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Aziraphale knew he was a parody of himself sometimes, but he really did enjoy strolling through farmers' markets, especially when his excursion was rewarded with a tempting honey stall display.
He tried not to swing his basket too jauntily as he approached the table full of jars and preserves, make a bee-line for the tray of tiny sample pots. As he approached the stall he became aware that he would need to be careful, the last time the redhead had manned it he had left with a basket full of honey; his friends would not be too happy to receive gift baskets so soon again.
Usually a rather shy young man with glasses ran the stall, but every so often Aziraphale would be lucky enough to encounter The Redhead, with eyes the colour of the honey he sold
He stepped to the front of the stall, looking at the small jars, a couple of the big ones, and the combs. All looked sticky and delicious in the sun.
"Pick your poison," came the toothy smiled invitation.
"Um.... oh..." Aziraphale glanced quickly away, willing himself not to blush.
"You liked the set one the last time you were here," the man prompted, nudging forward a small taster pot. "The apple blossom's out now so it's quite tangy."
"Oh," Aziraphale murmured in surprise, now unable to stop his cheeks reddening, "you remember what I bought?"
“Well, you’re my most loyal customer.” The man said, with a dashing grin.
"I find that very hard to believe," Aziraphale said with an equally charming smile.
His friends, on the other hand, would probably readily agree with the man.
“But we have a verity of options.” The man said, gesturing to the jars.
"I think trying out some new varieties would be nice," Aziraphale stammered as he slowly shuffled to the area with the smaller glasses.
"Oh, hello Mr. Fell! How nice to run into you here!" said Mr. Brown cheerfully, as he came to stand beside him at the table with jars. Aziraphale felt his shoulders tense, smile freeze and closed his eyes in silent dread. He didn’t see Redhead tilt his head and frown at the sudden change.
"I didn't know you were also a fan of artisan honey," Mr. Brown continued. Of course he didn't; he was definitely not on Aziraphale's list of the honey baskets recipients.
Azirapahle shifted slightly away from Mr Brown’s shoulders. Brown always stood just too close, and he tried not to breathe the weirdly sour scent of his cologne. Brown had insisted on showing Aziraphale the expensive bottle once and Aziriphale had noted the scent in the bottle was fine, but on Browns it was a peculiarly obnoxious stench.
“Mr. Brown, I wasn’t expecting you here.” Aziraphale said, with a tight smile.
The Redhead shifted slightly, turning his body almost protectively toward Aziriphale and gave Brown a false, professional and somehow predatory smile. “Hello, welcome to my stall,” he said a cool, low tone Aziraphale refused to find sultry.
"Hello!" Mr. Brown greeted the redhead with an equal cheerfulness. "I'd like two jars of..." he glanced at the jars further at the back and pointed. "Those." He then turned back to Aziraphale. "So, what are you in the mood for?"
“Uh, just started looking, actually,” Aziraphale replied. “Haven’t, really, appreciated the spread yet.” He flicked his eyes to the lean form of the Redhead.
The Redhead grabbed Mr. Brown’s jars and forcefully placed them on the table with a loud thump. “Those would be six pounds.” He said, with a forced smile.
Mr. Brown, completely unaware of the stallholder's rather rude behavior, reached for his wallet and handed the man a ten-pound note.
"I can help you choose, if you like," he offered Aziraphale, as he waited patiently for the redhead to give him his change and neatly put the two jars into a bag, since he hadn't brought one of his own.
“Ah, no, that’s quite alright,” Aziraphale said stiffly, moving away from Brown’s encroaching stance again. He picked up the closest honey jar and hugged it to his chest defensively as he turned to face away from Brown. The Redhead frowned harder and shoved the honey jars he’d bagged haphazardly at Brown, making him back up a step.
“Have a good day.” The redhead said, with a smidge of venom in his voice. Mr. Brown stared at him, confused by the sudden hostility from the man, before walking over to Aziraphale.
He frowned mid motion and turned to the redhead. "Um, excuse me? You forgot to give me change?"
Mr. Brown then stepped over to Aziraphale again. "I’d prefer the other stallholder. The one with the glasses," he whispered. "Are you quite sure I can't be of assistance?"
Aziriphale flinched visibly at the feel of Brown being so close he could feel his breath. The jar was held tighter as Aziriphale froze, pale eyes wide and blank. His breath started to come short and hard as he felt like he was running out of air. Panic attack, he thought brokenly before his vision started to brown out along the edges.
The redhead bolted over to the men, gave Mr. Brown his change and shoved him aside to lead Aziraphale away from him. He shot Mr. Brown the glare of death, before disappearing behind the stall, which was far more quiet and private to allow him to assist Aziraphale.
"Breathe in and hold for a 4 count," the Redhead soothed. "Now breathe out for another 4."
Aziraphale heard only muffled sounds at first, the pounding of his racing heart and the feeling of suffocation blocking everything else. It was the soft steadying pressure in his arms, still clutching the cold jar, that faintly started to break through.
Aziraphale’s eyes glanced up at The Redhead, who gave him a concerned smile. “Hey, there.” He said, before moving his hands to his chest as he breathed in, indicating that he wanted Aziraphale to copy him.
And just as Aziraphale inhaled... he heard Mr. Brown call out from the other side of the stall. "Is everything alright back there?"
Turning saucer-wide eyes to his saviour, Aziraphale sent out a wordless plea that the stall owner seemed to understand. "Oi, Ana," the redhead called out to the person at the next table over, "got to take care of something, keep an eye on my place for 5 minutes, yeah?"
The redheaded man glanced at Aziraphale, gave him a reassuring pat on his arms and spun gracefully around and stalked back the where Brown was trying to get around Ana, who was valiantly blocking his way. “I think you need to leave now,” he said firmly and loud enough to be overheard.
"You... are a very rude man!" Mr Brown frowned. "I won't buy from your stall again!" He turned and walked away. "I was only trying to help," he mumbled to himself. Crowley turned back to Aziraphale who looked slightly better than before. “How are you feeling?” He asked, gently.
Aziraphale closed his eyes and took stock of his body, like his therapist had taught him. Shakey in his hands, slight nausea in his stomach but breath steady. He felt something sticky on his fingers, glanced down and realized he’d cracked the jar somehow. “Oh bother,” he said.
"S' alright," Crowley took the broken jar from his hands. "Let's get you cleaned up."
Aziraphale nodded, before The Redhead led him away to a nearby restroom. “Thank you,” he said, as the other man grabbed a paper towel to wet.
"No problem", he answered, smiling softly. "You didn't get cut by any of the broken glass ?"
Aziraphale shook his head, “No.” He said, giving the man his hands to clean up.
Aziraphale watched completely mesmerised as capable fingers drew his sticky hands to the tap, felt the water temperature a moment before drawing them under, and then slowly started rubbing soap in his palms and around his fingers. Aziraphale's breath hitched, but this time he was very aware this was not in panic.
“M’ Crowley,” the redhead said suddenly, gentle fingers working the sticky golden honey from his fingers in long, soothing strokes.
“Aziraphale,” the pale blonde breathed back, not wanting to break the spell of whatever this was.
“Aziraphale…” Crowley repeated, before giving him a soft smile. “Suits you.” He added.
Aziraphale looked up and found himself captured by Crowley’s amber eyes, almost the color of his honey in the sunlight. Small flecks of darker brown in the center and lighter brown that was almost orange at the edges.
Aziraphale felt gentle prickles all over his skin as Crowley gently started rubbing his hands dry with a paper towel, which felt as soft as a duck's feather as far as he was concerned today.
“How does that feel?” Crowley asked, as he threw the towel away.
"Rather... embarrassing, to be honest," Aziraphale admitted. "I'm so very---"
“Oh, no no no, Crowley interrupted,”don’t apologize. That guy, whoever the fuck he was, was out of line, I saw how he kept invading your space. Not ok.” Crowley reached up and almost touched Aziraphale’s pale curls from his slightly sweaty forehead before pulling sharply back and flushing, looking away. “Sorry, I almost did the same. I’m an idiot sometimes.”
“It’s not the touching that’s the problem, though it definitely didn’t help at the time. It’s Mr. Brown as a whole.” Aziraphale said, before looking at Crowley. “He likes to push a little too much with my boundaries and he doesn’t get the hint or ignores that I’m uncomfortable.” He added.
“Thank you,” Aziraphale said sincerely. “No one has stood up for me before like that.” He felt himself blush and started twisting his signet ring.
“You don’t need to thank me, he was being a creep and I couldn’t just stand there and watch.” Crowley said, with a shrug.
A toilet got flushed, a door opened and said creep appeared again. Aziraphale sighed. Crowley hissed.
Mr Brown spotted a face as if he had bitten into a brownish lemon.
Crowley stepped in front of Aziraphale, blocking him from the view of Mr. Brown
"Uhm, if I may?" Mr Brown pointed at the washbasins. "It is very unhygienic not to wash your hands after using the toilet."
“Let’s go.” Crowley said, before the men walked out the restroom.
Aziraphale looked up to the sky and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to soothe the shakey, jittery feeling threatening again. He felt Crowley’s soft comforting touch on his shoulder as he counted his breaths. “Inhale…one two three. Pause..one two three..exhale one two three….” He whispered to himself as he fought to bring his fight or flight ready body back into something like calm.
"Let's go for a stroll and a chat, if you want," Crowley murmured softly, "maybe take your mind off things — could tell me about yourself, unless you wanna hear me bang on about bee-keeping?"
“I’d quite like that, actually,” Aziraphale admitted shyly. "Oh! But...." He gestured behind them as Crowley led them through the market, "don't you need to get back to the honey stall?"
“Shit, I forgot.” Crowley grumbled. “Maybe we can continue our stroll after?” He asked
He patted his pockets for a moment, "actually...." he pulled out a crumpled flier with a triumphant "ha!" And held it out for Aziraphale to take. "We're doing tours of the farm. And the apiary. Maybe you could... if you wanted... there's honey tasting too..?"
Aziraphale slowly took the flyer and smiled, “I would love to.” He said.
Then Crowley dug out a pen and scrawled numbers on the back of the flier. "Uhm... In case you want to do the tour thing when there aren't many other people around... There's my number. Only if you want."
“Thank you.” Aziraphale said, before Crowley ran back to his stand.
Aziraphale spent the rest of his time at the market in a daze, feeling like the flyer in his pocket was a burning coal. When he got home later, he sat in his quiet living room, soft soothing music playing and was holding that flyer in his hands, remembering the soothing strokes of Crowley’s fingers on his, moving the golden thick honey off.
He pulled Crowley’s number from his pocket and stood up to walk to his telephone.
Then paused. Too soon?
He caught the scent of honey on the flyer, and felt something low in his belly tighten. His trousers moved around his nethers, and that sensation with the taste of sweet full wine he’d been sipping, the romantic melody in the air and full honey scent in his nose brought that memory of those strong soft fingers stroking his own with disturbing clarity.
And immediately his mind went to the next logical step: what else those elegant fingers could be stroking and how that would feel.
Aziraphale turned and the rub of fabric signaled his body was all in. He bit his lip, thinking of those red curls, so soft looking, and those broad shoulders narrowing to a lovely waist, what the flesh would feel like under his own thick fingers.
Aziraphale stumbled back to his chair and groaned at his body’s demands. He wondered what Crowley might sound like in a similar state.. would it be quiet and low? Partially vocalized profanities? Would he lose all coherency if Aziraphale’s hands stroked down that delectable chest… Or would he be very vocal? Keep telling him what he feels, what he wants? What he wants Aziraphale to do?
A loud knock on the door startled him. "Aziraphale? Are you in?" he heard Nina shout.
Aziraphale started violently, pulling his hands away from himself.
“Fu… Nina?” He said dazedly, trying to get his blood back to his brain and not…lower. "No! I'm not here!"
Drat.
“Aziraphale, you are being very weird," Nina declared. “Now open your damn door. It’s important.”
“Uh, a moment,” Aziraphale stuttered and quickly put himself back into a state that wouldn’t get him a ticket for indecency.
He pulled open the door to find Nina waving a familiar looking flier at him. "Look what I've got!" She grinned. "It's that handsome skinny bloke from the market. The one you've had your eye on for weeks."
Nina's grin faded as a tall, unpleasant-looking man appeared behind her. "Before you get excited about the handsome honey guy," she said, "you should probably know this... person claims his name is Slorch the Vile and he says you are the only person who can help him fix a rather embarrassing identity problem."
“Alan?” Aziraphale said in surprise, “when did you get back? I thought Aunt Genevieve had you hunting truffles in France again?”
"Sh! Don't call me that anymore. My name is Slorch the Vile!"
Aziraphale signed and opened the door wider. “Of course, Al…Slorch. Come in,” Aziraphale glanced around, and glad there was not incriminating…evidence…of his interrupted activities.
"And take this," Nina waved the flier at him. "You could..."
"I already have one, dear," Aziraphale glanced behind him to check Alan wasn't going through his cupboards. "And got his number. Toodle pip." He closed the door in his friend's stunned face and went to hunt down both his cousin and Aunt Gen's phone number.
Alan..Slorch..was definitely going through his cupboards. He came back and flopped on a chair and stuffed shortbread biscuits in his mouth.
“Good cookies,” he muttered and Aziraphale frowned at the crumbs spreading over his books and rug.
“Biscuits,” he corrected absently.
"Mmph. Why does it smell of honey in here?"
Aziraphale pinched his nose. “Ala..Slorch…why are you here?”
“Need a new carpet Aunt Gen’s house,” he mumbled through the cookies. “You keep talking about some carpet guy…Oh, and I need to change my name. The German Polizie think I stole some book off some old guy.”
Aziraphale closed his eyes. "Please tell me you didn't introduce yourself as Slorch the Vile to the German police."
"Turns out you're not supposed to carry bees across international borders. Who knew?" Slorch the Vile explained. "'S great honey. Proper artisanal stuff. People get real funny 'bout artisanal. So, I liberated a hive and we're going to be rich... only it's sitting out on your step right now."
"What?!" Aziraphale squawked, head snapping back to the front door where he could hear a distinctive humming sound....
“But then I went to this bookstore, see, and this old guy was arguing with some tall woman with poofy white sleeves” the other man continued. “Anyway, they yelled at me about the bees and so I left. But then the old guy apparently popped off, dead as a door nail, and no one can find some book everyone is fighting over and since I was the last customer they think I took it.”
Aziraphale barely heard his cousin babbling. The buzzing sounded…angry.
He glanced at his phone. Aunty Gen was no help now. His eyes landed on the flier on the table.
The number of an unfairly beautiful redhead was there. Could he ask the man to save him, again? Did he want that? (Yes!) but he’d…just before…he felt a flush of shame and want… and the damn buzzing got louder.
Deciding that a beekeeper was probably more useful than the police had been in these present circumstances, Aziraphale snatched up the flier and dialled the beekeeper's number with fingers that trembled.
xxx
Crowley had finished his day at the market in a distracted haze. He kept replaying the feel of Aziraphale’s thick, strong fingers as he’d cleaned them. Newt had dropped a case of honey when Ana the next stall over had startled him with a touch on his hand, and Crowley hadn’t even growled at him like the last time Newt dropped merchandise because Ana just existed in his general vicinity.
He'd just finished loading up the van and had gotten behind the wheel with a groan - too many hours on his feet - when his mobile started ringing with an unknown number. He frowned as he answered.
"Um... Hello? This is Aziraphale. We um.. met at the market today?"
Crowley’s heart rate spiked and his smartwatch beeped a warning. “Oh. Hi!” He said a bit too loudly. “You called!” He winced at himself.
"Yes and.... I'm aware this is a perhaps a little sooner than you expected me to be in touch but I... actually have a bee-related emergency."
"A bee-related emergency?" Crowley echoed, already reaching for his bee suit. "Because I've got to tell you, Aziraphale, that is both the best and worst reason anyone's ever called me."
Aziraphale smiled, and then closed his eyes again as Ala..Slor…his cousin loudly banged something closed in the kitchen. A shattering sound and a curse followed and Aziraphale decided he didn’t want to know.
"Would you be able to come to mine? I don't live too far from the farmer's market... but I am rather trapped inside."
Crowley opened his mouth, baffled... "Wuhhh.... uhh.... ok, what's the address?"
Aziraphale gave the address. "There may be a slight complication," Aziraphale admitted. "My cousin has apparently acquired a hive of questionable legality."
Crowley was already backing the van out of its parking spot, Aziraphale's voice coming through the speaker phone. "A hive of... what? Look i'll be there in 10 minutes... I'll put my bee suit on, shall I?"
"That may be wise, yes."
Crowley soon arrived, maybe more quickly than the legal speed limit would normally allow, pulling up to the address Aziraphale had provided.
Following the directions he was given, he donned his suit (a custom ventilated one in his signature black) and found a battered Hello Kitty suitcase on the door step. A few bees were buzzing around and he could definitely hear the angry buzz from inside.
"What have we here, then...." he crouched down to get a closer look.
"Oh, hello Crowley!" Aziraphale's muffled voice came through the door. "Thank you so much for coming. As you can see we have... err..... some German bees on the step."
“Careful, angel,” he said distractedly as he slowly brought his smoker close, “these guys are really mad. Stay inside until I get this sorted.”
It took him about 30 minutes of slow, patient, small moves to get the buzzing suitcase safely into the back of his van with most of the straggler bees accounted for as well. Crowley then stripped his suit, pushed back his sweaty red hair and went up to Aziriphale’s door.
xxx
This cousin of Aziraphale’s was an idiot and put that innocent hive in serious danger with this stunt.
Crowley was sitting in an armchair, being plied with water, tea (Aziraphale didn't stock coffee) and biscuits, while the blonde apologised for his cousin Alan - or was it Slorch? - as they explained how the man had managed to bring a live beehive over international borders. He was getting a headache.
“Ok, wait, stop,” Crowley said and they finally quieted. Despite the Alan/Slorch obnoxiously large nose and questionable color sense of his clothes, two pairs of identical pale blue eyes gazed at him. “You know this is idiocy, right?” Crowley continued. “It’s not the fucking bees that make great honey, it’s where they get the stuff to make the honey. You broke a dozen international laws, risked a Biological hazard of that bee hive having contagious mites and put an insane amount of people in danger moving pissed off bees, and you may have killed that hive because moving them is not like moving a goddam house plant!”
“Oops.” Alan/Slorch said, with a sheepish shrug.
Crowley slumped in the chair. He ran his hands through his hair and Aziriphale tracked the locks as they curled around the long fingers that deftly twisted them back into a half-bun.
“Fuck me sideways,” Crowley muttered and Aziraphale bit his tounge before he replied “alright” aloud.
Slorch's gaze flickered between Aziraphale and Crowley. "I'll admit, this may not have been my finest idea, but all's well that ends well, yes?"
"It's just as you say, dear cousin Slorch," now that the problem was resolved, Aziraphale, of course, calmly accepted his cousin Slorch's new identity. "And I am glad that you felt comfortable coming to me in your time of need."
Crowley gave once last menacing glare, making clear Slorch was never again to put innocent bees in danger again. His gaze softened when he looked at Aziraphale. “See you at the next apiary tour?” He asked hopefully.
"Oh, that would be delightful," Aziraphale beamed, "ah, perhaps we could discuss when the next opportunity might be?"
Aziraphale hadn't noticed his cousin's keen eyes upon him until he announced, "Well, why don't I leave you two to sort all that out while I take a short little stroll — stretch me legs, as it were." For a man so broad, Slorch moved remarkably gracefully and swiftly, disappearing out the front door before Aziraphale could bat an eyelid.
Aziraphale wrung his hands. "I do hope he doesn't get another bright idea." He looked back at Crowley, "what will you do with the German bees? I'm terribly sorry to have landed this on you, but I didn't know who else to call."
Crowley's lips broke out in a soft smile. "I'm very happy you did, y'know? Think your cousin, despite everything, did me a favour.. So I'll make some calls. Get those bees back home without any fuss, keep Slorch's name out of it"
"Oh thankyou," Aziraphale smiled with relief, "that's the second time you've rescued me today. Is there anything I could do for you in return?"
Crowley smiled at him. “Angel, you do everything for me.” He took Aziraphale’s hand and brushed his lips on the back and watched Aziraphale practically melt. “Till we meet on a better occasion,” Crowley promised.
"A-apiary tour," Aziraphale agreed, trying not to swoon. Crowley gave a lazy salute and backed away towards his van, which was gently buzzing. On the far side of the van, cousin Slorch was standing behind a lamp post, making celebratory air punches as if no one could see him. As he turned to find the nearest bus pickup, he spotted a thin man with a fetching mustache and brown hair on the bar across the way, nursing a beer rather morosely.
“He’s rather striking,” Slorch thought. “Wonder what vile torments could I conceive for him?” He mused as walked over.
Art by Slytherat
