![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
goe_mod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
go_exchange2019-12-17 06:50 pm
Happy Holidays, poorlyformed!
Aziraphale grumbled quietly to himself as the horse he was riding became distracted by a roadside apple seller and his wares. Horses really were ever so difficult on the buttocks. His wings would have made this journey much faster and more comfortable but the city was too full of people, travellers returning home and bringing with them a vibrant new energy.
His orders had been vague at best. You would think that something as important as supervising the birth of the Lord's own child would warrant more specific detail but alas no. He had reached the city now, at least, so his plan was to find somewhere to stay for a few days and... hope for the best.
The sun began to fall beneath the horizon, taking the stifling heat of the day with it. Taverns spilled their patrons into the bustling streets. The first guest house that Aziraphale came to had a crowd three deep surrounding its doors. The next had double that. He considered a small miracle to free up a little space for him but there wasn't a room in all the city that didn't have someone dwelling in it.
Aziraphale didn't strictly need anywhere to sleep. It would be an arduous few days without a base to work from but this was important and orders are orders. He found a public house with a free table and settled in for the evening with some wine.
When there it was, just faintly; the smell of flint sparks and thunderstorms and lava. The scent of his eternal adversary, inventor of original sin, condemner of mortal souls, wiler of wiles. Aziraphale wondered if he might want to join him for a drink.
Soon he was wandering the streets with a large carafe of wine, trying to find Crawly. If there were hellish orders to interfere with the birth of the new messiah, then that would totally legitimate business that Aziraphale should know about. Yes, perfectly legitimate.
When Aziraphale found Crawly, it was in part due to the crowd of men standing in the street, all looking up. He sat perched on a window ledge, his red hair falling around his shoulders in vibrant, explicit curls. Crawly combed his fingers through it, all feminine temptation and soft fire; putting on a show for the men while pretending not to see them. But he saw Aziraphale.
How long had it been? Maybe centuries. He congratulated himself on avoiding interactions with his unholy counterpart even as he waved the carafe up at the window.
"Aziraphale! Fancy seeing an angel like you in a town like this."
They sat and broke bread together and drank and talked, and as the evening stretched out before them, they began to relax into each other’s company. Crawly's long limbs became looser and more expressive, his arm draped across Aziraphale's shoulders as he spoke of the frozen villages of the distant north, places so cold that he'd spread word of pixies and elves to cause mischief for him so he would never have to return.
"Are you in town long? Where are you staying?" Crawly said, drunkenly leaning into him.
"Oh, um, the short answer is that I'm not quite sure on both counts. It was all a bit last minute and..."
"You can stay with me if you like," said Crawly, cutting him off. "I think I nabbed the last guest room in the city."
When they returned to Crawly's accommodation, it was late and the building was silent. They made their way to his room through muffled giggles, ricocheting off the walls and each other.
"It's not much but it'll do," said Crawly, opening the door.
"Oh. Oh! There's..."
"Only one bed, yes. We shall have to tell the innkeeper tomorrow that you're my husband. So they know that I'm not that sort of girl."
Aziraphale wrung his hands together, furrowing his brow. Going for a drink with Crawly was bad enough. If Heaven heard that he had shared a room or, worse, the small bed with a demon... Well, there would surely be hell to pay. But who knows how long this posting would be. It could be days or even weeks of wandering about the city waiting for the Lord's child to appear, and that sounded ever so wearisome. They could take turns, he supposed, resting and going about their business.
Crawly tumbled back onto the small mattress immediately, his hair a shock of red across the pillow, his skin pale and delicate on the blankets. Temptation itself, laid out before him.
"I can hear you thinking from here."
"Oh, I was just thinking that you could maybe rest up and I'll just sit, um, here," there wasn't a chair, so Aziraphale waved his hand half heartedly at the floor, "and wait for instructions from upstairs."
"It's an important mission you're on, isn't it?" Aziraphale nodded as solemnly as he could manage in his drunken state. "I imagine it's so important that all of Heaven is terribly distracted. And no one will be paying attention to a single angel, resting up before the main event." As he spoke, Crawly reached for Aziraphale's wrist and gently led him to sit beside him on the bed. "Besides, I could use the warmth."
With that, Crawly lay on his side and began to doze. Aziraphale could see the sense in it really. There was nowhere else he could go, and it had been such a long journey getting here. And he didn't imagine he would sleep but the bed did look terribly inviting. Maybe this could all be tomorrow's problem to be dealt with in the fullness of time.
He lay back on the bed, huffing out a breath and turning on his side to fit onto the narrow mattress. He tried to leave a respectful amount of distance between them but the bed was tiny and any small movement brushed their bodies against each other.
Aziraphale must have slept, because the next thing he knew, he awoke. All his efforts to keep his distance had been abandoned by his subconscious and he found himself pressed down the entire length of Crawly's body, their legs entwined, his face buried in Crawly's hair. The scent of him was thrilling this close, like freshly exploded gunpowder.
With the night still wrapped around them, it felt entirely unreal to be this close, to be allowed this intimate moment in such complete darkness. Maybe it wasn't real. Maybe this was a dream and he wasn't in control at all. He certainly didn't feel any control when he pushed his face further into Crawly's hair, breathing in his scent until his nose brushed against the skin of his neck. He definitely wasn't in control of the hand that splayed across Crawly's chest, pushing their bodies gently together. And it absolutely couldn't have been Aziraphale who slowly rolled his hips forward, breathing out deeply at the gentle pressure that pushed back.
In slow, undulating waves, Crawly's hips began to press back against him in silent acknowledgement. This couldn't be happening. Shouldn't be happening. Aziraphale froze, tried to gather himself to get up, to leave, when Crawly's hand reached to grasp his that still lay on Crawly's chest. He entwined their fingers and began to move Aziraphale's hand for him, venturing across the broad flanks of Crawly's body, smoothing the fine peachy hairs of Crawly's chest, pressing the flat of his palm into each breast in turn before drifting up his neck and into his warm, waiting mouth.
Aziraphale let out a whimper as his fingers were sucked into Crawly's mouth. He wanted to speak, to say something, say anything but Aziraphale feared that his voice would break whatever spell the darkness had cast on them.
It all felt too much, his nerves crackling and raw. It was all so new and wild, both Crawly being here like this and the sensations in his own body which he'd never really bothered to explore. Now, his hips still rocking against Crawly, his fingers in his mouth, he wondered if he'd been wasting time.
Aziraphale became intensely focused on a sense of warmth inside of him that expanded and swallowed him whole, intense and surely nothing less than divine. He heard his own voice cry out, felt his body grip on to Crawly and shudder against him. It all played out before him as though he was caught up in a dream.
When the wave had passed, Aziraphale felt as though he could sense the glory and power of it still in the air. It was beautiful and like nothing he'd ever felt before. Surely nothing like sin?
Aziraphale didn't think he slept but he must have slept because he awoke, this time to the cold light of morning. The secrets of the night seemed distant and confusing and he was pleased they had been chased away by the thin beams of light that danced through the window. He felt safe now, comfortable in the routine of the day, comfortable in the mission that would fill his days, comfortable in the now empty room.
Before he could even begin to think about what had happened, first decorum must prevail. If he was to stay here for the duration of his mission, there must be no scandal, no heads turned; he must find the innkeeper and clear up any misunderstanding.
The inn’s harried serving girl directed him to the local well, where he found the elderly innkeeper struggling to raise a pail from the depths.
"Please, let me help you there!" said Aziraphale taking the bucket."I came to introduce myself. I am Mr Fell; I have arrived to join my wife, Mrs... Crawly."
"Ah yes, Mr Fell. I am pleased you have arrived! Would you be so kind as to help me carry this water back to our rooms?"
Aziraphale gladly shouldered the water, and together they set off across the village back to the inn. At nearly the end of their short journey, the innkeeper turned and placed a gentle hand on the arm not balancing the water pail, looking sorrowful for a moment.
"I was so sorry to hear of your terrible loss. It warms my heart that your brave wife shall no longer be alone," the Innkeeper grasped Aziraphale's arm with undiluted earnestness.
"You’re very kind to think of us.” Aziraphale’s mind was racing. What loss? What was the man referring to? He’d only just arrived, and the only thing he’d lost was a bit of his essence and a lot of dignity. “I am happy to be here with her. I do hope we weren’t an inconvenience to you?”
"You do not have to be brave for me, Mr Fell! Before your lady wife arrived, your servant preceded you to be sure we’d be ready for you. He made sure we knew there was a couple arriving soon, and he paid well to ensure we would keep a room available, no matter how many other people came to our door seeking shelter. He said we would know you by how the husband would be kind of matter, and the lady round with child. Yet when your poor Mrs Crawly arrived, she was without the baby and no child in arms. You must be devastated by your loss."
Aziraphale stopped dead in his tracks. A chill ran down his spine.
"Come now, Mr Fell, just a little further. I will bring you refreshments as soon as we are returned. But please, I want to warn you that your sorrow may be magnified, through an accident of circumstance. As luck would have it, another couple arrived late last night, heavy with child. There was no room at my Inn but the young lady’s baby was coming, so I sheltered them in the stables. I believe it arrived sometime overnight, so they will be needing the water. You and your lady wife might hear a baby nearby, which might bring you sorrow in your recent grief. If you need to move to a different accommodation, my friend across town will gladly give you his own bed for the night, so that you are not troubled by the reminder of your loss."
Aziraphale could only nod. He carried the brimming pail back to the Inn in silence, needing a quiet moment to process this all.
The last room.
A baby born.
The powerful wave of divine love.
Had he succumbed to temptation and forced the child of his Lord to be born among cattle? Had he really missed it all? His whole mission was to witness and bless the birth and what had he been doing? Chasing physical sensation with his greatest adversary.
How could someone so clever be so stupid?
no subject