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"Ooh, what a lovely pair of radishes!"
Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses and planted a hand on his cocked hip.
"Were you going to make a decision, angel? Or are we just going to wander the earth, searching for perfect…"
"Locally sourced organic produce."
"Organic produce, yeah, like forever?"
"There is a protocol to be...oh, would you look at that!"
Aziraphale placed his hand, without warning, on his arm. Crowley tried not to react as every molecule of his corporeal being sang at the touch. How he longed for these touches. Given out so freely by Aziraphale - lovingly even. He didn't used to do that.
"Would you look at that Crowley! An amusingly shaped parsnip! Oh that is rather droll, I must say."
Crowley gave the protuberance a cursory glance, his eyes quickly drawn back to the pleasure on Aziraphale's face.
Aziraphale had not only entered Crowley's produce into the county fair, but had also, one might say rather miraculously, finagled his way onto the judging panel. He was enjoying himself rather too much, but Crowley couldn't find it in him to refuse. Not when he had seen the gleam in his angel's eye when he decided that Crowley's vegetables were prize worthy.
It's funny how root vegetables responded so well to coercion. They positively burrowed into the heavy clay of the allotment in their efforts to both please their overlord, and escape his wrath. Not that Aziraphale was to know. Crowley wasn't lying when he said that he hadn't used any chemicals. A bit of demonic persuasion proved wonders for producing carrots that grew a great deal straighter than some of the other entries.
He was rather proud of his vegetables, not that he would let on. The fact that Aziraphale knew was immaterial. Aziraphale always just knew when something was important to him. Right at this moment, Aziraphale was bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.
Crowley despaired at his inability to be cool, but couldn't deny it was kind of *nice* to have someone in his corner. Lovely even. A lot more things in his life had been lovely of late. Crowley kept his eyes on Aziraphale. He had his thumbs tucked into the little pockets of his fawn waistcoat in that way that he had when he was proud about something, and was checking his pocket watch with what pre-almost-apocalypse Crowley would have thought was annoying regularity. Present day Crowley just found it endearing. He really was a lovesick fool.
He found himself wanting to win a prize in order to please him, rather than to just have something to set in his greenhouse as something for the plants to aim for. While his vegetables were clearly superior, a little edge of unease niggled at him.
"You'd let me lose, if it came to it, yeah?" Crowley said, turning his head away to show it wasn't a big deal, "Hypothetically, I mean."
Aziraphale looked aghast, "But why would you lose Crowley? How could you think such a thing!"
Crowley glared at Mr Tolbert across the way. He had seen him giving Aziraphale one to many appreciative glances. Crowley arched a brow and the end of Mr Tolbert's golf club tie found its way into his tea cup. Crowley turned back to Aziraphale, knowing full well that Darjeeling was a bugger to get out of silk.
"You may not think it, but I believe in you, Crowley," Aziraphale continued, a flush creeping up his neck, both hands now on Crowley's forearm, "If you're just patient, everything will work out."
Crowley looked down at Aziraphale's soft hands, the weight of them as comforting as his words. Aziraphale looked at Crowley beseechingly and lifted his palms in submission. "No interference from me required!"
After several more torturous minutes of examining marrows, Crowley peeled Aziraphale away with the promise of provisions.
The scent of fried dough and powdered sugar lingered in the lazy midsummer air, the lightest of breezes pleasant on his face. He watched how it ruffled the hair around Aziraphale's temples, like little kisses. Aziraphale was right to come here.
'A grand day out', he had promised a few days earlier when he came to bring Crowley his midmorning tea and shortbread out on the allotment. It really had been a miracle that his entries had been allowed at such short notice.
Crowley breathed in the scent of sizzling dough and steered Aziraphale in its direction with a hand hovering just shy of the small of his back, walking his most languorous of walks to bask in the moment. A moment of pure contentment, the Crowley version of being arm in arm with the man he loved by his side. This perfect moment of stillness in motion; in no particular hurry, but with a gentle purpose of finding his angel something delicious to eat so that he could enjoy watching the delight on his face. It was, truly, a deviant act to witness.
"You do promise we have time," Aziraphale said, without much fervour, "I really shouldn't be abandoning my duties…"
"Oh, poppycock, angel," Crowley answered on cue, giving him the out he desired, "all the time in the world!"
"It will be something scrumptious, darling, won't it?" Aziraphale said with gleeful eyes, fingers already covered in powdered sugar in his mind.
Oh, Crowley thought, he was going to enjoy this.
The fun continued as Aziraphale licked the last of the sugar off of his fingertips, miracled the paper bag away and accepted the monogrammed handkerchief that Crowley presented from his breast pocket.
"Why thank you, Crowley. I do feel refreshed after that. They were rather delectable, don't you think?"
"Hmm," Crowley murmured dryly, "Quite."
He was distracted by movement in the crowd around the main show area. A black and white sheepdog was skirting the outer edges of the field, its stomach low to the ground. It had spotted something, or was herding something, but there were no sheep to be seen. Crowley went on the alert.
"Well, I'll be!" Az said in wonder, "She's herding ducks, Crowley. Ducks!"
The people in front cleared space for them without being asked, so that Aziraphale could get a better look. Crowley too, of course, because he was there also, but Aziraphale's childlike wonder at a new discovery was something he needed room for.
He was positively giddy as he watched the ducks, which to Crowley's eye were even more stupid than sheep, refusing to be herded neatly on the basis that they were too stupid to live. He frowned at them. Goats. Now goats had style. They could definitely do this with goats. Goats could be led. They were smart. Not like sheep, who couldn't take a hint to just follow, like any kid could do as soon as it could stand.
He squinted with one eye, and the officious looking ducks congregated into a loose formation and proceeded to complete the course with encouragement from the crowd. There, that would do it.
Aziraphale clapped his hands.
"Well, I'll be," he repeated to himself quietly, before turning his attention to Crowley. "That was fun!"
Crowley allowed himself a little smile and waved a dramatic bow in the direction of the judging tent.
"Shall we?"
"We shall," Aziraphale said with a regal nod, a mercurial gleem returning to his eye, "We shall indeed!"