Once again, our heroes have a flirty domestic confab in the bookshop. And, we hear from Anathema, plus a new life-changing notion gets introduced.
Again, no smut, BUT seeds get planted for a very naughty next couple of chapters!
MORE BOOKSHOP BANTER
It was now approximately eighteen hours after Crowley's first foray into yoga – around lunch time the following day – and he was still sore. He was moving like a man of eighty, rather than forty… which was ironic because in actuality, he was literally older than Methuselah. This morning, Aziraphale had reported feeling "just a bit" of ache in his muscles, but overall seemed much less miserable than Crowley.
The former demon was currently sitting in a coffee shop with his laptop, researching real estate agents. He had chosen one – Laura Minahan was her name – had spoken to her on the phone, and set up a meeting for one hour from now. A call had come in during his conversation with Ms. Minahan, and he had put it to voice mail. He dialled in and listened.
"Crowley? Anathema," the voice said. Then, it sighed heavily. "Look, I'm happy to be your go-to human, if you have questions… largely because I realise you don't have a heck of a lot of options. But the last two messages I got from you guys were something about dry skin in private areas, and then another about being sore all over. And honestly, the combination of those two topics in such a short increment of time… well, let me just ask you: how personal do you really want to get with me? Apart from that, I find the whole thing greatly concerning. Frankly, it makes me want to refer you to a qualified sex therapist. But somehow, I don't think that would work at all because, sorry to say, you're both kind of awkward, and there's a good chance you'd wind up saying something that would give yourselves away or, more likely, see you committed to a mental institution in the end.
"So, I'm going to pretend like I have no idea what's going on, and just answer your questions calmly. But I'm also going to ask: do you guys know how to use Google? I'm just, you know… putting it out there. And I'll leave it at that.
"Okay, here goes. Now, keep in mind, I'm a woman, and I think that your questions might have to do with body parts I just don't possess (and Newt, by the way, refuses to discuss any of this with me). However, in my experience, dryness and/or chafing in sensitive areas sorts itself out in a couple of days. If it is caused by soap, coupled with (ahem) an unusual amount of friction or chafing, unless either of you has a specific allergy, the human body is designed to want to heal itself naturally. If it doesn't clear up in forty-eight hours or so, go see a doctor. You said you have paperwork to prove you're citizens, right?"
At that point, the message timed out, and Crowley noticed that there was another.
"Sorry about that – I guess I'm taking too long," she said. "Anyway, concerning the body being sore all over, the best thing for me is ibuprofen and a hot shower. Or… have you tried yoga? Also, eating protein is supposed to help, but you have to intake it soon after your, um… workout.
"Speaking of which, do you still want me to show you my exercise routine? I'm not a personal trainer but I feel more comfortable talking about fitness with you than about chafing in unlikely places – call me old-fashioned.
"Well, I guess that about does it for this disastrous message – darn, I wish it could go on for longer. Phone me if you like. I can't promise I won't bristle, but I'm totally willing to share my humanness with you. I've got humanness to spare. Talk soon. Bye."
Crowley was, in general, charmed by Anathema Device – or Book Girl, as he liked to call her – now that he'd got to know her a bit. He found her cute as a button, clever, and incredibly accommodating (thank goodness). He smiled at every point throughout her message, and resolved to share it with Aziraphale later on.
"Oh! Shit! Aziraphale!" he croaked aloud, remembering they'd talked about Crowley maybe bringing lunch again today.
"Angel?" Crowley's voice sounded, just after Aziraphale heard the bell ring, indicating someone had come through the front door of the bookshop.
"In here!" Aziraphale called out from the back-back room, where he was inventorying a new shipment of random books that had recently come from an old bombed-out library somewhere in the Middle East. He had paid a fortune for it, a few months before the Apocalypse scare.
The shop was currently devoid of customers, which was the way Aziraphale liked it.
Crowley made his way to the back, and put a folded-over white paper bag on the table beside where Aziraphale was working. He then moved to the small sink in the back room, and extracted the new bottle of ibuprofen from his pocket.
"Hello, love," Aziraphale said, sprightly. "Thank you for bringing lunch again! I promise, you don't have to do this every day. I just so enjoyed our gyros yesterday."
"It's just a turkey croissant sandwich from the café on the corner. And I'm sorry, angel, but I can't stay and eat with you today. I've got an appointment in about ten minutes," Crowley said, struggling with the medicine's bottle cap.
"Oh," said Aziraphale, looking a bit crestfallen. "All right. An appointment with whom?"
"A real estate agent – name's Laura."
Aziraphale's eyebrows rose as though someone had used a pulley. "Are we moving house?"
"Well," Crowley began, downing three pills, then leaning his bum on a credenza, and crossing his arms. "Funny story. I just started out looking for someone who could help me get an actual deed to the flat. But then I realised that any agent worth their salt is going to want to know how the Heaven I've been living in that flat for seven years without having done any paperwork, and I have absolutely zero idea of how to lie about it, so as not to get investigated by… who knows whom."
"Pity we can't get hold of…" Aziraphale subtly pointed upwards. "Anyone who could help. Michael seemed amenable."
"Well, that's just the thing," Crowley said. "As I was poking around online, I got a notification on my phone, updating me on the status of my bank account."
"You have a bank account?"
"I do now," Crowley answered. "Never had one before, but there's a first time for everything. I mean, my balance is less than a thousand pounds, but it's there, right enough."
"Wow," Aziraphale said, softly. "Didn't see that coming."
"But you haven't heard the weird part yet," Crowley continued. "Five minutes later, a call came in from a number I didn't recognise. It turned out to be the bank that owns the loan on the flat."
"You actually took out a loan on the flat?"
"No! That's what I'm telling you! Someone has given me a paper trail!"
"Oh, that's… that's good isn't it?"
"Well, it'll make things a Hell of a lot easier," Crowley said. "I guess we have Michael to thank for that."
"I would guess so," Aziraphale agreed, smiling. "Who would have thought, eh?"
"Anyway, the mortgage payment is late, apparently. I'm going to need some help," Crowley reported.
"All right," Aziraphale said. "I'll look into it tomorrow morning. I suppose we should combine resources. Make everything accessible to the both of us."
"Oh, a joint bank account, angel," Crowley lilted, smirking. "That's an awfully big commitment."
Aziraphale's fairly well-developed, yet rarely-seen, 'sarcastic mode' took over. "Oh, I'm sorry. Perhaps we should wait until we've known each other a bit longer."
Crowley chuckled. "Just saying."
"So, if everything with your flat is squared away, remind me why you're speaking to a real estate agent. Have you decided that we're moving, now that we have the paper trail to make it possible?"
"I've 'decided' nothing. It crossed my mind, is all. I made an appointment with this Laura person, and after that, found out about the account and the paper trail. So, it occurred to me that since I've got her on the hook, we might want to consider living somewhere that…"
"…doesn't look like it was decorated by a minion of Hell?"
"As for example," Crowley conceded. Then he frowned. "Oi, I thought you liked my flat."
"I like it because you're there, Crowley," Aziraphale said, exasperated. "It's home because it's where you are. The décor, however, with the exception of my bedroom, which I never even use anymore, leaves a lot to be desired for a person with my sensibilities. Though, I will admit that you have exquisite taste. Dark, severe, and modern, but impeccable."
Crowley sighed heavily. "All right, fair dues, I suppose."
"And now you've brought it up, I suppose it might be nice to find a place to live that suits you and me equally," Aziraphale said, a smile spreading across his face like a waxing moon. "Or, I suppose we could have your flat redecorated."
"Let's look about, and see what we can find. We don't have to decide any time soon. And… angel, we can sleep in your room sometimes, if you want."
Aziraphale smiled warmly. "It doesn't matter that much, Crowley. As long as you're there, I don't care where we sleep."
Crowley felt a flush of affection, and longed to reach out and kick off a bookstore nooner with his angel, but he refrained. He was, after all, incredibly sore, not to mention late for an appointment.
But he did move round the table, and grab Aziraphale from the side by one lapel, causing him to lose his balance just a bit, and lean to his right. Crowley planted a kiss on him, of the sort that lends itself to newly-discovered domestic bliss, and said, "Enjoy your sandwich – I have to get back to the café. That's where I'm meeting Laura. I'll see you tonight, angel."
"All right," said Aziraphale, head spinning just a bit. Crowley's kisses addled him just a bit, in a way that sexual contact did not – he wasn't sure why. It was very, very pleasant, and took him a moment to ground himself. "I'll look forward to hearing how it goes."
Aziraphale turned back to his inventory with a not-quite-suppressed smile, and Crowley turned to leave.
"Oh… angel?" Crowley asked, stopping in the doorway. "Almost forgot. Two questions."
"Yes?"
"One, how's the, er… dryness situation?"
"Oh… much improved, thank you. And you?"
"Same. Anathema left a message today… you can listen to it later."
"And the second question?"
"Where would you like to go to dinner tonight?"
"Oh…" Aziraphale's face became dreamy, as though he were fantasizing about clouds made of marshmallows, and baby cows leaping from one to the next. "An excellent question. I think I'd like to try Mozzafiato."
"Ah – on Peter Street. Opened about three months ago."
"Yes – you know it?" Aziraphale asked, with some surprise.
Crowley smirked. "I pay attention to all of the cute little restaurants opening in Soho. Can't think why."
"Well, rumour has it they have a lobster and butternut squash ravioli that is absolutely to die for!" Aziraphale exclaimed with narrowed, greedy eyes, and pursed lips.
"Yeah?" Crowley asked, crossing his arms, and leaning against the doorjamb. The avaricious look on Aziraphale's face made him suddenly very, very interested in what his angel was saying. Laura Minahan could wait a few minutes. He seized upon the opportunity to keep his adorable companion talking on this very stimulating topic. "Doesn't seem like a good combo to me, but what do I know?"
"Oh, on the contrary, Crowley," Aziraphale breathed. "It's a wonderful marriage of sea and turf! Think of it… a rather harsh, pungent, flavour of lobster, coupled with the earthen-sweet tones of squash, and how they'd complement one another. The textures must be a fascinating juxtaposition! They're tied together with the fresh, yeasty flavour of thick, homemade pasta, surrounding it, and inescapable in every bite."
Crowley couldn't help but feel another twinge of desire, hearing this. Again, he refrained from doing or saying anything lascivious… for the moment.
"What did you do, memorise the menu?" Crowley asked, again, with the smirk.
"I do that sometimes, yes," Aziraphale said. "That is, I memorise ingredients. The rhetoric is all mine."
"Indeed. So, what kind of sauce do they put over it?"
Aziraphale looked at his partner with delightful suspicion. "Why do you care?"
With delightful guilt, Crowley responded, "Well, you know. I'm human now. Have to eat."
"Mm. Is that right?"
"Yes, of course. Why else would I care to hear you talk about food, angel?"
"You're a lusty old demon?"
Crowley stifled a giggle. "Tell me about the sauce."
Aziraphale came around the table and now stood in front of Crowley, just outside of arm's reach. His face lit up like Times Square as he talked, and his hands gestured as though he were conducting a symphony. Occasionally, they clenched, as a particularly delectable thought crossed over his lips.
"The sauce is a creamy tomato – a marinara and alfredo mix. Richer than a traditional arrabbiata. Another lovely marriage of opposing origins – plant and animal. Hardly the first time it's been done, but why split hairs over perfection? And, there are a couple of fascinating twists! The sauce is highlighted with goat cheese, and instead of making the red sauce with Chianti, they've cooked the tomatoes in Guinness! It gives them a tender, smoky flavour!"
"I'll just bet it does."
"The tomatoes are cooked along with red peppers and sweet onions, and the whole thing is topped with shaved almonds! Oh, I simply can't wait to try it!"
"I can't wait to watch you try it," Crowley muttered, looking over his insatiable food-lover with unabashed lust in his piercing brown eyes. "Shall I make a reservation? Eight p.m. good for you?"
Aziraphale seemed to consider Crowley for a few moments. Then he asked, "Do you think you'll be out looking at flats into the evening?"
"Possibly. Why?"
"Er… I would like to encourage you to stay out until at least eight, considering places for us to live, that we can look at together at a later date. And we'll plan on dinner at eight, like you said. Only, instead of at Mozzafiato, how about we have dinner at home. I'll order in."
Crowley frowned, with a little hint of whimsy. "What are you planning, angel?"
"Just… something. Can you stay out until eight?"
"I can."
"Wonderful. Everything will be ready by then."
Crowley was intrigued, delighted, and turned-on by everything that had happened in the last two or three minutes, and this prospect was proving no less intriguing…
"What's brought this on?" he asked.
"I'm in love with you, and I enjoy taking initiative," Aziraphale answered, primly. "Aren't you late for your appointment?"
What is our favorite "angel" planning? ;-)
Let me know what you think... about that, about the chapter, about anything you like! I love getting reviews, and I've had tragically few on this story. Silence the crickets!
And as always, thank you for reading!