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There was nothing Aziraphale Fell loved more than falling asleep to a good book.
Reading a few chapters before bed had become such a habit that it was now a part of his nightly ritual, and he was worried he wouldn’t be able to sleep unless he got his fix of bedtime stories at this point.
But the reality of it was impractical. One too many times he had woken to find his books had slipped off his lap in his chair and fallen to the floor, or were precariously balanced on a side table next to a glass of water that threatened to spill all over the pages.
Nothing bad had happened yet to his beloved tomes, but the alternative didn’t bear thinking. God forbid the next time a book took a tumble the pages were to crumple, or - heavens above - tear!
He’d spent the morning fretting over a close call with his copy of Paradise Lost. It was a particular favourite he was currently re-reading, which he had almost stepped on getting out of bed. That was when his neighbour and dear friend Maggie suggested he try out audiobooks.
“Oh yes, they’re wonderful! I’ve never been a big reader myself - too fidgety for it - but I like to potter around with my headphones in listening instead. Goes much faster. Here,” she reached for his phone and downloaded an app, “there is a free trial and you can download as many as you want.”
Aziraphale was wary. It felt almost blasphemous to be listening to audiobooks as the owner of an old-school bookshop when damn technology was destroying his trade left, right, and centre. And there was just something so wonderful about the act of reading a physical book. Cradling the pages whilst sipping from a cup of tea curled up in a comfy armchair. It was one of Aziraphale’s greatest joys in life.
But as he got into bed that night he figured he would make this one exception to the rule. Just as a trial. The only thing he loved more than the act of reading was maintaining his precious collection of books, and he really didn’t want to ruin any of his favourites. Plus, he guessed it was good to try new things occasionally. Though the ever traditional Aziraphale was still unconvinced on that score…
Popping his AirPods into his ears, he settled into the comfort of the thick sheets and selected the version of Paradise Lost he had downloaded, skipping through until he reached Book IV where he left off.
‘Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell; And in the lowest deep a lower deep, Still threat’ning to devour me, opens wide, To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.’
Aziraphale’s eyes shot open. Oh that voice! It was like butterscotch, or the feeling of getting into a hot bath after a long day. He could revel in it forever, drown in it.
The deep, smoky voice felt like it was speaking to him and him alone. Every word trickled down his spine making him shiver.
It felt like temptation .
In all his re-reads of Paradise Lost, he’d never felt so much kinship with Eve. He’d have bitten into that apple too if Satan had been whispering sweet nothings into his ear like this. And he would’ve enjoyed the Fall.
‘O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams, That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell; how glorious once above thy sphere; Till pride and worse ambition threw me down, Warring in heaven against heaven’s matchless King.’
Aziraphale found himself wondering over that voice. There was something grand in his delivery, hinting perhaps at Shakespearean training? But it was tempered by a gravel, a grit, that brought Satan’s anguish and rage to life in a way that took his breath away.
It was more than anything he could have imagined in his wildest dreams, and as he drifted off to sleep with that voice crooning in his ear he wondered whether he would ever go back to reading physical books again if he could have this man read to him each night instead…
It was the start of what quickly became an unhealthy obsession.
He had started taking to afternoon naps, and his bedtimes had been creeping earlier and earlier so he could spend time lost in the luxurious silkiness of that voice. Paradise Lost was a long poem, but Aziraphale was racing through each Book faster than he thought humanly possible.
When he wasn’t actively trying to sleep, he spent his waking moments day-dreaming over that voice and its owner, enjoying mentally reliving particular passages in his head while he went about his business. It was driving him to distraction, and on more than one occasion he caught himself lost in thought. Hell, on more than one occasion he’d been caught with his head in the clouds by others.
Just the other day, he’d been getting his usual afternoon drink order from across the road when Nina and Maggie had cornered him, asking what was causing him to look so lost in thought all the time at the moment.
“Has a gentleman caught your eye, Mr Fell?” Maggie asked conspiratorially.
Aziraphale stammered at the question. “Oh, no nothing like that my dears. Quite. No, no, you know me, nothing I love more than getting lost in a good book is all.” He had blushed riotously and left in a hurried blush, leaving Maggie and Nina rather perplexed in his wake.
This particular morning, Aziraphale was up early for the standing delivery of new books for the shop. It was simultaneously his least favourite and most favourite day of the month. On the one hand, it was always a joy to discover the new editions that would be joining his little collection. But on the other, he was most certainly not a morning person and found the need for a caffeine pick-me-up was becoming urgent.
He grabbed his coat and rubbed his eyes mindlessly as he made his way over the road to stand in line. He grumbled at the queue. It was never this busy in the afternoons…
Aziraphale was attempting to blink away the sleep from his eyes whilst pondering what type of sugary monstrosity would be the most effective way to jump start his sluggish brain when he heard it.
“Usual please Nina, love.”
He freezes.
He knows that voice. Would recognise it anywhere.
How? Well, because he falls asleep to it every night without fail.
“It’s you…”
“You talking to me, angel?”
The man in front of him in the queue turned on his heels and Aziraphale’s inhale caught in his throat. He’d fancied himself quite in love with that voice, but now he knew that he was about to fall head-first for the man who owned it.
The gentleman in question was incredibly tall and thin, with shocking red hair that had clearly been coiffed with great care to sit just right, whilst still giving the illusion that he may well have simply woken up looking like that. He was wearing all black, looking like he’d been poured into the skinny jeans that hung around those jutting hip bones Aziraphale had a strange but urgent desire to press his thumbs into as he made his way down the man’s frame...
He choked mildly at the inappropriate train of thought he found himself in, and desperately hoped he hadn’t been checking the man out quite as brazenly as he was sure he had been.
“Ah, so sorry. Thought I recognised… My mistake, apologies.”
“Not a problem,” the man pushed his sunglasses up his nose, hiding the glimpse of pale eyes behind what were quite frankly very extra looking Victorian-looking frames. “I get that a lot,” and with a smirk that should be criminal, he grabbed his coffee and sauntered past out the door.
Aziraphale clutched his bow-tie, making sure it wasn’t skewed as he tried in vain to catch his breath.
The sound of fellow customers griping behind him snapped him out of his reverie, prompting him to move to the front of the queue.
“Early for you to be here, Mr Fell. What brings you here at this hour?” Nina knew the bookseller across the road to be, shall we say, indulgent when it came to business hours - often opening up at 11 or later before coming for an afternoon pick me up order of tea or hot chocolate. Mr Fell didn’t seem the morning-coffee-fix type.
“Nina, do you know who that man was?”
“You mean Mr Triple Espresso with a single shot of honey? Always gives the name ‘Crowley’ with his order before heading towards the recording studio across the way. Why do you ask?”
“Oh heavens, he’s been so close all this time…”
“Are you feeling quite well, Mr Fell?” she enquired with genuine concern, as the poor bookseller seemed beyond flustered.
“Quite right, yes. Goodbye Nina.” With that, he walked back to his bookshop in a daze, unable to hear her calling after him asking if he still wanted a coffee or not.
That night as Aziraphale settled into bed, he paused before pressing play on the audiobook. Was it voyeuristic to lose himself in this when the voice was no longer a disembodied dream? When that voice now belonged to a very real man who embodied all of Aziraphale’s greatest fantasies and desires?
He ripped his headphones out of his ears and turned on his side, feeling deeply unsettled and determined to sleep without his crutch.
It was a fitful night of tossing and turning, and Aziraphile woke feeling grumpy and out of sorts. He thought about heading over to Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death early for a caffeine hit - and a chance at running into the beautiful stranger again - before hurriedly dismissing the thought.
Golly, he was tired. Aziraphale had been sleeping so regularly and so well recently that the lack of sleep hit him like a freight train. After a busy morning restocking and reorganising sections of the store to keep his anxious mind from wandering unhelpfully, he was thoroughly exhausted.
He sank into his favourite armchair at the front of the shop and closed his eyes for just the briefest of seconds, enjoying the feeling of warmth on his face as the sun streamed through the window.
The dream that caught him found Aziraphale in the Garden of Eden, guarding the Tree of Knowledge as an angel with the most brilliant white wings and a flaming sword. He was sitting at the base of the tree, napping softly in the brilliant sun, when he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye.
A snake - over eight metres long and encased in dark black scales - slithered its way towards him from the underbrush. Aziraphale felt like a rabbit caught in its searing yellow eyes, that gaze trapping him helplessly as the serpent wrapped its way around his legs. Up his middle. Around his neck.
The weight of the creature pressed into him - a delightful pressure as he felt the ghost of a forked tongue trail its way across the sensitive skin where his neck met his shoulder.
That voice poured into his ear like honey as the serpent caressed him, “Hello, Aziraphale…”
His eyes fluttered closed in the vision and he squirmed, chasing that voice. “Aziraphale…” the voice was louder. Closer.
“You still with us, angel?”
Aziraphale blinked awake in confusion, only to find the most beautifully pale brown eyes looking into his own.
He started violently, realising with horror that he had fallen asleep in his shop dreaming of that voice when its owner was suddenly standing in front of him in all six foot plus of ungodly handsome glory.
“Goodness, I’m so sorry. Don’t know what could have possibly come over me there.” Aziraphale was hugely flustered, jumping out of his chair and pressing nervous hands at his clothing in an attempt to straighten his bow tie and hair.
“Aziraphale Fell at your service,” he stuck his hand out in greeting and the stranger took it. His hands were impossibly soft and sent tremors of electricity up Aziraphale’s arm. He didn’t know if it was the result of nerves, adrenaline, or the impossible attraction he felt for this stranger.
“Anthony J. Crowley. It is lovely to meet you, Aziraphale.” And goodness if the way he said his name in that voice didn’t sound like a benediction, a prayer.
“What can I do for you?”
“I was going to make up some long-winded request about a book I’ve been searching for. But I’ll be honest with you, and this is very forward of me I know,” he leaned on the counter, encroaching seductively into Aziraphale’s space. “But since our run in at the coffee shop the other morning I can’t stop thinking about you. Can I take you to lunch, angel? I’d like to get to know you better, if you’ll allow me.”
Aziraphale wondered quite seriously if he was still dreaming, and if his delusions had really gotten this out of control so fast.
“Me? Are you… are you quite sure?”
Crowley laughed kindly, “Yes, love. Unless I’ve got the wrong bookshop owner who lives across the road. Nina was pretty clear in her directions.”
God, that voice was something else. And when he called him angel, or love, Aziraphale felt weak in the knees.
“Why, I mean to say - yes, dear boy. Did you mean now?”
Smirking, Crowley leaned against the nearest bookshelf, “If you’re free, no time like the present.”
“Yes, yes, of course… let me grab my things and close up the shop. I’ll be with you in five.” Aziraphale tried not to sound too keen or overwhelmed, but was failing miserably in front of the dashing stranger he hoped to become far more acquainted with.
Crowley looked around the shop while Aziraphale was readying to head out.
“Ah, Paradise Lost - it’s one of my favourites. Have you read it?” Crowley was thumbing through Aziraphale’s favourite copy of the novel. The book that had started all this.
“A few times,” Aziraphale managed to get out.
“Well, if you keep me around, angel, I might even read it to you. I’ve heard I have quite the reading voice.”
Aziraphale felt like he was going to discorporate on the spot.
“Don’t tempt me, wily serpent.”
Crowley merely raised his eyebrows at the challenge, opening the door for the intriguing bookseller that had so captured his interest.
He leant down conspiratorially as the shorter man passed by him, his breath tickling Aziraphale’s neck as he whispered next to his ear.
‘But I feel Far otherwise th’event, not death but life Augmented, open’d eyes, new hopes, new joys, Taste so divine, that what of sweet before Hath touch’d my sense, flat seems to this, and harsh’.
Aziraphale gasped, a sound Crowley wished to bottle and revel in for years to come.
This temptation was going to be fun.