Chapter Text
Crowley stiffened up, adjusting the bow in the back of his black-dyed pinny. He stretched his neck from side to side, pushing his sunglasses up his freckled nose, before tightening the part of his hair that was tied up. Crowley hadn’t even looked at any of them yet, too anxious to function all that much. He leaned on his cane, cocking his hip as he raised his eyebrows at the large crew and ridiculous amount of cameras. He could never have envisioned himself on The Great British Bake Off, standing in his kitchen at home, fixating on structures and elaborate presentations – he really just messed around and happened to have an accidental knack for making tasty things. He really was just an engineering and maths nerd who was a little too cocky for his own good and hoped he would do alright in the competition.
He stared off into space while everything was being set up, blurry vision accompanied by the low murmur of the other contestants' awkward conversations. Luckily the producers had let him keep his sunglasses on. He looked to the people alongside him, but didn’t really register anything about them before some producer came around to tell them to get ready. Everyone around him began to smile and fuss about with their clothing and hair to look their best for the cameras. He didn't feel pressured to follow their lead. He probably should have, all things considered, but he had an image to uphold after all (he wasn’t the type to spend hours getting ready just to look like he hadn’t). He couldn’t hear the hosts, Mel and Sue, presenting the opening to the show, but the many cameras captured different shots of all of it and they went through multiple takes. He could almost feel the woman next to him shaking but forced himself not to look at her or worry – she was competition, after all.
Crowley felt disassociated from reality as they set up everything for the first challenge, no longer on camera, and found himself standing among the other contestants while they all talked amongst themselves and ignored him. Luckily, he was used to that, and continued his tried and true method of appearing more confident and aloof than he really was. That was until he heard the clearing of a throat and blinked his eyes into focus to see a shorter man, standing in front of him and beaming.
“Hello!” The blonde man held out a hand for him to shake.
Crowley’s eyebrows raised above his glasses, before taking the smaller soft hand in his own and shaking it. “Hey.”
Pale blue eyes met his own, shimmering with intrigue. “I’m Aziraphale! It’s nice to meet you.”
“Er. Crowley.” He played the sound of the man's name over in his head a few times, noting the odd pronunciation, making sure he got it right.
They smoothed down their pinny a bit, and Crowley noted with a barely stifled chuckle that he was wearing a ridiculous plaid bow tie. It wasn’t exactly in fashion – or would have been in the last half-century – but it suited the other man quite well, so he found himself enjoying it more than he might have had it been on someone else.
“So, what do you do?” Aziraphale asked.
“Engineering. But I don’t want to do all… this.” Crowley shrugged, gesturing at him loosely.
“I- I’m sorry, what on earth do you mean?” They looked taken aback, a small flush rising to their cheeks.
Crowley grinned. “Small talk. ‘S ridiculous. Tell me important things and we can talk about whatever, or you can talk to all of them, if you’d like.”
Aziraphale’s face lit up with an adorable smile. “Alright! That’s a lot better. Honestly, you seemed like the most approachable out of anyone here.”
Crowley snorted. He hadn’t heard that one before. A frown flashed across Aziraphale’s face, but was so quickly hidden that Crowley wondered if it had even been there in the first place.
“Well, important things, then…” They trailed off, thinking. “Uh, I use he/him pronouns and I adore books and- baking, obviously. I have a cat, which is quite important, I’ll have you know.”
“Right, then he/him for me too.” Crowley smiled. “And the cat is obviously the most important for me to know about.”
Crowley tried his best to sound like he was teasing the other man, which for some reason proved to be a lot more difficult than he had anticipated. The stranger hadn't batted an eyelid at his direct approach suggesting they skip the smalltalk, and this was surprisingly proving to be quite the enjoyable experience indeed.
“Are you-” Aziraphale dropped his voice to a whisper, leaning in close to Crowley.
He felt his throat hitch at the closeness, suddenly noticing things about the other man that made him swoon. Aziraphale smelt faintly of vanilla and something citrusy. The soft shapes of his face and those glittery eyes awoke the previously dormant butterflies which were apparently residing in his stomach. His heart fluttered as he looked down at the gorgeous eyes peering up at him. The other man almost looked like a renaissance painting of an angel, just in a different outfit.
“Are you nervous?”
Crowley shrugged, trying to come off as more confident than he was about talking to Aziraphale. “A little. Should be alright, though. If I do something stupid it’ll only be on public television for millions to see.”
He was referencing something that Aziraphale couldn’t know about, but his anxiety about passing out due to stress or simply not taking care of himself enough was at the forefront of his mind.
Aziraphale let out a breathy chuckle, stepping back and running his fingers through his curly white-blond hair. “Not helping.”
“Oh come on.” Crowley found himself smiling harder, entirely by accident. “You’re like an angel, I’m sure you wouldn’t do anything wrong.”
Aziraphale sputtered. “An- an angel? I’m nothing of the sort!”
Crowley crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. "Well, look at you doing the whole 'be-not-afraid' bit ‘n all. Think you can trick me into messing up with that, or what?"
The shorter man giggled. “If I can only win by tricking you, it wouldn’t be deserved!”
One of the producers cleared their throat loudly. They were very short and wore all black and heavy eyeliner. “Right. We’re all gonna get washed up and then you’ll be assigned to your stations. Every time you do anything, like put something in or out of the oven or literally anything, call one of us over so we can make sure we film it. We essentially have a camera crew for every two people, so there’s plenty to go around, don’t worry.”
A few people were led over to some sinks and the contestants filed into a line. Aziraphale let Crowley in front of him. Crowley thought he was imagining the feeling of Aziraphale staring at him while he was turned away, so he spun around quickly to face him – confidently walking backwards with his hips swaying - the blonde's face turned pink as his eyes snapped up to Crowley's face. Had he been checking him out?
“What’re you bakin’?” Crowley smirked, feeling a bit cocky at the moment.
“Lavender earl grey tea infused biscuits! I’m confident and happy with them, so I hope it’ll all work out well. I just don’t want to be the first one out.”
Crowley grinned. “Telling your opponents your plans isn’t going to get you very far, angel.”
Aziraphale stammered, wringing his hands. “Oh, please don’t-”
“Don’t worry. Secret’s safe with me.” Crowley winked and turned back around as it was now his turn to wash his hands, unsure if Aziraphale could see his eyes at all.
Once he was done, he stood off to the side of the sink, waiting for Aziraphale comfortably. Crowley didn’t think they were friends; everyone on bakeoff seemed like friends, but that must be at least somewhat played up for T.V. Crowley frowned at the thought that Aziraphale might be an awful baker and get voted off right away, and he’d have to finish the competition without someone to talk to or the nice guy to look at.
All the contestants headed to the tent, the camera crews rushing alongside them to capture every possible angle. Crowley started feeling a bit more nervous, and made a face at Aziraphale, who giggled. He seemed less nervous, after all that, which had Crowley feeling even more confident in himself. Aziraphale stayed smiling the whole time, occasionally glancing at Crowley as they talked during their walk. As they entered the tent, Crowley found himself partially watching Aziraphale and partially glancing around the tent, finding the other man’s expressions much more exciting than anything else. Crowley watched as Aziraphale’s pale blue eyes lit up while he looked around before smiling back at him.
Crowley was watching the producers and hosts chatting, before Aziraphale tugged on his arm and looked pointedly out the tent, where Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood were walking towards them, grinning at the sight of all these new faces. Crowley felt his hands grow clammy with anxiety; it finally set in what he was doing. He swallowed hard, realising that he was about to be on television and baking in the most stressful environment that he’d ever been in.
They stood in front of all the bakers, and Mary nodded at them comfortingly. “Welcome! You are the twelve hard-working bakers in Britain to make it on this show this year.”
Most of the contestants grinned in general, but Aziraphale and Crowley simply smiled at each other. Crowley vaguely wondered whether Aziraphale knew he was staring right into his eyes behind the sunglasses (he did). Aziraphale’s white-blonde hair shimmered in the daylight even though they were under a tent and Crowley couldn’t take his eyes away from him. Crowley vaguely wondered if it was normal to want to be friends with someone this badly. He tended to keep to himself, so he really had no clue. This ridiculous little man was tugging on his heartstrings and they had just met.
Crowley barely payed attention as they were assigned to their tables, looking in front of him to where Aziraphale had been stationed, and rubbed the back of his neck as he watched him from behind. Aziraphale had begun to fuss about, setting things up how he wanted them and getting all his ingredients and tools ready. Crowley half-heartedly looked through all the drawers and reminded himself of where everything was as he was continuously distracted by the gorgeous man in front of him (seriously, it wasn’t fair that even turned away, he was this enticing). His eyebrows raised over his glasses as Aziraphale turned around, an anxious smile across his face.
“Do you think you’re ready, my dear boy?”
Crowley’s neurons briefly stopped firing as he was unable to process that. “I- ngk- yeah?”
Aziraphale grinned, placing his hand on top of Crowley’s where it rested on the counter of his own station. “You’ll be alright. You’re not going to be out first.” He thought he would be, and his grin grew more sheepish as he looked around the tent, clearly intimidated. “But I might be. Worried I’ll cry on camera!”
Crowley screwed up his face. “Oh, just look at you. You’ll make it to the final’s and you’ll be the sweetheart for all the old diddies who love watchin’ this show. Everybody’ll love you.”
“And how do you know all that?” Aziraphale raised his eyebrows teasingly.
“One minute!” Someone yelled from the front of the tent, causing Crowley to pull his hand away, looking down quickly.
He was reminded of that stupid expression: ‘saved by the bell’. “Ghk- uh, gotta get ready. One minute.”
Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and he turned to his own station, giving Crowley a quick wink before turning his head to the front. Crowley was completely and utterly screwed, not even his baking practice could save him now.
Sue clapped her hands, projecting to the camera more than to the room. “Now, it is time for your first ever signature challenge. You will have two hours to make whatever biscuits you’d like to. They should all be uniform and well decorated, and Mary and Paul will judge you harshly. Remember, this is your first impression on all of us.”
Crowley felt slightly like how he imagined his plants to feel when he berated them for their spots or for wilting. Aziraphale turned to him briefly, shrugging, looking incredibly nervous. The hosts gave them a countdown and Crowley rushed into action, vaguely registering the sounds of all the other contestants beginning their preparations alongside him. He was in what his therapist called a ‘flow state’, where he was unperturbed to anything happening around him and simply going along with what he had planned. He noticed the cameras around him, but didn’t put more than a millisecond of thought into looking nice for them; his thoughts were elsewhere as his heart raced and his hands shook faintly.
Once his biscuits were finally in the oven, he glanced around to see that he was quite ahead of everyone else – including Aziraphale, who was mixing something by hand with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Crowley froze, mouth dropping open. Aziraphale had tattoos. A red rose on the back of his left hand with leaves spread above it, and a black flaming sword on his other forearm. Crowley clutched his chest, leaning against the counter. He felt heat rise to his cheeks as he watched Aziraphale’s surprisingly muscular arms flex as he mixed, before shaking his head quickly and starting on his decorations. Now that he was out of his own head a bit, he noticed someone to his left silently laughing. It was a crew member, and they had evidently captured his embarrassing moment – though they hopefully didn’t realise why he had reacted in that manner. He pulled his stool over to rest his knees while he decorated, going for structural stability that looked elegant rather than anything intricate.
Crowley faintly heard the other contestants chatting to Mary, Paul, and Sue one at a time as they recorded each individual conversation. His tongue poked out from between his lips as he concentrated on what he was making, eyes squinted from behind his sunglasses. He glanced up to the sound of someone clearing their throat. Crowley looked up, eyebrows raised, to see Paul, Mary, and Sue standing in front of his station and looking at him expectantly. He stood from the stool, pushing it to the side and feeling a small amount of pride flood him as he realised that he was taller than all 3 of them.
“What are you working on?” Mary smiled at him warmly.
Crowley choked a bit, holding out his piece of paper containing the diagram of his plan to her. “Not too intense.”
Sue raised her eyebrows. “That’s not something a lot of people would attempt on their first challenge. Seems quite structurally demanding.”
“Ah, engineer, me.” Crowley suddenly felt a little insecure about his Scottish accent around these three, who sounded a lot more formal than him.
Paul nodded. “You’d have to be, to attempt something like this. We’ll see if it works out for you.”
Sue swiped a bit of the extra batter he had slid to the slide, smiling. “Have a bit of candy from the tent’s eye candy.”
Crowley rolled his eyes, though they weren’t visible from behind his sunglasses. He sat back down, quickly finishing off his decorations and peering at the oven impatiently. Crowley perked up a bit as he heard Aziraphale’s voice, looking up to his station, where he was speaking with the hosts.
“You’re not camera shy, Aziraphale, are you? Care to remind our viewers of where they may remember you from?” Sue grinned.
Even though he was behind him, Crowley could nearly feel Aziraphale’s discomfort. “Oh, well. I’m afraid I was a professional wrestler for quite some time. I’m retired now, so this – and books – are my current passions!”
Paul raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Will that help you at all throughout the competition, do you think?”
Aziraphale laughed awkwardly. “Of course not! I’m quite proud of my baking, though, so I hope I’ll do alright!”
They continued chatting, but Crowley couldn’t get the idea of Aziraphale wrestling out of his head. Crowley stared off into space, remembering the skimpy outfits that wrestlers often wore. He pulled out his phone, frantically hoping that he could find something as he typed ‘azirafale wrestling’ into the search bar. Google corrected him on the spelling, which he noted, eyes skimming across the page.
Crowley’s mouth fell open as he clicked on ‘images’ and enlarged the first one he saw. It was a picture of Aziraphale, slightly younger, posing with his eyes closed as he looked away. Aziraphale-in-the-picture was pulling up one of the legs of his incredibly short shorts, showing off a thigh tattoo of a biblically accurate angel. Crowley glanced up at the man in front of him, staring at his thighs hidden by brown pants, which were tighter than Crowley had noticed before. He looked back at the photograph, eyes wide, as he stared at a shirtless Aziraphale. He had evidently had top surgery and was heavily tattooed, and Crowley wanted nothing more than to tackle the man in front of him and bury his face in that plush and muscular chest and stomach.
(art by @tartan-tart)
Suddenly, the timer he had set went off loudly and he fumbled to turn it off. He almost forgot to tell a producer that he was going to take something out of the oven, but he luckily remembered at the last second. Crowley pocketed his phone, waving over a producer as he slipped on his oven mitts (they may have had cacti on them, but no one needed to know that – it might damage his reputation), and pulled his biscuits out of the oven. It smelled absolutely delightful, and Crowley grinned deviously, looking at the camera as he placed it on the counter.
“Oh, look at you.” He smiled, seeing Aziraphale watching him out of his peripheral vision. “You’re gorgeous.”
Crowley noted the fact that Aziraphale had spun back around and Crowley could tell, even from behind, that he was embarrassed – the tips of his ears and his neck were flushed pink. The blonde was back to focusing on his decorations as Crowley meticulously began setting his biscuits up, taking his time, as he was much farther ahead than the others.
Crowley vaguely heard the other contestants talking to each other or the cameras, but he was entirely focused on his tasks, tongue back in place poking out between his lips. He only paused what he was working on to swiftly push his sunglasses up his nose, completely engrossed in making his decorating look as good as it could be. Crowley did like making things look nice – it was why he liked baking, really –, he didn’t like sweets at all, and his savoury bakes were never as fun for him to mess around with.
“Half an hour left, bakers, half an hour! Get your bakes plated up for your first ever challenge!” One of the hosts called out from the front of the tent, and Crowley didn’t even look up – to the point that he couldn’t even tell which host it was.
Shortly after, Crowley plated his bake and leaned back, admiring it with a small smile – he was wildly proud of what he’d just made. He heard a gasp from in front of him and glanced up, sensing danger. Aziraphale was pouting at his decorations and glanced back at Crowley, eyes filling with tears. Crowley grabbed his cane and made his way as quickly to Aziraphale as he could, mouth pressed into a thin line. Aziraphale looked up at him, his hair rumbled and his bow tie crooked. Crowley felt his heart nearly shatter.
“Aziraphale. What’s wrong?” Crowley squinted at the decorations on the counter. “D- don’t know if they’ll set in time!” Aziraphale mumbled, looking down in shame.
“Well, all there is to do is wait, unless you can decorate a little more?”
Aziraphale whimpered something incomprehensible, looking a bit like a very upset and dishevelled hamster. Crowley blinked, shaking his head.
“C’mere.” Crowley tugged off his flour-covered pinnie and held out his arms.
The blonde looked like he had just been granted eternal salvation, his watery puppy-dog-eyes boring through Crowley’s soul and into his heart. Both of them seemed tense and incredibly anxious – neither of them had been in such an emotional situation so early on into meeting someone. Aziraphale swiftly hugged him, muscular arms squeezing him in a way that was surprisingly pleasant. Crowley was taken aback for a minute, enjoying the compression that his surprisingly strong arms gave him. Crowley’s own arms stuttered for a minute, held out in empty air, before he pulled them in and hugged Aziraphale back. Crowley felt his heart beating quickly, stomach churning in anxiety. It was something he’d never have done, except that he found himself inexplicably drawn to Aziraphale – and craved to make the other man feel better. He didn’t know what gave him that confidence, but he was grateful for it. After a minute of Aziraphale sobbing quietly into Crowley’s chest, Crowley extracted one of his arms from the hug in order to comb through the blonde’s hair with his fingers. He played with the curls slowly, wishing he could stay there forever. He sighed; feeling the soft curls through his fingers was possibly the most content Crowley had been in ages.
Aziraphale breathed softly, sniffling, as he relaxed further into Crowley’s chest. Crowley glanced up around him, heart beating faster as he noticed the two separate camera crews filming them. He choked up a bit, staring down at the man who had been hugging him for entirely too long to be considered completely platonic. Crowley startled away from him, whole body tensing up. He felt the need to explain himself to the cameras, or apologise to Aziraphale, but he found himself talking without even thinking about it.
“How are you feeling? We have plenty of time for you to finish it. ‘S probably set enough, I can help you, angel.” Crowley mumbled, feeling a bit self conscious knowing that the microphones would pick it up.
Aziraphale pulled away, eyes a little puffy from crying, and sniffled. “Yes, thank you, my dear boy. Let’s get ‘cracking’, as they say!”
Crowley snorted, rolling his eyes and taking a step back after grabbing his cane which he’d haphazardly leaned against the work station. “Tell me what you need.”
Aziraphale instructed him to mix some frosting as he touched up his decorations, and Crowley truly did his best – he may have been trying even harder than when making his own bake, who was to say, really? He truly wanted everything to be perfect for Aziraphale. The poor man deserved it, didn't he?
The blonde began putting all the biscuits on the plates, taking great care to make sure they were all organised perfectly., and Crowley gave a mere glance to his own completed bake as he felt a bit useless now, simply standing behind him as a bit of emotional support. Crowley faintly heard the call that five minutes were left, helping Aziraphale finish up quickly. They wrapped up just before it was done, taking deep breaths as Mel cleared her throat at the front of the tent.
“Right, time’s up, bakers! Hands off, now!”
It took a surprising amount of time for the setup for the judging to happen, and Crowley was instructed to stand behind his own station again, fumbling with his pinny as he put it back on, for the b-roll. He minded a little, missing being close to Aziraphale, though he supposed feeling free to watch him from behind was just as good.
The judging commenced. A few women did alright, though one of them did quite well – a witchy-looking one, who served crescent moon shaped biscuits. Paul was unhappy with some guy with glasses’ bake, but Mary didn’t mind it all that much. There were a few that got less than agreeable reactions, but Crowley was far too nervous about his own (and Aziraphale’s) to care. Finally, Paul, Mary, and Mel made their way to his station. Crowley raised his eyebrows, leaning on his cane.
Mary took a long look at his biscuits, a warm smile appearing on her face. “Well, Crowley, I didn’t like how it looked from farther away, but it’s very sleek. It’s very well done; you clearly put a lot of effort into it.”
“It does look quite fancy, right, Paul?” Mel prodded, grinning.
“I suppose. Hope it tastes good, though.” Paul grumbled, breaking a piece off it and setting one in front of Mary as well.
They both took a bite, and Crowley couldn’t really read either of their expressions. His worries were soothed, however, when Paul very swiftly took another bite.
“Well, Crowley, this is just delightful.” Mary smiled, using her fork to point out different parts of it. “It’s cooked perfectly and the flavour is absolutely lovely."
Paul watched him for a while. “I’m a bit disappointed, honestly.” Crowley started, face paling. “I thought it would be quite bad when I saw you finish so early, but this is really good.”
Crowley hid a smile behind his free hand, feeling his cheeks flush red a bit. He had never been good at taking compliments. His mouth tightened into an anxious line as they began to walk away, heading to Aziraphale’s station. The redhead slid onto his stool, leaning on the counter with his elbows, as he silently hoped with all his being that Aziraphale’s bake tasted good.
Mary grinned fondly at his baked goods, inspecting them closely. “Well, these are quite nice!”
The two of them picked through it slowly, and poor Aziraphale might as well have already received bad news with how physically tense he looked. He was trembling, and Crowley felt his heart pounding with second-hand anxiety as he hoped with every fibre of his being that they would be nice to him.
“Even bake, decorated quite well, and everything tastes just absolutely lovely.” Mary grinned, taking another bite.
Paul didn’t say much of anything at first, but grabbed another biscuit and popped it into his mouth with a grin. “Surprisingly good.”
Aziraphale heaved a sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping. Crowley felt himself physically relax, resting his arms on the counter as he took a deep breath. Unless he or Aziraphale royally screwed up in the next two challenges, they’d be fine this week.
They barely had a break before the technical challenge started up. Crowley took the opportunity to eat something salty and drink plenty of water – he’d definitely forget in the stress of baking. Although it seemed that Aziraphale had left to go to the bathroom, or something, and by the time he got back, they barely had time to talk. They simply gave each other a nervous look, and Crowley shrugged.
Once the producers were ready for the challenge, Crowley tried to straighten up his posture as the cameras turned on.
Sue spoke proudly to the bakers. “Welcome to your first ever technical challenge, where your skills will be tested. We will be starting with something seen as quite simple, but is actually very hard to get absolutely perfect. The gingersnap.”
Paul nodded. “They should be thin, but not crumbly. We want to hear an audible snap when we break it. They need to be entirely uniform, all the same size and shape. Good luck.”
“Right, Mary and Paul, get out of here. They will be judging this blindly, as with all the technical challenges.” Sue smiled. “Is everybody ready?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, before she and Mel said in unison. “Ready… set, bake.”
Crowley felt like he was in a fever dream reading this recipe. Paul Hollywood really was a crazy man, but Crowley figured that’s why he was a great judge for baking. He tried his best to create a uniform dough; he was always good at measurements, but this was more stressful than he was used to, so he decided on using a scale to make sure the different biscuits were all the same weight. He nearly bumped into Aziraphale on his way to their shared freezer to chill their dough, and they smiled at each other awkwardly before Aziraphale bustled off to re-read the recipe for the thousandth time. Crowley tried not to worry as he realised that his dough was rolled in small balls, which meant that the biscuits would have a gooier centre, but Aziraphale’s were spread thin, which would lead to a nice snap. He ran his fingers through his red hair, taking a deep breath as he leaned against his counter, watching Aziraphale fuss over nothing.
A little while later, he pulled his chilled dough out from the ice box and stuffed it in the oven, having long debated the temperature and length of time they would bake. He settled on 190℃ and just watched it until he thought it was done. Crowley sat on a stool by the oven, staring at it intently, until he was snapped out of his focus by a small noise from the man in front of him.
Crowley glanced up. “Aziraphale?”
He looked sheepish, posed strangely with his hand behind his back like a waiter, a smile unnaturally pasted on his lips. “Yes?”
“What happened?” Crowley raised an eyebrow in suspicion.
“Uh, I suppose I cut my finger when I was cutting the ginger?” Aziraphale frowned, bringing his hand back around in front of him.
His finger had a scabbed over cut on it with a bit of dried blood that had dripped down his hand. Crowley frowned, waving over a producer who swiftly called over a member of the medical crew.
“How did you not notice?” Crowley sputtered as the nurse cleaned out his cut, which was a lot larger than he’d thought.
Aziraphale rubbed the back of his neck shyly with his free hand. “High pain tolerance?”
Crowley sighed. “Right. Makes sense, for your line of work.”
Aziraphale squinted at him, confused. “What, bookselling?”
Crowley snorted. “No, wrestling, angel. Not bookselling.” He paused for a moment. “Wait, you’re a bookseller now?”
“Yes!”
“Right.” Crowley grinned, peering back down at Aziraphale's oven.
Aziraphale let out a soft gasp, jumping to his feet and startling the nurse who was about to leave. “Oh, my gingersnaps look done!”
Crowley squinted at his own again, deciding that it needed a few more minutes. He looked back up to watch Aziraphale, who was currently bending over to pull his biscuits out and set them on the counter to scrutinise every little thing about them. Crowley eventually pulled out his biscuits, which looked absolutely delicious, and put them all on the plate to cool. He didn’t worry at all about messing them up while they were still hot, unlike most sane people, and he was lucky that they were all fine. Crowley grinned at them as they were all plated nicely, and he was done early, yet again.
He crossed his arms smugly and leaned in close to the biscuits, growling quietly. "You better be all the way done and cooled by the time they start tasting, if you know what's good for you. I'm no stranger to punishing the inadequate." He peered at the plate over his shades. "I'll have you know, I have a monstera at home who can attest to that."
He sighed as he leaned against the counter, a soft smile creeping across his face unconsciously as he watched Aziraphale fuss over making sure his biscuits were just right. A thought crossed his mind that the cameras were probably capturing his infatuated looks at Aziraphale, and fans might catch that he wasn’t paying nearly as much attention to his baked goods as he was to the man in front of him. Hell, Crowley couldn’t name any of the other contestants, yet he was absolutely fixated on Aziraphale. He realised that he didn’t actually care all that much – it would be unlikely that anyone could figure out how he felt about the other man just from watching it on T.V. – so he allowed himself the treat of getting to look at Aziraphale, which was quickly becoming his favourite thing to do.
Crowley looked around; the man in glasses seemed to have slightly overcooked his, but everyone else seemed mostly alright. The woman with dreadlocks seemed overconfident, but Crowley knew what someone pretending like they were confident looked like, as he found himself standing up straighter and trying to seem more aloof. He felt a bit warmer than he liked, so he pulled his hair back into a messy bun, a few shorter strands falling down to frame his face. He leaned on his cane, letting out a relieved sigh as Aziraphale eventually finished messing with his biscuits and had finally plated them all, just before the time was up.
They all put their plates of biscuits on the long table in front of their pictures and sat in the stools facing it, and Crowley’s heart caught on something in his chest as Aziraphale sat down right next to him. The person on the other side of Crowley was someone he hadn’t even looked at.
Paul and Mary made their way in, and Crowley heard a small noise from his left, which, upon further inspection, turned out to be Aziraphale having been startled by a blonde woman grabbing his hand anxiously. Aziraphale made eye contact with Crowley, though he couldn’t be sure if he had realised that they’d locked eyes. He took a deep breath, looking away from Aziraphale and back at the judge’s table, before he felt a timid, quivering finger touch his own. Crowley looked down, decided to accept the proposition, and they slowly took each others’ hands. Crowley suddenly felt incredibly self conscious of his own cold, thin fingers as he felt Aziraphale’s comfortably warm plush one envelop his own. Amidst his homosexual thoughts, the most prevalent was the fact that Aziraphale’s hand was larger than his own, which may or may not have made Crowley turn a quite embarrassing shade of pink. Crowley could barely focus when Paul and Mary started speaking, judging others that he didn’t care much about.
Most of the people did alright, though Paul was incredibly picky about the exact flavour that he craved from a good gingersnap. Aziraphale was up next – Crowley thought his picture was quite adorable – and Aziraphale squeezed his hand gently. Crowley heard his breathing quicken.
Paul snapped one of the biscuits in half, and a smile widened across his face. “You hear that? That was exactly the right noise.”
Mary and Paul both took bites and chewed slowly.
“That was exactly the right texture, but the flavour isn’t quite gingery enough. Might be the best so far, though.” Paul hummed, taking another bite.
They moved on, and eventually got to Crowley’s picture, which was second to last. Aziraphale squeezed his hand encouragingly, though Crowley’s mouth tensed into a thin line as he watched Mary and Paul look at his biscuits.
“Right, Mary. This person clearly made them like regular biscuits, so they won’t have the right snap I’m looking for. Let’s have a taste.”
Crowley felt his breath hitch, stomach dropping – he knew that, but it still upset him. He felt slightly nauseous, and worried that his anxiety would build into affecting his physical health and he would eventually pass out. His eyes bored into Paul’s face from behind his sunglasses as he watched the man take a bite, and he shook in nervousness, though Aziraphale’s grip tightening on his hand helped calm him quite a bit.
“Mm.” Paul murmured around the biscuit in his mouth, looking at Mary. “Well. I stand corrected.”
Crowley blinked, staring at him.
“This is quite good. I never like a softer gingersnap – that’s why they’re called gingersnaps, but this is delicious.” Paul took another bite swiftly.
Mary looked quite content. “I love that they’ve used different types of ginger, it’s absolutely delicious. With the recipe they were given, they were able to make it their own, and it very much works.”
Paul’s distinctive pale blue eyes glittered as he smiled. “I never said you have to use one type of ginger, in fact, I prefer multiple types, and they were the only contestant who took that chance.”
Crowley’s stomach churned in embarrassment, feeling Aziraphale giddily squeeze his hand again, beaming at him. He hid a smile, looking down. He didn’t even hear the final person’s judgement, stuck in his own head. Aziraphale’s touch snapped him back into reality, as they began announcing the order from worst to best. The man next to him groaned loudly as he was announced as eleventh out of twelve. Aziraphale clutched his hand harder and harder as they counted down in excitement, and Crowley, in his nervousness, squeezed back just as hard.
“And number three…” Mary pointed to the biscuits in front of Aziraphale’s picture, and he pulled his hand out of the other woman’s grasp to raise it sheepishly.
Everyone clapped softly, and a beaming smile stretched across Aziraphale’s face. The blonde woman and Crowley would be second and first, and Crowley felt his hand becoming clammy with nervousness.
“Second place is…” Mary paused, before stepping in front of the record shop owner’s picture and gesturing at it.
She raised her hand, and Crowley’s brain stopped working briefly. Aziraphale’s hands were comfortingly warm and soft, squirming with pent up energy. Crowley froze as Mary stood in front of his picture and biscuit.
“Your gingersnaps were original, flavourful, and all perfectly uniform. I might have to take some home with me; they were highly enjoyable. First place goes to this one!”
Crowley raised his free hand awkwardly, blushing harder as cheers flooded the tent and a camera swooped in to catch his reaction – his flushed embarrassed face on television for the whole world to see. Aziraphale laughed upon seeing his reaction, shoulders wiggling in excitement.
They wrapped for the day, the crew fighting over tastes of Crowley’s cookies while he stood off to the side, tapping his fingers on his cane and watching the others, as his back stiffened in discomfort. Aziraphale sidled up to him with a distinct lack of one of Crowley’s biscuits, peering up at him shyly.
“Great job, my dear!” He grinned. “I’m slightly upset that I didn’t get to taste one of them; you’ll have to make some for me later.”
Crowley smiled awkwardly, reaching a hand into the large pocket of his pinny to where he had stashed a somehow still intact gingersnap biscuit. “Good thing I made an extra.”
Crowley held out the cookie to Aziraphale, whose eyes widened in excitement. “Really? I can have it?”
He nodded shyly as Aziraphale took it from him, watching the shorter man intently through his dark glasses. The blonde took a small bite, letting out a content sigh. Crowley found himself hiding a smile as he watched Aziraphale. He closed his eyes as he took another bite, a soft noise escaping his mouth as he chewed.
“Oh, Crowley, this is so flavourful!.” He said quietly, looking up at Crowley with those adorable eyes.
“‘M glad you like it.” Crowley stammered out, trying not to come off as too relieved or excited.
Aziraphale let out another soft noise, sending shivers shooting up Crowley’s spine. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll win this whole show if you keep on track like this. It’s so delicious!”
Crowley suddenly felt that baking had no better use than to feed Aziraphale and watch and listen to him eat, and he briefly thought that he might like to put those noises into Spotify and listen to them on repeat for days. He didn’t respond, squeezing his lips shut as he hoped the heat which had risen to his cheeks remained unnoticed. It didn’t.
“Oh, Crowley. No need to be embarrassed, it’s truly delicious baking! You’re lovely, aren’t you?”
Crowley felt that he may implode on the spot, not even one episode in, and hoped that the cameras were filming in the case that they would capture his untimely discorporation. “Ngk. Not lovely.”
Aziraphale waved a hand at him dismissively. “Oh, my dear boy, you might be the most lovely person I’ve met today!”
He leaned on his cane, squirming in the discomfort of being complimented – especially by the most gorgeous person he thought he’d ever met. He may have to become a barnacle just so he could latch onto Aziraphale and not let go. Crowley grinned shyly as he watched Aziraphale finish the biscuit, licking the crumbs off his perfect fingers.
Aziraphale beamed at him. “That was absolutely scrumptious, my dear.”
“‘M glad.” Crowley wanted to bury his head in a pillow and scream, or bury his face into Aziraphale’s chest and live there forever.
The crew began herding all of them back to the hotel, and Aziraphale walked with Crowley, even though he was noticeably slower due to his cane and being upright all day. His heart twinged when he realised that he’d be alone yet again in his hotel room all night before he’d be able to see Aziraphale again.
They all grabbed their bags and checked into the hotel one by one, and all contestants in front of him in line went to their respective rooms as soon as they were handed their keys, but Crowley waited around for Aziraphale, hovering around while he tapped his fingers on his cane. Crowley inelegantly stood for a while while Aziraphale, like the incredible person he was, made small talk with the person working the desk and genuinely seemed to care. He glanced at his phone, biting his lip nervously as he tried to figure out a way to ask for the other man’s number without it seeming weird. When Aziraphale turned away from the desk with his things, he caught Crowley’s eye, and lit up with excitement.
“Crowley!” He nearly squealed, waving happily as he tottered over.
“Hey, angel.”
He beamed, looking around. “You waited for me!”
“Er, well.” Crowley coughed. “I thought we might exchange phone numbers. You know, so I can steal all your ideas for future challenges.”
“Foul fiend! We’ve already picked out what we’re gonna make!” Aziraphale giggled.
Crowley blushed a bit, looking down in disappointment. “Right.”
“I am very happy to exchange cell phone numbers, though, my dear!” Aziraphale smiled. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to walk me through it.”
Crowley grinned as Aziraphale passed him his phone, typing his number in and sending a quick text so it would pop up on his own phone. “Alright, angel. Ready to go?”
“After you.”
They boarded the lift together, both getting off on the third floor. The hallway split in front of them, and Crowley started off to the left like the arrow on the wall suggested. It took him no more than a second to realise that Aziraphale wasn't walking with him, and so he quickly spun on his heel, looking back. Aziraphale stood at the split in the hallway, looking sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.
“I’m this way.”
“Oh, right. Text if you need, Aziraphale.” Crowley waved with his free hand and hesitated just a second too long, before turning again and beginning to read the numbers on the doors all the way down the long corridor. He scolded himself for feeling disappointed. Then scolded himself for having assumed their rooms would be next door. And then, for good measure, scolded himself for the way that thought made his heart beat harder.
God, Crowley was absolutely screwed. He tossed his bags into the room after getting the door unlocked, letting out a long sigh. He stumbled into the bathroom, flicking the lights on and staring at himself in the mirror after taking his sunglasses off, frowning. Crowley just needed to feel fresh. He just needed to wind down from the day and stop thinking about Aziraphale. It couldn’t possibly be that hard. He pulled down his long hair, shaking his head and dropping his cane as he leaned on the bathroom counter. He just needed a shower, a nice cold shower to snap him back into reality and wash off the anxiety he’d dealt with that day.
Crowley tugged off his clothes quickly, stepping into the shower and fumbling with the tap for a minute before it finally turned on. His bones couldn’t handle ice-cold, so he messed with the temperature until it was barely chilly, and stepped under the weak water pressure. He ran his fingers through his long hair, shivering already. He very quickly washed off, having an incredibly unpleasant time in the cold shower – but at least it wouldn’t hurt his head and he wasn’t thinking about Aziraphale anymore. Well, until he just thought about not thinking about Aziraphale. Yet again, Aziraphale was the only thing floating around in his head. Crowley turned off the shower and reached for towels. The hotel towels that couldn’t wrap around anyone human-sized somehow managed to fit around his slim hips, and he wrapped his hair in another to dry.
He peered into the mirror at himself with a slight frown, barely drying off before sauntering into the room and tossing himself flat on the bed. Crowley realised, with a grumble, that his mattress felt like a slowly deflating sack unfit for holding a human, and that his back and knees were utterly doomed. Crowley rolled to the side, leaning off to grab his phone from his pants pocket on the ground, and pulling up his newly created text conversation with Aziraphale. He had written on Aziraphale’s phone: ‘hey’, and promptly saved the number as ‘angel (aziraphale)’.
Crowley nearly squealed, scooted out of bed and quickly unzipped his suitcase, pulling out his pyjamas – no way in hell was he putting on day-old clothes or showing up in his towel. He slipped on a loose off-the-shoulder crop top and sat back on the bed to put his sweatpants on, before stuffing his old clothes haphazardly back into the bag. Crowley slipped socks and shoes back on, taking the towel off his head and running his fingers through his damp wavy hair. He stood slowly and grabbing his other bag with the hand already clutching his cane, nearly tripping over himself while struggling to get out the door.