Happy Holidays, Irisbleufic!
Title: A Misunderstanding Between Fools
Recipient: irisbleufic
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Rating: Not sure - 17 and up?
Warnings: M/M relationship. No others except for a moment of violence towards sea-shells.
****
A few years ago, if anyone had suggested to Crowley that he would be spending most of his time in a rambling, English cottage on the outskirts of an archetypal English country village and not missing the noise and bustle of London, he would have given them a long, cool stare suggesting both contempt and pity. If they'd then gone on to suggest that the cottage (and indeed the large comfy bed in said cottage) would be shared with one angel, formerly guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, he would have called them delusional and made a few not-so-subtle suggestions about seeking help….
Life had a habit of bowling a curved ball when you least expect it though, and Crowley suspected that this one was so curved that it probably met itself coming back. Twice.
A little over 2 years previously, something had tipped the small amount of balance in his world, sending it skittering off like a spinning top hitting a pebble, leaving him coming to terms with the growing realisation that, whilst he admitted to being scared of a few things, they held nothing in comparison to the anguish caused by the thought of losing Aziraphale. The Tadfield Incident had brought idle musings and studiously ignored feelings into sharp focus for both angel and demon. Even after their shared admissions under the influence of a decent bottle of port or three, it had taken several weeks of dancing (a discreet gavotte in Aziraphale's case and a slightly nervous fandango in Crowley's) around the subject of actual physical intimacy, but when they had woken together after that first time, Aziraphale had called it ineffable. Crowley had just pulled him closer and held him as if he'd been handed a valuable treasure and was scared of dropping it….
Suddenly, the world had seemed different. Richer, more vibrant, and time itself, a commodity which had once seemed unimportant, felt precious. Somewhere along the way, Aziraphale had pointed out how little time had been spent outside of London for relaxation, as most travelling to date had been for the purpose of "messin' people about", so they had decided to travel, renting various cottages around the country to get away from the busy pace of London for a while.
Initially, Crowley had grumbled at the idea (after all, it wouldn't do to agree with the angel too readily), but after a few stays in different locations, they decided that it would be a lot less trouble to take a long term rental on a suitable residence and use it whenever they wanted to escape. Besides, there was only so much disastrous décor and poorly equipped kitchens that one could put up with. Add to that the inevitably putrid selection of reading matter typical of a holiday home…. It drove Aziraphale to despair, and a single glance at the bookshelves of each cottage would leave him muttering darkly into his evening cocoa. Surely no collection needed five copies of any one Mills and Boon romantic novel on one shelf! On the third occasion, Crowley had grinned and said that he had a theory that holiday cottages were to books what his Bentley had been to music, and that they had probably started out as learned texts and classic novels… This had earned him a Look from Aziraphale and Crowley had subsided and found something fascinating to study in his cocoa…. He didn't mention it again…. So it was that they took over a small, unfurnished cottage on a yearly rental and equipped it to their own taste and somewhat exacting requirements.
Currently, the duvet on the aforementioned bed concealed a roundish mound. Crowley gave a muffled, drawn out, hissing yawn as he unfurled and stretched underneath it. He poked a foot experimentally out from the duvet to test the temperature of the room.
Bloody cold.
He drew the chilled foot back to the warmth of the duvet and grumbled tetchily into the pillow about old buildings and the absence of a decent central heating system.
Noises from the kitchen implied the imminent arrival of a cup of tea, brewed to perfection and timed to the last second before pouring. Tea, Aziraphale had told him many times over, needed to be made properly to bring out the best of its flavour. Crowley had wondered how tea could be made improperly, but had carefully kept that thought tucked away in the cobweb-strewn recesses of his mind. Crowley was just as happy with a teabag hurled into a mug and prodded threateningly with a spoon until it was the right colour and flavour, however, the first time he'd been seen doing this by Aziraphale, he'd thought the angel was going to have a fit of the vapours and had had to listen to a short lecture on tea and the correct brewing thereof. Deciding that life was too short (even for an immortal) to spend clock watching over a spoonful of dried leaves in water, Crowley saved his teabag sessions for times when the angel was out, or those moments where he was trying to ruffle his feathers. There was nothing like the discovery of a mangled teabag in the bin or on the work surface to set the angel off with a chastising "Really, my dear...."
Aziraphale, already dressed and apparently ready to tackle the world, put the cup of tea on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed, smiling as a tousled and sleepy Crowley scooted closer. Crowley reached a hand out to run his fingers through the angel's hair, his touch lingering against his neck.
"It's cold, Angel.... come back to bed."
"I wish I could, but I've got that meeting of the church fund-raising group. I told you about it last week. It would look a bit bad to turn up for the first meeting late and breathless!"
Aziraphale felt Crowley sit up behind him and lean against his back.
"Jusssst a few minutessss…." Crowley murmured warmly against Aziraphale's ear as he slid an arm around the angel and drew him closer.
"You are incorrigible!"
"All part of the job description, Angel!" Crowley let his lips brush Aziraphale's earlobe. "Are you sure I can't tempt you......?" Slender fingers insinuated themselves between Aziraphale's shirt buttons and brushed against warm skin.
Aziraphale sighed loudly. "The problem, my dear, is that we both know that you can! Today, however, I'm afraid I don't have time." He held Crowley's wandering hand still against his chest and silently cursed his body, which was telling him fervently that the meeting could wait and that a frantic tumble with a lusty demon was a great alternative.
Crowley rested his chin on the angel's shoulder and nuzzled his neck. "Trust me, Angel, time wouldn't be a problem!" Crowley gave a low, deep growl and grinned as he felt Aziraphale give a little shiver.
With a sigh, Aziraphale peeled Crowley's arm from around him, turned slightly and smiled apologetically. "Get thee behind me," he said, with a slight laugh.
"If that's how you want it, Angel. Works for me!" Crowley replied with a wicked grin and ducked to avoid a pillow which was suddenly brandished in a most threatening manner.
Crowley reached for his tea and took a deep gulp of it. Outside, a car horn sounded and Aziraphale stood up.
"That'll be my lift," he muttered.
"Lift? What happened to the healthy getting-out-in-the-fresh-air-and-letting-the-wind-blow-away-the-cobwebs?"
"Er, well…. it would be rude not to accept a kind offer…. I'll walk next time." He leant in and gave Crowley a fleeting kiss. "I'll call when we finish. Oh, and I've set the fire, it just needs lighting."
Crowley nodded and slumped back against the pillows. Once he heard the front door close and the car starting up he waved a hand towards the door and the fire in the sitting room was surprised to find itself not only alight, but also consisting of well stacked logs and coals glowing a rich red and pushing heat out into the room. Crowley was not about to freeze his assets waiting for a few bits of scrunched up paper to pass a flame on to some sticks of kindling and a handful of coal nuggets, thank you very much. He dozed on for long enough to allow the room to warm up, then slid out of the bed, materialising a T-shirt and jeans en route to the door, before heading for the kitchen in search of breakfast.
This turned out to be more of a problem than he'd expected. Deciding on having toast with honey, he opened the bread-bin to find the whole thing was stuffed full of packets of crumpets. Evidently, they had been on a special offer at the local supermarket, and Aziraphale had decided to stock up. All it needed was a hint of colder weather and a roaring log fire for Aziraphale to start wielding crumpets impaled on a toasting fork, sitting hunched in front of the fire absorbed in his task. Crowley could not see the appeal of the things - rubbery little slabs which were only just edible if smothered with jam and cream, or bubbling melted cheese. He was sure that the same effect would be achieved by buttering a warm washing-up sponge, however, Aziraphale always seemed so proud of the plateful of offerings toasted to perfection (or occasionally sporting a coating of fine ash and crispy black bits where they had fallen off the toasting fork and had to be retrieved from the flames), so Crowley always smiled and sat ploughing his way through them dutifully.
Crowley finally tracked down the bread which was lurking in the walk-in pantry. Taking two slices out, he muttered at the packet as he replaced it. "Don't worry, I feel intimidated by that number of crumpets too," then headed for the toaster. He made a cursory inspection of the cupboard under the sink and found the package that he'd hidden there was still in place and untouched by angelic hands. The bottles weren't of any great or well-known vintage, but they had come directly from the vineyard into Crowley's cellar several decades before, with a promise from the estate owner that it was a wine that would keep improving with age and would be a fine addition to any special occasion. Well, two years as a 'couple' had to be a sort of special occasion and worth a bit of a drink - he just had to hope that Aziraphale didn't find them before the next evening.
Finally, armed with a plate of toast, Aziraphale's newspaper, and a mug of scalding hot tea, he sat in the chair near the fire and stretched out.
Crowley was woken by the sound of a car pulling up outside and the sound of Aziraphale saying "Thank you so much for the lift, most kind." Then another voice, male, well spoken saying "Oh, my pleasure. I'll call you later when I know the time of the meeting and what time I'll be passing to pick you up."
"There's no need, really, I…" Aziraphale was saying.
"It's no trouble," said the voice. "It's virtually on my way to the church and it's nice to be able to have a chat."
"Well… thank you."
There was a car door slamming and then Aziraphale and a blast of cold air bowled through the front door, the angel rubbing his hands together and eyeing the fire appreciatively. He shrugged out of his coat and hung it by the door before heading for the kitchen.
"I'm going to make some cocoa, do you want some, my dear?"
"I guess so. I thought you were going to call when you finished I'd have come to get you, you know," Crowley said, feeling almost embarrassed at the slightly bitter tone of voice which emerged.
Aziraphale appeared in the kitchen doorway brandishing a cocoa tin and frowning slightly. "Sorry, dear. Andrew offered me a lift home as well and I thought it would save you the trouble of having to come out in this cold just to get me." He disappeared back into the kitchen and Crowley could hear him whistling to himself as he created two steaming mugs of cocoa and carried them through.
Aziraphale handed a mug to Crowley, noting that the demon wore an expression that usually indicated a snit on the not too distant horizon.
"Maybe I wanted to be troubled." Crowley muttered. "Not that I'd want to get in the way of Andrew and his little 'chats'. "
Aziraphale sighed. "He's a nice chap," he said. "I think he lives on his own, so he probably likes a chance to talk."
"I bet he's a sodding librarian!" Crowley snapped into his mug, trying to find the brakes for his tongue and failing dismally.
"Actually, he's an archivist for the local council. I found out today that he did a thesis on Wilde but never submitted. Specialises in tracking down obscure works of local authors now."
Crowley drew breath to hurl a retort but found the brake pedal at that moment and managed to remain silent. Aziraphale re-acquired his paper and sat down to tackle the crosswords in silence. Crowley sat staring at the fire for the best part of an hour while Aziraphale worked his way through the crosswords and other puzzles. He glowered at the angel who was the picture of calm. Crowley almost resented the fact that Aziraphale appeared to have moved on and considered the issue closed while he was sat there with his insides churning. Eventually Aziraphale tossed the paper to one side and headed for the kitchen where he could be heard doing battle with the washing up. Crowley decided to head back to the bedroom in the hope that a snooze might remove the feeling of irritation.
The 'phone rang just as Crowley was passing it. He eyed it with a certain degree of suspicion - you could never be sure what might emerge once you answered it.
"Hello?"
"Oh, hello. May I speak to Mr Fell, please?" The voice was male, rich and well modulated. It was also instantly recognisable as the lift-offering, Wilde-loving archivist…..
"He's a bit busy at the moment."
"Could you be a good chap and pass a message to him? Tell him I'll pick him up at 5 tomorrow evening and if he fancies going on for a drink and meal afterwards…..."
"And you are?" Crowley plucked anxiously at the 'phone cord as Aziraphale emerged from the kitchen drying his hands. He removed the receiver from Crowley's clenched fist with a little difficulty.
"Hello? Oh, hello, Andrew. "
" Hello there, I was just asking your lodger to pass a message on but now you're here - the meeting is at 6pm so I can pick you up at around five, if that's ok. I'm thinking of getting dinner at the pub afterwards, if… if you fancy joining me?"
"That's very kind of you to ask, but…"
"No problems if you can't. It was just an idea. I'll see you at 5pm. Bye!"
The line went dead leaving Aziraphale chuckling to himself as he replaced the receiver. "He thought you were my lodger!" he said, turning to face Crowley who hadn't moved since the 'phone had been taken from his hand. One look at Crowley's expression and the laughter died in his throat. The demon looked annoyed, yes, but there was something else…. Aziraphale had known Crowley for millennia and had witnessed most of his repertoire of expressions during that time. At this moment, merged with the anger, he was sure that there was a fleeting hint of panic…
"Crowley?"
"You found that amusing?" Crowley's face had become expressionless. Aziraphale found that he could only open and close his mouth with no words emerging as Crowley carried on. "I note that you didn't rush to correct him! Oh, hold on, you didn't correct him at all. What'sss wrong, Angel? Embarrassssssed to admit that I'm here? Worried that your new friend will think badly of you and that you'll not be able to have any more cosy chatsss about Osssscar Bloody Wilde over tea and ssssscones at the vicarage?!"
"You're hissing, dear. Just…"
Crowley jabbed a finger into his own chest and glared at the angel. "Ssssserpent!! Remember?! Or is that another fact about me that you keep locked away in your ssssubconscious? Out of ssssight, out of mind?"
"Don't be a fool!"
"And," Crowley continued, "another meeting? Tomorrow? Where did THAT come from??!!!"
"It was meant to be next week, but the vicar had to change the date owing to some personal crisis and tomorrow was the only day that he had free."
"Tomorrow, Angel!!"
Aziraphale frowned.
"The date….?" Crowley snapped.
"Yes… I…" Aziraphale started, then gave an exasperated sigh. "Crowley, I thought you hated that sort of thing. When I suggested that get-together after the Tadfield Incident….". his voice tailed off with another exasperated huff. (Indeed, the previous year when Aziraphale had tentatively suggested a meet up of a few of the people who had been there on that auspicious occasion, Crowley had become quite agitated and made it obvious that he had no desire at all to spend any time re-living an incident that none of the humans could really remember and which had left him having nightmares. No, Aziraphale could keep his little impromptu shindigs away from him. Aziraphale had politely listened to the tirade and had then filed the information somewhere in the recesses of his mind in a rapidly expanding folder marked "Crowley's aversions".)
Crowley was already heading for the door. "This isn't about Tadfield. It isn't about them!"
The door slammed behind him, and, before Aziraphale could get as far as opening it, the sound of the Bentley's engine broke through the silence. He opened the door and stepped out to see the car swerving round the corner at the end of the lane.
"Oh fuck!" muttered the angel. He walked back indoors and went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea….sweet… calming….. It was only when he came to place the cup on the saucer and created a percussive rattle worthy of any castanets that he realised just how much his hands were shaking.
****
Crowley drove. He wasn't sure where to, or how long he'd been driving, but he drove, and as he passed through numerous beautiful villages with chocolate-box village greens and thatched cottages, the number of petty arguments occurring behind the walls of these dwellings rose, peaked, and fell again like a small, emotional 'Mexican wave' as he moved on. Eventually, he found himself on an unfenced road with a view over the sea. He pulled onto the grass, glaring at a small group of sheep who had meandered over to see if he was worth mugging for sandwiches. They operated on the principle that a parked car and a bloke in sunglasses equals holiday maker having a picnic and were milling around the car in enthusiastic Pavlovian anticipation. Crowley waved a hand out of the window to try to shoo them away, but all it did was to make them all gather by the door, lemon-coloured eyes staring up at him. "It's okay for you lot", he muttered, "nothing to worry about, no angels giving you grief".
"Baaa," replied the sheep closest to him.
Crowley lifted his sunglasses and watched as the sheep skittered away in sudden panic. He started the car, drove further along until he found an access path to the small cove below, and jogged down the steps onto the shore.
****
Aziraphale sat. He'd drunk his way through almost a whole packet of rose pouchong and was feeling a little light headed, as well as starting to appreciate the complexities of bladder function in the human form. His hands were still shaking. Maybe something a little stronger….. He swallowed the last of the rose pouchong and most of his pride, put down the delicate bone china cup and reached for a large mug and Crowley's box of Russian Caravan teabags…
The angel sat, tea in hand, staring into the fire. His mind kept dragging back to points in the distant past when Crowley had stormed off in a temper and stayed out of contact for months, even years. His stomach knotted with worry and his mind filled with "what ifs" until a calmer part of his mind said, "But he always comes back… Always…. ". He thought about the 'phone conversation which had resulted in Crowley's angry exit, saw that expression on Crowley's face in his mind's eye. "Oh!" he exclaimed to the flames…. "Aziraphale, you utter fool!!" During a chat with Anathema a few months ago, she had made the comment that he did have a tendency to take a somewhat blinkered approach to his walk through life, making the assumption that his angelic "status" was always correct and that this made him, at times, unable to see other opinions and viewpoints. He'd tried to explain "ineffability" to her, but she had made a loud "Tsk" sound and said, "See what I mean?". He hadn't then, but now he had a suspicion that she may have had a point…..
The rapidly dawning understanding was interrupted by a feeling akin to panic as he took a mouthful of tea and felt something brush against his lip. In the few seconds it took to put the mug down and peer cautiously into it, his mind had run the gauntlet of possible scenarios from a dead spider floating under the surface through to a dead animal that had come through the tap from the water tank in the loft. He was just entertaining the idea of a very small, tea-cup Kraken when he saw the culprit slowly appear before sinking again. He made a mental note to remember to remove the teabag before drinking the tea if he should ever be driven to the point of having to use one again.
Aziraphale headed back to the fire and sat down with a deep sigh. He hoped that Crowley would be back soon. He hoped that he could rectify the problem with a few simple words. He hoped….
****
The rocks under the cliff were jagged, lined with layers of sediment which Crowley assumed were there just to add weight to the joke about fossils. Crowley sat on a suitably flat-topped rock and passed time hurling stones at an empty limpet shell which was wedged in a gap between two boulders. The wind blowing off the water was icy and sharp with salt and the only other noise was that of the incoming waves rolling the small rocks and pebbles around. It was almost hypnotic. An accurately aimed stone hit the shell and shattered it. Crowley felt a momentary pang of guilt at its destruction as the pieces dropped to the ground and were lost amongst the stones, then drew his jacket more tightly around him and shivered.
"Bloody Angel!" he muttered. "Bloody, bloody Angel!!" He stared out to sea from his uncomfortable perch. Clouds were building and he could taste the oncoming storm in the air. The bitter tang of rain and electrical by-products reminded him of the first storm so very, very long ago. They had watched it together. Dark grey fingers of rain were threading down from the clouds to the surface of the water and coming closer. Crowley felt suddenly weary as he stood, made his way back to the Bentley and headed slowly homewards.
****
Crowley arrived at the cottage to find it in darkness. He slipped inside and saw Aziraphale sitting on the chair staring into the flames. The angel looked tired and worried, and his eyes when he turned to look at Crowley were anxious. Crowley felt his heart give an unnecessary leap. He walked into the kitchen and poured two glasses of whisky which he carried into the sitting room and placed on the mantelpiece. He stood, silently, before the angel. Sunglasses removed and soft amber eyes questioning.
Aziraphale looked at him. "I'm sorry." he said. "I thought in all honesty that you hated the idea of celebrations and things."
"I do…. in general. Thought I'd give it a go though….. "
"You look tired."
"Yeah, well…. I think I must be getting too old for storming out dramatically. It really takes it out of you." Crowley managed a slightly brittle smile.
Aziraphale held a hand out and Crowley took it, allowing the angel to pull him closer. Aziraphale looked up at him.
"Crowley, you do know that you are the only one….. You always have been and always will be."
Crowley shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly. He still felt uneasy in the face of this sort of statement. "What, even including dearest Oscar?" he quipped.
Aziraphale gave a low chuckle. "Oh, I admired Oscar for his works, his wit and his courage…. but nothing more."
"He didn't offer? More, that is…." Crowley said, calmly.
The angel blushed slightly. "His attention was, shall we say, attracted elsewhere, but if he HAD offered, then the answer would still have been 'No' ". Crowley stared at him for a few seconds then gave a slight nod and Aziraphale saw him visibly relax. The tension between them diffused and Aziraphale reached out his other hand, talking hold of Crowley's wrist and pulling him down so that the demon slid onto his lap. Aziraphale drew him in closer for a gentle kiss. Crowley tasted of salt and felt like a block of ice.
"Where have you been?" said the angel, running a hand up Crowley's arm and touching his face.
"Don't know. Some little cove somewhere on the coast." He yawned, the coldness running through him was making him sleepy. Aziraphale's fingers left points of warmth where they touched him and he let the angel wrap arms around him and hold him close against his chest. Crowley felt the warmth seep into him and turned his head slightly to run his lips along the angel's jaw-line and down the side of his neck.
Crowley sat back again and Aziraphale let his hands rest on the demon's jutting hip bones. He allowed his hands to drift upwards underneath Crowley's T-shirt, feeling Crowley sway slightly against the touch, slowly peeling the garment off and leaning forward to run his lips along Crowley's collar bone as his hands slid round to the demon's back and his nails ran gently up and down his spine. Crowley ducked his head to catch Aziraphale's lips with his own, his fingers doing battle with the angel's shirt buttons and trying to resist using a quick burst of occult energy to banish the rest of their clothes. Surely that had to be all of them….. He began to push the shirt open only to find that it stuck before he could get it over Aziraphale's shoulders.
"Even your blasted buttons are out to thwart me!!" he muttered, hauling the shirt up and wrestling the last button through its hole. "Now…. where was I?" He started to push the shirt back over the angel's shoulders then realised that Aziraphale's hands were waggling around near his elbows.
"Cuffs" muttered the angel, sneaking a quick nip at Crowley's neck, which was just in range.
"Eh?" For a panic-filled fraction of a second, Crowley wondered if Aziraphale was referring to some form of restraint apparatus.
"Cuffs! You forgot to unbutton the cuffs. Can't get my arms out…." Aziraphale flapped his hands again as if to emphasize the point and Crowley gave an exasperated hiss and snapped his fingers, sending the shirt off to who-knows-where.
"Hey, that was cheating and I rather liked that shirt!" grumbled Aziraphale, although his hands were now moving up and down Crowley's sides and pulling him closer for a more intense kiss.
"I'll get you a new one." Crowley murmured as he lost himself for a while in the sensations created as Aziraphale caught his lower lip gently in his teeth and tugged, and by the feeling of those soft fingers just starting to toy with the buckle of his belt. He wriggled provocatively and heard the angel respond with a sudden sharp intake of breath.
Crowley pushed himself back and stood up. "Should we transfer this to the bedroom?" he said, holding a hand out and pulling the angel to his feet.
Aziraphale stepped forward and put his hands on the demon's waist, nuzzling his neck and letting his fingers slide back to pluck at the belt buckle. "I thought it might be nice to stay by the fire…. " he said, and looked at Crowley who had pulled back slightly and was staring at the hearth rug with a worried expression.
"On THAT?" Crowley's eyes were wide in what Aziraphale suspected was not mock horror.
"Er, well, yes."
Crowley pulled a face. Aziraphale rolled his eyes and gesticulated briefly at the rug which was suddenly covered with a clean sheet. "Since when did you become so precious!"
"Angel, if you want to get wood ash, fluff and coal fragments in various important places then feel free to do so. Personally, I prefer ….. ooooh!" A strategically placed hand gave a careful squeeze and Crowley found that all nerves needed for speech had gone on strike.
"You were saying?"
Crowley managed a pout as Aziraphale finally wrestled the belt buckle into submission, then Aziraphale felt the demon's fingers tap against his own belt and in an instant the rest of their clothing was gone and he could feel the heat of the fire against his skin.
"Oi! Cheating again!!" he muttered, then sank to the floor, pulling a not-complaining-at-all Crowley down with him.
They lay there, reaching out, exploring each other slowly. Each touch a reaffirmation, a reclaiming, a confirmation. Time stretched out and became meaningless, a private Eden re-discovered within 18th century walls. At one point, Crowley was dimly aware of the angel shouting something immensely unholy and which he would no doubt vigorously deny if reminded of it at a later date. He thought that he heard someone wail like a lost soul and suspected, with more than a small amount of embarrassment, that it might actually have been him….. He slumped, spent, across the angel, feeling soft arms gather him in and hold him gently through the aftershocks and as he slid into a gentle doze.
Aziraphale woke after a while feeling a little colder than was comfortable. A glance at the fire explained this - a few glowing embers were all that remained. He rolled the drowsy Crowley onto the sheet, staggered to his feet and put a few more logs onto the fire. Half of the embers promptly stopped glowing and the rest sputtered a little. Aziraphale turned slowly to check that Crowley was still asleep then turned to the fire with a gesture which resulted in a cosy glow and blissful heat.
"I saw that!" said a voice behind him. He turned guiltily to find Crowley staring up at him.
Aziraphale picked up the two glasses of whisky and plonked himself down next to Crowley, passing him one of them. "Well, if you'd rather freeze while we wait for the fire to get going again….."
"No, no…. I'm not complaining." Crowley downed his whisky then stood up, receiving a puzzled look from the angel.
"Where….?" Aziraphale started, but was stopped by Crowley putting a finger to his lips. He watched as the demon walked from the room then heard drawers being opened and closed before Crowley appeared again holding something behind his back and looking slightly anxious.
"I, er, I got thisss for you…" he said, bringing his hand from behind his back and holding out a small box, about 4 inches square. It was tartan. Crowley's hand shook slightly as he passed the box to the angel and sat down.
Aziraphale carefully opened the box and pulled a wad of tissue paper out, tilting the box slightly and peering in. He looked up at Crowley who was watching him intently.
"Crowley, it's….." He carefully reached into the box, withdrew the contents and placed them on his open palm, holding the object at eye level. In his palm was a carved piece of ebonised wood in the shape of an apple, and coiled around the fruit, so that its head rested against the stalk, was a serpent, carved with such intricacy that each individual scale was visible. "It's ….perfect," he finished, turning the carving around and finally placing it carefully on the nearby table.
Crowley looked visibly relieved. Oh, he'd bought things for Aziraphale before, but they had been bought as an occasional gift for a friend. Buying something for a lover was, Crowley now realised, quite a different matter. He realised that he'd been holding his breath since handing the gift over and let go with a shuddering hiss as Aziraphale pulled him back into his arms. "Erm… Hold on," he muttered, and reached out to turn the carving so that the serpent was no longer looking at them.
****
The next morning dawned crisp with frost and the threat of snow on the North Easterly wind which was casually flicking a few remaining leaves around and making them rattle against the cottage windows. Angel and demon were back in their bed owing to Crowley waking and grumbling about cramp, the cold, fluff, and the unyielding hardness of the floor until Aziraphale had carried the petulant demon to bed and set about warming him up in a way guaranteed to leave them both thoroughly warm and sleepy. Aziraphale woke with a jump and was surprised to find Crowley awake and grinning down at him.
"Having a dream, Angel?"
"Why do you ask?" Aziraphale asked cautiously.
"Well, you screamed and started muttering something which sounded like 'Teacup' and 'Kraken', then 'No, no, never again' ".
Aziraphale shrugged his shoulders in what he hoped passed for nonchalance. "I could go and make some tea…. I'll do some crumpets for breakfast," he said, wondering if he'd imagined the small wince which flashed across the demon's face.
"Hmmmm. I might have a better idea, " the demon murmured, shifting closer and moving gently against the angel, leaving him in no doubt what Crowley's "better idea" was. The bad dreams and thoughts of crumpets faded, just as Crowley had hoped they would.
****
That evening they were curled together on the sofa in front of the fire, wading their way through the Monday crossword together when the sound of a car horn shattered the silence. Aziraphale felt Crowley go tense against him and stroked a hand softly down the demon's arm in what he hoped was a soothing manner. There was a tentative knock on the door. Aziraphale crossed to the door and pulled it open to reveal Andrew standing on the step looking cold and slightly nervous.
"Andrew, hello! Step inside, it's too cold out there for standing around." Aziraphale stepped back to allow the man to walk past him and into the warm living room. "Would you care for some tea?"
"Another time maybe? Don't want to be late for the meeting." He smiled at Aziraphale then his attention was taken by a dark haired, slender figure rising from the sofa and standing in front of the fire, a silhouette against the glow of the flames. Aziraphale glanced in the direction of his gaze, then back to the visitor.
"I don't believe you've met Crowley," he said, as Crowley crossed the room.
"Pleased to meet you," said the visitor, extending a polite hand towards Crowley, who looked at it before shaking it cautiously.
"We have spoken before, actually. When you rang yesterday evening…."
"Ah, the lodger!"
"No… Crowley is my… my partner. My better half, you might say." Aziraphale said, finding that he was blushing slightly.
Crowley had to give Andrew some credit. The expression on his face registered a mixture of surprise and disappointment for a mere second before lapsing back to a smile. Crowley was almost impressed, and wondered briefly whether Aziraphale had noticed. He glanced at him, but the angel was busy explaining that he had forgotten that he wasn't free this evening and asking Andrew to pass on his apologies to the other members of the group before steering him to the door.
Outside, it was dark and the wind was bitter, swirling around the front of the cottage and carrying a few small white flakes of the year's first snow. Their visitor jogged quickly to his car with the voice of Aziraphale ringing out behind him, telling him to drive carefully. He paused to wave back at them before getting in out of the wind and driving off.
Aziraphale turned from closing the door and drawing a heavy curtain across to keep some of the draught out to see Crowley scoot into the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway to find Crowley rummaging in the cupboard beneath the sink.
"Isn't it an odd time to be thinking about doing chores?" asked the angel.
"I think I need a drink," replied Crowley, voice muffled slightly.
"Of bleach? Or were you thinking of a snifter of lemon-scented toilet cleaner?"
Crowley gave him a withering look as he stood up holding a bag which made a promising clinking sound when he set it on the work surface. Two large wine glasses had appeared beside the bag as Crowley extracted the bottles from their wrapping and set off into the sitting room wielding the bottles in one hand and the wine glasses in the other. He sat down on the floor in front of the fire, leaning back against the sofa and gesturing for Aziraphale to follow suit. He poured a glass of wine and handed it to the angel before pouring one for himself. They touched glasses and settled back, leaning against one another and watching the embers of the fire glow and flare as the wind gusted outside.
Neither spoke, but when Aziraphale felt Crowley slide his hand into his own, lacing fingers and giving a gentle squeeze, it said more than anything that he could ever need to hear.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The title is from a quote by Oscar Wilde, "Love is a misunderstanding between fools".
Happy Holidays, Irisbleufic!!
Recipient: irisbleufic
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Rating: Not sure - 17 and up?
Warnings: M/M relationship. No others except for a moment of violence towards sea-shells.
****
A few years ago, if anyone had suggested to Crowley that he would be spending most of his time in a rambling, English cottage on the outskirts of an archetypal English country village and not missing the noise and bustle of London, he would have given them a long, cool stare suggesting both contempt and pity. If they'd then gone on to suggest that the cottage (and indeed the large comfy bed in said cottage) would be shared with one angel, formerly guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, he would have called them delusional and made a few not-so-subtle suggestions about seeking help….
Life had a habit of bowling a curved ball when you least expect it though, and Crowley suspected that this one was so curved that it probably met itself coming back. Twice.
A little over 2 years previously, something had tipped the small amount of balance in his world, sending it skittering off like a spinning top hitting a pebble, leaving him coming to terms with the growing realisation that, whilst he admitted to being scared of a few things, they held nothing in comparison to the anguish caused by the thought of losing Aziraphale. The Tadfield Incident had brought idle musings and studiously ignored feelings into sharp focus for both angel and demon. Even after their shared admissions under the influence of a decent bottle of port or three, it had taken several weeks of dancing (a discreet gavotte in Aziraphale's case and a slightly nervous fandango in Crowley's) around the subject of actual physical intimacy, but when they had woken together after that first time, Aziraphale had called it ineffable. Crowley had just pulled him closer and held him as if he'd been handed a valuable treasure and was scared of dropping it….
Suddenly, the world had seemed different. Richer, more vibrant, and time itself, a commodity which had once seemed unimportant, felt precious. Somewhere along the way, Aziraphale had pointed out how little time had been spent outside of London for relaxation, as most travelling to date had been for the purpose of "messin' people about", so they had decided to travel, renting various cottages around the country to get away from the busy pace of London for a while.
Initially, Crowley had grumbled at the idea (after all, it wouldn't do to agree with the angel too readily), but after a few stays in different locations, they decided that it would be a lot less trouble to take a long term rental on a suitable residence and use it whenever they wanted to escape. Besides, there was only so much disastrous décor and poorly equipped kitchens that one could put up with. Add to that the inevitably putrid selection of reading matter typical of a holiday home…. It drove Aziraphale to despair, and a single glance at the bookshelves of each cottage would leave him muttering darkly into his evening cocoa. Surely no collection needed five copies of any one Mills and Boon romantic novel on one shelf! On the third occasion, Crowley had grinned and said that he had a theory that holiday cottages were to books what his Bentley had been to music, and that they had probably started out as learned texts and classic novels… This had earned him a Look from Aziraphale and Crowley had subsided and found something fascinating to study in his cocoa…. He didn't mention it again…. So it was that they took over a small, unfurnished cottage on a yearly rental and equipped it to their own taste and somewhat exacting requirements.
Currently, the duvet on the aforementioned bed concealed a roundish mound. Crowley gave a muffled, drawn out, hissing yawn as he unfurled and stretched underneath it. He poked a foot experimentally out from the duvet to test the temperature of the room.
Bloody cold.
He drew the chilled foot back to the warmth of the duvet and grumbled tetchily into the pillow about old buildings and the absence of a decent central heating system.
Noises from the kitchen implied the imminent arrival of a cup of tea, brewed to perfection and timed to the last second before pouring. Tea, Aziraphale had told him many times over, needed to be made properly to bring out the best of its flavour. Crowley had wondered how tea could be made improperly, but had carefully kept that thought tucked away in the cobweb-strewn recesses of his mind. Crowley was just as happy with a teabag hurled into a mug and prodded threateningly with a spoon until it was the right colour and flavour, however, the first time he'd been seen doing this by Aziraphale, he'd thought the angel was going to have a fit of the vapours and had had to listen to a short lecture on tea and the correct brewing thereof. Deciding that life was too short (even for an immortal) to spend clock watching over a spoonful of dried leaves in water, Crowley saved his teabag sessions for times when the angel was out, or those moments where he was trying to ruffle his feathers. There was nothing like the discovery of a mangled teabag in the bin or on the work surface to set the angel off with a chastising "Really, my dear...."
Aziraphale, already dressed and apparently ready to tackle the world, put the cup of tea on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed, smiling as a tousled and sleepy Crowley scooted closer. Crowley reached a hand out to run his fingers through the angel's hair, his touch lingering against his neck.
"It's cold, Angel.... come back to bed."
"I wish I could, but I've got that meeting of the church fund-raising group. I told you about it last week. It would look a bit bad to turn up for the first meeting late and breathless!"
Aziraphale felt Crowley sit up behind him and lean against his back.
"Jusssst a few minutessss…." Crowley murmured warmly against Aziraphale's ear as he slid an arm around the angel and drew him closer.
"You are incorrigible!"
"All part of the job description, Angel!" Crowley let his lips brush Aziraphale's earlobe. "Are you sure I can't tempt you......?" Slender fingers insinuated themselves between Aziraphale's shirt buttons and brushed against warm skin.
Aziraphale sighed loudly. "The problem, my dear, is that we both know that you can! Today, however, I'm afraid I don't have time." He held Crowley's wandering hand still against his chest and silently cursed his body, which was telling him fervently that the meeting could wait and that a frantic tumble with a lusty demon was a great alternative.
Crowley rested his chin on the angel's shoulder and nuzzled his neck. "Trust me, Angel, time wouldn't be a problem!" Crowley gave a low, deep growl and grinned as he felt Aziraphale give a little shiver.
With a sigh, Aziraphale peeled Crowley's arm from around him, turned slightly and smiled apologetically. "Get thee behind me," he said, with a slight laugh.
"If that's how you want it, Angel. Works for me!" Crowley replied with a wicked grin and ducked to avoid a pillow which was suddenly brandished in a most threatening manner.
Crowley reached for his tea and took a deep gulp of it. Outside, a car horn sounded and Aziraphale stood up.
"That'll be my lift," he muttered.
"Lift? What happened to the healthy getting-out-in-the-fresh-air-and-letting-the-wind-blow-away-the-cobwebs?"
"Er, well…. it would be rude not to accept a kind offer…. I'll walk next time." He leant in and gave Crowley a fleeting kiss. "I'll call when we finish. Oh, and I've set the fire, it just needs lighting."
Crowley nodded and slumped back against the pillows. Once he heard the front door close and the car starting up he waved a hand towards the door and the fire in the sitting room was surprised to find itself not only alight, but also consisting of well stacked logs and coals glowing a rich red and pushing heat out into the room. Crowley was not about to freeze his assets waiting for a few bits of scrunched up paper to pass a flame on to some sticks of kindling and a handful of coal nuggets, thank you very much. He dozed on for long enough to allow the room to warm up, then slid out of the bed, materialising a T-shirt and jeans en route to the door, before heading for the kitchen in search of breakfast.
This turned out to be more of a problem than he'd expected. Deciding on having toast with honey, he opened the bread-bin to find the whole thing was stuffed full of packets of crumpets. Evidently, they had been on a special offer at the local supermarket, and Aziraphale had decided to stock up. All it needed was a hint of colder weather and a roaring log fire for Aziraphale to start wielding crumpets impaled on a toasting fork, sitting hunched in front of the fire absorbed in his task. Crowley could not see the appeal of the things - rubbery little slabs which were only just edible if smothered with jam and cream, or bubbling melted cheese. He was sure that the same effect would be achieved by buttering a warm washing-up sponge, however, Aziraphale always seemed so proud of the plateful of offerings toasted to perfection (or occasionally sporting a coating of fine ash and crispy black bits where they had fallen off the toasting fork and had to be retrieved from the flames), so Crowley always smiled and sat ploughing his way through them dutifully.
Crowley finally tracked down the bread which was lurking in the walk-in pantry. Taking two slices out, he muttered at the packet as he replaced it. "Don't worry, I feel intimidated by that number of crumpets too," then headed for the toaster. He made a cursory inspection of the cupboard under the sink and found the package that he'd hidden there was still in place and untouched by angelic hands. The bottles weren't of any great or well-known vintage, but they had come directly from the vineyard into Crowley's cellar several decades before, with a promise from the estate owner that it was a wine that would keep improving with age and would be a fine addition to any special occasion. Well, two years as a 'couple' had to be a sort of special occasion and worth a bit of a drink - he just had to hope that Aziraphale didn't find them before the next evening.
Finally, armed with a plate of toast, Aziraphale's newspaper, and a mug of scalding hot tea, he sat in the chair near the fire and stretched out.
Crowley was woken by the sound of a car pulling up outside and the sound of Aziraphale saying "Thank you so much for the lift, most kind." Then another voice, male, well spoken saying "Oh, my pleasure. I'll call you later when I know the time of the meeting and what time I'll be passing to pick you up."
"There's no need, really, I…" Aziraphale was saying.
"It's no trouble," said the voice. "It's virtually on my way to the church and it's nice to be able to have a chat."
"Well… thank you."
There was a car door slamming and then Aziraphale and a blast of cold air bowled through the front door, the angel rubbing his hands together and eyeing the fire appreciatively. He shrugged out of his coat and hung it by the door before heading for the kitchen.
"I'm going to make some cocoa, do you want some, my dear?"
"I guess so. I thought you were going to call when you finished I'd have come to get you, you know," Crowley said, feeling almost embarrassed at the slightly bitter tone of voice which emerged.
Aziraphale appeared in the kitchen doorway brandishing a cocoa tin and frowning slightly. "Sorry, dear. Andrew offered me a lift home as well and I thought it would save you the trouble of having to come out in this cold just to get me." He disappeared back into the kitchen and Crowley could hear him whistling to himself as he created two steaming mugs of cocoa and carried them through.
Aziraphale handed a mug to Crowley, noting that the demon wore an expression that usually indicated a snit on the not too distant horizon.
"Maybe I wanted to be troubled." Crowley muttered. "Not that I'd want to get in the way of Andrew and his little 'chats'. "
Aziraphale sighed. "He's a nice chap," he said. "I think he lives on his own, so he probably likes a chance to talk."
"I bet he's a sodding librarian!" Crowley snapped into his mug, trying to find the brakes for his tongue and failing dismally.
"Actually, he's an archivist for the local council. I found out today that he did a thesis on Wilde but never submitted. Specialises in tracking down obscure works of local authors now."
Crowley drew breath to hurl a retort but found the brake pedal at that moment and managed to remain silent. Aziraphale re-acquired his paper and sat down to tackle the crosswords in silence. Crowley sat staring at the fire for the best part of an hour while Aziraphale worked his way through the crosswords and other puzzles. He glowered at the angel who was the picture of calm. Crowley almost resented the fact that Aziraphale appeared to have moved on and considered the issue closed while he was sat there with his insides churning. Eventually Aziraphale tossed the paper to one side and headed for the kitchen where he could be heard doing battle with the washing up. Crowley decided to head back to the bedroom in the hope that a snooze might remove the feeling of irritation.
The 'phone rang just as Crowley was passing it. He eyed it with a certain degree of suspicion - you could never be sure what might emerge once you answered it.
"Hello?"
"Oh, hello. May I speak to Mr Fell, please?" The voice was male, rich and well modulated. It was also instantly recognisable as the lift-offering, Wilde-loving archivist…..
"He's a bit busy at the moment."
"Could you be a good chap and pass a message to him? Tell him I'll pick him up at 5 tomorrow evening and if he fancies going on for a drink and meal afterwards…..."
"And you are?" Crowley plucked anxiously at the 'phone cord as Aziraphale emerged from the kitchen drying his hands. He removed the receiver from Crowley's clenched fist with a little difficulty.
"Hello? Oh, hello, Andrew. "
" Hello there, I was just asking your lodger to pass a message on but now you're here - the meeting is at 6pm so I can pick you up at around five, if that's ok. I'm thinking of getting dinner at the pub afterwards, if… if you fancy joining me?"
"That's very kind of you to ask, but…"
"No problems if you can't. It was just an idea. I'll see you at 5pm. Bye!"
The line went dead leaving Aziraphale chuckling to himself as he replaced the receiver. "He thought you were my lodger!" he said, turning to face Crowley who hadn't moved since the 'phone had been taken from his hand. One look at Crowley's expression and the laughter died in his throat. The demon looked annoyed, yes, but there was something else…. Aziraphale had known Crowley for millennia and had witnessed most of his repertoire of expressions during that time. At this moment, merged with the anger, he was sure that there was a fleeting hint of panic…
"Crowley?"
"You found that amusing?" Crowley's face had become expressionless. Aziraphale found that he could only open and close his mouth with no words emerging as Crowley carried on. "I note that you didn't rush to correct him! Oh, hold on, you didn't correct him at all. What'sss wrong, Angel? Embarrassssssed to admit that I'm here? Worried that your new friend will think badly of you and that you'll not be able to have any more cosy chatsss about Osssscar Bloody Wilde over tea and ssssscones at the vicarage?!"
"You're hissing, dear. Just…"
Crowley jabbed a finger into his own chest and glared at the angel. "Ssssserpent!! Remember?! Or is that another fact about me that you keep locked away in your ssssubconscious? Out of ssssight, out of mind?"
"Don't be a fool!"
"And," Crowley continued, "another meeting? Tomorrow? Where did THAT come from??!!!"
"It was meant to be next week, but the vicar had to change the date owing to some personal crisis and tomorrow was the only day that he had free."
"Tomorrow, Angel!!"
Aziraphale frowned.
"The date….?" Crowley snapped.
"Yes… I…" Aziraphale started, then gave an exasperated sigh. "Crowley, I thought you hated that sort of thing. When I suggested that get-together after the Tadfield Incident….". his voice tailed off with another exasperated huff. (Indeed, the previous year when Aziraphale had tentatively suggested a meet up of a few of the people who had been there on that auspicious occasion, Crowley had become quite agitated and made it obvious that he had no desire at all to spend any time re-living an incident that none of the humans could really remember and which had left him having nightmares. No, Aziraphale could keep his little impromptu shindigs away from him. Aziraphale had politely listened to the tirade and had then filed the information somewhere in the recesses of his mind in a rapidly expanding folder marked "Crowley's aversions".)
Crowley was already heading for the door. "This isn't about Tadfield. It isn't about them!"
The door slammed behind him, and, before Aziraphale could get as far as opening it, the sound of the Bentley's engine broke through the silence. He opened the door and stepped out to see the car swerving round the corner at the end of the lane.
"Oh fuck!" muttered the angel. He walked back indoors and went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea….sweet… calming….. It was only when he came to place the cup on the saucer and created a percussive rattle worthy of any castanets that he realised just how much his hands were shaking.
****
Crowley drove. He wasn't sure where to, or how long he'd been driving, but he drove, and as he passed through numerous beautiful villages with chocolate-box village greens and thatched cottages, the number of petty arguments occurring behind the walls of these dwellings rose, peaked, and fell again like a small, emotional 'Mexican wave' as he moved on. Eventually, he found himself on an unfenced road with a view over the sea. He pulled onto the grass, glaring at a small group of sheep who had meandered over to see if he was worth mugging for sandwiches. They operated on the principle that a parked car and a bloke in sunglasses equals holiday maker having a picnic and were milling around the car in enthusiastic Pavlovian anticipation. Crowley waved a hand out of the window to try to shoo them away, but all it did was to make them all gather by the door, lemon-coloured eyes staring up at him. "It's okay for you lot", he muttered, "nothing to worry about, no angels giving you grief".
"Baaa," replied the sheep closest to him.
Crowley lifted his sunglasses and watched as the sheep skittered away in sudden panic. He started the car, drove further along until he found an access path to the small cove below, and jogged down the steps onto the shore.
****
Aziraphale sat. He'd drunk his way through almost a whole packet of rose pouchong and was feeling a little light headed, as well as starting to appreciate the complexities of bladder function in the human form. His hands were still shaking. Maybe something a little stronger….. He swallowed the last of the rose pouchong and most of his pride, put down the delicate bone china cup and reached for a large mug and Crowley's box of Russian Caravan teabags…
The angel sat, tea in hand, staring into the fire. His mind kept dragging back to points in the distant past when Crowley had stormed off in a temper and stayed out of contact for months, even years. His stomach knotted with worry and his mind filled with "what ifs" until a calmer part of his mind said, "But he always comes back… Always…. ". He thought about the 'phone conversation which had resulted in Crowley's angry exit, saw that expression on Crowley's face in his mind's eye. "Oh!" he exclaimed to the flames…. "Aziraphale, you utter fool!!" During a chat with Anathema a few months ago, she had made the comment that he did have a tendency to take a somewhat blinkered approach to his walk through life, making the assumption that his angelic "status" was always correct and that this made him, at times, unable to see other opinions and viewpoints. He'd tried to explain "ineffability" to her, but she had made a loud "Tsk" sound and said, "See what I mean?". He hadn't then, but now he had a suspicion that she may have had a point…..
The rapidly dawning understanding was interrupted by a feeling akin to panic as he took a mouthful of tea and felt something brush against his lip. In the few seconds it took to put the mug down and peer cautiously into it, his mind had run the gauntlet of possible scenarios from a dead spider floating under the surface through to a dead animal that had come through the tap from the water tank in the loft. He was just entertaining the idea of a very small, tea-cup Kraken when he saw the culprit slowly appear before sinking again. He made a mental note to remember to remove the teabag before drinking the tea if he should ever be driven to the point of having to use one again.
Aziraphale headed back to the fire and sat down with a deep sigh. He hoped that Crowley would be back soon. He hoped that he could rectify the problem with a few simple words. He hoped….
****
The rocks under the cliff were jagged, lined with layers of sediment which Crowley assumed were there just to add weight to the joke about fossils. Crowley sat on a suitably flat-topped rock and passed time hurling stones at an empty limpet shell which was wedged in a gap between two boulders. The wind blowing off the water was icy and sharp with salt and the only other noise was that of the incoming waves rolling the small rocks and pebbles around. It was almost hypnotic. An accurately aimed stone hit the shell and shattered it. Crowley felt a momentary pang of guilt at its destruction as the pieces dropped to the ground and were lost amongst the stones, then drew his jacket more tightly around him and shivered.
"Bloody Angel!" he muttered. "Bloody, bloody Angel!!" He stared out to sea from his uncomfortable perch. Clouds were building and he could taste the oncoming storm in the air. The bitter tang of rain and electrical by-products reminded him of the first storm so very, very long ago. They had watched it together. Dark grey fingers of rain were threading down from the clouds to the surface of the water and coming closer. Crowley felt suddenly weary as he stood, made his way back to the Bentley and headed slowly homewards.
****
Crowley arrived at the cottage to find it in darkness. He slipped inside and saw Aziraphale sitting on the chair staring into the flames. The angel looked tired and worried, and his eyes when he turned to look at Crowley were anxious. Crowley felt his heart give an unnecessary leap. He walked into the kitchen and poured two glasses of whisky which he carried into the sitting room and placed on the mantelpiece. He stood, silently, before the angel. Sunglasses removed and soft amber eyes questioning.
Aziraphale looked at him. "I'm sorry." he said. "I thought in all honesty that you hated the idea of celebrations and things."
"I do…. in general. Thought I'd give it a go though….. "
"You look tired."
"Yeah, well…. I think I must be getting too old for storming out dramatically. It really takes it out of you." Crowley managed a slightly brittle smile.
Aziraphale held a hand out and Crowley took it, allowing the angel to pull him closer. Aziraphale looked up at him.
"Crowley, you do know that you are the only one….. You always have been and always will be."
Crowley shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly. He still felt uneasy in the face of this sort of statement. "What, even including dearest Oscar?" he quipped.
Aziraphale gave a low chuckle. "Oh, I admired Oscar for his works, his wit and his courage…. but nothing more."
"He didn't offer? More, that is…." Crowley said, calmly.
The angel blushed slightly. "His attention was, shall we say, attracted elsewhere, but if he HAD offered, then the answer would still have been 'No' ". Crowley stared at him for a few seconds then gave a slight nod and Aziraphale saw him visibly relax. The tension between them diffused and Aziraphale reached out his other hand, talking hold of Crowley's wrist and pulling him down so that the demon slid onto his lap. Aziraphale drew him in closer for a gentle kiss. Crowley tasted of salt and felt like a block of ice.
"Where have you been?" said the angel, running a hand up Crowley's arm and touching his face.
"Don't know. Some little cove somewhere on the coast." He yawned, the coldness running through him was making him sleepy. Aziraphale's fingers left points of warmth where they touched him and he let the angel wrap arms around him and hold him close against his chest. Crowley felt the warmth seep into him and turned his head slightly to run his lips along the angel's jaw-line and down the side of his neck.
Crowley sat back again and Aziraphale let his hands rest on the demon's jutting hip bones. He allowed his hands to drift upwards underneath Crowley's T-shirt, feeling Crowley sway slightly against the touch, slowly peeling the garment off and leaning forward to run his lips along Crowley's collar bone as his hands slid round to the demon's back and his nails ran gently up and down his spine. Crowley ducked his head to catch Aziraphale's lips with his own, his fingers doing battle with the angel's shirt buttons and trying to resist using a quick burst of occult energy to banish the rest of their clothes. Surely that had to be all of them….. He began to push the shirt open only to find that it stuck before he could get it over Aziraphale's shoulders.
"Even your blasted buttons are out to thwart me!!" he muttered, hauling the shirt up and wrestling the last button through its hole. "Now…. where was I?" He started to push the shirt back over the angel's shoulders then realised that Aziraphale's hands were waggling around near his elbows.
"Cuffs" muttered the angel, sneaking a quick nip at Crowley's neck, which was just in range.
"Eh?" For a panic-filled fraction of a second, Crowley wondered if Aziraphale was referring to some form of restraint apparatus.
"Cuffs! You forgot to unbutton the cuffs. Can't get my arms out…." Aziraphale flapped his hands again as if to emphasize the point and Crowley gave an exasperated hiss and snapped his fingers, sending the shirt off to who-knows-where.
"Hey, that was cheating and I rather liked that shirt!" grumbled Aziraphale, although his hands were now moving up and down Crowley's sides and pulling him closer for a more intense kiss.
"I'll get you a new one." Crowley murmured as he lost himself for a while in the sensations created as Aziraphale caught his lower lip gently in his teeth and tugged, and by the feeling of those soft fingers just starting to toy with the buckle of his belt. He wriggled provocatively and heard the angel respond with a sudden sharp intake of breath.
Crowley pushed himself back and stood up. "Should we transfer this to the bedroom?" he said, holding a hand out and pulling the angel to his feet.
Aziraphale stepped forward and put his hands on the demon's waist, nuzzling his neck and letting his fingers slide back to pluck at the belt buckle. "I thought it might be nice to stay by the fire…. " he said, and looked at Crowley who had pulled back slightly and was staring at the hearth rug with a worried expression.
"On THAT?" Crowley's eyes were wide in what Aziraphale suspected was not mock horror.
"Er, well, yes."
Crowley pulled a face. Aziraphale rolled his eyes and gesticulated briefly at the rug which was suddenly covered with a clean sheet. "Since when did you become so precious!"
"Angel, if you want to get wood ash, fluff and coal fragments in various important places then feel free to do so. Personally, I prefer ….. ooooh!" A strategically placed hand gave a careful squeeze and Crowley found that all nerves needed for speech had gone on strike.
"You were saying?"
Crowley managed a pout as Aziraphale finally wrestled the belt buckle into submission, then Aziraphale felt the demon's fingers tap against his own belt and in an instant the rest of their clothing was gone and he could feel the heat of the fire against his skin.
"Oi! Cheating again!!" he muttered, then sank to the floor, pulling a not-complaining-at-all Crowley down with him.
They lay there, reaching out, exploring each other slowly. Each touch a reaffirmation, a reclaiming, a confirmation. Time stretched out and became meaningless, a private Eden re-discovered within 18th century walls. At one point, Crowley was dimly aware of the angel shouting something immensely unholy and which he would no doubt vigorously deny if reminded of it at a later date. He thought that he heard someone wail like a lost soul and suspected, with more than a small amount of embarrassment, that it might actually have been him….. He slumped, spent, across the angel, feeling soft arms gather him in and hold him gently through the aftershocks and as he slid into a gentle doze.
Aziraphale woke after a while feeling a little colder than was comfortable. A glance at the fire explained this - a few glowing embers were all that remained. He rolled the drowsy Crowley onto the sheet, staggered to his feet and put a few more logs onto the fire. Half of the embers promptly stopped glowing and the rest sputtered a little. Aziraphale turned slowly to check that Crowley was still asleep then turned to the fire with a gesture which resulted in a cosy glow and blissful heat.
"I saw that!" said a voice behind him. He turned guiltily to find Crowley staring up at him.
Aziraphale picked up the two glasses of whisky and plonked himself down next to Crowley, passing him one of them. "Well, if you'd rather freeze while we wait for the fire to get going again….."
"No, no…. I'm not complaining." Crowley downed his whisky then stood up, receiving a puzzled look from the angel.
"Where….?" Aziraphale started, but was stopped by Crowley putting a finger to his lips. He watched as the demon walked from the room then heard drawers being opened and closed before Crowley appeared again holding something behind his back and looking slightly anxious.
"I, er, I got thisss for you…" he said, bringing his hand from behind his back and holding out a small box, about 4 inches square. It was tartan. Crowley's hand shook slightly as he passed the box to the angel and sat down.
Aziraphale carefully opened the box and pulled a wad of tissue paper out, tilting the box slightly and peering in. He looked up at Crowley who was watching him intently.
"Crowley, it's….." He carefully reached into the box, withdrew the contents and placed them on his open palm, holding the object at eye level. In his palm was a carved piece of ebonised wood in the shape of an apple, and coiled around the fruit, so that its head rested against the stalk, was a serpent, carved with such intricacy that each individual scale was visible. "It's ….perfect," he finished, turning the carving around and finally placing it carefully on the nearby table.
Crowley looked visibly relieved. Oh, he'd bought things for Aziraphale before, but they had been bought as an occasional gift for a friend. Buying something for a lover was, Crowley now realised, quite a different matter. He realised that he'd been holding his breath since handing the gift over and let go with a shuddering hiss as Aziraphale pulled him back into his arms. "Erm… Hold on," he muttered, and reached out to turn the carving so that the serpent was no longer looking at them.
****
The next morning dawned crisp with frost and the threat of snow on the North Easterly wind which was casually flicking a few remaining leaves around and making them rattle against the cottage windows. Angel and demon were back in their bed owing to Crowley waking and grumbling about cramp, the cold, fluff, and the unyielding hardness of the floor until Aziraphale had carried the petulant demon to bed and set about warming him up in a way guaranteed to leave them both thoroughly warm and sleepy. Aziraphale woke with a jump and was surprised to find Crowley awake and grinning down at him.
"Having a dream, Angel?"
"Why do you ask?" Aziraphale asked cautiously.
"Well, you screamed and started muttering something which sounded like 'Teacup' and 'Kraken', then 'No, no, never again' ".
Aziraphale shrugged his shoulders in what he hoped passed for nonchalance. "I could go and make some tea…. I'll do some crumpets for breakfast," he said, wondering if he'd imagined the small wince which flashed across the demon's face.
"Hmmmm. I might have a better idea, " the demon murmured, shifting closer and moving gently against the angel, leaving him in no doubt what Crowley's "better idea" was. The bad dreams and thoughts of crumpets faded, just as Crowley had hoped they would.
****
That evening they were curled together on the sofa in front of the fire, wading their way through the Monday crossword together when the sound of a car horn shattered the silence. Aziraphale felt Crowley go tense against him and stroked a hand softly down the demon's arm in what he hoped was a soothing manner. There was a tentative knock on the door. Aziraphale crossed to the door and pulled it open to reveal Andrew standing on the step looking cold and slightly nervous.
"Andrew, hello! Step inside, it's too cold out there for standing around." Aziraphale stepped back to allow the man to walk past him and into the warm living room. "Would you care for some tea?"
"Another time maybe? Don't want to be late for the meeting." He smiled at Aziraphale then his attention was taken by a dark haired, slender figure rising from the sofa and standing in front of the fire, a silhouette against the glow of the flames. Aziraphale glanced in the direction of his gaze, then back to the visitor.
"I don't believe you've met Crowley," he said, as Crowley crossed the room.
"Pleased to meet you," said the visitor, extending a polite hand towards Crowley, who looked at it before shaking it cautiously.
"We have spoken before, actually. When you rang yesterday evening…."
"Ah, the lodger!"
"No… Crowley is my… my partner. My better half, you might say." Aziraphale said, finding that he was blushing slightly.
Crowley had to give Andrew some credit. The expression on his face registered a mixture of surprise and disappointment for a mere second before lapsing back to a smile. Crowley was almost impressed, and wondered briefly whether Aziraphale had noticed. He glanced at him, but the angel was busy explaining that he had forgotten that he wasn't free this evening and asking Andrew to pass on his apologies to the other members of the group before steering him to the door.
Outside, it was dark and the wind was bitter, swirling around the front of the cottage and carrying a few small white flakes of the year's first snow. Their visitor jogged quickly to his car with the voice of Aziraphale ringing out behind him, telling him to drive carefully. He paused to wave back at them before getting in out of the wind and driving off.
Aziraphale turned from closing the door and drawing a heavy curtain across to keep some of the draught out to see Crowley scoot into the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway to find Crowley rummaging in the cupboard beneath the sink.
"Isn't it an odd time to be thinking about doing chores?" asked the angel.
"I think I need a drink," replied Crowley, voice muffled slightly.
"Of bleach? Or were you thinking of a snifter of lemon-scented toilet cleaner?"
Crowley gave him a withering look as he stood up holding a bag which made a promising clinking sound when he set it on the work surface. Two large wine glasses had appeared beside the bag as Crowley extracted the bottles from their wrapping and set off into the sitting room wielding the bottles in one hand and the wine glasses in the other. He sat down on the floor in front of the fire, leaning back against the sofa and gesturing for Aziraphale to follow suit. He poured a glass of wine and handed it to the angel before pouring one for himself. They touched glasses and settled back, leaning against one another and watching the embers of the fire glow and flare as the wind gusted outside.
Neither spoke, but when Aziraphale felt Crowley slide his hand into his own, lacing fingers and giving a gentle squeeze, it said more than anything that he could ever need to hear.
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The title is from a quote by Oscar Wilde, "Love is a misunderstanding between fools".
Happy Holidays, Irisbleufic!!