley couldn’t stop himself. He needed to be kissed. Using his hand in Aziraphale’s hair as leverage, he tugged his head back and sealed their mouths together. Aziraphale’s responsive moan sent a bolt of arousal straight between his legs. This man, this gorgeous man, wanted him. Against all odds Crowley’s crush was reciprocated. Aziraphale had feelings for him.

The heat of Aziraphale’s hands on his hips, the scrape of his beard, the little sounds in his throat, they were fraying the threads of Crowley’s control. He whimpered into Aziraphale’s mouth, already embarrassingly close as he rubbed off against Aziraphale’s stomach.

Aziraphale broke the kiss and bumped his nose against Crowley’s jaw. “Oh, darling, can you come like this?”

Beard tickling Crowley’s throat and words hot on his ear, Aziraphale nipped at his pulse and Crowley shuddered. That was it. His pleasure coursed through him, white-hot and embarrassing as he came in his pants like some sort of inexperienced teenager.

He dropped his forehead to Aziraphale’s shoulder and sucked in several deep breaths. His limbs twitched through the aftershocks of his orgasm. His ribs twinged painfully, not helping his cause whatsoever.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into the thick fabric of Aziraphale’s shirt.

“Whatever are you sorry for?” Aziraphale asked, stroking the nape of Crowley’s neck, carefully gathering the hairs there and petting them down. The soothing gesture almost distracted from the mess in Crowley’s trousers. Pathetic.

“It was very nice. Watching you come apart for me,” Aziraphale said, still playing with his hair and now kissing his neck. Kissing every inch of skin he could reach and even some he couldn’t, hot breath pressed through the fabric of Crowley’s thin t-shirt.

Crowley shuddered, uncomfortable with the raw affection in Aziraphale’s voice and utterly undone, nerves raw with his recent orgasm. He was still shaking, cheeks flushed and despite having just come harder than he had in ages, he still felt the low rumble of excitement in his belly that refused to disappear in Aziraphale's presence. He glanced down between their bodies, painfully aware that Aziraphale had been left wanting.

“Do you want me to—”

An alarm sounded on Aziraphale’s phone and he smiled apologetically. "Rain check, my dear. I believe dinner is done."

Helping Crowley out of his lap, Aziraphale stood and went into the kitchen, leaving Crowley to slowly fall apart on the rumpled blankets of the sofa bed. Spider nudged his shin before he could dissociate entirely and he was reminded of the sticky mess he needed to deal with before dinner. Snagging a pair of pants and a washcloth, he disappeared into the bathroom.

He was a fool. A disaster. A little snogging on the couch and a few words in his ear and he was off like a shot? Aziraphale probably thought he was useless, not worth the effort. He thought about his ex telling him that there wasn’t really that much of a spark in the bedroom and that they should probably break things off since it was clear they weren’t compatible. Did Aziraphale think they weren’t compatible?

Crowley was knee deep in self-flagellation as he changed his briefs when a knock sounded at the bathroom door.

"My dear, dinner’s on the table. Are you alright?"

"Fine," Crowley snapped, slapping on the taps and scrubbing his hands. "I'll be right out."

Dinner was accompanied by Aziraphale’s chatter about his day. Usually, Crowley would be more than happy to listen to the finer details of replacing a table leg, but all he could do was poke at his potatoes and roast chicken and replay his stupid inability to control himself.

Eventually, Aziraphale’s words died off and he looked at Crowley speculatively. “Are you not hungry? You’ve barely touched your dinner.”

“M’fine,” Crowley grumbled, pushing a potato to the other side of his plate.

Aziraphale hummed and stood abruptly, gathering both their plates to put into the sink. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“What?” Crowley asked, stomach curling itself into knots.

Aziraphle returned to the table and took his hand, brushing a kiss over the back of it before tugging him up the stairs. "Dinner very rudely interrupted an important tradition."

Crowley wasn’t even able to ask another question before he was being pushed up the stairs. He’d never been in the loft before and it struck him as strange to finally see it. To see where Aziraphale slept every night.

The stairs creaked slightly, a sound Crowley had become accustomed to. It heralded Aziraphale's arrival every morning and it was odd to have it precede something else entirely. The loft opened up into an exposed wood ceiling, set with a wide skylight that cast the whole room in dim, canopied light. The bed sat beneath it, neat as a pin, baby blue quilt tucked in on all sides. Aziraphale would make his bed every day. Did he judge Crowley for leaving the blankets rumpled? Crowley tossed the thought away. He had other things to panic about.

The compact space was very Aziraphale. One corner of the room held an alcove that was tucked away enough to be considered a closet in which Crowley could see hanging flannels. There was a trunk draped in a thick blanket. The bed had so many pillows Crowley wondered how Aziraphale managed to not drown in them.

Aziraphale tugged playfully on his hand. "We missed out on pillow talk entirely."

Crowley scowled at the bed as Aziraphale ripped up the picture perfect linens, decimating their clean lines. "What?"

Aziraphale paused, one hand submerged in the pillows and for all the world looking like Winnie the Pooh with his hand in the honey jar. Winnie the Pooh with a sexy beard and a great arse. "We had a lovely time on the couch and then we were interrupted by dinner. It left us no time whatsoever for afterglow. Lay down."

"You can't just...force afterglow."

Aziraphale glared at him. "I don't see why not. Get in the bed."

Crowley rolled his eyes and ignored the thrill of novelty that ran down his spine. He'd never been in Aziraphale's bed before. He hadn't been in someone else's bed in a very long time. Slipping between the cool sheets, Crowley settled on his good side, feeling the dip in the mattress as Aziraphale joined him.

Aziraphale grinned in the face of Crowley's scowl, and reached out to push the flop of hair back from his forehead, making Crowley realize he was sorely in need of a haircut.

"I like the look of you here. In my bed."

Crowley's sharp retort shriveled in his throat and he sank into the pillows. He closed his eyes as his cheeks grew hot. Unfair. Aziraphale said whatever he wanted and Crowley just had to run around imploding all the time.

Aziraphale's hand slipped from his hair and when Crowley opened his eyes, it was to see Aziraphale looking at him with concern and curiosity. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

The shame Crowley had been trying to tamp down, to curl tight around like an animal hiding its soft underbelly, burst forth. His eyes stung and he swallowed hard. "It's fine."

"You're upset," Aziraphale said softly, tangling his fingers with Crowley’s between them. His hands were warm.

Crowley groaned and pushed his face into the pillow, hating this and hating himself. "Look, I just thought, I dunno, that our first—it’s stupid.”

"I doubt its stupid," Aziraphale said, still holding his hand and sounding very serious.

Crowley blew out a long, shuddering breath and rolled onto his back. For a moment, he was grateful for the sharp pain in his side because it grounded him, dragging him away from his anxiety before it swallowed him.

"I may have been fantasizing a bit," Crowley admitted to the ceiling.

A finch landed on the skylight and hopped about, little talons kicking against the glass before taking off in a flutter.

"About you," Crowley added. He clenched his hand where it now lay on the pillows and felt the scrape of the embroidery under his knuckles. "And I thought it would be better...not just me...yanno…"

"Orgasming on the couch?" Aziraphale asked frankly.

Crowley slapped a hand over his face and groaned in mortification. "Yeah. That."

The bed shifted as Aziraphale scooted closer. "Well," Aziraphale said and then a soft blond head came to rest on Crowley's shoulder, curls tickling his jaw. "I'm sorry that it wasn't what you envisioned but I hope you don't think you disappointed me in any way. It was lovely. I'd happily do it again."

Crowley pressed the heel of his right hand into his eye and took a deep breath. He couldn’t believe they were just talking about this. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. This was hardly afterglow. This was post mortem. This was mortification. "But you didn't…"

"I hardly think both parties have to orgasm in order for it to be considered a successful sexual encounter," Aziraphale said primly, toying with the hem of Crowley's shirt. The tips of his fingers brushed against the jut of Crowley's hip, sending little zings of pleasure down his legs.

Crowley turned his head and buried his nose in Aziraphale's curls, speaking more to his scalp than anything else. "But I want to...I’d like to make you feel good."

He didn’t say: I’m worried I won’t be good enough.

Aziraphale pulled away, shuffling up so he could look Crowley in the eye. "Do you think you don’t?"

"Could do better," Crowley said sourly, trying not to think of Peter, Farzad and every other one night stand who'd made it clear Crowley wasn’t exactly good in bed.

Aziraphale surprised him with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He turned his head to chase it instinctively, lips parting on a sigh that he couldn't stifle. Kissing Aziraphale was amazing. It made Crowley's stomach jump with excitement, his toes curl, his heart flutter. He rolled over to deepen the kiss and hissed when pain flared down his side and back.

Aziraphale froze, hand strong and still on his hip until Crowley fell back against the pillows.

"You see, that's exactly why I don't need you worrying about me," Aziraphale said, rising to a seated position on the bed. The blue quilt felt about his hips and even though Crowley knew he was being chided, Aziraphale looked so wonderful, so cozy, that Crowley couldn't stop the smile that broke out over his face.

"You're gorgeous," he said, the pain still radiating down his ribcage breaking up the words but only a little bit.

Aziraphale's consternation faded immediately and was replaced by such soft fondness that Crowley thought he might pass out from how hard his heart was beating.

"I mean it," Crowley said. Maybe the pain was going to his head because the words, embarrassing and soppy as they were, came easy. "Thought it from that first night here. Wanted to snog you senseless. And then you ended up being kind. And wickedly funny. And sort of mean to me." Aziraphale slapped at his leg and gave him a disgruntled look. "But in a good way! In a take-no-shit way. And you've been my friend when I didn't realize how much I needed one."

Aziraphale had gone all soft around the edges again as he took Crowley's hand. "My dear, what is this all about?"

"I dunno," Crowley said with as much of a shrug as he could manage with his ribs still aching. "Just grateful, I guess."

Aziraphale considered him for a long moment, expression unreadable. The light through the skylight flickered as the trees shifted overhead, dappling his face.

"I have an idea," Aziraphale said abruptly. "Can you sit up enough to take off your shirt?"

Thrown off, Crowley stammered, "I mean probably. What? Why?"

"Take it off. I’m going down on you."

"Aziraphale!" Crowley spluttered, ready to protest. He’d already—they’d already—

Aziraphale ignored him, unbuttoning his flannel. When he met Crowley's gaze, he had the gall to give Crowley a disappointed pout. "I thought I could go down on you and touch myself while I'm at it. Since you were concerned about orgasm equity."

Crowley gaped. Tried to process the information. Tried again.

"Aziraphale, you don't have to—"

"I would very much like to," Aziraphale said, voice gone husky in a way that had Crowley growing hard again.

He was really about to ravished on bluebell patterned sheets while laying atop a truly garish amount of pillows in a log cabin in the mountains. It scarcely seemed real.

“Yeah,” he said, voice cracking. “Yeah. Alright.”

Aziraphale smiled softly. "Shirt off. I want to see you."

Crowley very inelegantly budged up against the pillows and pulled off his shirt as carefully as possible. It hurt but not as much as he had expected. When it was gone, he found Aziraphale just in his undershirt, looking at him appreciatively before straddling his knees. He grasped the hip on Crowley's good side, trailing his fingers up to the divot beneath his ribs and pausing there.

"Alright?"

"Jesus," Crowley breathed for lack of something better. Aziraphale was just looking at him. Looking at the flat plane of his torso like it was the most delectable thing he had ever seen. The harsh bruise on his right side was entirely ignored as Aziraphale thumbed over his left nipple, and then brought his hand to cup Crowley's throat.

Crowley was achingly hard. Aziraphale could probably feel it through his jeans.

"Can I take these off?" Aziraphale asked, plucking at his pajama bottoms.

Crowley nodded mutely, lifting his hips best he could so Aziraphale slipped down the thin material alongside his briefs and tossed them aside. Then he was just naked. And Aziraphale was sitting beside him almost entirely clothed.

"Goodness, gracious," Aziraphale whispered, wrapping his hands around Crowley's thighs. "Look at you."

He trailed the back of his fingers up Crowley's thighs, the gentle scrape of his nails sending sparks of pleasure down his legs. His cock lay hot against his stomach, the tip dripping a little pool of precome just below his belly button.

Crowley was beginning to feel exposed, Aziraphale just looking at him, hands rubbing delicate circles into his thighs. But then Aziraphale moved up the bed and kissed him gently.

"My turn now, I suppose, " he said when he pulled away, hopping out of bed and undoing his fly.

Crowley's mouth went dry. The white shirt was pulled over his head and discarded. The jeans were on the floor. The boxers were gone and it was just…

Aziraphale's thighs might have been the most glorious thing Crowley had ever seen. Dusted in more of that beautiful golden blond hair and the perfect layer of fat over clearly defined muscle. Crowley wanted to grasp those thighs, feels them around his waist, push them back and—

He blinked. He'd never really...well, he historically hadn't been very toppy. Looking the way he looked, most blokes assumed he bottomed and he did like that, but looking at Aziraphale's thighs made some hindbrain instinct inside Crowley flare up and shout for him to push Aziraphale against the nearest surface, to open him up, to see him loose and wet and begging.

Well, shit.

Aziraphale crawled back into bed, pressing a quick kiss to his hip before dropping down beside him and kissing him on the mouth. It was a chaste kiss, made filthy only by the fact that Crowley could feel Aziraphale's hard cock pressed against his hip, hot and insistent.

Before Crowley could even try to deepen the kiss, Aziraphale was moving down his body pressing open-mouthed kisses to the uninjured portions of his chest.

Crowley dug his fingers into the sheets to stop himself from moving as Aziraphale kissed his hips. His beard tickled in the most delicious way and normally, he’d be squirming but he didn’t want to hurt himself and risk Aziraphale stopping. Kicking back the covers, Aziraphale settled between his thighs, the warm skin of his arms brushing firm against Crowley's legs as he spread them.

When Aziraphale finally looked at him again, his eyes were glassy and his face and chest were flushed, as if Crowley had been the one taking him apart. Unbelievable. Then Aziraphale did something that made Crowley's stomach swoop, he reached between his own legs and took his cock in hand, moaning as he stroked himself.

Crowley’s hand flopped forward uselessly, trying to touch him. "Aziraphale, holy shit."

Propping himself up on one hand beside Crowley's hip, Aziraphale stopped touching himself with a short gasp. "You really are lovely to look at. I could come just like this."

Crowley whimpered at his words, as Aziraphale took his cock in hand, thumbing the fluid that had gathered at the tip and swirling it over the head. Hips jerking up suddenly, Crowley tried to control himself. He didn’t exactly want to exacerbate his injury but this was so good. Aziraphale was touching him. His strong hands were on his cock, tugging back his foreskin and Crowley couldn’t look because the sight alone would probably make him come. And then Aziraphale bent his head and took his cock into his mouth.

All the thoughts fled Crowley's head as Aziraphale sucked him, one hand tight at the base of his cock as he swirled his tongue and then took him down as far as he could. His cock nudged the back of Aziraphale's throat and he had to snatch a pillow in order to not arch his back in pleasure. It was torture of the sweetest kind.

Aziraphale fucking moaned around him and Crowley thought he might rip right through the pillow clutched in his fist. Pulling off with a choked wet noise, Aziraphale let the spit flood from his mouth down over the length of Crowley's cock. He let it slick his hand as he moved it up and down, watching it glide through his fist. It felt so good. It felt obscene, the wet sound of his slick fist moving and bringing Crowley pleasure.

Still fucking him with his hand, Aziraphale suckled on the tip, swirling his tongue in a way that made Crowley’s spine tingle. What a fucking trick. He was going to steal that. If he survived this.

Aziraphale took him deep again, as far as he could, swallowing around him and forcing a cry from Crowley’s throat. He pulled off again, breathing hard as he moved his hand faster, wet with the flood of his saliva.

It was too much too fast and Crowley was choking out a warning too late, spending over Aziraphale's hand in thick pulses.

"Oh," Aziraphale breathed, like he’d witnessed something beautiful. He straddled Crowley's thigh, his cock bobbing in front of him. Crowley barely had a moment to appreciate the sight before Aziraphale took himself in hand and moaned. Even pleasure-drunk as he was, Crowley's cock twitched at the sight of Aziraphale using his slick hand to jerk himself off on top of Crowley.

It took him a moment to surface from the haze of what he was seeing and he realized he didn't have to sit there and watch. He could touch. Just as Crowley wrapped his hand around Aziraphale's cock, he fell forward hand clutching at the headboard as he moaned, his hand moving faster.

Fuck, Crowley wanted Aziraphale to crawl up the bed the rest of the way, have himstraddle Crowley’s shoulders, fuck his face. He wanted to push Aziraphale down on the bed and eat him out for hours, hearing these little breathy moans over and over again.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale gasped and he came, spilling onto Crowley's chest in hot spurts.

Breathing hard, he sagged against the headboard and opened his eyes, meeting Crowley's and smiling.

"Hi," Crowley said, for lack of something better.

Aziraphale smiled softly. "Hi."

He bent at the waist and kissed Crowley swiftly.

"As nice as you look when you’re a bit messy, I'd best get something to clean you up. Back in a tick."

Aziraphale tugged on his boxers and trotted downstairs, leaving Crowley to stare at the skylight, come steadily drying on his chest.

"Holy shit," he breathed to the finch that landed on the glass of the skylight, returning from wherever it had taken off to.

His chest ached and he probably needed to take a percocet, but for now, he was going to enjoy the afterglow.

Chapter Text

I expect you in person on the 14th.

Crowley stared at the email from his boss and willed the letters to rearrange. Crowley didn't answer to many people. He was the CIO and had been for years now, but the CEO still had his hands on the strings of the board and while he usually left Crowley well enough alone, a one line email without a signature was a clear enough threat: Crowley's unexpected Oregon vacation needed to come to a close or there would be consequences.

Crowley scrubbed at his eyes behind his glasses. It had been a long week, a long Friday and now this. He’d been away from England for two months and now he was expected back in two weeks.

How was he going to tell Aziraphale?

He shut the laptop and sighed, scooting back in the dining chair and padding into the kitchen to start the rice cooker like Aziraphale had asked him to before leaving for his latest job. Aziraphale had said he wanted curry for dinner so rice it was.

When he clicked the rice cooker on, his phone buzzed on the counter and he scooped it up.

Just finished up. I'm on my way home.

Crowley looked out the windows in the living room and ignored the beginnings of guilt churning in his stomach. Home. It felt even more like home when Aziraphale opened the door forty minutes later and kissed him hello, setting off quick butterflies in Crowley’s belly.

They left the rice on to warm as they started cooking, Crowley chopping the onions while Aziraphale cut the chicken for the curry.

"How was your...erm, day?" Crowley asked, the threatening email fresh in his mind. He didn't want to just bring it up. Not if he didn't have a plan, a proposal for how they could make this work. He needed to sell it to Aziraphale. But it was fine. They had the whole night to themselves, and Crowley could worry about the email tomorrow.

"The usual," Aziraphale said. "Deer bothering Shadwell’s garden and a request a few towns over for a new shelving unit in the guest bedroom."

Crowley dumped the onions into the simmering oil and stirred.

"Nessie called and asked me to pick up a shift down at the bar," Aziraphale said carefully and Crowley's heart fell. He’d had the picture of a domestic Friday night forming in his mind— maybe another snogging session on the couch— which would be ruined if Aziraphale was gone all night.

"I was thinking you could come with if you were feeling up to it."

Crowley dropped the wooden spoon in the pan, yelping as he retrieved it before it could touch the oil. "What? No concern for my injuries?"

Aziraphale tutted at him as he approached and dropped the cubed chicken into the cooking onions. He had that woodsy hardworking smell that followed him when he came home from a long day, resin and sawdust.

"Are your ribs bothering you?" Aziraphale asked nonchalantly as he washed the cutting board. "I thought you might have a bit more fun in town after being cooped up in here for the last two weeks. But if you’d rather be here..."

"Of course I'll go," Crowley said hurriedly, and Aziraphale’s answering smirk made it impossible not to tease him back. Aziraphale thought he had Crowley all figured out. Two could play at that. "See the angel of the sweet nectar in action." He waggled his eyebrows at Aziraphale.

Unimpressed, Aziraphale clucked his tongue and waved off his antics. "Oh please."

"Pretty angel," Crowley said, holding up the wooden spoon in his hand and ticking it back and forth like a metronome. Aziraphale turned slightly pink and looked ready to chuck the tea towel at him.

"Downright cherubic," he added with a little click of his teeth. Aziraphale huffed as he forcefully dried the cutting board. Crowley grinned. "My angel."

"If you insist on being an arse," Aziraphale said, cheeks gone full red, "at least be an arse who doesn't burn dinner."

"Anything for my angel," Crowley said, quite high on Aziraphale’s response. Was this why Aziraphale riled him up? It was ridiculously fun.

Aziraphale muttered something that sounded like insufferable but Crowley ignored him and cooked the chicken. He was hungry and he had an angel to feed.

Crowley sipped his mocktail (actually a cocktail thanks to the tipple Anathema had snuck him when Aziraphale wasn’t looking. He wasn’t on any painkillers so it was fine and Aziraphale was just being a worier) and watched Aziraphale chat with customers. It was nice to be able to openly appreciate the view. He’d rolled up his sleeves to avoid getting any stray liquid on his cuffs and his forearms looked very biteable. They flexed as he pulled a pint and passed it to a customer, exchanging money and laughing.

“If you don’t close your mouth, you might catch a few flies,” Anathema observed from Crowley’s right. She’d deigned to take her break and bother him the whole time. They’d only met the one time but apparently she’d decided they were going to be great friends now that Crowley was “Aziraphale’s boyfriend.” A phrase that made Crowley’s face heat and heart flutter.

Crowley glared at her which did nothing to stop her smirk as she happily tucked into her dinner.

“I mean I’m not judging. He might be gay as blazes but he’s nice to look at,” Anathema said with a mouthful of chips and a shrug just as Aziraphale came down the bar, grinning at Crowley, face flushed and happy from talking to people. He really did thrive like this.

“How are you two faring?” he asked brightly. He scoffed at Anathema’s potatoey grin. “No need to be gauche, my dear.”

Anathema made quite a show of chewing and swallowing before saying, “Crowley’s enjoying the show.”

Aziraphale blinked at him coquettishly—the bastard. “Oh, really?”

When Anathema and Aziraphale tittered, Crowley frowned. “Don’t gang up on me. S’mean. I’m injured.”

“Oh, when I try to get you to rest it’s I’m fine and I barely feel it but now your injury prevents you from some good old fashioned...ribbing?” Aziraphale said.

He grinned, pleased at his stupid pun.

Crowley took a deep drink of his cocktail. “You’re terrible.”

“I dunno,” Anathema said. “I thought it was pretty good.”

“You would,” Crowley said darkly.

In spite of his grumbling, Crowley had a very nice time.

“Anathema gave you vodka didn’t she?” Aziraphale asked between kisses as they stumbled up the stairs to the loft. They’d taken to sleeping up there the last few days since that life-altering blow job and even though they hadn’t gotten up to much (despite Crowley’s attempts otherwise), he did find Aziraphale’s bed wonderfully comfortable. Being woken up by a quick goodbye kiss from his boyfriend wasn’t too shabby either.

“Maybe,” Crowley said, bullying Aziraphale back until he sat on the bed so he could slot himself between his knees. “Only a little though.”

“I can taste it,” Aziraphale chided but he didn’t pull away when Crowley cupped his face and kissed him. Crowley wasn’t drunk, not even tipsy. It was just...Aziraphale. It might have been nearing 2 AM but it was Friday and Crowley’s ribs barely hurt and he wanted to take advantage of that.

Trying not to break the kiss, Crowley shuffled the arrangement of their legs and sank to his knees. Nerves knotted tightly in his stomach. He didn’t do things like this, take the lead. This particular attempt went alright. He only knocked his elbow against Aziraphale’s thigh once. And not even that hard.

“What are you doing, love?” Aziraphale asked when the angle finally forced Crowley to pull away from the kiss.

Crowley swallowed hard at the question, at the endearment which made his heart go absolutely mad.

He wanted...some things. And if he wanted them, he should be able to say them. That was a pretty basic principle. He was a forty year old man who should be able to express when he wanted to have sex.

When the words came there were a lot more of them than he’d expected.

“I want to suck you off,” he said, words tumbling together in their rush to leave his mouth. “I might not be very good at it but God, I want to. Been thinking about it since we kissed. I want to eat you out and if my bloody ribs allow it, I want to fuck you.”

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open. “Oh.”

Outside the trees rustled against the roof and the silence in the room made Crowley’s face grow hot. He fell back on his haunches and grimaced. “That was too much, wasn’t it? I’m sorry. I’m not good at this and I—”

Aziraphale dropped off the bed and onto his knees, interrupting him with a kiss. “You surprised me,” he said, words just as quiet as the steady rustling of leaves against the skylight. “I must admit I didn’t exactly expect you to say anything like that.”

The blood refused to leave Crowley’s cheeks and he opened his mouth to apologize. Aziraphale was having none of it. “Not that I mind.”

“We don’t have to do any of that,” Crowley rushed to say. They could have gone to bed. Maybe snogged a bit. “Whatever you want is fine.”

Aziraphale did that thing again, where he brushed his fingers through the hair at the nape of Crowley’s neck, soothing and arousing all at once. “I think everything you said sounds lovely. I’ve had a long day so let me just go clean up first. Does that sound alright? You could stay up here and get undressed and touch yourself. That would be a pretty picture for me to come back to.”

The noise that came from Crowley’s throat would have given a dying lawn mower a run for its money. Aziraphale laughed softly and kissed him again.

“I’ll get the condoms and lube from the bathroom but just for clarity, I haven’t had a partner in a year and my last physical gave me a clean bill of health,” Aziraphale said. “I would still prefer to use condoms if that’s alright.”

Crowley grasped for the information tucked into his own mind. What were facts at a time like this? “Yeah, of course. And, uh, same. Clean bill and all.”

“Wonderful. Now, on the bed with you.”

Crowley’s mind stayed marvelously blank as he took off his clothes. He was about two thoughts away from panicking himself into a pit of anxiety, but Aziraphale was downstairs getting lube and condoms and presumably he would be back in this bed in less than ten minutes and Crowley could have his cock in his mouth and his hands on his thighs and—

Fuck, he was already hard.

Not wanting to push himself too far (he’d learned exactly how fast Aziraphale could take him over the edge), Crowley stared at the skylight and breathed. Every inch of his skin felt alight, the touch of the quilt where it was bunched beneath his feet almost too much stimulation. He would be off like a shot if he didn’t get himself under control.

For some reason, he didn’t think Aziraphale would mind.

Aziraphale liked him. Really liked him. Said he liked seeing him in his bed. Kissed him every chance he got. Crowley had never had anything like it. Never had anyone like Aziraphale in his life and he didn’t want to let him go.

Aziraphale appeared at the top of the stairs in just his boxers and undershirt, a combination that was steadily growing on Crowley. The tight white undershirts hugged his belly and his biceps, showing off every line and curve and the loose fit of his boxers made his thighs look gorgeous.

Eyes dropping to Crowley’s body, a smile spread across Aziraphale’s face. “Oh, you did as I asked.”

“Course I did,” Crowley said, finding himself breathless under Aziraphale’s attention.

Aziraphale dropped the lube and condoms onto the nightstand and shucked off his clothes, crawling into the sheets beside Crowley. He brushed his knuckles down Crowley’s sternum and traced the thick line of hair that led from the patch on his chest down to the swirl around his belly button. He toyed with the hair there, twirling it around the tips of his fingers.

“Your bruise is looking better,” Aziraphale said softly. Crowley had to try a couple times to process what he was saying. His hand was warm and oh so close to his cock where it lay hot against his stomach, straining for his touch.

“What? Oh, yeah. Yellow instead of purple,” Crowley said, reaching out to brush his fingers through Aziraphale’s beard. He loved the texture of it. Certain places were curlier than others, more course, others almost soft. He traced the clean line on Aziraphale’s neck where he trimmed the hair and felt his pulse rabbit quick under his thumb. His throat bobbed under his hand.

“How do you want to get started?” Aziraphale asked. They’d left the overhead light on in the loft and Crowley suddenly felt more naked, stark and pale, under Aziraphale’s gaze.

He hesitated, uncertain if he should tell Aziraphale or not. Honesty in the bedroom seemed to go well before so he took the plunge. “I haven’t done this very much. So I’m not sure…”

“My dear, you certainly don’t have to,” Aziraphale said, brow furrowing.

“Believe me, I really very much want to. I just...might be not good at it.”

Aziraphale scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“What? Are you laughing at me?” Crowley asked, relieved that Aziraphale decided that teasing him was the right route here. Things were getting too serious. Crowley hated serious. It made his skin crawl.

“Please,” Aziraphale said, pushing lightly at his knee, still playful. “I bet you’re a natural.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Well, you have quite the mouth on you,” Aziraphale replied, one eyebrow arched. Crowley’s heart filled up, warm emotion splitting him at the seams.

“I’ll show you a mouth.”

“I certainly hope you will.” With that, Aziraphale flopped over onto his hands and knees and his arse was just there, proudly on display. He had the most interesting stretchmarks, faded and jagged all down his buttocks and thighs. It wasn’t that Crowley was attracted to his stretchmarks per se, but he liked the way they accentuated the lines and folds of his skin, just another beautiful texture on Aziraphale’s body. He traced one on Aziraphale’s hip with the tip of his finger and found it wonderfully smooth.

“Wow.”

Aziraphale chuffed a laugh and his bum jiggled just a little. It was oddly appealing. Ribs protesting slightly as he leaned forward, Crowley kissed the base of Aziraphale’s spine and Aziraphale’s laugh turned into a long sigh. He licked the dimples just above his arse, filling his hands with Aziraphale’s love handles. That earned him a gasp.

Aziraphale’s skin was warm and freshly washed, the hint of damp from the shower scented with his pine soap. Kneading the flesh at his hips, Crowley kissed down his buttocks, tracing the seam of his arse with his tongue, irrationally liking the way the hair tugged against his mouth before he pulled away. He nudged Aziraphale’s thighs open with his hands and nipped at the backs of them. Curling his spine like that made his ribs hurt something fierce but Aziraphale was making this beautiful noise that Crowley couldn’t give up on. Like Crowley was drawing out the softest pleasure, something sweet and perfect just for him.

Finally, unable to hold himself like that any longer, he bit off a groan and sat back to breathe. The muscles of Aziraphale’s back pulled taut as his arms flexed against the bed.

"Are you alright?" Aziraphalr asked in a strangled voice, not turning to look at Crowley.

"Yeah," Crowley said, taking the opportunity to trace a few more of the webbing marks. "Just enjoying the view."

Aziraphale melted forward as Crowley touched him, a beautiful sight, and Crowley wanted him to have everything. Wanted to see him fall apart. So, without any further preamble, Crowley grasped the globes of his arse and spread Aziraphale open, licking him in one wide stripe. Aziraphale dropped his head down to his forearms and moaned. “Oh, good lord.”

The hair on Aziraphale’s bum tickled his cheeks as Crowley ate him out, long licks down to his perineum, suckling at every inch of skin he could reach. His cock throbbed between his legs at every moan that dropped from Aziraphale’s mouth. Massaging the flesh of his arse, Crowley discovered that Aziraphale loved being fucked open on his tongue.

“Crowley, oh, you’re so good to me,” he gasped, words lost to the sheets. “Please. I want to—I want to come like this. I know you said you wanted to fuck me...”

Crowley pulled away, choosing not to be embarrassed by the string of spit that dripped between his mouth and Aziraphale’s arse. “No. This is...this is good. I just don’t think I can reach like that—” Crowley sucked in a short breath and ignored the stab in his chest. “With my ribs.”

“It’s fine. I’ll—just put your mouth back on me, love.”

Crowley obeyed immediately, his own arousal cresting as Aziraphale’s hips jerked when he took himself in hand. He wished he could see it. The way he had the other day, Aziraphale’s cock in his hand, the tip just peeking out of his fist, leaking and gorgeous.

He moaned and closed his eyes, unable to stop himself from rubbing off against the sheets as he licked Aziraphale open, the scrape of hair and the heady, clean taste pushing him higher. He wanted to hear Aziraphale come. Because of him. Because of his mouth.

Aziraphale gasped into the pillows, soft little ah-ah-ah’s as he jerked himself off, the bed shaking beneath them. Crowley ignored the growing ache in his jaw and pressed his tongue against the tight ring of muscle, slipping just inside. It was so good. He could have done it for ages, just fucked Aziraphale open like this, long and lazy.

Heat built between his legs as he listened to the sounds Aziraphale made. Long groans, soft sighs, desperate pleas for more, faster, just like that. His cock ached and he couldn’t stop himself. He held Aziraphale open with one hand, using the other to reach down between his own legs and touch himself as he continued to lick him. He groaned at the touch of his hand, tugging lightly on his balls before stroking himself. He was going to come without much encouragement.

Then Aziraphale lurched under him, moaning Crowley’s name into the pillows as his hips stuttered and he came all over the sheets. Crowley tumbled after, barely needing to touch himself at all after seeing that.

Aziraphale rolled away from the wet spot with a grimace.

“I guess we didn’t need the condoms,” Crowley observed wryly, wiping his forearm over his mouth,

Aziraphale sighed. “We should have used them. Now I have to change the sheets.”

Crowley rolled over and smiled when he saw the adorable frown on Aziraphale’s face. “Why don’t we toss these in the wash and sleep on the couch?”

Aziraphale grumbled but said, “Just this once, I suppose that’s fine,” and let Crowley lead him downstairs.

Crowley looked at the date in the confirmation email for his return ticket and swore he’d talk to Aziraphale. His flight was next Thursday.

Next Thursday.

That was less than ten days away. What were they supposed to do? Plan out their whole relationship in ten days? If Crowley could have his way, he’d have Aziraphale pack up and move back to London with him. But they’d only known each other for two months. And been dating for less than three weeks. Who uprooted their life for a three week relationship?

Crowley laughed at himself, startling Spider where he was tucked on the table beside his laptop. Crowley was the sort of person who would uproot his life. If he could find a job here, he’d do it in a second. But that required planning and he’d have to figure out his flat in London and would he just move in with Aziraphale here? No. They needed to talk about it. Maybe this relationship didn’t mean to Aziraphale what it meant to Crowley. He tried to remind himself of that conversation over Lord of the Rings. That Aziraphale was serious about this. But it was hard to believe. How was it supposed to work? Neither of them had thought this through at all.

A stupid corner of his mind wished he could just do what his uncle had wanted and pick up as caretaker of that damned lodge. But it was a money pit. Already the repairs were eating up the last of the money his uncle had left for it and Crowley hadn’t heard from the lawyers since that useless meeting in Portland. He needed to sell the place and be done.

The door to the cabin flew open and Crowley slammed his laptop shut. Not as if Aziraphale could see the screen from the door, but he’d been too keyed up to think straight. Spider shot off the table and into the kitchen as Aziraphale stomped through the house in just his boxers and socks.

Crowley peered out the screen door and saw his clothes discarded in a pile on the deck. “Aziraphale?” he asked tentatively, trailing Aziraphale into the house where he found him in the bathroom furiously scrubbing at his hands.

“What?” Aziraphale snapped. He slapped off the taps, water flying everywhere as he grabbed the hand towel without any of his usual finesse whatsoever.

“What happened?” Crowley asked dumbly.

Aziraphale threw the towel into the hamper with a disgusted grunt. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m getting in the shower. I’m filthy.”

Crowley backed out of the bathroom, unsure of what to do, but certain Aziraphale needed to be alone. He thought back to that day after the beach when Aziraphale had gotten upset because of that phone call from his sibling.

Going to the front door, Crowley went onto the deck and found Aziraphale’s shirt and jeans covered in some sort of stinking brackish water. He gagged. “Jesus. What happened here?”

He almost left the clothes to the elements, but, knowing Aziraphale would take care of it if the situations were reversed, he went inside and got a garbage bag to heft the clothes into, taking them directly to the washer. He rifled through the pockets despite the smell and retrieved Aziraphale’s phone and wallet. Both would need to be wiped down. Spider chirped in concern at his ankles.

“Quite a stink,” Crowley said. The shower was still running, so he didn’t start the machine. Instead, he took the stinking and wet garbage bag out to the rubbish bin and considered his options.

Aziraphale was upset. Which was no good. Crowley wasn’t very good at comfort. Prickly thing that he was. Aziraphal was the comforting one. Soft and cozy. What would Aziraphale do?

Sighing, Crowley took himself back inside and put the kettle on. Tea was a good place to start. What else?

Usually, Aziraphale had plans for dinner and he roped Crowley into them, but if Aziraphale was in a mood like this...Crowley frowned. If he were in the city, he’d just order take away. But Pine Grove, let alone Aziraphale’s cabin, hardly had anything like that.

For lack of a better idea, Crowley pulled out his phone and called the only resident of Pine Grove who had given Crowley their number.

When Aziraphale finally emerged from the bathroom, Crowley did his best not to look as terrified as he felt, sitting at the dining room table with styrofoam boxes of food from Nessie’s. Anathema assured him this was Aziraphale’s favorite order and had been more than willing to drive it out. Crowley had been certain he’d be caught, but apparently Aziraphale had needed a very long shower. Given the smell on his clothes, Crowley didn’t blame him.

“What is this?” Aziraphale asked, bewildered, as he approached the table. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and his curly hair was slicked back from his face, darkened by the water and too lovely to be real. Crowley swallowed.

“I thought you might not want to cook dinner. So I had Anathema, er, drop it off. Your favorite? Erm...cranberry turkey burger? Seemed a bit weird but she said you liked it so...”

Aziraphale looked between the styrofoam container and Crowley and his eyes started to glisten and Crowley thought for a terrifying moment he might have a tearful Aziraphale on his hands, but then Aziraphale backed him against the worktop and kissed him full on the mouth. Crowley grunted in surprise, but when Aziraphale seemed determined to kiss him, he settled into it, letting his hands drop to Aziraphale’s bare waist, feeling the soft give of his body.

When Aziraphale’s tongue slid against his, his entire body lit up, the anxiety from before melting away as they traded progressively sloppier kisses. Crowley’s legs knocked against the barstools but Aziraphale just pushed them away, pressing him harder against the worktop. His hands crept up under the hem of Crowley’s shirt and found the notch of his hip. Crowley had begun to successfully wear jeans which, at that very moment, he regretted deeply.

Aziraphale nipped at his throat, tearing a whine from his chest. “How are your ribs—can I…”

“Fuck, anything,” Crowley managed.

Aziraphale tore at his zip, finally getting his hands inside, blunt fingers brushing against Crowley’s overheated skin. “Let me...let me just…”

Aziraphale tugged down his trousers until his cock sprang free and let his towel fall to the ground so he could push their cocks together. The heat of it had Crowley’s toes curling in the fluffy socks he had stolen from Aziraphale’s drawer that morning.

Aziraphale’s cock was shorter than his, just enough so the tip kissed the underside of his cockhead as Aziraphale pushed up against him. His damp curls fell around his cheeks, brushing Crowley’s face as Aziraphale moved. The warm, resinous scent of his shampoo filled the air between them, Aziraphale sucking kisses into Crowley's neck and wrapping his hand around both of them.

All of the muscles in Crowley's back tensed. Pain shot across the right side of his rib cage, but that didn't stop the pulse of pleasure that crashed through him, only made it more intense, his blood rushing through his veins as Aziraphale touched him.

"Fuck my hand," Aziraphale said, in a voice Crowley had never heard him use before, heavy with intent. It sent all his critical thought careening towards the hills. Looping his arm around Aziraphale’s neck and hitching his hips back against the worktop, he did as Aziraphale asked, pushing up into the hot circle of his hand and feeling the hard length of Aziraphale’s cock thrust against his with every movement. It didn’t feel as good as the other things they had done but it burned through him, intimate and all consuming..

Glancing between them, Crowley could see how close they were together, could see the obscene slide of precome down their lengths.

“Kiss me,” he demanded and then Aziraphale’s hand was at his nape, tugging him down into a kiss that lit him up entirely..

Their tongues slid together, messy and unplanned, an edge of desperation to Aziraphale’s kiss that had Crowley’s stomach playing hopscotch. Teeth nipped at his mouth, tongue swiping against his, drawing deep whimpers from his chest as they kissed and rutted against each other.

Aziraphale came first, mouth parting against Crowley’s on a long, hitching exhale, his spend slicking the way until Crowley came too. Aziraphale tipped his head onto Crowley shoulder, messy hand still curled around both their softening lengths and the other resting at his hip.

Just as Crowley was about to say something (are you alright?), Aziraphale pulled away. His face was blotchy, neck and chest stained red from the remnants of his orgasm. Crowley bent to snatch the towel from the ground to wipe them up. The move had pain radiating through his torso.

“Ah shit,” Crowley said, hand flying to his chest without thinking as pain rattled through him. “Maybe that was a bit too athletic.”

Aziraphale took the towel and laughed. Crowley thought he heard a bit of a sniffle lingering there, but he didn’t think Aziraphale would like it if he pointed it out. He wiped them up and then kissed the corner of Crowley’s jaw.

“Thank you,” he said. “For this. For dinner.”

“Yeah, angel,” Crowley said, endearment slipping out, easy as anything. Aziraphale’s answering blush made it worth whatever embarrassment he felt at picking such a cheesy nickname. No matter how right it felt. “I, er, I’m happy to help out to. Whenever you need.”

Aziraphale gave him a slightly tired smile. “Let me put this in the wash and get dressed and then we can have dinner?”

“Oh!” Crowley snatched the towel from Aziraphale. “Just go get dressed. I put your really very disgusting clothes into the wash but waited to start it until you were out of the shower. The spunk towel will have to wait.”

“No need to be crass,” Aziraphale chided even as he walked, entirely nude, across the floor of the cabin.

Crowley watched the very nice sway of his arse as he ascended the steps before doing as he said and going to start the laundry. Aziraphale had clearly had a hard day. It would be a bad time to talk about their relationship. Crowley would tell him about the return flight tomorrow and then they would talk about it. They’d make a plan. They would.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale came down from the loft dressed in soft-looking pajama bottoms and another of his endless supply of tight white t-shirts. Crowley had also taken the opportunity to change but after switching on the laundry, he had very little idea what else to do while he waited for Aziraphale to reappear.

Aziraphale sighed as he padded across the small dining room and into the kitchen, Spider trailing after him. With a flash of guilt, Crowley realized he hadn’t fed the cat. He should have. Just another thing he relied on Aziraphale to simply take care of.

Aziraphale knelt down and scritched the cat between the ears. "Are you hungry, sweetheart?"

Spider chirped, earning himself a chuffed laugh as Aziraphale filled his food bowl. "I'm quite hungry myself."

Aziraphale opened the fridge and retrieved a beer, offering one to Crowley in the process.

"No," Crowley said, watching the whole process warily. "I took a painkiller. Best not mix it."

Aziraphale hummed his acknowledgment and returned to the table, dropping down in front of the rather pathetic styrofoam containers, eyes unfocused. He took a long drink from the bottle.

"I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier," Aziraphale said once Crowley tentatively lowered himself into the dining chair across from him

Crowley shrugged. "S’alright. No harm done."

"That may be true," Aziraphale began. "But that doesn't excuse it."

Setting down his beer, Aziraphale leaned back in his chair and sighed, scrubbing at the bridge of his nose. "It has been quite a day."

"Want to...erm, talk about it?" Crowley offered for lack of something better. He’d never been good at this sort of thing. Not with coworkers, not with friends, and certainly not with partners.

Aziraphale glanced at him and there was a hardness about his eyes that gave Crowley pause. He looked tired, frustrated, and like he wished he felt neither of those things. Crowley tried to lighten the mood. "C'mon. You’ve at least got to tell me what happened to your clothes."

Aziraphale laughed with a long shuddering breath as his arms uncrossed. "It was awful," he said, shaking his head. "A backed up drain at the Flamingo. I was snaking it when—" He mimed an explosion with his fingers. "And I was already in a foul mood and that was simply a bridge too far. I’m afraid I owe Miss Tracy quite an apology."

Given the state of the bathtubs at the Flamingo, Crowley could imagine exactly how awful something like that had gone. "I’m going to bet she’ll understand. What with the smell and all. That’d earn anybody a bit of forgiveness”

Aziraphale shook his head and pushed his hair back from his face. A smile ticked at the corner of his mouth and Crowley felt a thrill of success. Spider wound his way around his ankles as Crowley popped open his own container of dinner. Nothing exciting, just a turkey sandwich, but he knew Aziraphale would bully him into eating so he’d made sure to order something.

Aziraphale ate a few chips and then sighed, crumpling up a paper napkin before finally looking at Crowley. His eyes were so blue and the frustration from before was back, hardening his expression. "I called my father today. After what happened with my mother, I wanted to see how things were but it was…"

"Not good?" Crowley ventured as Aziraphale’s sentence trailed off.

"Not good," Aziraphale confirmed. "I suppose I hoped that we might be able to bury the hatchet. I mean with you living in London I can only imagine visits are a real possibility in the future and even if I'd rather never set foot in the place, I can't exactly expect you to constantly be flying across the world to see me."

Crowley dropped his chip. "What?"

Aziraphale looked at him and his expression crumpled in distress. "Oh dear, did you not—I thought that we...didn't we talk about wanting this to be—"

“You hate London,” Crowley said, gaping at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s face was slowly turning red, emphasizing the pale color of his hair. “Crowley, if you don’t want this relationship to last beyond your time here, I need you to tell me right this instant because I was under the impression that you were serious about this.”

Crowley floundered out with his hands and knocked over his dinner in the process, not caring even a little as bits of potato flew across the table and onto the floor. Spider could have a snack. Spider, the potato-loving cat.

Crowley grasped Aziraphale’s hand, ignoring both their greasy fingers and the way the table dug uncomfortably into his bruised chest. “Of course I’m serious. Dead serious. I thought that you wouldn’t want to...I mean, I know I’m not a catch, angel. I’m me, that’s it. All you get. Six feet of bones and sarcasm and very little heart. I’ve got money but I don’t think you care about that. And I didn’t— I didn’t think any of those things meant you’d want to be in a relationship with someone halfway across the world just because we shagged a few times.”

Aziraphale frowned, laced their fingers together, kissed the back of Crowley’s hand. His beard tickled. “I don’t fall for people easily,” Aziraphale said quietly, rubbing his thumb over Crowley’s knuckles. He laughed. “In fact, when we first met, I’m fairly certain I agreed with your assessment of yourself. Well, not entirely. I thought you were rather physically attractive underneath your attempts to be cool.”

Crowley felt his face heat and he made a noise of distress.

“Don’t deny it. You think you’re awfully cool.”

It was hard to argue with anything Aziraphale was saying when he had the softest smile on his face.

“But I did get to know you and I knew that no matter where you ended up I wanted to stay friends. Be it halfway across the world or with you on my couch. And then...well,” Aziraphale broke off and pulled his hand away. “It’s actually quite embarrassing. I was so certain there was nothing between us whatsoever that I thought nothing of sleeping in a bed together or doing what I began to see were quite romantic gestures. I’m fairly certain I confused you something awful.”

“I know you didn’t mean it,” Crowley said firmly. And he did know. Aziraphale didn’t have a cruel bone in his body. A lot of bastard ones. But not cruel ones.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not sorry,” Aziraphale said with another soft smile that gave Crowley butterflies.

“Can I kiss you?” Crowley asked to prevent his whole body from bursting with affection.

Aziraphale’s smile grew into a laugh and he nodded. Crowley leaned over the table and kissed him. It was short and sweet and perfect and when Crowley sat back down, he said, “So London is on the table then? You’d consider moving there?”

“Moving there?” Aziraphale asked, alarm clear in his voice. “Isn’t that a little fast?”

Crowley’s butterflies turned into worms as he backpedaled. “No. Not—not right now. I mean in the future. Eventually.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, good humor and softness disappearing. “I’m fine visiting but I never want to live in London again.”

“But it’d be easier for you,” Crowley said because he was a fool who liked to bury himself six feet deep. “You don’t have anything tying you here. You could pick up and go.”

“I don’t have anything tying me here?” Aziraphale repeated, words sharp and cutting. “How many times have we talked about how few friends you have? How much you hate your job? I’m happy here, Crowley. Can you say that about London?”

“That’s not fair,” Crowley hissed, pushing back his chair and surging to his feet. He couldn't believe Aziraphale would throw what Crowley had shared with him back in his face. Something he was ashamed of. Something Aziraphale knew he was ashamed of. He sneered. “At least I’m not avoiding an entire country because I don’t like my parents.”

Aziraphale sucked in a breath and said in a low tone, devoid of emotion, “Get out of my house.”

Every bit of frustration left Crowley like a flood of water and he stepped back, knocking over the chair behind him. “But I— “

“Go. I can’t talk about this right now,” Aziraphale said, picking up both of their containers of food and throwing them in the trash.

Stunned, Crowley stuffed his feet into his shoes and grabbed his coat, keys and wallet he hadn’t used in weeks still in the pocket. “Aziraphale, I didn’t—”

Aziraphale fixed him with a look so cold that Crowley had to turn away. He’d fucked up.

And he hadn’t even told Aziraphale he was leaving.

Maybe Aziraphale wouldn’t care. Maybe he had well and truly ruined this.

Tracy clucked her tongue as she handed him the beat up key to his motel room. “In the dog house then?”

Crowley clenched his jaw and opted to say nothing. He knew he looked like he’d been kicked out, in his pajamas and boots, without any bags to speak of. He had a key to Aziraphale’s place so he could stop by the next day and pick up his things if this was where he was staying for the next week.

Tracy patted his hand, all motherly concern. “Don’t you worry. Aziraphale can never stay mad for too long. He’s too much of a sweetheart.”

Crowley gave Tracy a smile that was really more of a grimace and took the key, hightailing it out of the tiny office as she told him she’d stop by with towels. His chest was tight and his eyes hurt and if he knew himself at all, he was fairly certain he was about a minute away from bursting into tears.

What was wrong with him? They’d had a good conversation. They were on the same page. Aziraphale wanted to make this relationship (if there was even a relationship left) work and then Crowley had to go in and light the whole damned thing on fire because Aziraphale had hurt his feelings.

He pushed his way into his room and the sight of the garish colors was what did it. The awful greens and browns knocked into him like a tidal wave and he collapsed on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

It wasn't full body sobs, no snot running down his face, or heaving breaths. His eyes welled up and a few tears tracked down his cheeks as he breathed through the tightness in his throat. He should apologize. He would apologize. As soon as he got himself together. He would do his best. For now he'd lick his wounds and sleep on the terrible motel bed and think about how he'd rather be sleeping in a warm loft under a skylight with Aziraphale tucked beside him.

Aziraphale was right. He didn’t want to go back to his shitty life in London. He liked it here. He hadn’t thought he would, but even without Aziraphale, he liked the way it smelled in the morning, the moss, the greenery. He liked how nice the people were. He liked waking up every day in a cozy cabin.

A knock sounded at the door and Crowley strongly considered yelling at Tracy to go away. Instead, he wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve and said, politely as he could manage, “Just a minute.”

He blew his nose on one of the terrible, single-ply tissues and tossed it in the waste paper bin before opening the door, ready to politely decline towels and toiletries only to find Aziraphale standing there in his fluffy flannel jacket, sherpa-lined collar pulled up around his neck. He looked about as upset as Crowley felt, eyes red-rimmed, mouth tight.

“Can I come in?” he asked in a voice thick with emotion.

Crowley cleared his throat and swiped at his eyes. “Yeah, ‘course.”

He stepped aside, some of the tightness in his chest easing at Aziraphale’s presence. The dim orange light of the lamp on the nightstand cast everything in shadow and Crowley wanted to speak but he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to apologize but where to start?

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said finally, turning back to face him. “I had no right to kick you out like that. If I needed a break, I should have left.”

“It’s your house, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, embarrassed at how broken up his voice was. He cleared his throat again, hoping it would help at least a little. “You’re entitled to your own space.”

“Yes, and I have it,” Aziraphale said. “Upstairs. Outside. Not kicking you out.”

Aziraphale seemed so thoroughly upset at himself that all Crowley could do was nod. He wasn’t even angry at Aziraphale. He was angry at himself. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have said all that stuff. I was an arse.”

Aziraphale dropped onto the edge of the horrible bed and laughed without any humor. “You were, but I forgive you. I haven’t exactly been forthcoming about my situation and I can understand how it might look ridiculous to someone else.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” Crowley said, approaching him carefully. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to hug him, but that seemed wrong somehow. Overstepping.

“I’d like to give you one all the same,” Aziraphale said with a sigh. “It’s nothing grandiose really. The same story a lot of queer kids have. My parents accepted it when I came out but things...changed afterwards.” Aziraphale fiddled with his hands in his lap, toying with his fingers before looking at the warped mirror across from the bed. “I’d always said I wanted to join the church, but that was mostly because my father wanted me to. Maybe it’s ridiculous but I had this theory that he wanted one of everything. A doctor, a lawyer, and a pastor. He got the first two and then there was me. His gay son. And I think he thought as long as I became a pastor, I couldn't be a lost cause." Aziraphale laughed again, bitterly, and Crowley reached out to take his hand, to stop him from where he was picking at the seam of his jeans. Aziraphale gave him a wan smile.

“I decided to come to America for college, and I started to see that there was more to life than the narrow path he’d put me on, my final year of undergrad I told him I didn’t want to go to seminary and he told me I had to pay him back for all my tuition because he wouldn’t have funded it if he’d known I wasn’t going to school to become a pastor. We had a huge row. Of course I didn’t have the money. He cut me off.

“We probably could have mended things if we discussed it but we didn’t speak. Not for years. I picked up odd jobs and struggled to make ends meet and, at this point, I don’t think it’s worth forgiving,” Aziraphale said, as if the words exhausted him. “And every time I try, I’m reminded of just how much I hate him and my mother for not even trying to stand up for me.”

Crowley squeezed his hand. He tried to put himself in Aziraphale’s shoes and couldn’t. His own relationship with his parents had been distant but not particularly fraught. He tipped his head onto Aziraphale’s shoulder and said, “That sucks shit.”

Aziraphale laughed, a surprised thing from deep in his belly. “That’s one way of putting it.”

They sat in silence for what felt like a very long time before Aziraphale let out a long breath. “I think that we should go home. Get some rest and talk about this more in the morning. What do you think?”

They drove back in separate cars. When they went to bed, Crowley slept on the couch because Aziraphale said he needed his space which seemed a reasonable request, even if it did make Crowley’s stomach twist with anxiety.

Crowley woke up the next day to a muzzy goodbye kiss to his forehead before he drifted back off to sleep. When he got up, Aziraphale was gone but he’d left some of his sticky buns on the counter with a note.

Sorry! I had to run into town for an emergency basement leak. I’ll be back before lunch.

There was a little heart drawn next to the words and Crowley smiled. Spider made an appearance by his feet, headbutting his ankles. “I guess he doesn’t hate me then,” Crowley said to the cat.

Crowley managed to get some work done, anxiety notwithstanding. He kept thinking about the conversation the night before. He needed to tell Aziraphale he was leaving, that he had to even though he didn’t want to.

He tried to ignore the little voice inside him that wished Aziraphale would ask him to stay because he knew that once he started listening to it, there would be know going back.

He’d worked himself up into quite a state so when the door finally opened at 12:30, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“How was the basement?” Crowley asked before Aziraphale had even taken off his boots.

“Fixed up now,” Aziraphale said as he unlaced his shoes. “It was just a loose pipe to a washer.”

“Right, yeah. Are you hungry?” Crowley asked, trying to fill the silence. His heart was beating so loud he could feel it in his ears. He knew that Aziraphale wasn’t angry with him but that apparently didn’t do anything to stop this fear response.

“Not particularly,” Aziraphale said. “I think it best if we talk.”

“Yeah. Yeah, alright,” Crowley said, clenching his hand by his side before taking a seat at the table.

Aziraphale sat across from him and reached for his hand. “I’m sorry we fought yesterday, but I’m hoping you understand where I’m coming from a bit more now.”

“Yeah, I do,” Crowley said. He focused on the heat of Aziraphale’s hand in his. Grounding.

"You’re important to me,” Aziraphale said. “But I've fought for every inch of happiness I have here. I can't just give it up."

Crowley tried to understand but all he could see was a future of long distance phone calls and heartbreak. “But where does that leave us? If you don’t want to move and I can’t?”

Aziraphale smiled, a hint of sadness tipping the corner of his mouth. “I’m not sure. I suppose, like anything, we take the leap and hope for the best. I’d like to. But only if you’re with me.”

Crowley nodded and pushed down the fear that this would be just another failed relationship. That was the risk wasn’t it? Any relationship could fail. It wasn’t about distance, it was about dedication. And Crowley felt pretty damned dedicated. It sounded like Aziraphale did too.

“I’m with you,” he said and Aziraphale’s smile returned to something brighter, more familiar.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Aziraphale's phone chirped before either of them could say anything else. He looked at the screen and sighed. “Tracy is having more raccoon issues. I’ve got to run. Pizza for dinner?”

“Sounds good,” Crowley said. Just having the conversation made him feel better. They were both in this, both dedicated to making it work until it didn’t anymore. That meant more than he could say.

Aziraphale kissed him and smiled. “Wish me luck.”

“May you vanquish all raccoons in your path,” Crowley said with a teasing fist pump.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to kill the raccoons.”

“Whatever you say, angel. I say it depends on the raccoon.”

Aziraphale returned that night with a cheese pizza and a heavy sigh.

“Raccoons give you trouble?”

“Always,” Aziraphale said, setting the pizza box on the breakfast bar before taking off his shoes. “It’s been a rough couple of days. With everything going on.”

Crowley got up from the couch and pulled Aziraphale into as tight of a hug as he dared given his ribs. “Pizza and the second Lord of the Rings then? More snogging on the couch?”

Aziraphale pulled back and kissed him. It was more than his usual brief kisses of affection, lingering and soft. “I was thinking a bit more than snogging if you feel up to it.”

“What? Now or after dinner?”

“Let’s see where the night goes,” Aziraphale said with a wiggle of his hips as he walked off into the kitchen to get plates.

“You tease!” Crowley said, following after just to tug at the back of his braces like a boy on the schoolyard tugging at pigtails.

Aziraphale ignored his behavior and handed him a plate. “Eat your pizza. Would you like a salad on the side? I can steam some broccoli if you’d prefer.”

“Salad’s fine,” Crowley said sullenly. “I can chop the carrots.”

Aziraphale beamed at him and Crowley’s heart kicked in his chest.

They did end up snogging on the couch. Treebeard hadn’t even called the ents to Isengard by the time Crowley had Aziraphale’s tongue in his mouth. Not that he minded.

“You taste like pizza,” Aziraphale said, laughing a bit as they traded kisses that varied between toe-curling and chaste.

“Hate to break it to you, but so do you,” Crowley replied, nipping at Aziraphale’s jaw, nosing over his beard.

“Perhaps a break? Clean up and brush our teeth and then go upstairs?” Aziraphale asked. His hand curled tight in Crowley’s hair like, in spite of his suggestion, he didn’t want to let him go.

A hurried scrub and tooth brushing later, Crowley found himself upstairs, being eased back against the pillows by his very handsy boyfriend.

“Let me make you feel good.”

“Angel, you don’t—”

Aziraphale sat back on his heels and peeled off Crowley’s shirt before giving him a look. “I’ve had quite a day and I would like to give my boyfriend an orgasm. Pants off please.”

Dazed, Crowley complied. As soon as his pajama bottoms were off, Aziraphale was draped over him, his face being peppered with bearded kisses. “Much better,” Aziraphale said between kisses. “I was thinking I could finger you.”

Crowley died then, and from beyond the grave, he wheezed, “I mean whatever you’d like.”

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s sternum, then his good side, scraping his beard over his hip and tugging at his drawers. “I’d like to know what you like.”

Not for the first time since coming to Oregon, Crowley found himself naked on the bed with a mostly clothed Aziraphale. Thankfully, Aziraphale took off his braces (unbearably sexy) and shimmied out of his jeans so Crowley just had his flannel to contend with. Aziraphale seemed content to take care of it himself though, popping the buttons one by one as he reached into the side table and pulled out the lube. He tossed the shirt onto the dresser and his undershirt followed. Crowley didn’t think he would ever tire of seeing Aziraphale shirtless. It was a beautiful thing. The hair on his soft chest. The barest evidence of muscle under the fat on his arms. Crowley’s stomach flopped around at the sight.

Aziraphale grasped his ankle. “Feet flat on the bed.”

Crowley swallowed and obeyed. Aziraphale popped the cap on the lube and wet his fingers. Kissed the inside of one knee. Kissed the other. Goose pimples rose along Crowley’s thighs as Aziraphale pressed his legs apart, trailing nipping kisses up thighs until he was nosing at the sensitive place on Croweys pelvis just beneath his hip.

Aziraphale sucked a lewd kiss to the base of his cock, beard brushing against his balls as he licked and sucked down his sac and—

“Fuuuuck,” Crowley gasped, one leg kicking out awkwardly. Aziraphale grabbed the back of his thigh and used it to tip his hips back slightly, sucking on his perineum in a way that made Crowley’s eyes cross. The sensation was so intense it knocked the breath from Crowley’s lungs.

Then Aziraphale licked lower, wide, flat licks that had every muscle in Crowley’s body relaxing into him. Breathing hard, Crowley clenched his hand in the quilt, his hips rolling up, desperately seeking friction.

Aziraphale's beard tickled the underside of his thighs, sending sparks of pleasure right to Crowley's cock. He dripped onto his stomach, leaking more than he thought he ever had in his life. Precome slid down the concave of his belly and down his side onto the sheets.

Then he felt the thick press of Aziraphale's fingers against his anus. Just one, he was pretty sure but he was fairly distracted because Aziraphale chose that moment to suck the loose skin of his sac into his mouth, carefully rolling it between his lips as he pressed his finger inside.

Aziraphale pulled back as soon as he was in to the first knuckle. "Is that alright?"

"Yeah," Crowley squeaked, breathing through the pleasurable stretch.

"You're so tight, darling," Aziraphale said, releasing Crowley's thigh so his hips settled back onto the bed. "Are you sure?"

"S'always like that to start," Crowley said, aware his words were slurring. Not his fault really. Aziraphale's fault for being so bloody good at this.

"Alright," Aziraphale said and he pushed his finger deeper, forcing a low whine from Crowley's chest. Aziraphale’s eyes widened. "Oh. You are lovely."

Aziraphale scooted further down the bed and kissed his thighs, all the while fucking Crowley slowly, agonizingly, with his hand.

"I'd like to use my mouth too or is that too much?" Aziraphale asked at some point. Time had gone a bit fuzzy really.

"Yuh," Crowley replied, pushing down into Aziraphale’s hand harder, trying to chase this feeling of being cracked open entirely.

Aziraphale took Crowley’s grunt as a yes and sucked the head of his cock into his mouth, purposefully tonguing his slit before pressing open mouthed kisses down his shaft. Each movement of his tongue drove Crowley closer to the edge but it wasn't enough. He lapped at his balls and added a second finger, the blunt stretch almost painful before Aziraphale moved his hand just right.

"Yes, fuck. Like that," Crowley gasped. He was doing a number on the sheets, certain he'd pulled them out from their hospital corners entirely.

Aziraphale pulled away again, breathing hard as his finger slipped from Crowley’s body. When he sat back on his haunches, Crowley could see his cock, flushed red and pushed against his ample belly. Fuck.

"I think you'd be able to ride me," Aziraphale said, moving to sit up against the pillows and gesturing for Crowley to come close. He hesitated and added, "If you want."

“Fuck yes,” Crowley breathed, getting up onto his knees as quickly as he was able.

Aziraphale grasped his hips, a low groan escaping his chest. “Have I told you how gorgeous you are?”

Aziraphale’s grip tightened and Crowley felt the scrape of his callouses, the soft texture of his palms. Arousal heated his belly, making his cock twitch. Tugging lightly, Aziraphale pulled him closer, pushing his legs apart until Crowley was straddling him. He placed his hand at the base of Crowley’s spine, fingers splayed wide as he pressed hot, biting kisses over Crowley’s collar bone.

Their cocks brushed between them, a tense heat as Crowley’s stomach tightened at the contact. Aziraphale nipped at his pulse. “We’re going to be careful, yes? And not overdo it?”

Crowley made a garbled noise of acquiescence while Aziraphale grabbed the lube from the bedspread, slicking his fingers and slipping his hand between their bodies. The intrusion of his fingers was less of a shock. Crowley simply felt full, needy.

Aziraphale gripped the back of his neck and played with the hairs at his nape, making Crowley’s insides turn to liquid. His beard scraped over the sensitive skin of Crowley’s chest as he kissed his good side and fucked him open with his hand. He was already loose from before, but it felt amazing so he wasn’t going to complain. Aziraphale kept saying little things like you feel so good, you’re so gorgeous that made Crowley’s prick leak between their bellies.

Crowley’s neck and chest was red with beard burn by the time Aziraphale pulled away, removing his fingers with an obscene wet noise. Keeping Crowley upright with his clean hand and planting his feet on the bed so Crowley could lean against his knees, Aziraphale rifled through the bedside drawer and retrieved a condom.

He handed it to Crowley.

“I want you to put it on me,” he said, meeting Crowley’s gaze for one heartstopping moment. Since when had condoms been sexy? Aziraphale could make anything sexy apparently.

Crowley’s hands shook as he ripped open the wrapper, trying to remember how the fuck to put a condom on. He’d done it plenty of times but his whole body— brain included— had been turned to mush. Finally, he slid it over Aziraphale’s cock, rolling it down until he was fully sheathed.

“Kiss me?” Aziraphale asked quietly and Crowley obeyed, savoring the scrape of his beard and the heat of his chest even as it pressed against his bruised ribs. He heard the snick of the lube cap as Aziraphale slicked himself.

Crowley broke the kiss and rose up on his knees, grasping Aziraphale’s cock at its base and bearing down. He was loose and wet from Aziraphale’s efforts and it slipped inside easily, burning slightly as Crowley bore down until his balls pressed tight against Aziraphale’s pelvis and he could feel Aziraphale’s every movement inside him.

Running his hands down Crowley’s thighs, Aziraphale asked, breathless, “How are you, love?”

“Good, fuck, really good,” he gasped, tipping his hips back and feeling every nerve in his body light up as Aziraphale pressed against his prostate.

“Do you need help?” Aziraphale asked, grabbing at his hips.

“No—I’ve got…” Crowley tipped his head forward, hair falling into his face as he grabbed the headboard behind Aziraphale and flexed his thighs, fucking himself on Aziraphale’s cock. He gasped with each stroke, his own cock rubbing against Aziraphale’s belly as he rode him.

Aziraphale’s hands shifted to his backside, grasping the spare flesh and spreading him open so he could toy with the stretched rim of his arse as his cock slipped in and out.

“You feel so good,” Aziraphale said, moving to take Crowley in his hand. The feel of it had Crowley’s ears ringing with pleasure, his whole spine tingled. He moaned Aziraphale’s name, maybe angel, as his hips stuttered in their movement, acute pleasure snapping through his body, and he came over Aziraphale’s hand with a long groan.

Aziraphale fucked him then, grabbing his hips and thrusting up into him in a way that had Crowley imaging exactly how it would feel if Aziraphale fucked him into the mattress. Crowley felt like a ragdoll, gasping with each stroke until Aziraphale came too, wrapping his arms tight around Crowley as he shuddered with his release.

They pulled apart gingerly. Crowley collapsed against the pillows, heart racing as some of the blood returned to his head.

“Are your ribs alright?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley looked over to see him cleaning himself up with some tissues. Crowley would need to go downstairs and clean up soon as well. He could already feel lube drying on his thighs.

“Good enough,” Crowley replied. And they were. Honestly, they could have been terrible and he wouldn’t have complained. He felt amazing.

With effort, Crowley heaved himself out of bed and snagged Aziraphale’s flannel from atop the dresser, slipping it on easily as Aziraphale grumbled behind him. “Shirt thief.”

“You’re the one who convinced me they were so comfortable. It’s really your fault,” Crowley pointed out and Aziraphale threw a sock at his head.

When Crowley came back upstairs, Aziraphale was tucked in bed, reading. Crowley crawled in next to him, content to take in the sight of Aziraphale in his silly glasses, relaxed in the afterglow. Or he would have been if anxiety didn’t decide to find it’s way back into his stomach.

He still hadn’t told Aziraphale he was leaving. He cleared his throat, hoping to get Aziraphale’s attention. It worked because Aziraphale replaced his bookmark and looked at him.

“I have to tell you something,” Crowley said quietly, heart in his throat.

Aziraphale hummed, drawing circles on the back of his hand. “What is it?”

“I have to fly back to London next week,” he said in a rush, squeezing his eyes shut as his stomach turned cold and heavy with guilt. They’d just gotten through their fight but he couldn’t hold out on this. Aziraphale was going to be mad, was going to say it wasn’t worth it, was going to—

“Alright,” Aziraphale said and Crowley opened his eyes. Aziraphale gave him a sad smile. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to it, but I knew you couldn’t stay here forever.”

Crowley let out a long breath, relieved. He’d been so certain Aziraphale would be angry with him and yet here he was, surprising him again. He wrapped his good arm around Aziraphale and pulled him close, burying his nose into his hair and said, “Thank you. For understanding.”

What he didn’t say was, I wish I could. I wish you’d ask me.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale wanted to drive with him to the airport, but it didn’t make sense. Not with Crowley’s rented car. What were they going to do? Convoy? They’d say goodbye at the cabin and that was that. And yes, maybe it would feel like someone reaching into Crowley’s chest and squeezing his heart into a pulpy mash, but that was alright because it wasn’t like they were breaking up. They would see each other again. It was just a matter of when.

Crowley tried not to think about the likelihood that Aziraphale would grow tired of the distance. That without Crowley around he’d lose interest. That their relationship would fall apart before Crowley ever had a chance to come back.

So at 4 AM on the 12th, Crowley wheeled his bag to the door and stuffed his feet into his unfashionable but very practical boots. Spider sat by his food bowl chirping, not understanding that it wasn’t breakfast time. It was a two hour drive to the airport and, according to Aziraphale, he needed to factor in the fully recommended two hour arrival time before his 8 AM flight.

“You’ll send me pictures of the cat, right?” Crowley asked. Finally abandoning his food bowl in favor of attention, Spider bumped against his knuckles as Crowley tied the laces of his boots.

“Of course I’ll send you pictures of the cat,” Aziraphale said like Crowley’s question was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

Crowley stood, fiddling with the key fob in his pocket. “What about pictures of you?”

Aziraphale gasped dramatically and pressed a hand to his chest. “My dear, are you asking for nudes?”

Crowley choked on his tongue. “No, that’s not—I just mean—yanno, selfies. Like normal couples—” But Aziraphale was grinning slyly and Crowley realized he was taking the piss. “Oi, you bastard.”

Aziraphale kissed his cheek sweetly. “You know,” he said, “I wouldn’t object if you decided to send me salacious material of any sort.”

Crowley dropped his keys on the ground and swore.

“You’re so easy to get a rise out of,” Aziraphale teased as Crowley bent to pick up his rental keys.

“Alright, yes, no need to make a big deal of it,” Crowley said, ears growing hotter by the second. He snatched his suitcase and took one final look around the cabin. The sofa bed was put away and most of the lights were off, the lamp upstairs bleeding over the railing and providing just enough light to see by.

When Crowley finally stood upright, Aziraphale met his gaze and the air around them turned thick and slow as syrup. Crowley felt stuck to the spot as Aziraphale tugged on his lapel. “I’ll miss you something awful.”

Swallowing hard—oh, those were tears climbing up his throat—Crowley said, “Yeah, I mean...yeah.”

Aziraphale sniffed and kissed him once, soft, lingering, his hands coming up to cup Crowley’s jaw. “Text me once you’re there.”

“Course I will,” Crowley said, more choked with every passing second.

Aziraphale kissed the corner of his mouth one final time. “Best get a wiggle on, love.”

It wasn’t enough. Crowley knew it would probably never be enough, but he dropped his suitcase, threw his arms around Aziraphale’s neck and kissed him for all that he was worth. Aziraphale’s hands clutched at his back, causing a sharp spike of pain in his ribs, but Crowley didn’t care. He was kissing Aziraphale for the last time, maybe ever—don’t think about it—and that was more important.

Finally, Aziraphale broke the kiss. They were both breathing hard. Aziraphale looked deliciously wrecked.

“Go,” Aziraphale said, pulling away. “Before I make you late.”

“Right,” Crowley said and he sucked in a deep breath. “Talk to you soon.”

Aziraphale smiled and the way his eyes crinkled went a long way to soothing the crumpling of Crowley’s heart. “Of course.”

But before Crowley could even open the door, Aziraphale cried,“Wait!” and dashed up the stairs, returning a moment later with a red and black folded flannel. He handed it to Crowley. “As promised. Your very own flannel.”

It unfurled in Crowley’s hands. It was the same flannel Aziraphale had let him use when he had been hurt those first few days. He shrugged it on over his henley, fashion be damned.

“Do you like it?” Aziraphale asked, hands clasped hopefully in front of him.

“S’perfect,” Crowley breathed, clutching at the hem. And it was. It smelled like Aziraphale. With a final kiss, and a heavy heart, Crowley left.

The drive back to the airport felt shorter than the drive in and if Crowley cried the whole way, it didn’t matter, because there was no one there to see it.

Six weeks later

“How’s Spider?” Crowley asked, placing the phone on speaker and setting it on his chest as he laid down in bed.

“I finally got him neutered,” Aziraphale replied. Crowley heard some rustling through the line like he was adjusting too. “Honestly, the way he’s sulking reminds me quite a bit of you after your tumble.”

It was 9:30 in London which meant it was sometime in the afternoon for Aziraphale. They usually talked around this time. It was easiest for Aziraphale to get away from work and for Crowley to set aside time in the evening. Overall, their attempt at long distance had been going well. They texted constantly and spoke almost every day. Aziraphale didn’t act like he was tired of Crowley which was promising.

Crowley bristled. “Sulking. I hardly sulked.”

“Manfully complained,” Aziraphale corrected. “But the poor dear has been sleeping a great deal. I’ve been informed he’ll return to his usual energy levels soon, but it’s been rather boring without him zipping around the house.”

The bed audibly creaked on Aziraphale’s side of the phone line. Crowley liked hearing things like that. He liked that maybe they were both lying in bed halfway across the world from each other. “Have you heard anything else about the lodge?”

Crowley sighed. The whole lodge mess had become the thorn in his side. Every time the realtor emailed him to tell him someone was interested, it inevitably fell through because the potential buyer realized it was too much work. Right now, it looked like the thing would be a rotting lot on a hill that sucked Crowley dry with its property taxes.

“I’ll take that sound as a no.”

“Apparently, no eccentric millionaires want to buy a B&B in the middle of Oregon,” Crowley said, frustration coloring his voice.

“If I happened to be a millionaire, I'd buy it in a second,” Aziraphale said with his usual optimism.

Crowley sighed, this time a bit wistfully. He could see it almost too easily: Aziraphale waking up every day and greeting guests, giving out travel suggestions, sharing a little bit of local color with visitors. He’d be so happy.

He said as much and Aziraphale laughed.

“I’m not exactly qualified,” he admitted, “But I’m sure I’d enjoy it.”

Sometimes Crowley thought he would enjoy it too.

Late at night, 1 AM after a long day, Crowley pondered whether he really was the sort of person who liked that fast-paced, all or nothing, get it done or die trying environment. Back in his twenties, he had thrived on it.

But coming back from Oregon, he was beginning to see that maybe he'd started using that lifestyle as a distraction. He saw that the only joy he found in it anymore was the fact that it exhausted him and that it took away any time to think about the fact that he was getting old, that he was alone, that he was unhappy.

"So how's work been?" Crowley asked instead of saying any of that.

Aziraphale launched into an excited retelling of capturing a possum in room 206 at the Flamingo which was much funnier than Crowley's own tales of explaining to his colleagues how stupid it would be to switch asset management systems midway through the fiscal year. But Aziraphale listened and it was all very nice. It was also getting late and when they fell silent Crowley expected Aziraphale to end the phone call. Instead, he asked, voice hushed against the receiver,

"Would you touch yourself if I asked?"

Crowley snatched his phone off his chest and slapped it off speaker. As if anyone was going to hear the conversation. Heart racing fiercely, he demanded, "What?"

"I miss you," Aziraphale said again like this was any sort of normal conversation. "I want to hear you come for me. I know you can do it, darling. I imagine you're getting hard already."

Bugger all, Aziraphale was right. Crowley's briefs were tightening and he palmed his half-hard cock. His stomach fluttered with nerves as he said, "Aziraphale. Angel, I’ve not—phone sex isn’t really…"

"But you’re so good at talking," Aziraphale said, rolling his vowels in that way that brought out the strange hodge-podge of his accent. "You could talk about anything for hours."

"Stuff I know about," Crowley said, face going hot. He pushed his hair off his forehead and took a deep breath that did nothing to calm him. He could feel his resolve caving. It would be embarrassing and awful but for Aziraphale he would do it.

"Come now," Aziraphale chided. "You know about sex. You proved that quite effectively."

All of the air left Crowley in one long whoosh and he closed his eyes.

"I can start us off if you think that might make it easier. Of course, we don't have to do this at all if you're uncomfortable, " Aziraphale said and Crowley heard the slightest hitch in his voice and that was enough. That was it. He was done for.

"No. It's fine. I mean, alright. You start."

“Are you absolutely sure? I don’t want to pressure you—”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said with a sigh. “I’ve never tried it so I can’t say either way. I’m happy to try it for you though.”

Aziraphale hummed happily and started to talk.

"I had a very long day yesterday. Someone in Aurora is doing a barn restoration and they wanted to hire me for the fence work which is all well and good for the money but the drive is atrocious. Of course I did it. What else is there to do these days but I got home late and all I wanted was a long hot shower."

Crowley could see where this was going. Shower masturbation. A classic.

"I miss you whenever I come home. It was lovely to have you to come home to so you were already on my mind while I was getting undressed. It was easy to get distracted."

"Yeah?" Crowley asked, the word slipping out. He could picture Aziraphale's small bathroom filled with steam. Smell the perpetual pine scent.

"I thought about those days helping you shower. I wanted to get on my knees for you so badly," Aziraphale said, breath hitching again and while the words weren’t doing much for Crowley, the idea that they were affecting Aziraphale made his toes start to tingle and his stomach grew hot and heavy.

"Is this working?" Aziraphale asked. "Are you touching yourself?"

Crowley wasn’t, but he was certain Aziraphale was. "Are you?"

"Yes," Aziraphale confessed. "I’m thinking about your legs."

"My legs?" Confusion cut through the growing prickle of arousal as Aziraphale's breath picked up.

"I never got to feel them around my waist while I fucked you," Aziraphale said and Crowley heard the slick sound of his fist moving. When had lube gotten involved? His own cock twitched under a shocking wave of lust at the obscene wet noise.

"Holy shit.” He needed a free hand. “Hold on. Switching to speaker."

Crowley put his phone beside him.and slipped his hands into his briefs, palming his mostly hard cock and groaning at the touch. "I never got to fuck you either."

"Oh, good lord, do you want to?" The slick sounds slowed and Aziraphale's ragged breathing was all Crowley could hear. God, what he wouldn't give to feel Aziraphale on top of him. Kissing him.

"So much," Crowley gasped, riding another wave of sensation as Aziraphale breathed in his ear.

"Tell me how," Aziraphale said and he must have done something good because he groaned.

Crowley's brain shorted out. "I, er, I’d..."

"Would you use your hands first?" Aziraphale asked between small sounds.

"Do you like that?"

"Yes. I like it when I'm wet. Sloppy. Begging for it."

Crowley scrambled to keep up. "Then er, yeah. I'd start with my tongue. You liked that.”

Aziraphale moaned his name. Confidence slightly boosted, he continued, "And then my hand for as long as you can take it."

"Your fingers would feel so good. I've got one inside me now but it's not...yours would be better," Aziraphale moaned, causing Crowley to involuntarily stroke his cock at the image of Aziraphale on his bed in the middle of the day fingering himself in broad daylight.

"Tell me what you'd do to my cock," Aziraphale demanded in that sweet, breathy, prim voice.

"I’d suck you if you'd let me," Crowley said, surprising himself. "While I got you loose and ready for me."

"I'd let you do anything," Aziraphale said, quite far gone apparently.

Thinking it was going pretty well, Crowley said, "I think I'd want you on your hands and knees. I could play with your arse while I fucked you. Reach around and jerk your cock until you come all over your bed"

"Uh, Crowley, I'm close. Love, please."

"I’d fuck you exactly how you asked. As long as you wanted," Crowley said, cock forgotten in his hand as he listened to Aziraphale lose himself on the other end of the phone line. "Fast. Slow. How do you want it?"

"Slow and deep. I want to feel every inch of you," Aziraphale said, words coming apart between sounds of pleasure. "Tell me you'd give it to me."

"Er," Crowley said, gobsmacked. Talk like that wasn’t particularly sexy. But he’d say it. "I'd give it to you."

"Tell me youd fuck me with your huge cock."

Crowley grimaced but Aziraphale sounded very into it, so he said with as much conviction as he could muster, "I’d fuck you with my huge cock."

Aziraphale groaned, a long stuttering sound. Then it was just his labored breathing for a long moment before he asked, "Did you come?"

"Erm," Crowley hesitated. "No."

"You didn't like it, did you?"

"Well…"

"It's not for everyone."

"I mean it was alright," Crowley said. "The bit at the end was a little much. Huge cocks and all. Bit hyperbolic, that."

Aziraphale was silent for a moment. "I will admit I got a bit carried away but I think you might be misguided as to the size of your penis."

"I mean…" Crowley thought back to his admittedly small handful (no pun intended) of previous partners with dicks. "I guess I'm above average."

"I'd say you were on the larger side of large.” Aziraphale scoffed. “Goodness, before we were together and I was helping you wash your hair in the shower, your briefs wet through and I got a fairly good picture of what you had in your drawers. To be quite honest, I thought I might faint."

Crowley thanked his lucky stars they were on the phone and Aziraphale couldn't see his blush. His whole torso felt hot. He made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat.

"Oh, you're making those silly noises of yours," Aziraphale said with delight. "I miss those."

Crowley harrumphed. "I don't make silly noises."

"Yes, dear," Aziraphale said, the very picture of condescension. "Now where were we? I believe I was going to attempt to bring you to orgasm with my voice if you're amenable?"

"Ngk," Crowley said.

Aziraphale mumbled something that sounded like no silly noises before asking, "I presume discussion of cocks doesn't exactly do it for you?"

"I mean not my cock," Crowley said, shifting around and trying to get a bit of air flow. His back was discomfitingly sweaty. "Your cock though? Might do."

Crowley could practically hear Aziraphale's smile. "Well, it's rather spent at the moment. You made quite a mess of me."

Crowley's dick twitched hopefully.

"I'd love it if I could kiss you right now," Aziraphale said and somehow that was it, the right tack exactly. Crowley exhaled.

"I'd like that too."

"Softly at first. I know you like that," Aziraphale said. "And then your neck. Your beautiful collar bones. My beard would leave all sorts of red marks behind. Would you like that?"

Crowley's eyes fluttered shut and he slipped his hand into his drawers. "Yes," Crowley said, gasping through the first stroke to his cock.

"I'd kiss your beautiful chest. All the way down to your gorgeous hips. Until you were hard. Are you hard for me, my dear."

"Yes." Maybe this was less embarrassing than Crowley thought.

"Just touch yourself and think of me," Aziraphale said and of course Crowley was thinking of him. His plush stomach. The furry soft center of his chest. Crowley was still torn between whether Aziraphale’s thighs looked better with or without jeans but in his mind's eye they were bare, dusted in soft gold hair. Crowley's hands were on them. Oh, he was picturing that time after the bar, eating Aziraphale out. The image flickered into something different. Aziraphale after a shower. White gold curls slicked back, a towel around his waist. Crowley could touch the soft curve at his side where his fat folded slightly. Love handles.

This wasn't so different really than what Crowley did in the shower every few days except Aziraphale was listening, occasionally saying soft, encouraging endearments that made it better.

"Oh, god, Aziraphale, I'm close. Please," he hissed, jerking up into his hand. He needed something. Just a little more and he'd be there. He wished he could kiss Aziraphale. Completely soppy. Done for.

"Darling, you're doing so well," Aziraphale said. "I love listening to you."

Crowley’s back arched, muscles locking as he came in hot pulses over his fist, soft pleasure radiating through him. He closed his eyes until his breathing evened out and then cleaned himself up with tissues from his nightstand. "I guess that's one more long distance relationship thing to check off the list."

"What? Phone sex?" Aziraphale asked, sounding distinctly amused.

"Yeah,” Crowley said. He tossed the dirty kleenex towards the wastebasket, grimacing when he missed.

Aziraphale snorted. "I didn't know you were keeping a list."

"Course I am. Got all sorts of lists. Now we just need to mark off ghosting each other instead of actually breaking up and we'll get full marks,” Crowley said, regretting the words even as they left his mouth. They were a joke but they were in poor taste. Aziraphale probably knew they were a joke. He knew Crowley had a dark sense of humor. He still shouldn’t be making jokes about breaking up. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

Aziraphale made a thoughtful noise but the tone of the silence between them grew tight. Stomach dropping, Crowley stared at his ceiling and began to run through the series of inevitable conversations he was certain were about to happen.

"Crowley." That didn't sound like a you’re in trouble voice. But it did sound serious.

"Yeah, angel?" Crowley replied in a facsimile of a light tone.

"I love you."

That was not in the list of inevitable conversations Crowley had been expecting. He had no practiced response. Instead, he made a guttural punched-out noise. He might not not have a response at the ready but he knew one. It was just stuck in the middle of his throat, drowned in shock.

"You don't have to say it back," Aziraphale said, voice wavering slightly. "But it...it dawned on me the other day that you probably didn't know. And that you deserved to. I don't fall for people easily, Crowley, and for whatever reason I keep thinking you've got this idea that I have one foot out the door. It's quite the opposite I assure you."

"Oh."

Trying to pluck the words from around the tightening in his throat, Crowley squeezed his eyes shut. His last boyfriend had said he loved him but that had been nearly a decade ago. Before their relationship fizzled into nothing. Before Crowley's meager heart wasn't enough.

"Crowley, are you alright?"

"Bit overwhelmed," Crowley finally managed to say.

Aziraphale’s strained laugh tore at Crowley’s heart. "I suppose I should have expected that."

Crowley exhaled and focused on his breathing. He needed to say it back. He wanted to say it back. "I love you too, you know. Hard not to."

“Well, that’s a rousing endorsement,” Aziraphale said wryly and Crowley heard the thread of disappointment beneath it. He was fucking this up monumentally.

“No, it’s—I do.”

Aziraphale sighed, sounding very tired indeed.

“Look, I’m not good at the...at the feelings stuff,” Crowley said, scrabbling for a way to explain himself. “You know that. I put my foot in it constantly back in Pine Grove and I’m doing it now. But I do. Love you. Being with you...just talking to you, it makes my heart feel like it’s too big. Like looking out at the ocean and the stars and there’s just everything and it’s all too much and you never want to leave. That’s what it feels like. Euphoric. All the time.”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s tone had shifted entirely, from disappointed to slightly choked up. “That’s so sweet.”

Crowley groaned. This was why he didn’t do feelings stuff. Embarrassing.

But maybe it was a little less embarrassing because Aziraphale loved him back.

Three weeks later

Crowley didn't want to admit that he was looking at rings but his browser history was damning. He’d googled: best rings for manual labor. Safe wedding bands for carpenters and plumbers.

Pathetic.

Aziraphale had said he loved him once and Crowley was trolling the internet for wedding bands. They lived in different countries. Crowley had yet to broach the topic of moving. He had yet to find a suitable job in Portland or anywhere near Aziraphale.

Fucked. It was all fucked.

He sighed and dropped his head into his hands.

"You ok, boss?"

He peered through his fingers as Erik poked his head in through his office door. "Do I look ok?"

Erik gave him a sympathetic smile. "No. But you have a meeting with Beez in five and I thought you'd want a warning."

Crowley groaned and pulled out his phone. He looked at the last thing Aziraphale had sent him to fortify himself. A goodnight text.

He needed to figure this out. Gathering his courage, he typed out, hey can we start planning my next visit?

He slammed his phone into his desk drawer before he could be embarrassed and rushed out of his office to the meeting room Erik helpfully directed him towards.

He was done. Fucking done. Maybe he'd quit and live on his savings until something else came up. His stomach roiled with anxiety at the thought so he stuffed it away. Okay, no quitting then. There had to be other options.

Pasting on his best executive smile, he slid into the meeting room, ready to tell Beez that they were, under no uncertain terms, not going to install a new document management system.

An hour later, disgusted with that fact that no one would listen to him, he snatched his phone from his desk and found a text waiting for him.

I would love for you to come visit if it works with your schedule! Let’s chat tonight? x

Two weeks later

Having planned to visit Aziraphale worked wonders on keeping Crowley calm at work. That being said, he still often found himself wanting to throw his laptop out the window.

You’re leaving this weekend and you won’t have to deal with any of this for a week, he reminded himself as he opened yet another broken link provided by the stupid vendor Beez had selected.

His cell started to ring. Generally angry with everything in the universe, Crowley snatched up his phone and hissed, "What?"

A timid voice said, "Uh, is this Anthony Crowley?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"This is Morningstar Law calling about your uncle’s will. Do you have a moment?"

Crowley scrubbed at his forehead. More bullshit on a bullshit day. "Sure."

What the fuck else was he supposed to do? Hang up on the poor kid?

"Right.” Some papers shuffling. “You see, there was a second will we had to tease out and it seems, alongside the property outside Pine Grove, Mr. King set up a trust to be given to be managed by the deed holder. With a few caveats."

Crowley vaguely remembered the nonsense about a second will but it had been months and he had been certain nothing would come of it. "A trust?"

"Yes," the voice on the other end said. "We can fax the documents but the long and short of it is that it seems like Mr. King wanted someone to get the property in Pine Grove in working order and then...run it. The money is really only for the business."

His hand started to shake where it clutched the phone. Every door to every option for moving to Oregon that Crowley had dismissed began to open. "So there's more money to fix up the lodge. Not just the original one hundred thousand,” he said, trying to make sure he understood. “Because that ran out."

The person laughed. "Yes. I'd say there's quite a bit more."

"You'd better send me that paperwork," Crowley said.

Crowley rattled off the office's fax number and after he hung up he looked at his screen and saw a text from Aziraphale.

Missing you and can’t wait to see you soon! x

Chapter Text

Crowley tried to sleep on the flight. He really did. And given that the whole ordeal totaled about twenty hours, the fact that he managed about five hours of sleep given his manic state deserved an award.

He’d done it. He’d just...given notice. It was a stupid thing to do without a plan. He hadn’t even talked to Aziraphale. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t find another job in London if Aziraphale chucked him but he’d had a job.

You have a safety net, you’re going to be okay, this isn’t the end of the world.

Regardless, his fingers itched to dial Beez just to see if maybe, just maybe they might want him back.

He’d gone and fucked up his life for a decrepit lodge in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Because you’re in love, whispered the useless voice in his head as he swallowed his third whiskey soda hoping it would slow the shaking of his hands.

That third drink did knock him out for a few hours but he woke up with a gummy mouth just in time to go through customs and transfer planes at SEATAC and text Aziraphale his flight was on time.

Aziraphale sent back a string of heart emojis that made Crowley’s stomach twist up.

Why hadn’t he talked to his boyfriend before doing any of this?

Pushing through the crowd disembarking the plane, Crowley’s hands began to sweat. His knees began to sweat. He reminded himself he hated his job. This was for the best. He was turning over a new leaf regardless of how Aziraphale felt about it.

That didn’t stop the heart palpitations.

It didn’t help that, tied up with all the nerves, was the deep set excitement at seeing Aziraphale after three months apart. Crowley hadn’t expected the relationship to last that long and yet here they were. They loved each other. Crowley was visiting. Aziraphale wanted him to.

After a minute of convincing himself that his eyes didn't look too red in the mirror, he splashed water on his face in the bathroom and left the terminal. Slipping between the crowd spilling through the doors, he exited to the arrivals floor. The early evening sun was setting outside the floor to ceiling windows, bathing the whole airport in light. He blinked as his eyes adjusted before his gaze finally caught on Aziraphale, standing among the crowd. His whole body was outlined in light, blond hair brushed back from his face and, even backlit, Crowley could see the brightness of his blue eyes. He saw Crowley and smiled.

Crowley had no idea who crossed the room but barely a breath passed before he was engulfed in a hug. His bag dropped at Aziraphale’s feet as Crowley clutched his hands around his back, hands spread wide over the soft texture of his blue and yellow flannel.

"Hi, angel," Crowley said into Aziraphale's shoulder.

"I missed you, love," Aziraphale said, not releasing him from the hug but pulling back slightly to kiss the corner of his jaw. The familiar smell of Aziraphale's beard oil washed over him and it was just like coming home.

Finally, they parted and Aziraphale said, "Best get a move on. We're wasting daylight."

They picked up Crowley’s bag downstairs, barely able to stop touching each other, holding hands, a brush of knuckles over each other's hips. They must have looked like fools to everyone around them but for once in his life Crowley didn't very much care if he looked like a fool. It was just that Aziraphale was there. With his sleeves rolled up, pretty forearms and gorgeous hands hoisting Crowley’s suitcase from the conveyor. Crowley couldn't tear his eyes from Aziraphale's back as they walked to the parking deck to find his truck. He hadn't forgotten the hypnotic powers of that X of his braces across his broad back but seeing it again replaced the nervous squirming in Crowley’s stomach with an entirely different type of squirm.

Aziraphale lifted his suitcase into the truck bed while Crowley waited in the cab. The minute the door shut, Crowley asked, “Can I kiss you?”

Aziraphale paused and laughed, a tiny huff. “Of course, my dear.”

Crowley scooted over the small space in between them and drew Aziraphale into a kiss that was not nearly as filthy as he wanted it to be. But they were in a brightly lit parking garage and the sort of kissing Crowley wanted to get up to would be deeply conspicuous. As it was, he savored the scrape of Aziraphale’s beard over his chin, brushing his mouth over Aziraphale’s lower lip and just dipping his tongue inside.

He’d never felt like a particularly good kisser but the way Aziraphale moaned and melted into him was high praise indeed. He withdrew before he gave into the urge to crawl into Aziraphale’s lap.

“That was very nice,” Aziraphale said breathlessly as Crowley tore himself away.

They pulled out onto the highway towards Pine Grove, chatting about the flight and Crowley tried to not seem too weird, but was probably failing. Finally, Aziraphale took an exit and pulled into a diner, insisting Crowley eat something.

It was the sort of 24-hour place that had a rotating pie shelf and waitstaff who wore kitschy aprons. The sort of place that made Aziraphale giddy. Crowley couldn’t care less but was happy enough to watch Aziraphale order pie and coffee. He ordered himself a turkey sandwich, resolving to eat a little just so Aziraphale wouldn’t worry.

It turned out Aziraphale worried anyway because Crowley picked at his sandwich until finally, Aziraphale set down his fork and wiped the corner of his mouth with the inadequate paper napkin.

“Would you like to tell me what’s got you in a mood?”

Crowley ripped another piece of turkey out of his sandwich and grimaced before wiping his fingers on his own napkin. He was going to fuck this up. In this middle-of-nowhere diner.

“I might have...some news.”

He glanced at Aziraphale and caught the end of a worried expression as it flitted across his face. “Good or bad?”

“Depends,” Crowley said. He took a long drink of water to whet his swiftly drying mouth. Rip the bandaid off. Come on. No matter what happens, Aziraphale won’t be a dick. He’s not like that.

“I got news. About the lodge.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, sitting back in the booth. “That’s hardly life altering information. I thought something terrible had happened.”

“Wait ‘til I finish,” Crowley said.

And then he explained. All about the money and the lodge and the call with the lawyers. Aziraphale’s expression grew flatter and flatter until Crowley blurted out, “And that was it. I quit my job. And now I’m here. And sort of hoping that you want me to stay. And that you might want to run a bed and breakfast and part time ski lodge with me.”

When Aziraphale just stared at him, Crowley nattered on, “Of course there’s all the paperwork and citizenship nonsense to work out and I’d have to find somewhere to live. I’m not assuming anything. I mean unless you’d be okay with it. Would you be okay with it?”

Aziraphale stood abruptly and snatched Crowley’s wrist, dragging him out of the booth and across the diner and into the...bathroom?

“What are you— “

Aziraphale slammed the door shut and backed Crowley against it, kissing him fiercely. “You impulsive idiot.”

“Is that a yes?”

Aziraphale kissed him again, hands pressing up under the hem of his shirt, touching his stomach, his sides. He shivered.

With a sucking kiss to his neck that would definitely leave a mark, Aziraphale dropped to his knees and made quick work of his belt. Any other day Crowley would have protested. But he’d been thinking of getting Aziraphale off since they’d gotten into the truck and with Aziraphale looking up at him with his pretty blue eyes Crowley couldn’t say no. Why would he say no to his pretty boyfriend giving him a suck job in the loo anyway? He wasn’t an idiot.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he said as he sank one hand into Aziraphale’s curls. Aziraphale pushed into the touch, acknowledging it, accepting it, before unzipping Crowley’s trousers and nuzzling him through his drawers. “I’ve been on a plane for twenty hours so if you don’t want to—”

“I couldn’t care less,” Aziraphale said, finally tugging down his pants and sucking him down in one go. Crowley’s head thumped against the door as his hand involuntarily tightened in Aziraphale’s hair. The wet heat of Aziraphale’s mouth blanked out everything else and Crowley let it.

When he came, Aziraphale swallowed it down, hands on Crowley’s arse, insistent. Afterward, he fell back on his heels, eyes shining, mouth wet as Crowley put himself away, limbs feeling a bit like well-cooked noodles. Aziraphale wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood, allowing Crowley to pull him into a kiss.

“You’re really alright with this?” Crowley asked when they parted.

“Crowley, if you’re alright with it, and it allows you to move here, then I am over the moon,” Aziraphale said. They kissed again and Aziraphale added, “Let’s go home.”

Crowley’s heart soared. He hadn’t fucked up. This wasn’t a mistake. In fact, this was perfect.

Before they could get distracted again, Crowley said, “You should probably head out to the car.” He brushed Aziraphale’s hair back from his face. It was rather wild where Crowley had been tugging at it. “You look like you’ve been giving blow jobs in the loo.”

Aziraphale blew a raspberry but left without much of a fuss.

Crowley got their leftovers boxed up, and ordered a lemon meringue pie to go. He thought Aziraphale would enjoy the extra treat.

He deserved it.

Eight weeks later

"Aziraphale, we need to get over to the lodge and meet the contractor," Crowley hollered from the door as he shrugged on his jacket. The weather was turning cold as winter approached and even the jacket he’d bought with Aziraphale earlier in the year was starting to not be enough.

When Aziraphale didn’t reply, he sighed. They would never be on time to anything if Crowley didn’t keep them on schedule. Now that they were working together, Crowley was learning all sorts of things about Aziraphale that hadn’t been clear during his impromptu vacation in the spring. Mostly that Aziraphale was high maintenance, sometimes spending up to half an hour deciding on an outfit just to go snake a drain. Crowley didn’t get it, but, then again, he couldn’t complain about the end result. His angel was handsome.

Crowley had also learned that country life suited him as long as he had things to do and getting a building ready for enthusiastic tourists definitely constituted things to do. He hadn’t ever thought he’d be the sort of person to be happy to wake up at 6 AM just to drive a truck two miles down a dirt road to remove rotted wood from a decrepit porch, but he was doing it and he loved it. He might be sore and irritated at every contractor named Bob in a 100 mile radius, but it was better than he could have ever dreamed because he didn’t have to touch any spreadsheets or talk about document managements systems and when he came home at 7 PM, it was to his beautiful boyfriend and his glorious cooking and sweet kisses.

God, he was a sap.

“Aziraphale,” he said again, trotting up the stairs to retrieve his erstwhile boyfriend. He froze. Aziraphale was kneeling by the wooden chest by the bed, looking like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar except said child had knocked the entire cookie jar to the ground.

"Crowley," Aziraphale yelped, trying to snatch whatever he had dropped. It rolled forward and came to a stop in front of Crowley's feet.

"Erm," Crowley said as the ring plinked onto the ground by his big toe. "Is that…"

"Yes," Aziraphale said, heaving himself onto the edge of the bed. "You weren't supposed to find out. I was going to ask at Christmas."

"It’s only been eight months," Crowley said. Stupid thing to say. Why would he point out reasons to not get married when he’d been thinking about it for months?

"I believe people often say when you know, you know," Aziraphale said like the matter was casual and Crowley wasn’t about to fucking hyperventilate in the middle of the loft. "And I know."

Crowley looked down at the little black ring on the ground and fought a wave of dizziness.

"Me?" he asked incredulously.

"You."

He pictured it. Waking up every day in this cabin next to his husband before going off to manage the lodge’s final renovations and then one day, its reopening. He pictured coming home to Aziraphale every day. The rest of his life, stretched out in this log cabin, a low fire burning, Aziraphale’s hand in his.

It was unbelieve to think that he could have this happiness for the rest of his life and yet here Aziraphale was, offering it to him, easy as anything

"Yes, of course, yeah. Let's get married," Crowley said, unable to stop the grin that spread over his face.

Aziraphale grinned too. It was beautiful.