When Aziraphale liked things, he wanted the full experience. Appetiser, entree, and dessert as it were. Now that he knew what it felt like to have Crowley's hand wrapped around him, his kisses on his lips, his frustrated whimpers of pleasure, Aziraphale wanted it all. The thought of that scared him, a meal could be recreated, a play would come around again, but Crowley … there would never be another Crowley, of that he was certain. There were stakes to this pleasure he didn't quite know what to do with.
His cottage had never felt so empty as when Crowley sauntered away from it the morning after the party. There was breakfast and kisses and promises to see each other later for dinner, but Aziraphale couldn't help the longing to have him back the moment he was out of sight.
"You like alone time, you ninny," he scolded himself as he grabbed a sketchbook and headed out to his garden.
He had fully intended on drawing one of his flowers, but when he opened the book and saw Crowley staring back at him from the page, his muse changed directions. A new page usually gave him pause; he would need to decide what he was drawing, the motion in the piece, the angle, the light. He only had to close his eyes briefly to see Crowley's face, and he began to outline. When he got to the eyes, he closed his own again. He had only seen Crowley a couple of times without his glasses; he wished he had a better grasp. Instead, he decided to draw his glasses—they were a part of Crowley nearly as much as any of his other features.
As he put lines to the page, he couldn't help but think about when was the last time he'd missed someone. He enjoyed people's company, some more than others, but when they were gone, he was happy to be by himself. And he had never wanted anyone there while he drew. But having had Crowley there to model, Aziraphale couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have Crowley just sit and keep him company while he worked. It seemed easy for them to find a comfortable silence together. Would Crowley read? Have a glass of wine? Is it something he would be interested in?
Aziraphale hadn't expected to learn new things about himself in his fifties, but he felt less scared about it than he would have thought. There was a part of him that did wonder if Crowley was here, how would it change things. Would he not like the way Aziraphale left his tea mugs strewn around. Would pencil and eraser shavings constantly on every surface bother him. Would Aziraphale make an effort if they did? He studied his mug sitting next to him, and then the one on the bench in the garden—how did that one end up there?—and he got up and took them both to the kitchen.
That wasn't so bad. Perhaps compromise wasn't as scary as he'd always thought.
Would Crowley have similar idiosyncrasies? Things that might bother him. Would he be willing to adjust a little? Could they make space for each other or were they too old and set in their ways? These were questions that Aziraphale had used to talk himself out of relationships before, the difference being this was the first one he actually wanted. He sat back down with his book and turned the page on his unfinished sketch. He looked up at his garden, and then back down to his page. The lines came quickly, and soon, he had roughed in the grass around the little snake at the centre of the page.
~~0~~
"That's why you only have the one?" Aziraphale took a sip of his wine. Crowley had arrived with a roast that had been promptly deposited into the oven. The time flew quickly, and they had eaten their meal. Aziraphale had put out biscuits, but even he'd been too distracted with the conversation to eat them. They were left, but the wine was brought as they settled on the couch.
"It's getting better, but 's still harder to get hired in certain places when you have a bunch of tattoos. I am pretty unhirable now; I could get as many as I wanted. Just don't have the money for them anymore."
"What would you get?" Aziraphale couldn't help the way his eyes trailed down Crowley's chest as he imagined where his next work of art would go.
"Eyes are up here, angel." Crowley chuckled. "Honestly? I want something on my other wrist. I have a small amount of OCD that just wants it balanced."
Aziraphale reached out and took his unmarked arm and ran his thumb over the area causing Crowley to shiver.
"Another snake?"
"No, something opposite." Crowley's eyes had met his, and they were intense. Azirapahle knew he'd be able to draw them from memory later, even with the extra glass of wine he was working on.
"What's opposite of a snake?" Aziraphale didn't understand how a look could bring so much heat. Not like the summer sun, hot and demanding, but like a warm bath, or the covers on your bed in winter. Crowley felt like comfort, and still there was something in his look that put Aziraphale on edge. But he liked that too.
"An angel?" Crowley replied.
That distracted him from being distracted. "My dear, how is an angel the opposite of a snake?"
"Snakes, symbol of evil ya? Angels, symbol of good. There you have it." Crowley had pulled back his hand to gesticulate his point. Aziraphale would have missed the feel of it had he not been so charmed by the movements. He could imagine Crowley in a courtroom; he must have been mesmerising.
"So you want a pretty little angel on your wrist?" Aziraphale laughed when Crowley scrunched up his face.
"I haven't quite figured it out. Maybe you could design something for me."
"I've never designed a tattoo. I don't know the first thing about it."
"You do," Crowley punctuated. "You know how to draw; tha's the first thing."
Aziraphale shook his head. "Did you drink too much wine again?"
Crowley placed a hand on Aziraphale's knee. "I did. It would be absolutely criminal for you to send me home like this. Can't drive. Walking … I could, I don't know, trip on a tree branch and split my head open."
Aziraphale laughed. "We can't have that, can we. I better put you in my bed for safe keeping."
Crowley leaned in and pressed his lips to Aziraphale's. "I thought you'd never ask."
Aziraphale had read so many romance novels, quite a few that had some spice in them. He'd read about kisses taking your breath away, kisses that lit a fire within your loins. There were kisses that were soft and sweet, and ones that pulled at your very soul. Kisses of desperation and want. When Crowley kissed him, there were bits of each and every one of those.
The experience was transcendent, and completely natural. Crowley made him want to write love poems and kiss on the beach with the breeze blowing around them in the sunset; But also, to just sit and read on the couch with Crowley's head in his lap, playing with that red hair. The mundane things had a stronger pull, they felt more accessible, also more real.
Crowley kissed him like he walked, his whole body moving with the action, swaying. Aziraphale bloomed under his touch, his body leaning like Crowley was his sunlight. He grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him, toppling them both. Crowley landed on top of Aziraphale with an "oof". He captured that sound with his mouth, and the kiss exploded again.
The artist in him pictured what they looked like: two ageing men, a tangle of limbs on the couch. He gasped as Crowley brushed his lips, and then slid his tongue along the line of his throat. All images quickly changed to much racier options.
"Let's go to bed," he whispered, and he cursed himself for not running to the chemist to pick up supplies.
"Okay, let me grab my bag." Aziraphale raised his eyebrow at this. "I thought you'd appreciate the preparedness."
"Just how prepared are you?" Aziraphale asked, his heart pounding.
"As prepared as you want me to be." Crowley winked.
Aziraphale watched as Crowley went to retrieve his bag. He couldn't believe he was going to have that beautiful man in his bed again. He grabbed their wine glasses and took them into the kitchen, washing them out. When he heard the door open and close again, he called out. "Why don't you get ready. I'll be there in a minute."
Aziraphale knew he was stalling a little. He had never really worried much in the past. Sex had been fine, and he was happy in either role, so that was never an issue. But he never wanted anyone like he did Crowley. He could barely hold onto himself when it was just his hand, how was he supposed to survive being inside of Crowley, or having Crowley inside him? It didn't help that Crowley was so beautiful it made it hard to breathe.
He made his way back to the bedroom just as Crowley finished up in the bathroom. He was wearing black pants and nothing else. He smiled lazily as Aziraphale approached him.
"Your turn. I'll wait for you out here." His kiss was minty, a stark contrast to the earthy wine taste in his own mouth.
All worries seemed to float away, and Aziraphale went to get himself ready for bed. He felt far too self-conscious to stride out nearly naked, so he threw on a T-shirt. His nerves fluttered with excitement as he made his way back out of the loo.
He hadn't been gone longer than three minutes, but Crowley was snoring away on the bed. A brief flicker of disappointment was replaced with a fond smile. Crowley was stunning as he slept. It was hard to be upset about having that man in his bed, no matter the reason. He apparently hadn't been joking when he'd said he'd drunk too much to drive home. It was probably for the best. Sex while inebriated rarely lived up to expectations. Still, Aziraphale hoped he'd get the chance for comparison some day. And with the bottle of lube and box of condoms Crowley had placed on the nightstand, he hoped it would be soon.
He grabbed a sketch pad and pencil before crawling onto the other side of the bed. He smiled down at Crowley, who had rolled in his sleep to stay facing him. He had his hand tucked under his head, and Aziraphale could see the snake tattoo peeking out. He began to draw.
At first, he tried for the holy grail, but it ended up feeling too much like Knights of the Round Table. He knew Crowley wanted something opposite, but he did try an apple tree, thinking it would look good together regardless. It had been years since Aziraphale had read the bible, so while he tried to remember some of the imagery, he drew some crosses. One of the crosses turned into a sword he quite liked the look of, and then he found himself adding flames to it.
He felt like he'd gotten quite off track and would have to ask Crowley to think more about what he wanted. Placing the book on the nightstand, he turned off the light. Crowley rolled away from him, and he slid up behind him, wrapping his arm around his waist and kissing his neck before falling fast asleep.
Aziraphale had woken several times in the night—something he was well used to—and found Crowley in various different positions. Always touching him in some way; a leg slung over his; an arm draped around his waist, and once with Crowley holding onto his arm like a child with his favourite toy. In the morning, Crowley was on his side, facing away from him, but his entire spine and arse was pressed up against Aziraphale's side.
It had felt nice to have company in the night when he'd woken. That was the worst part of insomnia, the feeling that you were alone. The world closed up, felt so far away, but feeling Crowley next to him filled him with a comfort he couldn't quite explain. He pressed his lips to the back of Crowley's neck, and then when the other man didn't stir, he carefully climbed out of bed.
It was an hour later when Crowley finally emerged. Aziraphale heard him in the bathroom and pulled out the ingredients he'd prepped and began working on breakfast. He was pouring the pancake mix into the pan when he felt more than heard Crowley come into the room. He had a quick vision of him coming up and wrapping his arms around him while he cooked, but when that didn't happen, he turned.
Crowley was holding the sketchbook he'd put on the nightstand the previous night. From the wide-eyed look on the man's face, Aziraphale suddenly went through his mind, flipping through what was in it to cause such a look.
"Did you do these last night?" Crowley asked, holding out the page of tattoo ideas.
"I don't always sleep well; it helps me quiet my mind. They're nothing; just some brainstorming."
"This one!" Crowley walked up to him and pointed at the sword with the flames. "I want this one."
"The flaming sword? I thought you wanted something that went with your snake."
"Angel. There are flaming swords in the bible."
"There are?"
Crowley laughed. "Why did you draw this then?"
Aziraphale shrugged. "It started as a cross, but then I sort of thought it would make a nifty sword. I'm quite sure the flames were the fault of the wine. Or it could be the beautiful man in my bed."
Crowley put down the book and came over, grabbing the spatula out of Aziraphale's hand and flipping the pancakes before they could burn. Then he wrapped his arms around him and hugged him.
"You mean the absolute dunce who made an arse out of himself, and then passed out in your bed?"
"I enjoyed you in my bed, conscious or not." Crowley's lips twitched, and Aziraphale put his finger over them to stop him from responding. "No. I heard it. We are going to ignore that and move forward."
Breakfast was interrupted many times by kisses and sweet touches. Aziraphale didn't remember the last time he was this happy. When he'd moved to Tadfield in the first place, that was a happy day. To be away from all the harsh lights and harsh people of the city, that had been a great joy. It was nowhere near the joy he felt having Crowley pepper him with soft kisses between bites of fruit.
"I'm afraid Tadfield hasn't much in the way of places to go on dates, but would you like to join me today for a picnic? We could go feed the ducks."
The softness in Crowley's eyes left and was replaced by regret. "I can't today. I have to go into work for a few hours, and then I'm meeting with someone about their garden."
"I understand. You have more things to do with your time other than me … good lord." Aziraphale broke out into laughter. Crowley stood and pulled Aziraphale into his arms. They were both still snickering when their lips touched.
"Will you come back tonight?" Aziraphale asked, hope filling him up.
"It'd be late. Nine at the earliest."
Aziraphale brushed his fingers along Crowley's jaw. "I rarely sleep; come anytime you like. And, Crowley?"
"Mm?"
"You don't need an excuse to stay over. You're always welcome."
After Crowley had left for his day, Aziraphale went back to his sketchbook. He fine-tuned the lines of the sword, tried a few more options, varying the size of the flames. When he finally decided he liked a design, he pulled out his brush pens to add some colour. He pictured it on Crowley's skin, the thought made him shiver. Something he created, forever inked on that gorgeous man. He didn't know where they were going; he had no previous experience with any of it. There were a lot of questions he should ask but hadn't wanted to yet. Best not to get ahead of himself in any case.
Crowley was still just here for the summer. He didn't act like Aziraphale was a summer fling for him, but he'd also never been that great with reading people. He put the thought away; he was still riding the high of having Crowley kissing him, sharing breakfast with him, kissing him. He knew that Crowley might change his mind long before he had funds for a new tattoo, but for now, Aziraphale thought of that spot as his. He ended up spending an embarrassing amount of his day thinking about it.
He had finally turned to Alistair, texting for a distraction. In hindsight it was probably a mistake.
Aziraphale: How do you know when someone is interested in you?
Alistair: They swiped right
Aziraphale: But when you meet. Do you ever want more from them? Do they from you?
Alistair: The guys I meet up with are the same as me; we all know what we are there for.
Alistair: Is this about Crowley?
Alistair: How was he? I bet he's bendy
Alistair: Tell me everything
Aziraphale: I think this may be an in-person conversation.
Alistair: I'm free tonight
Aziraphale: Crowley is coming over tonight. Tomorrow lunch?
Alistair: Meet you at Nina's
Alistair: Aziraphale, he'd be an idiot not to want you
Aziraphale: Thank you, my dear.