Aziraphale was obsessed with Crowley's backside. He couldn't seem to help himself. If he wasn't looking at it, he was touching it. He felt utterly lecherous about it, but he was unable to stop. It didn't help that Crowley didn't seem to mind. In fact, the amount of times Crowley had dropped his paintbrush and hitched over at the waist to pick it up at art class made Aziraphale think he enjoyed it an awful lot. Not that he'd done more than look at it while they were in public, he had some restraint.

Aziraphale didn't know what to do with this new found sex drive. Crowley seemed equally perplexed, telling Aziraphale one night that he hadn't realised that people weren't all faking it when they talked about sex being wonderful when it had never been more than fine for him. When Aziraphale had told him similar thoughts, he'd hugged him tight, and then showed him again just how wonderful it could be.

Discovering Crowley's likes, and his really likes, had been like a game. One that he was sure he would never tire from. Fingers here, lips there, each action teaching him something new. He'd felt self-conscious their first few times together, but the way Crowley worshipped his body, it was hard to hold onto any doubt of the other man's attraction. Being naked with Crowley was as easy as being naked in the shower with even nicer results.

They had spent every night together up until Sunday. Crowley had gotten a bit quiet and said he had a meeting first thing in the morning, but he would see him later. Aziraphale wanted to beg him to stay, not liking the thought of an empty bed anymore, but he also respected boundaries. If Crowley needed a break, or to spend some time with his aunt, or just needed some privacy to deal with something, Aziraphale would give it to him.

The problem with Crowley not being at the cottage meant Aziraphale had too much time to think. Sketching or painting didn't dissuade his thoughts from wondering exactly what Crowley's plans would be come September. There were only three weeks left, and it was about the only thing they hadn't spent any time talking about.

Aziraphale waited until noon on Monday to text Crowley. He didn't want to interrupt his meeting, not knowing how long it would be.

Aziraphale: Will you pose for me again?

Crowley: If u want my arse, u don't need a reasn

Aziraphale: I want your lovely backside for sketching. I have more interests in it than simply filling it full until my name pours from your lips like wine.

Crowley: Fuck angel, ur killing me

Aziraphale: Is that a yes?

Crowley: It's a yes to all

Aziraphale: Jolly good.

Aziraphale had spent the day flirting with Crowley over text, teasing him. It was a side of himself he'd never known. He hadn't known he could be so saucy; it was thrilling. He had expected by the time Crowley arrived at the cottage he'd be bubbling over with need. Instead, when he walked in, his shoulders were hunched. He walked over and hugged Aziraphale, not usually something he did when he was still in his dirty gardening wear.

"What is it?"

"Just need a hug. My body's pretty stiff. I finished at Carmine Zuigiber's place, but it may have cost me my mobility for the next few days."

"Oh, my sweet, let me run a bath for you. I've got some nice bath salts that will help."

Crowley followed him to the bathroom and striped down slowly, his muscles protesting, some of his joints cracking. Aziraphale made a sympathetic sound as he started the warm water. He brushed his fingers through Crowley's hair and kissed him softly.

"You climb in; I'll get you a drink."

When Aziraphale came back with two glasses of wine, Crowley was already sprawled out in his clawfoot tub. His feet hung over the edge, drops of water falling to the floor below. He cracked one eye open and smiled as he took the wine glass from Aziraphale.

Aziraphale placed his own glass on the sink, and then took a small towel out from under the counter and rolled it before sliding it behind Crowley's head. He was rewarded with a soft hum.

"Sorry, angel, I might not be any good for modelling tonight."

Aziraphale sat down on the toilet lid and slipped out of the slippers he wore around the house. He took off his socks as well before resting his feet on the edge of the tub.

"Another time."

Crowley rested his hand over his foot and smiled. "Absolutely."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments before Crowley spoke again. "I'm not sure I can do this gardening thing long term. I really like it, but long days like this one feel unsustainable."

Aziraphale nodded. "Your body's not used to it. If you were to do it long term, you might build up to it. Shorter days, not push yourself so hard right out of the gate." He tried not to think about the future; it was uncertain. He always had his life planned so perfectly. It was hard to believe things had changed so completely in a couple weeks.

Crowley seemed to consider this. "Maybe," he said like he wasn't convinced. Crowley's thumb brushed over the top of his foot again. "I had an interview today."

"Another job, Crowley? Are you just collecting them like trading cards now?"

He'd expected the other man to laugh, but instead, he sat up in the tub, bringing his feet into the water. He bent his legs and wrapped one arm around them as he took a sip of his wine.

"It's a solicitor position."

"With Sara?"

"No. In London."

Aziraphale's stomach dropped. It wasn't unexpected, but it was unwanted. The thought of Crowley leaving Tadfield was an abstract thought that just became much clearer. It was not the view of the future he longed for.

"I see. Well, that's lovely. I know you were worried that you wouldn't be able to find a job in law again." He hoped his voice didn't sound as hollow as it felt. A tightness formed around his throat, and he tried to swallow it away to no avail.

"It's a smaller office than I'm used to. Less pay, but that was to be expected. I'm just grateful that they didn't shred my CV the moment they got it."

Aziraphale didn't want to ask, everything inside him cried out not to do it, but his mouth didn't listen. "When would it start?"

Crowley handed Aziraphale his empty wine glass, and Aziraphale put it next to his on the sink. "They didn't say. I would ask for September, I think. I didn't want to leave anyone who was needing me until the end of the summer."

Aziraphale wondered if he was counted amongst those who needed Crowley or if he'd just meant Sara and the people he was gardening for.

"I need to go in on Thursday. I'll drive in early for a morning interview and drive back in the evening."

Aziraphale's chest tightened, and he closed his eyes briefly. He didn't feel like he was tangible, his body felt like it was floating, and he was watching this exchange from a detached place. Crowley made him happy, but it had only been days of them being together, barely weeks of them knowing each other, it was ridiculous to feel entitled to anything. Life moved forward; it was one thing he hated about the city. Too many possibilities; he wanted things to settle to stay the same. It's why he loved Tadfield so much.

The loss of control with Crowley had felt good, but now, it felt like a weight on his chest. He took his feet down off the tub and placed his hands in his lap and wrung them. As much as he would mourn the loss of him, he couldn't help but be proud of Crowley for getting the opportunity. He couldn't imagine anyone meeting him and not wanting him. Crowley would get the job.

"This is fantastic news. I knew you would land on your feet. I'll let you finish up in here. Would you like a snack?"

Crowley looked at him and shook his head, opening his mouth like he was about to say something. Aziraphale stood up and grabbed the glasses and slipped his slippers back on, exciting the bathroom. He thought he heard Crowley say something as he left the room, but it could have easily just been a groan; the poor man was sore after his day of work.

Aziraphale washed out the wine glasses in the sink, and then leaned against it. He swiped away the traitor tears that slipped from his eyes. He was being silly. It was a gift that he got to feel the way he did with Crowley. It was something he'd never imagined for himself, never even felt an inkling of. He was lucky and should enjoy it while he had it. Life would return to the way it had been after Crowley left. He'd been happy. He could be happy like that again.

He was staring out the kitchen window when Crowley came up behind him and wrapped his arms around him. Aziraphale was appreciative that he didn't speak; he wasn't sure he would be able to answer yet. Yearning to make the most of what time he had, he pushed everything else away and turned in Crowley's arms, tilted his head up, and kissed him.

Crowley pulled him closer, his long lean arms felt like they provided as much cover as his favourite blanket. Without a word, Aziraphale took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

The distraction had been wonderful but fleeting. In the aftermath of tangled limbs and frantic heartbeats, worry found its way back to Aziraphale's chest. He pictured his happy life from before. It hadn't felt like it was missing anything, but he knew returning to it now there would be a hole.

"Come with me," Crowley whispered into his sweat-dampened curls. Aziraphale felt his breath catch. "To the interview. We could have the drive down together, go for lunch at one of those places you like before we came back. A date?"

Aziraphale closed his eyes. "Yes," he answered immediately. He wouldn't waste a second of time he could have with Crowley. He would be as selfish and needy as he could get away with. He would build as many memories to stay with him for after Crowley left. "I'd like that."

"We should shower; we're all sticky." Crowley made no effort to move.

"I'm certain parts of me are permanently glued to you now." As Aziraphale made an experimental move, the skin on his hip where Crowley was pressed tugged unpleasantly before releasing back with a small sting.

They laid there for a few more moments, silently looking into each other's eyes. It was so intimate Aziraphale felt a smile creep over his face.

"Wot?"

"I don't know how I ever found you anything other than devastatingly lovely."

"Glad you figured it out. I am quite lovely, aren't I?" Crowley teased, and Aziraphale gave him a swat on the arm.

"Get up, you fiend. Shower time."

Thursday came quickly. Neither of them had really mentioned it again, preferring to spend their times when Crowley wasn't working kissing and touching. Aziraphale packed a small bag. He liked to be prepared and as lovely a car as Crowley owned, it was old. He didn't want to be caught unawares if something were to happen.

Aziraphale was sure that Crowley had wanted him to distract him on the way into the interview, and he tried, but the conversation felt stunted. The Sword of Damocles was in full view, but neither of them wanted to mention it. As they approached the city, Crowley turned the volume down on the music.

"I might not get it."

Aziraphale wasn't sure if he was bracing for disappointment or if he sounded hopeful. Or if it were him who hoped that Crowley sounded hopeful.

"You will," Aziraphale said with certainty. Crowley didn't answer, but he brought his hand down to rest on Aziraphale's thigh.

Aziraphale asked to be dropped off at Saint James's Park. He had thought it might feel relaxing, but sitting on a bench and watching the ducks just made him miss home. The bustle around him; the people in their work attire rushing down the paths, briefcases in hand; all these things reminded Aziraphale of the life he left behind when he'd retired. A life he had no desire to return to.

The park was pretty, but it wasn't his park. These weren't his ducks. The ones he and Crowley had fed together. Although, he did wonder if he could get the council to add a bench in Tadfield. Would he want to sit in a place that would hold the ghost of Crowley? Was it something he would avoid, or something he would crave after the man left?

He sat and watched the water, rings pooling around the birds as they moved their way through it. The bench across the lake from him held two men, heads bowed together in what looked like a heated conversation. Aziraphale made up a story about them being spies, recounting their next mission, and then shook his head. He was prone to being silly. He considered sketching them until he remembered he didn't bring his sketchbook with him.

Things felt different from the last time he'd been in London. He was excited to see the play, but the highlight had been the time spent with Crowley. Looking at an afternoon that should have been a repeat of that joy, Aziraphale instead had a heavy feeling in his gut. He could sense the ticking of the clock now, counting down the time they had left.

Even though he knew they were going for lunch, Aziraphale bought himself a strawberry ice lolly. A treat would perk him up and help curb the morose thoughts his brain kept serving up like it was a conveyor belt of all the ways his life would be rubbish when Crowley was gone.

Aziraphale stuffed a hand in his pocket and felt the paper he'd deposited in there early that morning. He hadn't known what possessed him to bring it. He just knew he wanted to make sure Crowley had it. In case the interview went so well Crowley decided not to go back to Tadfield at all. It was an irrational thought; Crowley had all his belongings between Madame Tracy's house and his. The idea of Crowley taking his toothbrush out of his bathroom and never seeing it again caused a lump to form in Aziraphale's throat.

"Hey." He heard Crowley's voice just before an arm wrapped around his waist.

"You didn't text," Aziraphale said, feeling discombobulated by being pulled out of his contemplations by the man he'd been focusing on.

"I was going to when I parked, but I saw you over here from the car. Come on, angel. Let me take you to lunch."

They had chosen a small cafe with outdoor seating. The tables set out on the sidewalk, covered in red and white checked tablecloths. There was greenery hanging from the fabric awning draped above them, giving the ambiance of a garden. Normally, Aziraphale would have been charmed by it; instead, he felt dread as he watched Crowley read his menu. Aziraphale had been scared to ask about the interview, the fact that Crowley had ignored the topic on the way to the cafe spoke volumes.

With drinks and orders in, Crowley cleared his throat. "It went well."

For a moment, Aziraphale's pride in him won out over his own sadness. "I knew it would. Did they offer you the job then?"

"Not officially, but they said I should expect to hear from them in a couple days. They made it clear an offer would be forthcoming."

It was amazing that Aziraphale kept breathing. "Well, we should celebrate. Tonight when we get ho … back to my place, we can open that bottle of Chateauneuf de Pape I've been saving. Toast to your future."

Crowley looked at him for a moment, and Aziraphale wished he'd take off his glasses. But he was sitting facing the sun, so it was an unfair thing to even suggest.

"This has been a lot more than I'd thought I'd get." His words were soft.

Aziraphale was not about to let Crowley feel guilty for his sadness. He took a sip of his water, a deep breath, and launched into the story of him watching the two spies at the park.

An hour later, they walked hand in hand down the street. Aziraphale didn't want to be in London anymore, but once Crowley was back in Tadfield, he would be settling up to leave. It wasn't a process Aziraphale was ready to start watching.

"I want to give you something," Aziraphale said.

Crowley smiled as he pulled Aziraphale out of the way of the other pedestrians and crowded him up against a wall. "Yeah?"

"Yes. So, don't try to distract me." Aziraphale pecked a kiss to his lips to soften any sting over the gift being tangible and not an innuendo for sex.

Crowley took a small step back, but his face looked fond. Aziraphale wanted to paint that look. He would hang it by his bed so he could see it every morning. He took the paper out of his pocket and handed it to Crowley.

"You said you liked it. I wanted you to have it, even if you never use it."

Crowley unfolded the paper. The finished version of the flaming sword. Aziraphale ached to have him get this tattoo. He wanted something of him to stay with Crowley even after he couldn't.

"Of course, I will. Fuck. I wish I could get it done right now."

The words flew out before Aziraphale could help himself. "Come then. My treat. To celebrate."

"That's … too much. Besides I don't know if I could get in anywhere good on short notice like this."

"Of course. I don't want to pressure you into a tattoo, Crowley. If you don't want …"

"I want." Crowley's voice was low and deep, making Aziraphale shiver.

"Then I want you to have it."

Passionate kisses were something Aziraphale left behind closed doors. The thought of that type of display made him cringe. Turns out in practice, he was a fan. The moment Crowley's lips found his, he submitted. They didn't rut up against each other—they weren't teenagers—but the kiss was deep and tongues were involved. When they pulled back, Crowley was smiling at him while he panted to catch his breath.

"I'm going to make some calls."

If Aziraphale was worried that he pressured Crowley into another tattoo, it was cleared up by how quickly Crowley was on the phone with a shop. He'd already had an artist picked out and had been considering getting another tattoo right before the investigation had started. Luckily, being a Thursday afternoon, he was able to get in almost right away.

The tattooist had taken one look at the drawing and approved. Aziraphale had preened when Crowley had credited him, playing up his brilliance in a way no one had ever done for him. He attributed it to a bias someone would have when actively sleeping with the artist.

Aziraphale flipped through books while the man took Crowley back to prep. A tall woman with broad shoulders and a shaved head approached him. She had tattoos covering every bit of skin visible—save her face—which was a lot as she was wearing a sleeveless vest and a tiny pair of shorts. Her eyeliner was thick, and the wings at the corners of her eyes extended nearly up to her eyebrows, which were each pierced multiple times.

"Hiya, sweetheart. Are you looking at getting some ink today too?"

Aziraphale could see that she expected him to say no, and the question was teasing but not unkind.

"I wouldn't know what to even choose. How do people pick?"

"Everyone picks stuff for different reasons. Some pick something to remind them of something—a hobby, a movie, things like that. There are memorial pieces for loved ones lost. Some people just choose an artwork they love and want to keep with them. And of course, some people just get drunk and think it's fun." She laughed.

"Do they think it's less fun the next morning?"

"They can. But it's always a remembrance of a fun night. Regrets aren't any good to us as people. Even if you feel it was a mistake, there is a lesson there. How you choose to look at a situation is the only thing that matters."

Aziraphale flipped another page and searched. He wanted something to jump out at him. This felt like a moment in his life that he wanted to mark on his skin. But nothing seemed right. There was too much happening right now. How could one drawing encompass the storm of emotions inside him.

"I think today I shall just look."

She nodded. "That's smart. It's best to know you want something forever before you let someone mark you with it."