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“Crowleeeey!”
At the pleading wail, Crowley glanced up from his sketchbook. “Mm?”
Aziraphale bustled into the living room in a flour-dusted blue apron, pouting, wringing his hands. “Oh, I just don’t know what to do!”
Crowley abandoned his pencil and sketchbook next to the fern he’d been drawing. Drawing was a nice way to unwind, but his angel needed rescue—and rescuing Aziraphale was an invigorating addition to an already perfect day. Snuggling in bed this morning, hanging out together on the sofa watching Golden Girls for most of the day, and now this. “Dunno what to do about what?”
With a plaintive huff, Aziraphale waved towards the kitchen. “Well, I-I wanted to make a nice apple crisp.”
Crowley rose. This sounded like an ingredient shortage, and he could take care of that. Easier and more relaxing than rescuing Aziraphale from real danger, although that could be fun too. “What’s stopping you?”
“Well, I don’t have any apples!” Aziraphale twisted his hands together, pouting. “I can hardly make an apple crisp if I don’t have any apples.”
That was even easier to fix than most ingredient shortages. Crowley closed the gap between them in a few casual, relaxed strides, then swooped to kiss Aziraphale’s cheek. “Relax, angel. I’ve got this.”
“Ah! You are such a dear.” Aziraphale gazed up at him through his lashes, playing innocent. As if this wasn’t his exact intention. “I suppose we do have an apple tree…”
“Yep.” Crowley kissed his cheek again, then fished his sunglasses from a pocket and slipped them on. “You get the rest of the ingredients together, and I’ll have those apples for you in a second.”
“Oh, would you?” Aziraphale said, still with that innocent look. “You are so very sweet, Crowley.”
“Demons aren’t sweet,” Crowley called as he shouldered the door open.
He stalked up to the apple tree and ran a critical eye across it. Evaluated the color of the leaves, the height of the crown, the shape of the bark. And, most importantly, the size of the apples.
“You call those apples?” he said in a cold, sharp tone. “You need to do better than that. My angel wants an apple crisp, and he’s going to have the best apples possible. Isn’t he?”
The apples apologetically expanded to a more acceptable size. Crowley eyed the tree for several more seconds, just to make the point about proper behavior, then miracled a basket and picked a dozen of the near-perfect apples. He turned each one over in his hand, smoothing away any minor defects with a glare.
Now they were perfect. Basket dangling from one hand, he sauntered back down the stone garden path and to the cottage.
Aziraphale was in the kitchen humming to himself, and Crowley paused at the door. He closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh, listening to his angel. Gosh, he loved his angel, loved to see him so happy. This was perfect too.
Crowley easily could have listened to that joyful humming all day, but he did have a job to do. He adopted his usual cool guy expression and strode into the kitchen, holding out the basket of apples. “Mission accomplished.”
“Oh, Crowley! That was very fast.” Aziraphale took the apples from him, set the basket on the table, and looked through the selection. “Oh, you do grow the most beautiful fruits. These are perfect.”
“All my plants know better than to disappoint me.” Crowley directed a stern look at the herbs in the kitchen windowsill. The basil might need a lecture, wasn’t growing quite as fast as the others. “Isn’t that right, basil?”
“Crowley, do stop intimidating the herbs and come help me with this,” Aziraphale said in a fussy, needy tone.
The exact tone that Crowley would never, ever say “no” to. He came to stand behind his angel, wrapped both arms around him, and pressed his face into the fluffy hair. “M’ helping. Hugs always help.”
Aziraphale let out a delighted peal of laughter and leaned back against him. The warmth of his love filled the kitchen, and Crowley basked it in like he’d bask on a rock in the sunlight. “Oh, you precious old serpent. Give me a kiss, and then help me prepare these apples, would you?”
“Anything for my angel.” Crowley stepped to the side and curled a finger under Aziraphale’s chin, tilting his head back. Aziraphale gazed at him with a sweet, wonderfully thrilled expression, and Crowley melted from happiness.
He brushed his lips against Aziraphale’s, then pressed more kisses to his cheek, his brow, the top of his head. Then, lightning fast, he bent and kissed a ticklish spot on his neck.
“Crowley!” Giggling, Aziraphale collapsed into his arms. “For that, you owe me a longer hug. And then you’ll cut up all the apples for me.”
Crowley pulled him close, unable to stop a full grin from breaking out across his face. “I can live with that.”
It was a perfect day. All their days were perfect now.