Crowley might have forgotten where he was when he woke if it hadn't been for the plush softness of the hotel bed. He hadn't slept that well in months. Maybe even years. The previous day had been a surprise. What was heading for a disaster turned out to be the best fun he'd had in forever. He was glad that the impound had been closed, even if there was guilt over having Aziraphale pay for everything. He hadn't felt like himself in so long; he nearly forgot what it was like. Aziraphale seemed to bring out the essence of him; the random thoughts that he usually kept inside lest people think he was strange.
He stretched and opened his eyes. Aziraphale was lying in his bed, but he was close enough that Crowley could have reached out and touched him. He was supine, his arms on top of his blankets. Crowley could see the outline of his legs through the blankets stretched out in a "V". He chuckled quietly as he realised the man was a bed hog. Judging by last night, Aziraphale was the type of man who consumed wholly and without restraint. That appeared to be true with a bed as well.
Crowley stared for a moment to check for any sign of wakefulness, but when he saw none, he reached and grabbed his clothes, heading to the loo to shower. As the spray washed over him, he couldn't help but think back over the night before. He hadn't thought he'd have evenings like that ever again. Not the opulence of The Ritz or the play on the West End. Not that he needed that; he would have had the same amount of fun over a movie and a pizza. He had expected to have fun with Aziraphale; what he hadn't expected was to really connect to someone again. He knew he liked Aziraphale. When they got talking together it was fun and easy. But he also felt like he could trust him. Trust wasn't something he thought he was capable of anymore. It felt like a loss of control, but something about the man made him feel like it was safe.
It had been years since Crowley'd had sex. And even then, the desire had never started at him. The last time his body had asked for him to touch it, he was a gangly teenager. His surprise was genuine when in the middle of his overview of the night before, his body began to demand his attention.
His previous and only long-term partner had had a low sex drive, which Crowley seemed to match. He could participate when required, but he'd never really been into it.
This was not the case now. He looked down at himself and wondered if this was what most men dealt with. He wrapped his hand around himself and gave an experimental stroke. The squeak that left his mouth had him drop his hand immediately and use the other to cover his mouth.
"Fuck," he hissed under his breath. Whatever feeling that was, he wanted more.
He grabbed himself again, his hand beginning to move. The pleasure shot through him again, but he was ready for it this time. His mind began filling with images. Those blond curls against the white pillow, the thought of those artistic hands replacing his. Crowley didn't try to last. If anything, he was used to rushing to the finish line. It was a process, a task. This speed was brought on by euphoria, and it took no time until he was spilling over the shower floor.
Crowley had spent nearly fifty years thinking sex was overrated; turns out maybe he was just a late bloomer.
Aziraphale was awake when Crowley came back out.
"Good morning." Aziraphale smiled at him. "I was just about to order some breakfast. What would you like?"
Crowley stammered. The simple words sent another spike of desire through him, along with very vivid pictures in his mind of what he would like. Turned out, he might have preferences even he hadn't known about. He wondered if Aziraphale could read his mind while he stood there feeling flummoxed.
"Um … coffee?"
"Just coffee? They have a full English breakfast, or you can just do porridge if you would rather something lighter." Aziraphale looked concerned at his lack of appetite. Or perhaps he was worried that Crowley didn't want him paying for it.
"I don't really eat in the morning. "'S all right. Coffee is plenty."
Aziraphale seemed unconvinced, but he phoned down the order with just a coffee for Crowley.
Crowley tried to distract himself from this new pull he was experiencing. He didn't like a lot of people. Mostly, he tolerated them, but there was something about Aziraphale that he just genuinely enjoyed. He didn't think there was anyone he'd taken to like that before. And that interest in his new friend apparently came with a brand new sex drive that Crowley might have thought was fun in the shower but was rethinking as he was determined to hide this budding desire from his friend. Relationships changed everything. Crowley wasn't about to give up a perfectly good friendship for a chance at some sex. Sex that might just be the best he'd ever had, if he compared, even the thought of it, being so much better than any he'd actually participated in .
He looked around for the remote to the TV, seeing it on Aziraphale's nightstand. When he went to grab it, he saw a sketchbook laying there.
"Can I see some of your work?"
Aziraphale smiled bashfully. "As long as you don't spook easily. I couldn't sleep last night, you see. And I'm afraid I took advantage and sketched you while you slept."
"You did?" Crowley was excited. He had expected to see more flowers or sunsets like Aziraphale had taught in the class.
He flipped open the book, and the first page he opened onto was a page of hands. All different types, some with long feminine fingers and others shorter and stubbier with dirt lining the nails. Crowley saw those as the self-portrait they were. So perhaps it was charcoal and not dirt. He wondered who the other ones belonged to. He told himself this page could be months old when he didn't see any that looked like his.
There were a few pages of hands followed by a few pages of eyes. Some, he recognized from people from around town; some, he wondered if Aziraphale had pulled them from his imagination. And then he got to the page from last night. His face was surrounded by a blanket, just a few strands of hair bursting out, creating chaos around his peaceful face. It was strange to see himself like that; surely, Aziraphale had taken some liberties. He looked too peaceful, too young, too beautiful. Still, there was no denying it was him. It left him with a lump in his throat.
"This is really good," he said finally.
"Thank you. I am always working on my craft. People aren't the easiest for me. It's good for me to have new subjects."
Of course, drawing him hadn't meant anything more than an artist with a new perspective to try. Still, he liked the picture of himself. "Well, if you ever want me to pose like one of your French girls, you let me know."
Aziraphale frowned, looking not unlike a fish out of water with his mouth opening and closing before he finally was able to speak. "Excuse me, what do you mean by that? I don't think I've drawn any French women."
Crowley barked out a laugh. "Of course, you're the only person alive who wouldn't get that reference."
After two cups of mediocre coffee—even high-end hotels cut corners—Crowley was feeling a bit more awake. He called to confirm the hours of the impound lot. Then he pulled up his Uber app and checked the price to get there. It was less than the train would have cost to come to London, so he figured he was still ahead. He didn't want to ask Aziraphale what time Alistair was going to pick him up. He had already imposed on the two men far more than he'd planned to. Still, he didn't need to be in a rush to head out while Aziraphale was still there lounging in his pyjamas.
Crowley used to be cool. He wasn't really, but people thought he was, and wasn't that what made it so? It was armour for him. It wasn't that he closed off out of worry that he would be hurt— he was resilient—but it kept people from trying. He was far more likely to hurt other people. He didn't need people making strong attachments with him. He functioned far better as an acquaintance. So why now, looking at the ridiculously adorable man with a soft smile and softer heart, was he suddenly wanting Aziraphale to try to get through that armour.
The only thing Aziraphale was trying currently were his eggs Benedict. He moaned around the fork as he took the first bite, and Crowley nearly inhaled his coffee right up his nose. He'd heard the sounds last night at The Ritz, but they were drowned out with the ambient noise. Not that they hadn't affected him then, but in the quiet of the hotel room, he felt scandalised. And he was enjoying it.
Crowley went to make a cutting remark about it when Aziraphale's cell began to sing, and I would do anything for love, but I won't do that. His eyes darted to an amused Crowley, and then he sprang up and answered the phone. "Alistair sets these, and I don't know how to change them," he fretted as he scooped up the mobile to answer.
Taking out his own mobile so he could give Aziraphale the illusion of privacy, he began to scroll mindlessly. Short of going out into the corridor, he couldn't really avoid hearing at least half the conversation.
"Good morning, this is Aziraphale speaking."
Of course, he answered his calls like that.
"I take it you had a splendid night then? … Oh, yes, the play was lovely. No, there was not." Crowley could see Aziraphale look at him in his periphery, but he kept his eyes down on his mobile. The man sounded flustered for some reason, and he didn't want to add to it by openly gaping at his conversation. "Oh. Well, I suppose I could ask him … yes, I will send you a texting message … jolly good."
Crowley deleted some marketing emails, but he was very aware of Aziraphale looking at him fully now. "Was that Alistair?" he asked, deleting an email from a recipe site. How had he ended up on their mailing list in the first place?
"Yes. You see, he was thinking about staying another day in the city. So, if it wouldn't be any bother, would you be able to drive me back to Tadfield with you today?"
This made Crowley look up finally. He thought about Aziraphale sitting next to him in the Bentley; the sweet man with the antique style would fit so well in his car. "Mm," Crowley agreed.
"Thank you, that's very kind. I will just get changed, and we can check out and be on our way."
Picking up the Bentley was a nonissue, Crowley had never been so excited to see anything in his life. Had Aziraphale not been at his side, he might have kissed the hood.
"Did you miss me?" He cooed at the vehicle.
"I'm sure it did." Aziraphale was mocking him, but he couldn't find it in him to care. He had his Bentley back. It was the cherry on top of the weekend that had made him feel like a person again.
He shoved his bag of tools in the boot. His baby was beautiful, but she could be problematic. Crowley couldn't wipe the smile off his face; it was still there even as he manoeuvred through the London traffic. Aziraphale sat next to him, typing on his mobile. Crowley was surprised he knew how to text after he'd heard him call it "the texting" while on the phone.
"Oh!"
Crowley glanced to his right mirror as he shifted into the next lane. "What?"
"Nothing. I … Mr. Brown just explained your joke to me."
"What joke?" Crowley pressed down on the pedal to speed up and saw Aziraphale stiffen next to him.
"The French girls? They are from a movie? A joke about painting someone naked."
Crowley barked out a laugh. "Well, it wasn't a joke in the movie. It was seductive … but it has turned into a running joke in society. Well done, you, for catching up a couple decades late."
"I see." It was clear that he didn't, and Crowley laughed again.
"So, what made you start drawing and painting in the first place? You look like you've been at it a while. You're very good."
"Thank you. I didn't really start until I was well into my career. I was looking for something relaxing that I could focus on. I like to read, but sometimes even stories can rile you up. Good ones, at any rate. I took a beginners' class and found I loved it. So many techniques. Learning how to find not just the shapes in something but the soul of it. The focus of that put balance into my days, helped me make it to my retirement in one piece."
Crowley could relate, his job had been stressful too. He never really found the thing that gave him that kind of peace until he dug his hands into his aunt's garden. Although, his house plants had perhaps given him an idea to follow. It felt a little late now. He no longer had a life to put balance into; he needed to grow a fresh one.
"I can't picture you in the city. Although, you did look pretty at home at The Ritz."
Aziraphale laughed. "That part of the city was always lovely. I didn't often have time to indulge, and like I told you last night, some places aren't meant for just one."
"Surely, you must have had a date to bring there at some point?"
"I'm afraid I didn't date much. Most men were much like the city: too harsh, too fast. I learned quickly that I was much better suited to be on my own."
Crowley couldn't imagine that either. Aziraphale was so friendly, so good with people. Surely, he would want someone to fill his quiet times with. That might have been wishful thinking. If Aziraphale wasn't interested in relationships … Crowley shook the thought from his head. It's not like he was in any place to even think about one himself.
"I was probably forgettable to those men, just like your Furfur. I have been called dull a time or two for how slow I am."
"Slow isn't dull, angel. Not having any interests of your own is dull. Not having anything to add to a conversation is dull. You are far from dull."
Aziraphale didn't respond but he did smile. There was a comfortable silence in the car. Crowley watched the road as his brain sorted through everything Aziraphale had told him.
"Thank you again for setting this up this weekend. I was a bigger burden than I intended on being. I was thinking of some way I could pay you back."
"It's truly not necessary," Aziraphale said, he paused a brief moment looking thoughtful and then continued, "B … but if you were serious about what you said, ah, um, earlier." He stumbled over his words in a way Crowley hadn't heard him do before.
"About what?" Crowley said, his attention completely captured.
"About posing for me." The words came out rushed.
"You want me to pose for you? Er, sure. That doesn't really feel like an equal trade."
"Like the French girls," Aziraphale clarified, the words seeming to suck all the oxygen out of the car.
Of all the things he'd expected Aziraphale to say, that was not even on the list. "Ngk … ngh … ahhh. You're asking to paint me starkers?" Crowley's voice did an embarrassing little squeak at the end that he hoped was drowned out by traffic noise.
"You offered. And I know it was a joke, and if you want it to stay a joke, that is okay too. It's a skill I've been working on for a while, and it's much easier with a live model, and there are not many options for something like that in Tadfield. Terribly embarrassing to ask your neighbours for such a thing."
"You just asked me!"
"Yes! And now I am terribly embarrassed. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"No, it's fine. I was just thinking I could come help you with your gardening, but if this is what you want in repayment for …"
Aziraphale cut him off. "Heavens, Crowley! You make it sound so tawdry. I would love your help in my garden."
"I'm pulling your leg, angel." Crowley could see the use of the nickname made Aziraphale relax a small amount. "It's not a big deal. I would love to help you out."
Crowley kept his eyes on the road. Even behind sunglasses, he was sure Aziraphale would see all sorts of things he wasn't able to face himself yet. He thought this weekend had cemented them firmly in friendship mode, even with his blossoming interest, but now he'd just agreed to get naked in front of the only man he'd felt an honest desire for since puberty.
Nothing about this would end well.