Work Text:
“Here,” said the demon. “Let’s sit by the lake.”
“Do you come here often?”
“Every now and then.”
“You’ve never taken me here before.”
What a sweet, sweet angel, with a note of jealousy to his voice, as if about to take offence that his demon hadn’t shared with him all his enjoyments. Sometimes, just sometimes Aziraphale would let his possessive side slip through his indifferent facade, and for Crowley that was the greatest enjoyment of all.
“I often come here to relax,” said Crowley, more to himself than the angel. “But there’s something missing about this lake. It seems… empty. If only there were some creatures I could, I don’t know… throw vegetables at.”
“Huh?”
“Ah, you wouldn’t get it.”
“Aren’t you simply trying to avoid the topic?,” Aziraphale asked, displeased.
“What topic?”
“My hair, Crowley!”
With a snap of his fingers, Crowley miracled a giant stone to appear behind him.
“To support my back,” he answered an unspoken question as he took a seat across Aziraphale, resting his back against the hard surface, spreading his arms out in his typical manner.
Clicking his tongue, the demon looked around. “Hair?”
“It’s too long,” the angel explained, a soft whine to his tone.
Crowley looked at Aziraphale, confused, although it was yet another time the angel expressed his regret over the new hairstyle.
“Here,” the demon took off his long coat, and handed it to Aziraphale. “You can sit on this to protect your robe from, I don’t know, grass.”
It was exactly what the angel was waiting for. Still, he pouted, as it should have been Crowley, not him, placing the coat on the grass. Adjusting his robe, he took a seat.
“First of all,” he continued, “it makes my walk… weird. I’m too afraid to step on my hair! Next, there were those drunk pagans who tried to have a way with me. Oh, and by the way, thank you for taking care of them.”
“Yeah, they're gonna have a new purpose in life, happy to be collecting excrement of nameless kings in their nameless castles,” Crowley muttered with a nonchalant wave of his hand.
“But the worst reason of all,” the angel took a deep breath, a pretty shade of red blooming across his cheeks. Demon looked at him like he was about to burst out of shame. Something that could lead to talking about Aziraphel’s feelings, which Crowley was still trying to master how to be patient.
“The very Supreme Archangel keeps making fun of me, calling me a perfect fit for all those pagan hippity-hop-hooray festivals.” Aziraphale looked away, dangerously close to bursting out of shame under Crowley’s curious gaze. “I just don’t mind the word itself... but the way he says “hippie” with this high note emphasizing on the first “i” gives me this cringy goosebumps". A part of the angel expected the demon to laugh, but, to Aziraphale’s surprise, Crowley’s leaned in towards him, “Oh, He’s just jealous.”
“Jealous?” Aziraphale repeated. “Gabriel jealous?”
“Yeah… You look fantastic! Marvelous! Beautiful! Hot…”
“Ah!” Aziraphel cuts Crowley off. “Don’t you patronize me… demon.”
“I am NOT trying to patronize you. Can’t you TAKE a compliment for ONCE in your FU…”
Crowley froze as he felt a presence. He looked to his right, and the angel immediately followed. There he was, just a few feet from across them, a boy in his early teens, with a haircut that resembles a bird's nest upside down covering his eyebrows.
“Yes?” Crowley addressed him with a little annoyance in his voice.
The boy actually didn’t say or do anything, though, just standing there, watching both the long-haired… lady?… in a white robe, and an elegant upper class lord with long fiery hair. Yes, just standing and staring at those black circle eyes the fiery lord had on his nose. The demon glanced at the angel back and forth returning to stare at the kid.
“E’cuse me sire, and me ladie” the boy finally spoke. “Spare me a pence for me m’ther? She a sick ol’ laidie. Nou visi’n, and her bones can’t take more…”
“Crowley, why is he talking like this?” said Aziraphale, confused.
“I don’t know” replied Crowley “But it looks like his tongue trying to escape from his teeth.”
The boy stood like a mule waiting for something to happen, looking back and forth at the weird couple, simply because it was the only way of begging he had ever learnt.
“Hey!” Crowley hissed at the kid “Can’t you see that two grownups are talking? Now where were we?” Demon was trying to continue the conversation but Aziraphale seemed a bit off. He couldn't put a finger on what was the expression on his face because he never saw it on the angel.
“Are you annoyed?”
“It’s not you Crowley.”
“Then what?”
Aziraphale nodded his head like he wanted to snap his neck with a grunt. It may have taken a moment for Crowley to understand, but finally he realized the problem of the situation.
“Ohhhhhh…”
“He’s still staring at us,” Angel whispered.
Demon as much as he hated being the knight in shiny armor, he couldn't just feel his damsel in distress being fussy.
“Ok kid. What was it that you wanted? A dinar?”
“A pence.” corrected Aziraphale.
“A pence?”
“Or a pound.”
“Pound of what?”
“Money”
“Pound of money?”
“No, just a bit, like a small coin”
“Oh, sorry I forgot my pouch from my other armor” Crowley said sarcastically.
“Just give him something…” the angel growled under his breath.
Shaking his head forcefully, Demon was trying to find something that could give the boy to get him on his way.
“I don’t have any money, but I can give you this sword.”
“Oh.” the boy exclaimed “would ya like s’mething in return?”
“Wait… what? No. You wanted money for your mother? Isn’t it?”
“That’s true sire, but a sword is a high value. I c’uld be y’u slave, sire.”
“No, that’s fine. I don’t want anything in return.”
“But sire. Truly y’u must be in a need f’r y’u giving away y’ur weap’n. Ain’t it agains the c’de f’r the knight to give his sw’rd?”
“Oh no, no, no. The new ruler signed a new law that a stupid little brats can get swords if they leave others ALONE!”
“I’ve ne’er heard of such law, me lord,” the boy said, scratching his head.
“Just take the sword,” Crowley replied at the verge of annoyance.
“Me m’ther can be your slave too!”
Patience was supposed to be every angel’s virtue. And yet, Aziraphale couldn’t help, but consider the lad but an irritating fly, one that fluttered back and forth, buzzing louder and louder, and you could only ask it politely to leave, because every creation of the Almighty must be respected.
Perhaps it was Crowley’s silent temptation, or a result of too many stupid questions, just one too many, and the overstimulated angel lost control. He snatched the sword from Crowley, and stabbed it into the stone. The blade went through the hard surface with ease, down to the very hilt, which shone so brightly both Crowley and the boy had to squint their eyes.
“M’lady?” The kid blinked at the angel, astonished, unable to decide what was more spectacular: a lady stronger than any man he knew, or the outburst of emotions that fit no woman. She was wild, in a way the kid found most fascinating.
“Draw the sword,” Aziraphale began solemnly, “if you succeed, you are worthy to become its new owner. And you must not reject the sword’s will!”
“Nice,” Crowley whispered playfully, so quietly only the angel could hear him. A wide smirk danced along his lips, and with his arms crossed over his chest he didn’t even try to hide his amusement.
“Do you really think I can do it?” The boy tilted his head curiously.
“Do you doubt the Lady of the Lake?” Aziraphale growled, and Crowley smiled under his breath, pleasantly surprised how fast the angel embraced his new identity.
“No, m’lady, I’d never…!”
“Then take it.”
The boy pulled up his sleeves. He looked more determined than scared, mostly thanks to the faith the Lady had in him. With one last glance at Aziraphale, the kid grabbed the hilt with both hands. The attempt came with a loud growl, supposed to add him strength.
The sword didn’t move one inch.
“Womp womp womp,” Crowley exclaimed.
“Why are you making silly trombone sounds all of the sudden?” Aziraphale frowned.
Crowley raised his eyebrows, letting out a short whistle. “You made it quite hard, didn’t you?” He noticed in a whisper.
“Not impossible, though,” said Aziraphale before shouting at the boy, “Just do it already!”
“I apologize, m’lady,” he bowed his head. “Let me try again.”
As he grabbed the hilt with both hands, Crowley barely lifted a finger, not even quarter of a miracle, and yet… The boy drew the sword in one fast pull. The blade glimmered with dozens of eyes, and the golden wings rose from both sides of the shaft.
“Now, piss off,” Aziraphale dismissed him impatiently, and Crowley grimaced.
“H’w do i piss when I d’n’t feel me blader to ejaculate?”
The demon and angel gave up at this point.
Rolling his eyes, Crowley sighed. “You’re such a show off,” he whispered to the angel.
“I am effective, first and foremost,” Aziraphale chimed in, gesturing at the kid, who was cheerfully swinging the sword above his head.
How he hated the sweet, innocent smile that danced along the angel’s lips, how he couldn’t stand his round cheeks blooming with a light shade of red. It was completely unnecessary of Aziraphale to reach this level of looking adorable, he had to do it on purpose, only because he enjoyed torturing Crowley.
“Thank you, m’lady!” The kid exclaimed.
”Yeah, yeah,” Crowley rushed the boy. Damn, that annoying lad was taking his sweet time, while the demon was growing more and more impatient to finally have time alone with his angel. He’d been sharing for too long.
The boy blinked, disappointed the answer didn’t come from Aziraphale. “Does this sword have a name?”
“It’s Ex… Caribou!” Crowley exclaimed excitedly, before the sudden realization hit him, “… oh, no, they can’t swim.”
“What?” Aziraphale frowned, but the demon dismissed him nonchalantly.
“You know, there’s this species of deer… Nevermind, you wouldn’t get it.”
After thousands of years, the angel was finally making peace with the fact that sometimes he really just wouldn’t get it.
“We need to take care of the stone,” he said when the kid finally left them, now running in circles in the distance, happily waving his weapon. “I bet this kid’s gonna tell his whole village there’s two gay men by the lake giving swords away.”
“Oh, don’t call us that, silly.”
“Well, you seemed pretty joyful at the wedding.”
Aziraphale let silence be his only response. Brushing a few blond locks off his face, he lets out a sigh, “You’re right, though. The stone can’t stay here.”
“I think I’ll just pay some villagers to carry it to my henge. It’s been so long since I added one to the collection.”
“Somebody’s gonna find out about the henge you’re creating with those stones, you know?”
Crowley waves his hand, nonchalantly. “Ahh, one more stone. It’s not like anyone’s going to count them. They don’t know how to count, anyway.”
Aziraphale nodded. “I must admit, that’s one beautiful henge.”
The words put a proud smile on Crowley’s face. “Isn’t it, angel?”
As if the seat by the stone was already busted, the demon walked closer to the lake.
Without a word, Aziraphale followed, and the two made themselves comfortable on the grass, close to the aquatic plants that formed a floral border between the ground and the body of water. The angel sat on his knees while Crowley, according to his habit and preference, spread his legs wide.
“Where were we?” He asked instead, after a long while of the most pleasant peace and quiet, as if the moment was so fragile that any louder noise could ruin it, provoking another annoying lad to ruin his and Crowley’s serenity.
“Before or after the henge talk?”
“… my hair, Crowley.”
“I know, angel, I’m just teasing. And I think I was in the middle of calling you gorgeous.”
“Of calling me out, actually. But, although wrong, I like your version better.”
Crowley stood up. Aziraphale followed him with curious gaze, only to realize the demon wasn’t going far, but sat behind the angel. “What are you doing, Crowley?” He asked as his companion’s hands brushed through the blond locks.
“You don’t know how to take proper care of such long hair, angel,” Crowley replied. “You fancied hair so long, and yet never bothered to tie it up. And then, let me guess, the strands got all tangled up during a walk?”
“It is not a frivolous miracle if I really can’t comb through my hair,” Aziraphale mumbled under his breath.
“Amusing, how engulfed in vanity you are, and yet a simple braid is too much effort for you.”
“I can’t just cut it down myself, Crowley,” Aziraphale muttered, with that sweet whiny tone Crowley would have found annoying if it only had been anyone but the angel.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” the demon replied, a bored note to his voice. “Your lot’s truly obsessed with hair.”
“Gabriel’s fault. He grew tired of shoulder-length hair, and decided he must get rid of it in some special way.”
For a brief moment, a shade of smile danced along Crowley’s lips, forming into that mischievous expression promising the demon was up to no good. “Sit down,” he finally said. “And don’t move.”
Aziraphale breathed in, and closed his eyes. Excitement filled him with the most pleasant kind of warmth, both because right now he was balancing on the thin line of rule breaking, and because of being tended by Crowley. The demon was definitely taking his sweet time, miracling one strand short after another,
The angel was so glad for the long sleeves of his robe, perfectly covering goosebumps that prickled along both his arms. It was getting late, after all, and near the water the air grew especially chilly. Yes, a perfectly good example that had nothing to do with the demon that now ran his fingers through the fair strands.
Aziraphale cleared his throat.
“I’m almost finished,” said Crowley, taking the sound for impatience. His fingers danced in the air as if Crowley was holding an invisible baton. “Aaand… done,” he announced proudly, and even miracles a pocket-size mirror for the angel, so he didn’t have to use the sheer of water.
The demon’s delight only increased as he watched Aziraphale checking himself out from every angle possible, beaming with joy.
“You did a splendid job, my dear,” Aziraphale said, touching his hair with utmost care as though scared to ruin the effect. “How did you restore my hairstyle so perfectly?”
Crowley shrugged. “I was thinking, is it boring enough? You weren’t too creative coming up with your hairstyle back in Eden, not to mention you didn’t change it ever since.”
What he passed silence on, though, was the fact he knew not just hair, but each aspect of the angel by heart. The roundness of his cheeks, the shape of his nose with a slightly upturned tip, how his full lips always betrayed his mood: he would narrow them in annoyance or raise one side in a shy smile when complimented, pouted when wanted something, but rather than straight-up admit would have Crowley figure it out on his own; or, while deeply pensive, Aziraphale would run his tongue along the lower lip.
“But where —” the angel started, but Crowley cut him mid-sentence.
“Turn around.”
And so he did, only to notice long, fair locks hanging on Crowley’s arm like the most precious fabric.
“We wouldn’t want to let the heavenly possessions go to waste, right?”
Aziraphale recognised the familiar tease in Crolwey’s voice, there was always a kind of edge whenever he mentioned Heaven. And yet — he was grateful. Both for the new hairstyle, and for recognizing that the angel felt an obligation to respect his lot’s law at least in some form.
His gaze landed on the serene flow of the lake.
“Right?” Repeated Crowley.
“I think I even know what to do with it,” Aziraphale said, collecting the fair locks. No longer did he regard them annoyance, and even a tender gleam shone in his eyes when he stepped towards the lake.
Crowley didn’t even have a chance to ask. The angel let the hair fall into the lake. Whenever each lock touched the sheer of water, it brightened with a blinding light, then…
“Such beautiful creatures,” Crowley gasped.
A bunch of birds, younger - of a vivid yellow colour, older - a mix of grey and green, both as splendid. Some of them swam in a straight line, one by one, while others dipped their heads under water. And Crowley watched them mesmerized, each of the birds a little miracle.
“We can return here tomorrow,” Aziraphale offered with a tender smile. “Bring them some vegetables.”
“Peas,” Crowley mused. “I think they’ll really like peas.”
“We’ll have to visit the market first,”
The demon seemed to read his mind.
“Come on, angel. No one will see the Lady of the Lake in you, not in this hairstyle.”
“I know,” Aziraphale sighed. “The thing is… This title kind of grew on me.”
“Oh, don’t tell me you regret I cut your hair!”
“Not at all,” the angel reassured. “To be fair… Between the two of us, long hair suits you more.”
“Mmm. Disagreed. You just went over the top. You always do.”
“No,” Aziraphale countered. The last strand of hair transformed into Crowley’s second-to-Aziraphale-favourite-creature, and so he turned to face the demon. “For me, it was a struggle. But you?”
“Yes, angel?”
“You look fantastic. Beautiful. Marvelous.”
Although Crowley immediately picked up on what the angel referred to, a pretty (only in the angel’s eyes, Crowley hated it) shade of red bloomed over his cheeks. The colour only intensified, when Aziraphale captured his hand into his.
And, holding back the shy urge to avert his eyes, he lowered his voice to a whisper, “Hot.”