Chapter Text
Of all of the dark, gloomy and dreary places they’d visited over the course of the Earth’s existence, this was quite possibly the most dismal. The sky was grey – had been grey the entirety of the four days they’d been here thus far - it was questionable whether the sun even shown in this part of the world – the clouds ominous and looming overhead like a shroud of misery and despair.
It should have been depressing.
However, the last four days had been some of the most joyous he’d had in quite some time, Aziraphale supposed as he wrapped his hands around the warm mug of hot cocoa and looked out the window to the black-green water cascading spray as it crashed against a boulder break wall. He concluded that such a forlorn place had lost its melancholy because of the company in which he found himself keeping.
Crowley had been an unadulterated glory since they’d arrived. Never had Aziraphale seen his demon so giddy with delight.
Pride was one of the deadliest of sins, but Aziraphale was not so angelic that he didn’t take pride in knowing that he was the cause for Crowley’s joy.
He’d gladly commit all seven of them – particularly exploring his penchant for lust whenever the demon was around – concurrently, if he could guarantee to see Crowley’s gorgeous smile more often.
When he’d learned last year that Queen was to be inducted into the Rock-N-Roll Hall of Fame in the beginning half of this year, Aziraphale knew right then that he’d found the perfect gift for Crowley. He’d wanted for his demon to attend the ceremony itself, but the timing hadn’t been right, he and Crowley both had had seminars they’d needed to attend to within their respective offices. What sort of conferences Hell conducted, he had no clue, nor did he want to know based off Crowley’s fouler-than-normal mood whenever he’d return.
Instead, he’d planned for he and Crowley to pop over across the pond to America for a weekend holiday. He’d never had occasion for any visits to the city of Cleveland, he didn’t think Crowley had ever been either – the United States wasn’t high on either of their lists of desirable locations; it was proficient at bollocksing itself up enough without need for supernatural intervention. He’d arranged to accompany Crowley on a private, all-access, guided tour of Queen’s exhibit at the bebop museum.
It was a misfortunate fortunate timing that their ethereal obligations had forced him to schedule the trip during the winter months; it was to be this year’s holiday gift to his demon, so Aziraphale couldn’t exactly argue with it.
Aziraphale had, of course, informed Crowley of their little trip ahead of time and he remembered his brain short circuiting briefly as his pretty infernal being had nearly jumped into his arms in excitement.
If Crowley had done as such, Aziraphale was doubtful he’d have been able to resist wrapping his arms around his slender demon and capturing that alluring mouth with his as an addendum to the gift. They’d spent enough time together over millennia that he was almost positive Crowley had stronger feelings beyond those of friendship, the demon certainly had an ongoing flirtatiousness with him that made Aziraphale question the foundation of their relationship.
Sharing a hotel room the last four days had done nothing to dispel his thoughts on the matter. Aziraphale had expected Crowley’s temper to flare when they’d checked in downstairs their first night, miracling a second room into existence, but his demon had taken it in with little more than an annoyed shrug and hefted their luggage onto his slender shoulders and a feigned sigh of exasperation of “come on, angel.”
It had been Crowley’s idea to expand the duration of the trip out to a five-day adventure and experience as much of it as possible the Human way – Aziraphale had received another inappropriately worded reprimand from Michael regarding the number of miracles he’d been performing, he suspected Crowley had faced a rather harsher disciplinary action for all the ones he’d made – and he admitted that he would have been quite enamored by the notion even if it hadn’t been suggested out of an abundance of caution.
It titillated Aziraphale to no end knowing that Crowley had spent a whole weekend making arrangements to take a holiday together, no work as a side agenda for either of them, simply a week to spend in each other’s company. Their first in the six millennia of being friends.
Crowley had left nothing for want when it came to spoiling his angel. Their flight in the most luxurious of first-class seating had been marred only by Crowley’s proclivity for motion sickness. Aziraphale had had to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep from giggling at his demon’s plight, the poor dear always got seasick whenever they’d traveled aboard marine vessels in the past – he’d always been at Crowley’s side, holding back his long hair, rubbing soothing circles across his back, and dabbing a cool cloth over his clammy brow – apparently that affliction extended now to aeroplanes. Crowley had spent most of their flight curled up into an impossibly tight ball in his seat, facing the angel and resting his slightly perspiring forehead against his shoulder. Crowley’s pathetic begging for Aziraphale to discorporate him out of his misery had been the only thing keeping him from belly laughing at the absurdity of his wily, old serpent reduced to a moaning mess.
And Aziraphale would be remiss if he failed to admit that he preferred Crowley’s driving in London. It should have been a reprieve to have him driving the speed limit and following the proper rules of the road, but the heavy snow that had been falling when they’d landed left both angel and demon questioning where the road actually was.
Aziraphale was grateful that Crowley had opted to upgrade their rental vehicle to something just incrementally below that of a tank as it plowed over the steadily-falling squalls.
He’d dreamt for so long about the way his demon’s thigh would feel under the squeeze of his hand, but his desperate clutching of it as they’d nearly skidded off the motorway – more than once – was not how he’d envisioned it transpiring.
Even though Aziraphale rarely slept, the whole ordeal had left them drained and they’d collapsed in exhaustion after finally making it up to what amounted to the honeymoon suite, he on the very large bed, Crowley sprawled on the overstuffed sofa.
The following day he’d committed to his long memory the sight of Crowley bounding like an over-caffeinated child from display to display between the bebop museum’s exhibits. His palm still tingled from where it had been pressed against Crowley’s when the demon had grabbed his hand and dragged him to Queen’s shrine. There hadn’t been an allowance for cameras on this private tour, if there had been, Aziraphale would have miracled his trusty antique from the bookshop to capture every one of the wide smiles of bliss that had remained on Crowley’s face the whole day.
The following two days had been spent puttering around the city now that its roadways were passable. Crowley’s itinerary had taken them to a local NASA installation – he’d watched his demon gaze at its artifacts in a solemn, silent worship – and the art museum and indoor botanical gardens. Tonight, Crowley had treated Aziraphale to a VIP performance to the orchestra. It had been a black-tie event and he’d had an exceedingly difficult time not ogling over his demon in the Mandarin-collared black tuxedo he’d donned, the ensemble couldn’t have been more form-fitting had it been painted onto his divine corporation. He’d had to tamp down on his urges towards smiting the Humans of all gender gaping at his gorgeous infernal demon with hunger in their eyes.
Aziraphale was never certain if Crowley was aware just how pretty a being he was, never was there another demon – even amongst the Tempter class – or angel that had ever been so beautiful.
The performance had been wonderful, one of the best they’d ever attended. If it hadn’t been for the…amorous…couple sharing their balcony, he may have risked tempting Crowley into engaging in similar activities.
Although Aziraphale had found it ridiculously adorable the way a deep flush crept up Crowley’s neck and ears and his refusal to look anywhere but downward at the pit at the sounds coming from the fornicating Humans.
Aziraphale finished the last sip of his cocoa, drew the drapes closed across the large picture window that overlooked Lake Erie and turned to wander into their room’s small kitchenette. He pulled two fluted glasses from their holders hanging above the sink. He’d put a bottle of very fine champagne on ice as soon as they’d returned. There was nothing of note to celebrate, other than one of the most enjoyable nights in Crowley’s acquaintance in an unacceptably long time.
Crowley, however, had grabbed the messenger bag he carried his laptop in and disappeared back out the door almost immediately. “Be right back, angel. Room service is on me. Whatever you like,” he’d called retreating into the lift at the end of the hall.
That had been almost an hour ago. The angel had yet to fulfill his demon’s request, he wanted to share a delicious meal together.
Aziraphale was close to giving in and searching for Crowley when he heard the key card slide into its slot on the other side of the door. Crowley – still wearing that alluring tuxedo, with the spiked style he currently kept his flaming auburn hair in – beamed with a radiance that would make ethereal beings weep with hypocritical envy. Depositing his shoulder bag on the desk, he sauntered over to meet his angel at their wet bar.
“Sorry. Took me longer to find what I was looking for,” Crowley flashed him the pouting of his bottom lip that melted Aziraphale into a boneless goo every time. He ran a slender hand through his hair, causing the fiery locks to muss and dishevel in an impossibly seductive way. Having dispatched himself of his dark glasses as soon as he’d crossed the threshold, revealing his enchanting golden serpentine eyes did nothing to dispel the wanton desire the angel felt for his demon.
Aziraphale watched as Crowley splayed his delicately long fingers across the surface of the bar. He was convinced he noticed the twitch of his index finger closing in on his own palm atop the counter.
Feeling the need to distract himself from his roaming eyes, Aziraphale stood on his tiptoes to pluck the champaign bottle from its carafe on the other side of the bar. He did not fail to notice how Crowley’s eyes followed the trajectory of his posterior; he made a show of staying bent over for longer than what was necessary.
He was certain he heard a quiet hum of appreciation escape from Crowley’s throat before the demon snapped his eyes back up to look him in the face.
Knowing he’d gotten caught checking out his angel’s sexy arse, Crowley brought the arm he’d been hiding behind his back forward and shoved a red and silver-wrapped tubular object in Aziraphale’s direction. “Er, Merry Christmas, angel.”
Crowley must have visited the hotel’s gift shop in search of the paper in which the item was wrapped, a deep red sheet folded neatly and adorned with a shimmery silver bow that bespoke of his artistic eye.
“Wos gonna wait til Christmas. But very little point of it sitting under the tree when we’re here.”
Running his fingers over the pristinely-wrapped gift, “I would hardly call that twig of yours’ a tree, my dear boy,” Aziraphale teased.
“I’ll have you know, that’s a collector’s edition Charlie Brown replica,” Crowley huffed.
Grinning innocently, Aziraphale tore not-so-gently at the paper. Pulling the cap from the cardboard tube, he gasped and put a hand to his lips as the contents slid out.
“Oh, Crowley…” he breathed.