Work Text:
Wessex, 537
Aziraphale wasn’t about to admit it out loud, but he was beginning to suspect that Crowley had been right about the whole ‘canceling each other out’ business.
They had been traveling all day, hoping to make it to the next village before sundown. Though, that outcome was looking less and less likely as the sun steadily slipped below the horizon.
“I think this would be a good place to set up camp,” Aziraphale said, pulling his horse to a stop.
“A good place to set up camp? In this swamp?”
“I know it’s not ideal, but do you have a better idea?”
“Yeah,” Crowley swiped a hand under his nose, “keep going until we either get to a tavern that serves something drinkable or an inn with a warm bed.”
“As good as both of those sound, I really think we ought to stop for the night.”
“And why’s that?”
“Well, for starters, you’re shivering so badly I’m surprised you haven’t fallen off your horse yet.”
“‘M not shivering,” Crowley lied, shivering.
“Of course you aren’t,” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I just don’t want you smacking your head against a rock when your horse finally has enough and throws you off.”
“That was one time.”
“Try again.”
“Three times.”
“More than that,” Aziraphale sniffed.
“This is ridiculous. You are ridiculous.” Crowley grumbled, chainmail and armor rattling noisily as another blasted shiver rushed through him. He clenched his teeth, willing them not to chatter. “You know what? Fine. If it’ll make you happy, we’ll stop for the night.
“Oh, really?” Aziraphale said, sounding delightfully surprised as if he hadn’t expected Crowley to immediately fold like a bad hand of cards. Bastard. “Come along then, I think we’ll find it to be much drier just beyond that copse of trees over there.”
“Almost miraculous, one would think.”
Aziraphale ignored him, instead giving a pleased little wiggle as he dismounted from his horse.
”What would you say to starting a bonfire?”
Soon, they were settled side by side against an old oak tree. A blazing bonfire sat in front of them, painting their surrounds in a cosy glow.
“It’s not a drink in a tavern, but I do have a wine skin if you’d like to share?”
“You had wine on you this whole time and never told me?”
“My dear,” Aziraphale couldn’t hold back an amused chuckle at Crowley’s look of offense, “there wouldn’t have been any let if I’d have told you sooner.”
“Errngh…point.”
And so, passing the skin back and forth, they shared kisses (of sorts) under the guise of plausible deniability; snuggling against each other’s side in ways they normally wouldn’t have if their inhibitions had still been raised.
It was…nice.
But that was also what absolutely terrified Aziraphale about it. How easy it was for him to sink into this easy intimacy.
Perhaps he should reconsider Crowley’s offer on forming a little Arrangement, just for the chance to spend more nights like this together.