Chapter Text
When was it that vanilla ice cream started tasting so terribly bland? Aziraphale took another lick anyway, just in case something had changed, and cold, predictable nothingness softened onto his tongue.
And good lord, if it wasn’t hot, almost unbearably so. He squinted up at the blinding blue sky. The afternoon sun was beating down with a vengeance, and sweat was melting off his forehead at the same rate ice cream was melting onto his hand. He had another lick. Until recently, Aziraphale wasn’t aware that ‘cold’ was a flavor, but that was about all ice cream had tasted like for about… ah, yes. Six months. The same time everything else in his life became terribly bland.
A seagull streaked across the sky, letting out an obnoxious wail Aziraphale still wasn’t accustomed to despite the week’s time he’d spent with his feet in the sand. The beach was supposed to be rather relaxing, wasn’t it? Cheerful? He couldn’t quite see it. Not through the cacophony of birds, the air that tasted of brine, and the glaring sunlight that seemed to mock his pale complexion.
As the ocean crashed over his toes, Aziraphale let his eyes fall shut, willing his brain to experience anything besides ‘cold’ – with little success. Well, he supposed cold was better than hot. Much better, actually. He took the last few licks of his ice cream, crunched at the cone until it was gone, and waded into the blue-green water at his feet.
He shuddered as the waves washed over his legs. Cold was perhaps only negligably better than hot. How was the ocean so impossibly freezing when the sun was near scorching?
Regardless, he stepped across the strandline, his bare feet shifting uncomfortably over the piling shells, until he was sinking into soft sand again. The water had now reached his thighs. Aziraphale frowned at the darkening edges around the bottoms of his swimming costume, knowing what was to come. Not having lived near enough to the ocean to bother with frequent swimming, Aziraphale owned only one bathing suit – it was a blue, white and stripey two-piece, and while the fabric was cosy when dry, it clung to him quite uncomfortably as soon as it was wet.
Alas, there was no use in delaying the inevitable. Squeezing his eyes shut as if he could possibly brace himself for the overwhelming temperature shock, Aziraphale sank into the waves, submerging himself fully into the water.
Upon leaving London, Aziraphale had promised his brother, Gabriel, that he would swim in the ocean that surrounded the Isle of Ferntree every day he was there. Gabriel had noted something about the nurturing quality of ‘the original mother,’ that she would revitalise him, as if Aziraphale was going to fade into something transparent under his bed sheets if he stayed amongst them one more day. In his defense, it wasn’t a particularly preposterous conclusion to come to; he was feeling rather like a ghost lately.
While he never would have complained about keeping to his bedroom in solitude every evening for the rest of his life, he agreed to the excursion, if only to quiet Gabriel’s insistent nagging and incessant condescension of the state of his mental health. He took two weeks leave from work (paid time off had stacked high over months and months of filling his head with paperwork so he would have little room for anything else), and went to the coast.
It had been… fine. Aziraphale’s vacation had mostly consisted of repetitively walking to the ocean and back, not feeling much different than he had before, but at least he was doing it.
After soaking in the salt and fish-filled ice bath for as long as he possibly could, Aziraphale swam back to the shore. He shivered. At least the heat was welcome now. After gathering up his sandals and his towel and drying himself off, he made his way back to his temporary waterfront home.
It was a charming little thing. A cottage slatted with white oak and navy blue trim, and while a bit overgrown around the exterior, it was wonderful. He liked it quite a lot. The doors creaked, as did the flooring, but it had a sufficient kitchen, a spacious shower, and one particular armchair in the living room that would be perfect for reading whenever he got around to it. Though he’d brought several books along with him, Aziraphale had spent most of his time in bed staring at the ceiling and avoiding calls from Gabriel. He would get around to the reading eventually. There was just important lounging and avoiding to be doing in the meantime.
The tall grass surrounding the property waved their greetings in the breeze, and his sandals pushed the stones of the path against each other and farther into the sand as he approached, adorning each step with a satisfying scrape.
Out of everywhere on the island, Aziraphale found the cottage to be by far the most peaceful. The seabirds’ cries were somewhat muted by the distance, but the crashing of the waves was still loud enough to make for soothing background noise, and he had no neighbors. For several acres it was only him, the grasses, the occasional vole, and the wildflowers.
Aziraphale liked the wildflowers especially. The dots of purple and yellow amongst the grass had given the more atrophied muscles around his lips a stretch every morning since he had arrived. They reminded him of life, of the undeniable truth that beautiful things can grow even in the harshest of conditions.
Walking past the small porch, he unlocked the front door and swung it open with ease – though the whining hinges could only be interpreted as a mighty protest.
The interior of the house was decorated exactly how you might expect: kitschy. Everything was beach themed, or at least trying to be. There were quite a lot of great white sharks sitting around, knickknacks and the like, when Aziraphale knew for a fact that great whites were not native to England.
If the ornamentation had some sort of connection to the history of the island, that would be one thing. Old scraps of fishing boats or jars of sand collected after particularly impactful storms, perhaps. However, this was not the case. Glass starfish and shells were tacked about the living room walls, framing an artificially aged, neatly cut piece of plywood with the word ‘BEACH’ spray painted across it in teal. At least there was the plush, brown couch and chair, and the bright, natural light streaming in from the sliding window in the kitchen. The aesthetic was partially salvaged.
He set his belongings down by the door next to his mobile (which had conveniently been left behind during his trip to the shore) and made for the shower. Before he even made it through the bathroom door frame, a call began to buzz loudly against the table. He winced. It was likely his brother. It’d been over a week by now, he really ought to call Gabriel back instead of sending the occasional vague, non-committal text. Well… he would have to shower first, of course. And then perhaps a snack. But then, yes, after all that, he would certainly return his call. Certainly.
Aziraphale reached for the shower knob, stripped off his bathing suit – grimacing at the damp, rubbery texture as it rolled off his skin – and set it in the sink. There was a sort of routine to this by now. Peel off his suit, drop it in the sink, shower off the sand and salt, forget about the suit until evening, and then frantically rush to wash and dry it so he could wear it again the next morning. Despite his forgetfulness, Aziraphale was rather proud of himself for managing it every day. He was achieving something consistent, and that was big.
After the water was running hot, Aziraphale stepped under the stream to let it wash over his skin. A nice shower was much preferable to the sticky, salty water of the ocean. The only downside was that it gave him far too much time to think. There were plenty of distractions out on the beach, but in the shower, it was just him and the pink tile and his thoughts, and before long his mind was drifting back to London. Back to how lonely his life was now, somehow both boring and tiring all at once. The matter had turned him a bit despondent.
It was understandable, all things considered. Walking into your partner's flat to find him in the arms of another, well, that does something to a person. They had only been together for about eight months, but the betrayal still stung like a sunburn. He’d felt so unwanted.
Six months had passed since the incident, and while Aziraphale didn’t think so much about it now, something in him had changed. He still occasionally felt that sting. Or perhaps that was the actual, literal burn he seemed to have developed across his cheeks, as the hot water assaulting his skin so pleasantly pointed out. It was likely that. He was a bit numb to anything else these days.
Unfortunately, Gabriel had noticed. He’d lectured Aziraphale about how he really shouldn’t be indulging such strong urges to drown himself in assignments at work and lose so much of his time in bed, that it wasn’t helping. Go out into the world, he‘d said, bathe in life itself, soak up the ocean and the sunshine. Aziraphale had never been much of an outdoorsy person, but his own comment on how he would only go from drowning in paperwork to drowning in something else was an ill-timed joke (and it was a joke) and only served to worsen the case Gabriel was building against him. So off he went to the beach. It wasn’t helping.
The shower was, though, despite the burning on his cheeks. He let the vanilla and sandalwood bubbles slip off his skin and down the drain with the last dregs of the world’s largest fish tank, and turned off the tap. Stepping out of the shower and onto the bath rug, he dried his hair and face with a towel and closed his eyes against the cotton for a long moment. He was tired. He was always tired.
After a few breaths, he towelled the rest of himself off and traveled the short distance to his bedroom. The space was quite comfortable, and certainly much tidier than his bedroom at home. Inside, there was little more than a bed and a small, wooden table that was put to use as a nightstand, baring just enough space for a cup of tea, the bottle of anti-depressants he’d reluctantly allowed to be prescribed, and a book (whenever one actually found its way there).
The accent wall surrounding the closet was a bright teal and the others were beige, decorated with the same banal beach embellishments that filled the rest of the home. The room was more than suitable, if not exactly to his tastes.
Aziraphale opened up the closet door to fish out a comfortable set of clothes he’d spend the rest of the day lounging in. Well, lounging and calling Gabriel, which was a bit more laborious than the relaxation ‘lounging’ implied. Hmm. First, a snack. He padded across the cottage, familiar by now with the creaking that followed his steps across the wooden floorboards, and made his way to the kitchen.
The refrigerator hummed its hello as he opened the door, and he gazed at the humble assortment of foods inside. It was a bit underwhelming. There were grapes and clementines, the deconstructed makings of a ham and cheese toastie (peppered deli ham, gruyere, and sour dough), and a large container of chocolate dipped cream puffs that was just about nearing empty.
Despite the disenchanting options, Aziraphale knew it would probably be wise to eat something substantial. He glanced over at the turtle shaped clock on the wall. It was about lunch time, after all. A toastie, then, and perhaps the last of the cream puffs. He took out the necessary ingredients, including a rather delightful horseradish mustard (now that was something with undeniable flavor) and a pan to cook it in.
Hmm, the pan. It did seem a bit daunting today, didn’t it? He’d already had a swim and a shower and oh, it was all just feeling like a bit much. Just a sandwich should suffice. A toastie tomorrow.
He carefully assembled the ingredients on a plate and took a bite. It was mostly bland, as expected. It certainly would’ve been much better toasted, but it was edible, and the mustard did help. He focused hard on chewing. After a moment, he set the sandwich back down on the plate with a forceful swallow and a sigh, and gazed wearily over at his phone on the table by the door. Perhaps talking on the phone would be distraction enough to help with the lunch situation; either that, or the conversation would make him so nauseous that he would have to forget the attempt at a meal all together. Unfortunately, the latter seemed more likely.
He reluctantly approached his mobile, and lifted it off its face to find that the missed call wasn’t from Gabriel, but from his dear friend Maggie. There was hope for the sandwich after all. Feeling a weight off his shoulders, Aziraphale carried the plate outside to the porch, and sat down in a tan, woven chair to redial the missed call.
The view from the front of the house was splendid. He could just barely see the rippling shine of the ocean from his front door, and the dark, jagged rocks that cupped the edge of the sand were a gorgeous compliment to the bright foliage adjacent to his cottage. He gazed across the water for a moment, and then down at his mobile.
“Aziraphale!” Maggie answered cheerfully. “How are you, love?”
“Hello, dear. It’s lovely to hear your voice, I’m just fine.”
“Yours too! How’s the beach? Have you found any good shells? Last time I was on Ferntree I found a red whelk the size of my hand.”
“Ah, I’ve seen a few mussels but nothing of interest. Do you know, there isn’t such a thing as a fern tree? I looked it up when I first arrived. Where do you think the name came from?” Aziraphale took a bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully before swallowing. Perhaps it was the fresh air, or the voice of his friend, but the second bite went down easier.
“You know, I’ve got no idea. Sounds nice though, doesn’t it?”
“It does, rather. Appealing for the tourists, I suppose.”
“Appealing for you, too? How has it been, Azi, really?”
Aziraphale pursed his lips. Maggie knew he was a bit soft on a nickname and was using it against him. “It’s been…” He sighed. ”I don’t know. I’m alright, really, it’s just, everything’s still a bit drab. The island is beautiful, though. I’m trying my best to enjoy it.”
“Well, I’m proud of you. Taking time to care for yourself is important, and I do think it’ll help once you settle in. How much longer do you have?”
“About three days,” Aziraphale replied, picking absentmindedly at the crust on his sandwich.
“Oh, sorry, love, I should’ve called earlier. I’ve been a bit busy.”
“That’s quite alright, dear. What’s been keeping you busy?”
“You wouldn’t believe it, really. My mum’s come to visit, and she’s insisted on repainting all the walls in our flat this ghastly teal. I’ve spent most of my time at home trying to fend her off while she waves a wet paintbrush at me.”
“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale replied, furrowing his brows. “She came in all the way from Germany to paint your house?”
“She did, yeah. No idea why. I’m going a bit mad, I think.”
“I’m sorry, Maggie, that does sound like quite a pain. I really don’t understand the teal craze, the beach house is slathered in it just the same.”
“Neither do I! She’s ecstatic about it, you’d think there were flecks of gold in the paint cans. Don’t know what’s gotten into her. It’s been chaotic, to say the least. Yesterday she got paint on the dog and Nina had an absolute fit. You know how she’s sweet on him.”
“Rufus! Oh, heavens. I might’ve thrown a fit as well, teal is decidedly not his color.”
A loud laugh came through the line, the edges of the sound rippling with static, and Aziraphale smiled. He took another bite of his sandwich.
They talked for about an hour, catching up on the frustrations and little wins they’d missed over the past few months, and Aziraphale’s smile returned again and again, more reliably than it had in a long time. He finished his lunch without thinking twice, and a particularly funny recounting of Rufus chasing a weasel through the backyard even managed to make him laugh. He’d missed Maggie dearly. He really ought to make the time to see her more often. To see any of his friends more often, really.
The call ended eventually, as calls tend to do, right around the time Maggie’s mum returned from the shops. Aziraphale let her go so she might continue defending the dignity of her walls.
He gazed out across the coastline for a long while. It really was quite stunning. The corners of his eyes crinkled just slightly as he watched a puffin dip below the waves, but everything else in his world had returned to its usual drab grey. He sat in silence for another hour or so, going back and forth on whether or not it was appropriate to return to hibernation at this point, and eventually relented. He retired to his bed, and spent the remainder of the night inside.
“Oh! Oh, the flowers. Something’s eaten all the flowers.”
It was another suffocatingly warm day, and Aziraphale was standing on the front porch in his bathing suit, gazing woefully at what remained of the nibbled stems of the wildflowers around the cottage. Gosh. They had been so lovely and colorful and now something had gone and eaten them all. How awful.
Before he noticed the travesty, Aziraphale was about to lather himself in sunscreen to avoid another burn, so he allowed himself a sigh before getting on with it, popping open the cap and spreading it across his skin. He tried not to look at the decapitated remains as he did.
He made his way down to the beach, towel in hand, and stopped by the ice cream stand along his route, as always. Routine was comforting, and even though his daily vanilla with a flake tasted merely ‘white’ and ‘cold,’ he always purchased one anyway. He graciously accepted the cone from the cashier, and continued on his way.
His sandals pressed prints into the sand as he treaded down the path, towering green grass rustled in the faint breeze, and he sighed as he spotted the crash line of the waves. A gull flew low overhead, screaming down at him pointedly as he agonised over his coming fate.
Aziraphale squinted up at the sky with a frown. “Is that entirely necessary?”
Unbothered, the gull didn’t respond, soaring away to caw loudly at some other poor soul. The beach really was a nightmare. Still, brave man that he was, Aziraphale pushed forward down to the shore, licking his ice cream and taking bites of the flake atop the cone as he went.
Perhaps he could leave a few days early, hide out at his flat for the rest of his time off work, and pretend he was still out of town. It might be preferable. Though, he did already buy his returning ferry and train ticket, and changing them would require more effort than he was willing to exert. He supposed he could suffer another two days.
Aziraphale stopped just before the waterline, as he did everyday, removed his sandals, and peered across the ocean. There was that same rippling shimmer of the sun over the same unwelcoming water. It would be cold. It would be sticky. He all but glared down at the waves as they crashed over his feet. Yes, indeed. Cold. Perhaps he couldn’t, in fact, suffer any longer. Every day was seeming more and more like a gratuitous mockery.
As he stared out over the water, yet another obnoxious bird began to jingle closer. No, that wasn’t right. Birds didn’t jingle. Aziraphale turned his head in the direction of the sound, and discovered a large black dog wiggling towards him, tied to a lead that was attached to… Oh. A very handsome man indeed.
Aziraphale focused on the dog. He knew there was only so much blushing a sunburn could conceal, and this stranger really was quite the picture. Besides, he did love dogs, and this one seemed to be rather friendly. It looked like a mix between a labrador and something a bit fluffier. The dog approached him eagerly and gave his forearm a big lick.
“Oi, Bentley, come on. Nobody wants your slobber.”
“That’s alright, Bentley seems very sweet,” Aziraphale replied, giving them a soft stroke on the head. The dog closed their eyes and pressed into his palm, and Aziraphale couldn’t help the fondness that spread across his lips. He glanced up at the man who had spoken because, well, that was the polite thing to do, wasn’t it?
He very quickly regretted it. Without his permission, Aziraphale’s eyes immediately scanned up and down the man’s body. He was stunning. Tall, lean, freckled from the sun, and dressed in black trousers and a matching black tee – a striking contrast to the flame flickering on his head. His short quiff shone in the daylight, all manner of shifting reds and oranges and even a tinge of yellow where the sun was brightest. His features were sharp, and the smirk that was slowly forming on the dusty rose of his lips was even sharper, cutting through Aziraphale’s swim shorts and pressing against his skin like something hot. Oh, dear.
“Crowley,” the man said, extending a hand for Aziraphale to shake.
With a final pat on Bentley’s head, Aziraphale straightened up and took Crowley’s hand in all its slender, graceful glory. The pads of the man’s fingers met the inside of his wrist, and Aziraphale had to fight hard for words. “Aziraphale,” he managed with a smile that hopefully looked composed and not like he’d just been hit by the most handsome truck ever crafted.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth with curiosity, like one would an interesting wine. “Enjoying your afternoon?”
“Mm, yes. Quite. The ocean and the, ah. The sun. It’s all… very lovely.”
Crowley chuckled through closed lips. “You don’t sound entirely enthused.”
“Yes, well. It’s rather hot today, and the salinity of the water is a bit inconsiderate.”
This time, Crowley let out a full laugh. It was warm and full of life, and Aziraphale felt himself smile at the sound. “Inconsiderate,” Crowley said, a bewildered question phrased as a statement.
“Yes,” Aziraphale said, nodding slowly at the ocean in front of him while trying to shape his endearment around a more neutral-looking pinch of his lips. “Every time I go for a swim, I’m left feeling exceptionally sticky, and I don’t appreciate it in the slightest.”
When he turned his head back to Crowley, Aziraphale found him wearing the same dazzling smirk from before. He quickly averted his eyes to the water again. It was a bit overwhelming, all that charm.
“Not from around here?”
“Not really, no. Just visiting,” Aziraphale said, glancing at him with a weak smile.
“Shame,” Crowley replied, tilting his head a little to the side.
Aziraphale felt his face grow hot, and it most likely wasn’t from the sun.
“Feeling gracious enough to teach me your ways?” the man continued.
“Pardon?”
“Well, obviously you’re very talented at visiting. Seen a lot of visitors, me, and you’re definitely one of the best. Caught my eye, for sure. We could visit Ana’s Cafe together and you could show me the ropes.”
Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. Was he… that would be a date, would it not? Aziraphale glanced nervously down at Bentley, who was panting happily, completely oblivious to the tension thickening the air. He looked back up at Crowley again, conflicted and shy. “Oh, ah. I haven’t gone for my swim yet.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow over his sunglasses. “Your swim. The sticky one.”
“Yes,” Aziraphale replied, completely aware of how ridiculous he sounded. It was just, that was what he was here for, to swim and sunbathe and feel better. He wasn’t here to go on dates.
“Is that something you want to do? Another one of those lovely things you enjoy so much? Being sticky?”
Well, alright. Perhaps not. Although, looking at the dashing man in front of him, Aziraphale thought he could indeed find enjoyable ways to be sticky. “Hmm,” Aziraphale said, a bit of mischief finding its way into his expression. “I suppose I can think of better things.”
“So can I,” Crowley replied, his canines peeking out from behind his smirk as it began to stretch into a grin.
They stood there for a moment, staring at each other with a heat that rivalled the sun.
Aziraphale bit the inside of his lip. “Alright. Go on, then,” he said with a small, playful smile. “Whisk me away.”
Crowley’s grin widened, and the skin near his eyes folded with it around the rims of his dark sunglasses. “Come on,” he said, and turned towards the dunes.
Bentley’s wagging tail led the way, and the moment of quiet calm as they walked was all Aziraphale needed to notice that his ice cream was about to drip onto his hand. With all of the smirking, he’d completely forgotten it existed.
“Oh, goodness,” he mumbled, frowning at the mess waiting to happen, and began to lick up the melted drips before they could reach his fingers.
Crowley cleared his throat quietly, and when Aziraphale glanced up at him, he was looking away.
Oh. Oh. Aziraphale must’ve been quite a spectacle, licking his ice cream so urgently. He shared a little satisfied smile with himself. While it had certainly been some quite some time since he’d exercised his flirting skills, perhaps stretching his muscles would be fun.
“Everything alright, dear?” Aziraphale asked, full of doe-eyed innocence.
“Yep,” the red-head replied.
When Crowley turned back to meet his gaze, blessedly flustered, Aziraphale dragged his tongue across his ice cream again. It wasn’t a long lick, nothing too dramatic that would bring attention to the fact that he was absolutely doing this on purpose, but not so short that it wouldn’t make Crowley blush. He closed his eyes with a contented hum, just for a moment, before fluttering them open again with his most angelic smile. “Just making sure.”
Crowley’s cheeks turned pink, and Aziraphale blinked slowly and sweetly at him. Oh, it was too easy. Just like riding a bike.
Something about provoking that sort of reaction out of the man made him tingle with excitement. Perhaps agreeing to a date had been the right choice after all.
Crowley cleared his throat again. “Yeah, uh. Where did you say you were visiting from?
“I didn’t. London. You’re local to the area, I assume?”
“Myeah,” Crowley replied. “Moved here when I was really young. About 13, I think.”
“How do you like it?”
“‘S alright. Bentley loves it. She’s a big fan of the water.”
“She’s a beauty,” Aziraphale replied, gazing fondly at the dog making confident strides ahead of them.
“Yeah, she’s great. Real sweetheart. Drives me up the wall, but I love her.”
Aziraphale smiled. There was something very attractive indeed about a man with a soft spot for animals. “It seems like she’s in good hands.” Very good hands, if that gentle touch on his wrist while they shook hands was saying anything.
Crowley shrugged in response, but the little upward quirk at the corner of his lips said more than enough.
“Do tell me about this cafe,” said Aziraphale.
“Right, yeah. Typical cafe food, really. Sandwiches, pastries, fish and chips. They probably still have breakfast around this time, too, but I can’t remember.”
“A proper breakfast sounds lovely.” In all honesty, anything would be an upgrade from eating clementines every morning.
“Yeah,” Crowley agreed. “Something about a bacon butty.”
“Oh, I much prefer egg and cress.”
“Really? I need something hot when I wake up.”
“Do you now?” Aziraphale asked, raising his eyebrows.
Crowley grinned at him. “Well, if it’s on the menu.”
“I suppose we’ll have to see when we get there,” Aziraphale said with a coy smile.
The restaurant was busy and bustling. It was an American retro sort of establishment, decked out in silver and red with a checkered floor. Waiters were moving swiftly around the space, bouncing from table to table with trays of plates, glasses of ice water, and fancy breakfast cocktails. Crowley, Aziraphale, and Bentley stood in the doorframe together for a minute or so, until Crowley caught the eye of a tall woman with dark hair and glasses. He waved, and she smiled and sashayed over to meet them.
She escorted them to a table on the patio draped in bright red fabric.
“Thanks, Ana,” said Crowley.
“Of course. Take your shades off, idiot,” Ana replied, nudging his shoulder as they sat down. She looked over at Aziraphale, her brown eyes sparkling. “Anthony’s a good one.” She gestured towards Crowley with her head, and winked before walking away with a swish of her skirt.
“Anthony?” Aziraphale said quizzically, trying his best to act clueless to what Ana’s wink may have been implying.
“Legally,” Crowley replied with an eyeroll.
“I like it,” Aziraphale said with a smile.
“Yeah?”
“I do, yes. But I’ll call you Crowley, if that’s what you’d prefer.”
“Crowley’s better.”
“Just as you say. So, you know the owner?”
“Yeah. This place’s been here forever, Ana took over when her folks died. Her family moved to town around the same time mine did, so we all got pretty close. She’s about 10 years my junior, though.”
“You must be very tight-knit after all that time. ‘Anthony’ is only for family, I’m assuming?”
“Guess so, yeah.”
Aziraphale hummed and gazed at him fondly. “You must’ve been a sort of big brother figure for her if she was only three when you first met.” He could imagine Crowley telling off Ana’s bullies and threatening any rude boys that tried to court her as she grew up. Precious.
“He’s good at maths, too, the whole package,” Crowley said with a smirk.
“Oh, please,” Aziraphale replied, though he couldn’t deny feeling flattered. In secondary school, he was the type of student that excelled in English and history while floundering in maths and science, and if a handsome man wanted to praise him for subtracting 10 from 13, Aziraphale wasn’t going to tell him not to.
He glanced down shyly at the menu. As it turned out, breakfast was indeed still being served. Hot breakfast, even. Aziraphale smiled to himself, but kept his eyes on the plastic laminate between his fingertips, worried that if he looked up at Crowley the pink burned into his cheeks by the sun would only worsen. Permanent blush, what an unfortunate predicament.
Despite the afternoon rush, their food arrived quickly. Crowley ordered a bacon butty, a coffee, and a bowl of water for Bentley, and since Aziraphale’s appetite was feeling more ambitious than usual, he ordered a full English breakfast sandwich and a tea. The food was so scrumptious that they hadn’t actually done much talking at all. Conversation had been reduced to a flirty glance here, a pointed licking of one’s lips there. It was a dance, and Aziraphale was feeling warmer with every step.
Crowley set down what remained of his sandwich and raised an eyebrow. Aziraphale raised his own in reply.
“Aziraphale,” he said contemplatively.
Aziraphale nodded slowly.
“Who is this man I see before me?”
A handle turned towards your hand, Aziraphale’s brain oh-so-helpfully supplied. Come, let me clutch thee. He gave Crowley an amused little smile. “Who am I, indeed?”
“The mysterious, handsome blond man from London.”
Aziraphale hummed, trying to live up to the mysterious title, and took a sip of his water.
“Are you going to make me guess?”
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows and set his water glass back on the table.
“Fine. You’re… a snake charmer.”
Aziraphale laughed, a smile settling easily over his cheeks. “Ah, no.”
“You’re a professor of something no one’s ever heard of, even though they should.” Aziraphale shook his head. “You’re a highly coveted landscape artist, hired exclusively to paint haunted coastlines.”
“Is this your way of warning me that the isle is haunted?”
“Or,” Crowley said, pointing at him and pausing for dramatic effect. “You’re the ghost, and someone’s here to paint you.” He tapped the surface of the table as if to punctuate his point.
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.
“No, course not. That’d be ridiculous. More realistically, you’re an angel, commanded by God to make eyes at me until I fall under your spell so you can steal me away to Heaven.”
Aziraphale’s eyes fell to Crowley’s mouth as the man bit down into the plush skin of his lower lip and furrowed his brows. “No, no, hang on. That’s fairies.” He raised his eyebrows again and reclined against the booth triumphantly as if he had just solved a riddle. “You’re a fairy,” he said with a graceful flourish of his hand.
Aziraphale grinned again. His face was already starting to hurt, this man was ridiculous. “Perhaps not in the way you’re implying,” he said through a chuckle.
“Angel it is, then,” Crowley said, reaching for his coffee to take a sip.
Aziraphale’s smile turned shy. His heart was a fluttering butterfly, but one that quickly transformed into a wildly flapping songbird as Crowley tipped his head back with his mug. Aziraphale watched the movement of his neck as he swallowed with an intense gaze. Oh, dear. He adjusted the napkin covering his lap. Swim shorts were really quite improper attire for sitting across from someone so enticing.
“How about I just tell you, hm?” he suggested, trying to distract himself.
“No need, already figured it out. You’re very good at your job, angel. Keep looking at me,” Crowley replied, the words dripping from his tongue like honey.
That tone. Soft but unmistakably commanding. Aziraphale’s bird heart was ramming against the cage of his ribs as if it was trying to break free and dive across the table. Crowley didn’t need to say it twice. He couldn’t take his eyes off the man if he tried. The shape of his lips, his jaw, his neck, the little peek of chest hair along the collar of his tee – Aziraphale was already ruined.
Crowley smirked. ”Go on, tell me. What do you do?”
Aziraphale took a quick breath and blinked, shaking off of whatever trance Crowley had just inflicted upon him. He smiled awkwardly. The situation in his shorts was getting dangerously close to public indecency.
He tried to collect himself. Pasting on a look of dramatised secrecy, Aziraphale glanced around at the patrons surrounding them, laced his fingers together on top of the table, and leaned forward. “I’m a librarian,” he whispered, as if he were confessing that he was a spy for MI6.
“A librarian,” Crowley said, sounding intrigued. “Knew it.”
”You did not,” Aziraphale said, sitting up straight again with a giggle.
Crowley grinned. “No proof of that whatsoever. Your turn, angel.”
“Did we not just establish that I am a librarian?”
“We did,” he said with a nod. “Doesn’t mean you don’t still look like a cherub. Pretty boy, aren’t you?” Crowley’s gaze flicked down to Aziraphale’s mouth as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip.
Aziraphale’s eyes went wide at the sight, at his words, and he pressed down on the base of his cock over his napkin in a way that he hoped, prayed, was subtle. He needed that tongue quite immediately. He needed that voice, dark and rough but still smooth like a tumbled garnet, very, very close to his ear. He needed Crowley’s hands positively everywhere, on his chest, his hips, his arse, in his hair as he sank to his knees. He needed it now.
“My turn?” Aziraphale asked from under his lashes.
“Yep.”
“If I’m an angel, you must be the serpent of Eden, the way you’re tempting me to do very sinful things in the middle of this busy cafe.“
Crowley raised his eyebrows.
Aziraphale tipped forward and Crowley mirrored his movement like a magnet. “It’s rather spacious underneath the table, wouldn’t you say?” he continued in a low tone, his voice quiet so as not to be overheard.
Crowley’s face flushed. “Ngk.“
“Let’s go somewhere more private, hm? Are you finished with your lunch? I’m staying in a cottage just up the road.”
“Yes. Yep, I-I’ll go pay our tab and then, just a minute.”
Crowley stood up from the table and walked inside, and Aziraphale let out a heavy breath. Gracious. That was exceptionally bold. He looked down at where Bentley was curled up on the pavement at their feet and petted along her back, trying to pretend that what was certainly about to happen, wasn’t actually going to happen at all, so that he might have hope of standing up from his seat without embarrassing himself.
He tried to clear his mind. No wandering hands, no tantalizing lips kissing his jaw, his neck. No kneeling under a table in the middle of a restaurant to wrap his mouth around– Aziraphale squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Clear his mind, clear it, for Heaven’s sake.
Oh, but it was rather exciting, wasn’t it? Meeting a stranger, dragging him back to his rental on a beautiful island so that they might have their way with each other. He opened his eyes and bit down on his lip.
With a few measured breaths, he worked to steady his heart rate. Fortunately, the cafe had gotten a bit busier since they’d arrived and it took a while for Crowley to pay their bill, so by the time he returned, Aziraphale was feeling a bit more under control. A bit. Enough to keep his dignity intact, at least.
“Ready?” Crowley asked as he reappeared by the patio seating.
“Quite,” Aziraphale replied, gazing up at Crowley with a storm in his eyes that was threatening a downpour.
And off they went.