Crowley woke with unease. The feeling you get when you know you've had an unsettling dream but can't grasp the details of it. His body was achy, as if he'd been clenched tight all night as he slept. There were some good aches too, but the crick in his neck overshadowed them all. Aziraphale's heartbeat thumped against his ear, and he carefully lifted his head, and then sat up. He twisted his neck from side to side, using his hand to help him get a good crack out. Standing, he stretched out his body, the fact that Aziraphale hadn't grabbed his arse told him that his angel was still fast asleep.

Crowley showered, careful not to let his new tattoo get wet; he had a few more hours before he could take off the bandage. He could picture it perfectly as he looked down at his wrapped arm. He hadn't let Aziraphale pay for the tattoo in the end. He hadn't felt right about it. He put it on his credit card and hoped he could make up enough extra cash to get it paid off soon. With the very real possibility of a new job, it wasn't as much of a worry.

He made coffee, wincing when he walked into the kitchen, the sunlight reminding him of just how much they'd drunk the night before. He grabbed the paper off the front porch. He hadn't realised people still had them delivered, but he wasn't surprised that Aziraphale would be the kind of man who would have a subscription.

The Tadfield Gazette averaged between four and six pages long. It didn't say much about the goings on in the world, but it did tell you what the weekly specials would be at Nina's, and to Crowley's delight, it had a Real Estate section. There wasn't much listed: two apartments set over shops along the main street and a small cottage that Crowley had to put in his map app to locate. The rentals were cheap, but Crowley didn't think he'd enjoy being right in the middle of things. It wasn't like being in the middle of things in London. People knew who he was here, being accessible wasn't ideal.

He looked around Aziraphale's kitchen, trying to fight off the thought that this is where he'd want to be. Things were far too new for that kind of thinking. Sure, he'd been staying over most nights since they started seeing each other but only because they couldn't very well go back to his aunt's place for a shag.

The cottage for sale had the words, needs work, written in bold text next to it. Crowley might know his way around his Bentley, but he didn't have the skills necessary for a place needing a full overhaul. He took a picture of the ads anyway, thinking he'd call and take a look. There was nothing wrong with an informed decision.

Crowley's mobile vibrated against the table. He picked it up and saw his mum's face looking sternly out from the screen. He slid to answer.

"Hey, Mum."

"How are you, son?" He could hear rustling on her end of the call. It was likely she was calling him while she was getting ready for work.

"Well enough. I was able to pick up the Bentley, so I won't need you to come back out to pick me up."

"Have you decided when you're coming back?" There was more curiosity in his mum's voice than was usual.

"Not yet. I had an interview that was promising though. Young firm but promising."

"Why don't you sound happy about it? What's wrong with it?"

Crowley hadn't realised that he had sounded unhappy about it. He took another sip of his coffee. "It's complicated. It's a good job, decent pay."

"So what's the problem?"

Crowley looked over his shoulder toward the bedroom. The door was closed, but he still opted to take his call out onto the patio. "I sort of met someone."

"A man?"

"Yes, Mum. I'm still gay."

"That's not what I meant, you plonker."

Crowley laughed. "Yeah, a bloke. Real sweet. You'd hate him."

His mum laughed. "Sounds like it. I hate men who treat my son well. So why don't you ask him to come with you? What does he do? There must be more opportunities for him in the city."

"He's retired. And moved out of the city because he hates it."

There was a pause. Crowley picked at a hangnail while he waited for his mum to answer.

"He's retired?"

"Yep."

"Just how old is this man?"

"Mum, stop. He's only a couple years older than me. He retired early. Something I was planning on doing before everything."

"You were not. You would have worked until you died." It was probably true. He had kept all his money in the company. Better for taxes. That went down like a lead balloon. "You haven't been there long. You really like him that much?"

Crowley didn't even need time to think. "I do."

"Then talk to him. If he likes you just as much, you'll figure something out. You aren't in a place to be making more sacrifices in your life. There is enough on your plate as it is. But you're worth making sacrifices for. If he's not willing to make some, maybe he's not right for you."

Crowley bristled. Advice from your parents could be very biased. She made it sound a lot more clear-cut than it actually was.

"What's his name?" she asked when he didn't respond.

"Aziraphale."

"Really?" Crowley chuckled and hummed an affirmative sound. "You're right. I don't like him."

Crowley laughed harder at that. He heard the sliding door open and turned to see Aziraphale standing there with a cup of tea in his hand. When he saw Crowley on a call, he motioned asking if he should go back in the house, but Crowley shook his head. Aziraphale came and sat next to him and placed his hand on Crowley's thigh. Crowley changed his mobile over to his other hand, and then linked his fingers with Aziraphale's.

"Hold on, isn't Aziraphale the weird art teacher?" Crowley grimaced and looked over to see if Aziraphale could hear. He was looking out into the garden, but there was a smirk on his face as he took a sip. Damn it.

"That's him. Turns out he's my brand of weird though." He picked up their hands, and then placed a kiss on his knuckles. Aziraphale gave him a fond head shake.

"I'm sure he'll grow on me," his mum grumbled. No one in the world but Crowley would know she was joking. The woman could deadpan better than anyone.

They ended the call after a quick set of goodbyes. Starting and stopping conversations with her was always abrupt. Others might have thought it was rude, but it was just who they were.

"My mum," Crowley explained to the questioning look on Aziraphale's face.

"You talked to your mum about me?"

"Not a lot; you managed to come out before we could get into anything untoward."

Aziraphale laughed. "Small mercies."

Crowley felt a warmth in his chest. Sitting outside, the birds chirping, the sun starting to warm the dew off the grass, holding the hand of a man he fancied, Crowley felt at peace. So of course, his stupid mouth had to ruin it.

"Come with me." The words were so quiet. And he should have held onto them. He didn't even know if he had the job, but he was relatively sure he needed it.

"Oh, Crowley." Lines etched into that peaceful face, leaving it sad and worried. "Even if I wanted to live in London, I didn't save for a retirement there. I would have to go back to work. I didn't have a good life in the city. I wasn't … you wouldn't like who I am there. I don't like who I am there."

Crowley thought about how sharing expenses would make it easier for both of them to be in London. He could give Aziraphale a good life. Maybe not with things but with company. But he didn't think that was the problem. There was trauma that Crowley didn't fully understand, but he'd been through some of his own, so he recognized it. He didn't want to bring Aziraphale back to a place he hated.

"Maybe they'll change their mind, and they won't offer me the job."

Aziraphale didn't respond. Both of them knew that wasn't going to happen.

"The city isn't so far away. I could come back on the weekends, or you could come into town sometimes, and I could take you to the theatre."

This connection between them was so new, but Crowley already craved it. He didn't want to let Aziraphale go, not when he knew it wasn't something he was likely to find again. Neither had ever had an attraction like this. Would it fade once Crowley was back in the city? Was it a match that burned quick and bright before being snuffed out?

"You're welcome here anytime you like, Crowley. You must know that."

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale's hand. "Come on, angel. Let's get you some brekkie."

The morning gloom was quickly shaken off with a walk into town. Crowley had dressed for work at the law office, and Aziraphale had slotted his arm in his, and they'd walked like they were a promenading couple in courtship. It would have felt ridiculous with anyone else, but having Aziraphale on his arm would never feel anything but right.

They shared a slightly less than appropriate kiss for being in public outside the office, and then Crowley headed in.

"Good morning," Sara said, wheeling out of the breakroom when he entered.

"Morning." Crowley sauntered over to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup, took a sniff, and then set the mug back down. He wasn't sure he needed more caffeine that badly.

"I have a stack of paperwork that needs to be entered into the system. Yesterday turned out busier than I'd expected."

"Was it?" Crowley picked up the stack she had motioned towards and flipped through the pages. "A divorce? You really do a little bit of everything."

"This one is tricky. It is not amiable. They're fighting about everything. They refuse to let the other one have the house, so they are going to have to sell it. Nice place, just east of the pond. It's tricky to find a buyer around here though. Not too many new people moving into town. Might take them a while to unload it."

Crowley perked up. "Is it on the market yet?"

"I don't think so. I could ask Uriel Melek. She's our local Real Estate Agent. I could have her let you know before she puts it on the market. Are you thinking of staying?"

He was dreaming about staying, but his logical side knew he had to go back to London.

"No. There isn't really work for me here. I'm very grateful for the summer position you gave me, and the bits of landscaping, but once fall comes around, there isn't much left, is there?"

"I suppose not. Let me know if you change your mind. I wish I could take you on full time."

"Thanks, Sara. You've been great. My stay here was never meant to be permanent."

Crowley didn't end up asking Sara to contact her friend about the house, but he did wind up googling her after he left the office. Before he could make sense of what he was doing, he made the call. The house would be available for him to come take a look at on the weekend if he wanted to. The listing would go up in a week once all the paperwork was done. He booked an appointment, filing it away as something to do and not a real option.

Aziraphale was in the back garden when Crowley arrived at the cottage after work. He could smell the grilling and walked around the house to find him. Aziraphale didn't notice him at first, he was flipping chicken kebabs and what looked like …

"Is that halloumi?" Crowley said, startling Aziraphale with his excitement.

"I'm going to put a bell on you." Aziraphale huffed.

"If that's what you're into, angel."

Aziraphale huffed but smiled as he gave Crowley a gentle kiss. "Go get yourself changed; it's almost ready."

Crowley kissed his cheek and chuckled, going into the house to change. He hung up his dress pants and gave his shirt a sniff. It could use a wash. It was his only white one, so he grabbed a few of Aziraphale's shirts from the hamper, and put them in the wash together, starting it. The domesticity of it hit Crowley on his path through the kitchen. He'd never really enjoyed it with Furfur. They didn't fight about how things should be done, but there also wasn't this desire to just think of each other. Crowley would have never thought to throw Furfur's clothing in the wash with his, not unless he was asked. How had he never seen the pantomime that was that entire relationship.

It had taken effort to think about Furfur. He had to remind himself not to put capsicums in the pasta sauce, to close the shower curtain after he was done. He had wanted to be a good partner, but he didn't find it easy. With Aziraphale, it was easy. He didn't have to actively remind himself to think about Aziraphale because the man was already constantly on his mind. They were more alike than different, so any idiosyncrasies were delights instead of burdens to his daily life.

The large expanse between how he felt about Furfur and how he was feeling about Aziraphale made him wonder how he'd ever thought there was love there. Mild fondness was probably closer.

Aziraphale was plating the kebabs and cheese when Crowley joined him back in the garden. The patio table was set, a wine bottle and a bowl of Greek salad between their plates.

"You didn't unwrap it?" Aziraphale sat down and peered over at him.

Crowley, now in a short-sleeved shirt, looked down at his tattoo still in the bandage from the previous day. "I wanted to wait."

Aziraphale poured the wine while Crowley began to unwrap the gauze. He got a couple of rounds in, and then stopped as it stuck to his skin. "This is not appetising. Maybe I should have waited until after we ate."

"Pish. I want to see."

Crowley could never resist Aziraphale's pouts, so he made his way over to the tap on the side of the house. He turned it on and stuck his arm under to wet the bandage. The water was warm at first, heated by the day, but then quickly ran colder. Shutting off the water, he unwrapped the last of the covering.

"It's quite lovely, isn't it?" Aziraphale said, his voice in awe. "I didn't expect it to be so exact."

Crowley pulled his chair over so he could sit closer. Their knees touched, the table no longer between them. Crowley watched Aziraphale as he offered his arm for inspection. Of course, he'd seen the finished product before they had wrapped it up. He had loved it then, but there was something about seeing the reveal through Aziraphale's eyes that left him breathless. He hadn't really understood what offering up his skin as a canvas for the other man's art would mean to him. He had thought his motivations were purely selfish but he could see that there was something in it for both of them.

"It'll look even better after it's fully healed."

"Does it hurt?" Aziraphale held Crowley's arm, twisting it a little as he looked at the ink.

"Naw. It'll scab, and then itch like a bugger for a week, but it's done hurting." Aziraphale licked his lips, a dark look in his eyes. Crowley smiled, a wolfish showing of dimple and teeth. "You like seeing your art on me."

"Very much," Aziraphale said and looked up to meet Crowley's eyes. There was a single shared breath between them before Aziraphale crashed his lips to Crowley's.

There was a fumble of hands, teeth clattering, and then Aziraphale pushed his chair back and dropped down to his knees. There was something possessive about the way he freed Crowley from his trousers, as if the fabric should dare be in the way of what he wanted.

Crowley had never been so turned on in his life.

His joke about anyone walking around the back of the house to find them was swallowed along with his dick. Aziraphale worked him like a man possessed. It was wet and gritty, Aziraphale's hands gripping tightly on his thighs as he sucked deeply on his prick. Crowley wondered if getting Aziraphale's art tattooed on him would result in this every time, and if so, he would be happily covered head to toe.

He slid his hand into Aziraphale's soft blond curls, causing a moan, which vibrated through his skin. "Fuck."

He rocked up as Aziraphale bobbed his head. He took him much deeper than he'd had before, and Crowley could feel the tightness of the spasms in his throat. He pressed his ass back into his chair and opted to roll his hips instead of thrusting, but Aziraphale just followed him back down and took him again, choking slightly but not stopping. Crowley tried to keep his mewls quieter—he didn't need his pleasure echoing down the road to whoever might be passing—still, his body was clearly giving off the signals to his impending climax.

A surprise tug on his balls was all that was needed to pull him over the edge. He gripped tightly in Aziraphale's hair as he tried to catch his breath. He closed his eyes, and there was a tenderness at how Aziraphale massaged him in his mouth before sliding off.

"I lo … that was amazing," Crowley said, looking down at the man still on his knees.

Aziraphale's eyes were still wild but also smug. He stood up and took a napkin from the table and patted around his mouth. Crowley slipped his hands along Aziraphale's thighs, feeling blissed out. He was stopped when his hands made their way closer to the obvious interest in Aziraphale's trousers.

"Let's not let our dinner get any colder," Aziraphale said, righting his chair back at the table, and then sitting. He picked up a piece of halloumi and popped it into his mouth. "Oh bother, it's rubbery already."

"You pounced on me!" Crowley laughed.

"Worth it," Aziraphale said quietly, and Crowley beamed.

The next part of whatever they were doing was likely to be hard; Crowley hoped the sentiment would hold.