Chapter Text
Aziraphale looked at his pocket watch again. Realistically, he knew he had no reason to be annoyed at Crowley for taking so long to join him.
They had just finished filming in Stratford a few days ago and he had been the one to suggest they take a few days off before their next project. Of course, he hadn't expected their next project to come quite so soon. Or take them to one of the most haunted places in England.
It hadn't even been that long. He had called the other man not even half an hour ago, and he knew the drive from their hotel to the castle was about 40 minutes, 15 if you were a hellion on wheels. It was just...
He turned to look at Dudley Castle again, towering behind him. In the sparse moonlight, it looked even more daunting than its rich history would suggest. Which was saying a lot, considering Aziraphale was well aware of all the ghosts and spirits it was supposedly home to. He couldn't wait to go inside.
The familiar rumble of a car, going from way too fast to a full stop way too quickly, made his heart skip a beat. Which he should have been used to, given the fact he spent most of his time in haunted houses and around cursed objects.
He had seen plenty of things that made his heart wonder if it was ever worth it to continue beating, before furiously trying to make up the difference for that one little stutter.
It was the same now, as he watched the tall, familiar figure stretch out of the Bentley. He had no idea how Crowley made it look so effortless. He had been in that infernal car, he knew how cramped it was. He remembered trying to climb out of it just last month when they had been in Edinburgh and almost falling on his face. But no, one long leg stretched out, then the other, before his friend was swinging out of the car, graceful as a vine.
And Aziraphale's heart completely gave up on even trying to function normally.
Because Crowley... Crowley had apparently decided against wearing his regular clothes - leather trousers and a simple tee, that still looked too sinful for anyone's comfort, Aziraphale was sure. No, Crowley, the man who had always appeared to be blessedly colour blind when it came to his own clothes, was now wearing a dress. A deep purple one.
Crowley said something. Something biting probably, judging by the scowl on his face and the growl in his voice. Aziraphale could hardly hear him over the buzzing in his ears.
He knew that he shouldn't. He knew that way laid only temptation and long nights, spent wide awake and slightly sweating. He should avert his gaze, say something instead, now, something equally biting. Concerning the other man being late perhaps? And yet...
The skirt was long and wide, the soft material whistling in the night air. There was a sash-like thing wrapped around Crowley's thin waist and Aziraphale had to remind himself, admittedly not for the first or he supposed the last time, that he could not stare at that part of his friend's body. His infuriating, rude friend. Infuriatingly hot too, and smart and- Nope, not going there.
He unglued his eyes from the place he had imagined placing his own hands over, wrapping his own fingers around. And instead forced them to travel upwards, where he knew the perpetual black circles on his friend's face would put a damper on his meandering thoughts... Except- Yes, what awaited him above the long stretch of legs and a rudely cinched waist was no better.
He knew he had sometimes been accused of being a prude, by the man in question no less, but the top of what Crowley was wearing was barely existent. Thin straps over a cloth, so flimsy it could have been a handkerchief. In fact, Aziraphale was certain the one he had in his coat's pocket was larger and could cover Crowley up more efficiently than whatever the other man was trying to pass off as a top.
For Heaven's sake, Aziraphale could see his chest hair. Thick and ginger and, well. At least that answered one of the questions that had been plaguing his mind ever since he had met the other man.
"Oi. Eyes up here, angel," Crowley snapped, fingers clicking right in front of his face. Which was doubly infuriating, because Aziraphale was not completely certain he would have been able to tear his eyes off that tantalising patch of scarlet against cream otherwise.
He tipped his head back, fully aware that despite that demon of a man's words, the best he could expect would be to be met with the dark circles of his glasses. And tipped it back. And back, until his neck was gently reminding him that he was not as young as he used to be, by way of blood-curdling pain. He hurried to snap his head to a more comfortable position.
"You are tall," he remarked, uselessly, to Crowley's neck. After everything that he had witnessed, it still seemed like the most eloquent thing he could have gone with.
Above him, Crowley chuckled. Aziraphale could see the way his throat tightened as he swallowed around his mirth.
His friend made no attempt to defend himself.
"Why are you tall?" Aziraphale insisted, after a long, apology-free minute. He could feel his patience running out. Well, mostly something else too but focusing on how irritated the man before him made him felt like the safest option right now.
The throat shook with laughter, red curls of hair dancing around it.
"Did you interrupt my night so I can come explain the birds and the bees to you, Aziraphale? You see, when a tall mummy and a tall daddy love each other very much... Or, well, in my case, tolerate each other-"
But Aziraphale was not listening to what he was sure would be a very crude rendition of the night Crowley had come to exist as a pain in his ass. No, his eyes, entirely on their own volition, were travelling down once again, this time in search of something specific. Something as rage inducing as it was tempting.
"Are you wearing high heels?" he screeched, the moment he spied, as he had known he would, the other man's shoes. Right there, innocently peeking out of the bottom of a purple dress, were heels. At least a couple inches high and as thin as a pencil.
This time he ignored the stabs of pain in his neck as he threw his head back to stare at the impassive black circles.
"Why did you think wearing high heels was a good idea, my dear? What if we have to run?" Aziraphale demanded, glad that the usual desire he felt for the other man had taken a brief city break from his brain, leaving only incredulity at his friend's poor decision-making skills.
He didn't know how well he would have handled it if the other emotion had won out.
Crowley, on the other hand, didn't seem to be having any problem deciding on an emotion. Even with the glasses still perched on his nose, his whole demeanour exuded amused nonchalance. Further supported by the way he was grinning at Aziraphale, sharp canine digging into his bottom lip.
"We are not going to run, Aziraphale. When have we ever had to run?"
That... that was beside the point. Health and safety, wasn't it? Plus-
"This is a medieval castle!" Aziraphale gestured wildly as if the other man might have missed the tall building towering behind them. The only building around them. "How do you imagine you will climb those stairs in heels, Crowley?"
His voice had taken on a desperate edge. It was to do with the way he had to keep twisting his head to look at his friend and it certainly was not because Crowley had leant forward slightly, revealing a sliver more of his chest.
Crowley winked at him. It should have been hard to tell with the glasses in the way, except, no it wasn't, because Aziraphale knew that demon of a man enough to know exactly how his face looked when he was being a bastard.
And then, then Crowley was leaning even closer, until their noses were almost touching.
"Then I guess you'll have to stay right behind me, huh? Make sure you can catch me if I fall?" Crowley's voice was silken and just as sharp as his smile.
He didn't even wait for an answer before he was turning away and swaggering back to his car. Which was truly annoying because Aziraphale had had the perfect comeback.
Really, he had.
The thing was, while Crowley was very open about his scepticism, Aziraphale also... Didn't strictly believe in ghosts. It was very hard to believe, especially when their show had taken them to most of England's, and some of Europe's, most 'haunted' spots. Where, more often than not, the scariest thing about those placed had been the state of them.
Honestly, all of those buildings were part of history. People ought to take better care of them.
Of course, he couldn't very well come out and say that. Crowley was the non-believer, the one questioning everything. It wouldn't work if they both doubted the existence of the paranormal and supernatural. People might wonder why they were even doing this. And while Crowley's answer would come as quickly as it always did, mostly containing a spiel about how high the rent in Mayfair was and really, he was doing all their viewers a favour - better him than someone gullible... That man never did mince his words... Aziraphale's reason for pretending he was scared of the things that didn't go bump in the night was a lot different. And far more mortifying.
It was the same reason that made him stare at Crowley, as the man crouched to fish out the equipment they needed out of the duffel bag Aziraphale had brought. Spider fingers curled around the tape recorder, before the other man was passing it over to him, without even raising his head.
Something in Aziraphale's heart tugged at the familiarity of that simple gesture and he reminded it that this was neither the time nor the place.
"Can you wear the camera this time? I'd do it but-" Crowley gestured towards the sorry excuse for a top he was wearing and Aziraphale didn't need to look at it to understand his meaning. He still felt his eyes drifting towards the tantalising purple material.
He nodded his head, more to shake out the rush of impure thoughts, threatening to drown him, than because he particularly cared who was going to wear the camera that they used to record all of their explorations.
Crowley nodded too, before he was standing up. Aziraphale had no idea how he could do it so easily, let alone so gracefully, wearing what was surely more a torture device than shoes. And then those same slender fingers he had just been admiring were sneaking around him, one hand wrapping around his bicep to keep him steady, while the other clipped the camera to his jacket. The touch was brief, fleeting, fingers not lingering for even a moment longer than they had to. Crowley not lingering closer for a moment longer than he had to.
His friend didn't even look up from his task, despite Aziraphale trying to catch his gaze in something so shamefully close to desperation. Instead, Crowley secured the camera to his pocket, one final pat to his chest to signal a job well-done. Touch that Aziraphale greedily chased, a twitch of his body forward and no more and Crowley's own chest shuddered against his head.
A moment and it was over, and the hands and the heat and what was undoubtedly just Crowley, were retreating. Aziraphale was very careful not to make a noise at that. He wasn't sure he had succeeded.
Next were the microphones. Crowley tugged the tresses of his hair in a messy bun before clipping the small device to his ear. Aziraphale opted for staying perfectly still, in the silly hope that the other man might decide to give it the same treatment he had given the camera. A hope that was quickly dashed by the man himself, when he simply handed him the microphone.
Probably for the best, really. Aziraphale wasn't sure what he would have done if he had felt those soft fingers brushing aside his curls, ghosting over his ear. Crowley so close to him that he would be able to feel his breath on his-
"All done?" Crowley asked, pulling him away from his ill-timed and frankly borderline indecent fantasy.
Aziraphale nodded. "I suppose we won't require much else."
The first place they visited was the gift shop. It was said to be the most haunted spot in the castle, with numerous people reporting seeing items move by themselves or hearing unusual sounds.
It was also closest to the entrance.
This time, when Crowley entered first, as he always insisted on doing, Aziraphale was right behind him, arms and body tense. Ready, just in case. Not that the other man appeared to need his help, hips swinging like they usually did (not that Aziraphale had ever noticed), flashlight sweeping over all the dark corners.
Aziraphale didn't stare at his ass.
He didn't. The light of his own flashlight had accidentally illuminated it and, of course, his eyes had been drawn to it. Simple reflexes.
"How can people even notice things missing in here?" Crowley asked, leaning over the snow globes’ display. Aziraphale, who had already been illuminating him, accidentally, was able to make out the grin on his face. He didn't like it.
"Crowley," Aziraphale hissed. It was the safest way to handle his friend, he had found, when he got like this.
But Crowley had already grabbed a snow globe, shaking it in long delicate fingers, black circles intent on the little penguins inside, suddenly finding themselves in a blizzard.
"What? It's like a car boot sale, isn't it? I can bet someone just fancied a trinket and decided to pocket it. And later on, they were all, 'Oh, no, the ghosts did it.'"
A sigh tore from Aziraphale's lips. Mostly, because he knew Crowley was right. The gift shop was full to the brim with all sorts of knick-knacks, none of which he was sure a ghost would be interested in. The people in their profession on the other hand...
Case in point. He made his way to Crowley, careful not to knock anything to the ground- perhaps the reason why other people claimed to have heard strange noises in here. The man was now playing with another globe, this one of the castle, a strange figure of what Aziraphale knew was a common depiction of a Grey Lady at the doorway.
He wrapped his fingers around the globe, careful not to touch any of that soft skin around it, and tugged it out of the other man's grip.
"That's quite enough, my dear," he said, chastising, but voice softer than he had meant it to be. He couldn't quite help it, not here, in the dark, with the outline of his friend's figure as his only companion.
When people said ghosts were revealed in the dark, perhaps they didn't only mean the supernatural kind.
"My apologies, angel. Didn't mean to offend your delicate sensibilities." Crowley's voice was exaggeratedly apologetic, and his little bow in Aziraphale's direction was just plain unnecessary. It wasn't what Aziraphale focused on.
"Why do you do that?" he asked, unable to stop a question that had been bothering him for a handful of years now. There was something in the air, he felt, something that while not conducive to a great paranormal investigation, still felt like it was leading them to some sort of discovery.
Something tightened around Crowley's shoulders. It took Aziraphale longer than it should have to realise it was worry. Perhaps because it was so unusual to see.
"Do what?"
"Call me angel. You've been doing it since we started working together."
"And you thought now's the best time to ask?" Crowley turned to him, one eyebrow raised above his glasses, and... perhaps he was right. Why was Aziraphale even asking this?
Still, he shrugged. Now was as good a time as any, considering they both didn't have high hopes for the success of this investigation. Might as well talk about other things. Important things.
Crowley hesitated, mouth opening and closing a few times. Aziraphale could almost see the snarky response climbing up the slope of his throat, before it was pushed down in a single gulp. Crowley shrugged too.
"Remember Eve?"
Aziraphale stared. "Pardon?"
"Our first camera woman. Our only camera woman, since you refused to work with anyone else after she quit to go travel with her partner. And we had to get these instead." Crowley waved at the camera clipped to his coat and Aziraphale blinked at him. Well, perhaps this hadn't been such a good idea after all, considering he couldn't even see the other man properly. And therefore wasn't able to tell if his friend was making fun of him.
"I know who Eve is, Crowley. I am uncertain as to what she has to do with my question."
Crowley turned towards the snow globes again, fingers reaching for one before curling in the air. He always got fidgety when they were discussing something that he actually cared about. The realisation made Aziraphale's shoulders slump down from their defensive stance.
"It was our first night together." Crowley's voice was quiet, but so was the room. Deadly quiet. "I know I like to be a dick about what we do but that night, that night we saw something. Something real. It was unbelievable. I still remember the way you looked, like you could light up the whole world with your smile. Finding something like that on our first try? We were gonna be famous!"
Oh. Aziraphale remembered that part. He remembered what followed too. Despite the years that had passed, he still felt that same dread drip from his heart and pool at the bottom of his stomach.
Crowley seemed to remember it too. His voice turned dark as he continued, "Until we realised Eve had forgotten to take the cap off the camera lens. Rookie mistake but, that's what we were, back then. Just starting out, eager but inexperienced. I was so sure you were going to be mad, you were going to yell at her, or worse, fire her. Was so ready to get between you two."
Aziraphale shook his head. He would never. It hadn't been her fault. And they'd been so young, none of them had known what they were doing. When he finally looked at Crowley, the other man was smiling at him. A gentle thing, so unlike his usual serrated smirk.
"You consoled her. You- You held her while she cried and told her it wasn't her fault. When you looked so close to tears too. And I remember thinking, that's an angel, right there. Doesn't really help, does it, the way you look. All blond curls and soft smiles and- Yeah." Crowley shrugged, his lips finally finding their trademark edge. "Plus the whole holier-than-thou attitude. Can't forget that part."
It was a very mild dig, at least compared to Crowley's usual attitude. An attempt to lighten the mood, to soften the sincerity of his previous words. Aziraphale let himself smile too, happy to indulge the ridiculous creature he had called a friend for almost a decade now.
"I thought you were teasing," he said, voice light and airy. Teasing, just the same.
Something softened in Crowley's features, almost inconspicuous in the light of their flashlights but still, clear as day to Aziraphale, who knew every dip and curve of that face.
"I usually am. But not about this." And before Aziraphale could have said anything, but what, really, Crowley was already turning around, waving over his shoulder. "Let's get out of here. There's nothing to see."
He didn't wait for an answer, simply heading for the door leading further into the castle, and leaving Aziraphale to follow silently.
Which he did, one last sweep of his flashlight around the gift shop. The snow globe with the Grey Lady figure was gone.
He needed to make sure Crowley put it back before they left.
The further they went inside the castle, the colder it seemed to get. Someone more inexperienced might have claimed it was the work of spirits, trying to force themselves into the living's plane of existence. Aziraphale knew it was simply the stones, doing their job and insulating them from the heat of the outside world.
Whatever the reason was, it didn't change the fact Crowley was not dressed appropriately for a midnight stroll inside a castle. While the heels appeared to not be a problem, a fact that Aziraphale could still hardly believe, and he remained more than ready to swoop in at the first sign of a stumble from the other man, the rest of Crowley's ensemble was not... Quite so easy to ignore.
The third time Crowley shivered, Aziraphale couldn't stop himself from reaching out. Curling a hand around the other man's forearm, tugging him to a stop. There were goosebumps underneath his palm, and he ran his hand up and down the freezing skin, more out of the unconscious need to warm it up than the perpetual desire to touch, to feel.
That. That came later. The moment he realised what he was doing, actually.
He had to resist the urge to tear his hand away.
"You are cold," he whispered, leaning closer. It felt like he was on display, like they both were, and the sudden urge to cover Crowley, keep him from view, almost knocked him down to his knees.
It was paranoia, he knew. Empty, vast spaces. Just the two of them somewhere old. He had felt it before.
Never quite that strongly before, though.
Crowley scoffed, but didn't move away either. They were so close, each fluttering breath pushing them closer. Aziraphale's hand slid further up, over a round elbow, a firm bicep. A bare shoulder. Freezing.
"Why are you dressed like this anyway?" Aziraphale couldn't help but ask. He knew what Crowley did in his free time was none of his business, of course it wasn't. But, goodness, the way the other man looked.
Crowley was leaning into the touch, no doubt seeking the warmth of his palm. Whatever the reason for it, it felt... nice. Having that demon of a man soft and pliant under his touch. So close, almost resting against his frame. Aziraphale's hand crept up even higher, curled around the side of Crowley's neck, thumb ghosting over the curve of his throat.
He felt Crowley gulp as he answered, "Date night."
Oh. Well. That, that answered another question Aziraphale had previously had.
He felt his heart stutter inside his chest and could only send a silent prayer to Above and Below that Crowley hadn't been able to feel it, so close together that they were.
"I see. I'm sorry to have interrupted it." His voice didn't tremble. He was very proud of that fact. His fingers were an entirely different story and he hurried to snatch them back from all that tempting skin.
Crowley... Crowley whimpered, at the loss of contact. Which only served to make Aziraphale feel even worse. Here his friend, his friend, was, freezing. And Aziraphale was too busy ogling him and, and copping a feel, to help him.
"It's fine," someone said and it took Aziraphale's mind too long to realise it was Crowley. Perhaps because it sounded nothing like him, voice shaky and breathless. "I know we've been on the waiting list for this place for way too long. I didn't mind-"
Aziraphale nodded. He wasn't sure what else to say. What he could ask, as that was what he wanted to do most of all. What he was allowed to ask.
Were they nice? Did they treat him right? How long- How did- Were they ser-
His eyes were burning, his whole body felt like it was on fire. He quickly shed off his coat and thrust it into Crowley's hands. Even without it, he felt plenty warm. The other man tried to dodge it, but it felt almost half-hearted, with the way neither of them really wanted to escape the bubble of warmth they had found themselves in. For entirely different reasons, Aziraphale was sure, but still.
"There is no need-" Crowley was trying to protest, trying to push the coat back and Aziraphale decided to take matters into his own hands. Or rather, take his coat into his own hands, so he could drape it over the other man's shoulders.
"Please," he said. As if it was more for his benefit than Crowley's. Not very far from the truth.
He let himself soak it in for a moment, the way Crowley looked in his clothes, the way the coat, slightly too big on him, swallowed his frame. It felt nice. Right, in a way he knew he had no way to feel. Not after certain recent revelations.
His friend made a noise again, a groan and something else, something Aziraphale wasn't sure he had ever heard before. But his arms were already wiggling into the sleeves, long fingers tugging the lapels tighter around his chest, nose burying in the collar.
"Thank you," Crowley murmured, mouth obscured by the beige material.
He looked... Goodness, but he looked adorable.
Aziraphale felt his heart tighten around that word. He reached forward, the need to touch overwhelming, before he forced himself to adjust the camera instead, still attached to the coat's pocket. And then he made himself step away. It was safer than trying to find an excuse to touch the other man.
"Of course, my dear boy. Don't mention it."
For a moment, they just looked at each other. There was so much Aziraphale wanted to say, wanted to ask. Wanted to offer and plead. None of it appropriate. It was almost a relief that once one of them spoke, it wasn't him.
"Do you hear drums?" Crowley asked, suddenly, head snapping up.
They stood frozen together for a few moments. In truth, Aziraphale could hardly hear anything over the blood pounding in his ears, but he wasn't about to admit to that.
He shook his head, instead, one hand coming to rest against the other man's back, gently pushing him towards the next room.
He was starting to feel like coming here had been a mistake.