Happy Holidays, kirathaune!
Dec. 2nd, 2020 05:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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go_exchangeTitle: Chateau Angel’s Free-Will Kiss
Recipient: Kirathaune
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 6,719 words
Summary: After helping to avert the Apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale enjoy their newfound freedom with a drinking trip through southern France. As they experience new places and try local beverages, Crowley finds ways to express his free will and even learns about himself in the process. Between a deconsecrated chapel, an impromptu sing-along, and an emerging attraction, he faces the twists and turns of their trip with a drink in hand and his angel at his side.
Characters: Crowley/Aziraphale
Warnings: Alcohol, swearing, and mild violence.
Author’s Note: I want to thank my Discord writing group for helping me tweak sections of this and Grammarly Pro for writing tips. Also, thanks to Google and the internet for showing me glimpses into France’s world of drinking. For Kirathaune, I hope I did your prompt justice, and happy holidays!
* * *
The beginning of their newfound freedom didn’t happen with a bang or a whimper, but a sip. Crowley held the thin glass and studied the champagne within, watching the bubbles rise to the top. Memories returned of a drive in his Bentley when he wondered who was this Moey and Chandon that Freddie Mercury referred to. Several years and one averted Apocalypse later, he received his answer in the form of fresh and bright champagne.
Behind him, Aziraphale leaned back against the pillow seat rest and sighed. “Ah, it’s been a while since I’ve had such fine champagne. You chose a nice place to start this trip.”
“Nothing but the best for us.” Crowley shifted to the edge of the mattress and turned to the angel. “Besides, if we’re going on a drinking trip through France, might as well start big with Monte Carlo.”
The angel nodded. As he sipped his glass of Laurent-Perrier, his gaze wandered to the rest of the rooftop. Crowley also soaked in the view. Rings of tables and beds surrounded a narrow pool. People swam in the pool or lounged around it, and almost all of them had a beverage nearby. In the distance, the city buildings jutted from the hillside, contrasting the flat but expansive sea. If the temperature increased a few degrees, then it would’ve been a perfect lazy day.
After ordering another champagne, Aziraphale said, “You have a point. I’m still looking forward to some of the smaller places. They often have the best selections.”
“You’re just saying that because you run a small book shop.” Crowley raised his hands when Aziraphale gave him a look, though he couldn’t resist a smile. “I’m not disagreeing. I found various places that we can hit, and we can stop by places we pass along the way. Since I’m driving, I figured we should take advantage of that.”
Aziraphale continued to squint at him, but then a smile broke out on his face. “I still think we could’ve flown here, but I understand your caution.” His gaze flitted toward the sky before settling on his new glass. “This’ll be nice, visiting these different places and trying the beverages. No missions, no reports, just us going on a little holiday.”
Crowley had glanced down at around the same time. Instead of dwelling on those matters, he took a page out of Aziraphale’s book – not literally, of course – and ordered another champagne. While sipping it, he reflected on the last time he’d come to France. He’d been pulling strings with the political forces to increase mundane sin, or had he been introducing a fad that would bring menial but persistent bothers to people’s lives? When had he last visited the country for enjoyment instead of work? Maybe the alcohol was getting to him, but he couldn’t recall.
Well, they were here now. Might as well enjoy their time. Leaning back against the mattress, Crowley contemplated taking another nap. Between trying to thwart Armageddon and defying his superiors, he hadn’t had much chance to relax and get some shut-eye. After moving his sunglasses and drink to the side, he placed his wrist over his eyes and shut them.
A yelp and a splash caused him to glance over. What he saw made him sit up. A few tourists had fallen into the pool. Based on their frowns, gapes, and lack of swimsuits, he guessed this wasn’t intentional. He was about to ask Aziraphale what happened when he spotted the crinkles forming around his eyes.
“What?” Crowley glanced between the angel and the tourists struggling to get out of the pool. “Did you see what happened?”
Aziraphale shook his head, but the way he pursed his lips hinted he was holding back a grin. “It was all rather sudden. The poor lads were walking toward the pool, but they didn’t see the furniture had moved a little bit to the side. Must’ve tripped over it.”
If the barely concealed smirk and suspicious phrasing didn’t give him away, his tone did. Crowley recognized it from when he discussed his wiles. “Angel, what did you do?”
Aziraphale tried to talk, then burst out laughing. A few patrons turned to stare at them, and the ones who fell in the pool narrowed their eyes, but he didn’t acknowledge them. Crowley waved a hand at the patrons before gesturing to his champagne glass. Hopefully, they’d buy his gesture and believe that the angel had had too much to drink, which might’ve been the case. In the meantime, he waited for the angel to calm down enough to explain himself.
Once he did, he said, “Apologies. It’s all rather silly.” He cleared his throat. “You remember what we said before coming here, that we were going to stick it to our supervisors and no longer live according to their demands?”
“Yes.” Crowley drew out the word.
“I thought about how I spent so much time advocating for Upstairs, not even questioning their decisions.” He went silent, his hands clenching into fists, before perking up. “Well, I’m done with that. I want to show that I’m not going to be their pawn. What better way to do that than going against what they want?”
Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “So, you’re going to start corrupting people?”
“Eh, not full-blown corruption. Maybe a few wiles here and there.” He flitted his fingers.
“Haven’t you already covered for me before? I thought this was nothing new.”
“Yes, but that was to appease your supervisors, not as a way to speak out against mine.”
Crowley stared at Aziraphale, then the drink in his hand. “You sure this isn’t the alcohol talking?”
“Yes, I’m certain.” Aziraphale downed the rest of his glass before setting it to the side. “I’ll have to avoid using a lot of miracles. Just because I’m not a pawn of upstairs doesn’t mean I want to provoke them into coming down here.”
Crowley nodded at the last statement before processing the rest. Unlike Aziraphale, he had questioned Hell’s orders before, but he could only say so much before receiving a thinly-veiled threat to stay in line or return Downstairs. As memories resurfaced, he dug his fingernails into his palms. Did he want to stick it to Downstairs, too? A part of him said yes. He could’ve argued that Ligur’s holy water shower counted, except that had been from self-preservation at the expense of a fellow demon, a trait that Hell encouraged. In contrast, performing a good deed, even a minor one, flew in the face of what Hell and his superiors stood for. Where could he start?
A server with a tray walked around the rooftop, taking people’s empty glasses. When she grabbed Crowley’s empty champagne glass, he handed her a 100% tip with real euros. Her eyes widened, and she smiled at him before leaving with a noticeable spring in her step. Crowley waved at her before turning, then nearly stumbled back at Aziraphale’s smirk.
“What?” he asked. “You’re the only one that can stick it to your supervisors?”
Aziraphale shook his head, his expression not changing. “No, it’s just that I was right. You do have a spark of goodness in you.”
“And you are a bit of a bastard.”
“I’m not denying that.” He sighed and leaned back. “This’ll be an interesting trip.”
Crowley smiled back, a faint warmth growing in his chest, before raising his glass. “Indeed, it will be.”
They spent another hour lounging by the pool before driving to their next destination: a winery in Nice. As they walked up the main path to the site, Crowley admired the scenery. Vineyard fields surrounded the walkway and matched the hill’s slope. The walkway’s end brought them to a building built into the hill and a stone block chapel. With an evening tour forming on the building's rooftop patio, Crowley and Aziraphale joined them.
The guide led them through the winery first, then the vineyards. The duo lingered in the back as the guide explained how they harvested grapes from the vines, processed the fruits in vats and barrels, then served the wine in glass bottles. Although he or Aziraphale could conjure wine at will, Crowley liked seeing how the humans cultivated wine grapes. He also refrained from terrorizing the plants, though he eyed a few that had started to slouch.
Once they reached the end, the guide announced that they would be handing out wine samples… in the chapel.
“The deconsecrated chapel? Hmph, wonder what goes on in there now.” Aziraphale turned to Crowley, then froze. “My dear, is something wrong? You’re turning pale.”
Crowley nodded, ignoring the bile rising in his throat. “I’m good. Just wondering the same thing as you.”
Aziraphale’s frown lingered, but he nodded and didn’t press the issue. As they headed to the stone-block chapel, Crowley noticed the smaller details in the surroundings. The sun setting on the horizon created a nice contrast to the green vineyard. A light breeze rolled along the hill, bringing the fresh scent of plants with it. Aside from footsteps and the occasional comment from the other tour members, the only sound came from the rustling of leaves. While fascinating to behold, none of these sensations distracted him from the faint buzz of the chapel’s divine energy. It made his skin prickle and his hair stand on edge, which increased as they approached the building. His gaze drifted to the rooftop patio a few feet from the entrance. Maybe, they weren’t going into the chapel, but they were instead admiring the outside from the seats–
And the tour guide was opening the entrance and beckoning everyone inside. Perfect.
Crowley lagged behind the rest of the group, grateful that they all seemed too occupied with the wine samples to bother with him. Where could he go in the meantime? Sure, he wanted free wine, but was that worth dealing with the holy aura searing his skin and lingering for days to come? To say nothing of if Above was paying attention and noticed a demon in one of their houses. In all honesty, it probably wouldn’t have taken much to separate from the crowd. A quick excuse or a vague statement about wanting to go elsewhere would suffice for most of the others, or maybe all, if not for–
“Dear boy,” Aziraphale waved a hand in front of his face. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
He shook his head and glanced around. Aside from the tour guide, who was propping the door open, the rest of the group had gone inside. At least, he didn’t have to deal with an audience to his dilemma.
“I’m alright, angel. Just thinking.” He glanced through the open doorway. “You want to go inside, right? I’m thinking of sitting this one out.”
Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed. He stared at the chapel, then Crowley, then back again. “My dear, you’re worried about going into the chapel? I thought it would’ve been right up your alley. It’s deconsecrated, after all. It’s been stripped of its spiritual use.”
“True, but it’s still a chapel at the end of the day. Even from here, I can feel the residual holy energy.”
“You have a point.” Aziraphale glanced at the tour guide, who continued to watch them. After signaling that they would join in a minute, he turned back to Crowley. “Still, I thought you’ve been in holy buildings before.”
“Only when I had no other alternative, and even then, I tried to minimize my time in them.” He sighed. “I know we said we were sticking it to our supervisors, and I’m all for that, but waltzing into what’s technically enemy territory seems a bit much.”
Aziraphale nodded, then froze. “Wait, you’re supposed to avoid holy places like chapels, right?”
“Yes.” Crowley wondered what he was getting at.
“And I’d reckon that I, as an angel, should avoid deconsecrated places, or at least ones repurposed for more sinful uses like alcohol.”
As Crowley processed his explanation, it clicked. “So, you’re saying that by going into the deconsecrated chapel, we’ll be sticking it to Upstairs and Downstairs?”
“One way to find out.”
Crowley considered it before grabbing Aziraphale’s hand. Together, they entered the deconsecrated chapel with the rest of the tour group. Stepping over the threshold, a wave of divine residue washed over Crowley. His skin stung until it almost burned, and he tightened his grip on Aziraphale’s hand. Fortunately, Aziraphale didn’t complain or scold him, instead giving him a reassuring hand squeeze. After the initial blast, the divine energy diminished to a bearable level. Although still on edge, Crowley no longer felt like he’d endured a lobster-red sunburn.
“Better?” Aziraphale asked.
He nodded. “Better.”
“Wonderful.” The angel gestured to the tables and servers. “I say we should drink to this, wouldn’t you?”
The duo took a seat after grabbing their wine samples. Crowley had skipped his usual red wine in favor of a rosé. It incorporated the flavors of different fruits, giving the benefit of drinking multiple wines at once. While Aziraphale chatted with the tour guide and explained what they’d done the past day, Crowley gazed at his surroundings. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been able to relax in a church-like building of any kind. Since he wasn’t rushing around the space to complete a mission, he admired the intricate patterns, striped pillars, and stained glass windows. He almost didn’t notice Aziraphale nudging him.
“You were smart, starting with the rosé. This blanc wine is pretty strong.” Aziraphale held his glass out in an offering.
Crowley rolled his eyes before swapping glasses. “You’re lucky I didn’t drink all of mine at once. Given that you’re the one who likes sweets, I’m surprised you didn’t start with this.”
He downed the rest of the white wine, the full bitter flavor reminding him of his usual drinks. Watching Aziraphale down the rest of his wine sample in a similar way, he suspected that the angel thought the same. While going against their usual choices had its perks, sometimes, it paid to return to old favorites.
Aziraphale set his glass down before following Crowley’s gaze. “This is a nice building. I can see why they kept it around instead of replacing it with something else.”
“I agree. There’s also an odd poetic justice about a spiritual building being used for secular purposes now. Rather fitting.” Crowley didn’t know if his comment made sense, but he pushed the thought to the side. “You know, I could go for another sample.”
“Say no more.” Aziraphale stood.
Before Crowley could ask what he was planning, he walked to the front of the tables. With his glass raised, he announced that he would buy a drink for everyone on the tour. Applause broke out, and it continued as the next round of glasses came out. A few others agreed to cover for people’s drinks. Before long, people were stumbling over their words, the furniture, and each other.
Crowley glanced up from his fourth glass of blanc wine. Or was it the fifth? He didn’t consider the difference significant. “So, angel,” he asked, “what inspired the sudden generosity?”
“Hm? It’s like what you said about the spiritual and secular.” Aziraphale swirled his glass in a circle, somehow not spilling any of the red wine inside. “I bought a bunch of people wine with my money, and that led to others doing the same. At the same time, we’re encouraging a lot of wine consumption. Would that count as inciting generosity or gluttony?”
“Why not both?” Crowley shrugged.
Aziraphale nodded and held his glass out. After exchanging a toast, Crowley watched the rest of the tour members try to start an impromptu sing-along despite not singing the same key or even the same tune. Aziraphale buried his face into his sleeve, trying to muffle his laughter, then leaned into Crowley. A faint warmth spread through Crowley that came from…the alcohol? Except, he hadn’t even drunk a bottle. Maybe, it was the holy energy, except this sensation was warmer and more open than hostile. As he glanced around, his gaze eventually settled on the angel leaning against him and laughing at the others’ antics.
Did he fancy Aziraphale? It would explain some of his decisions throughout the trip.
Before he could dwell on it, Aziraphale sat up. “We should head to our next destination soon. If I remember, it’ll be better at night time.”
“You’re right.” Crowley tried to hide his disappointment when the angel moved away from him. “It’s a good thing we didn’t drink too much tonight. We’ve got another drive ahead of us.”
Because they’d left the winery when the sun was still in the sky, they arrived at their next destination just after nightfall. Crowley struggled to find a parking spot close by, not helped by his habit of creating his own spaces. Once he did, he and Aziraphale navigated the busy Antibes walkways, not stopping until they spotted the “Absinthe Bar” sign hanging above the entrance. The colorful signs and merchandise gave them an idea of what to expect, yet he still gawked when he reached the bar proper. Posters covered the curved ceiling, and displays of hats and bottles lined the back wall. Small tables packed in the space allowed for groups to congregate.
Crowley and Aziraphale sat at a table in the corner. While they scanned the menu of beverages, they chatted with the couple seated at the next table. Apparently, they had chosen a good night to visit. The bar was having live music and a hat-wearing event. Between the upbeat piano playing, colorful hats, and continuous streams of conversation, the Antibes Absinthe Bar had a lively atmosphere.
They eventually settled on an absinthe-champagne cocktail called “Death in the Afternoon.” Crowley’s comment that they should try the drink at a different time earned a scoff and a not-so-subtle smile from Aziraphale, who left to grab the drinks from the bar. While Crowley waited for him to return, he scanned the rest of the bar patrons. Even without looking at all their glasses, the distinct smell of anise coming from almost all of them showed that they’d ordered absinthe-based beverages, which made sense with the bar’s name. Although Crowley wasn’t an avid consumer of absinthe, its tarnished reputation over the centuries eluded him. Sure, it supposedly caused hallucinations and had traces of a toxic chemical, but so did various other substances that the humans partook in.
Then, his gaze drifted to the couple. He watched how they held hands and leaned into each other, how they bounced off of each other when talking to other patrons, and their smiles when they gazed upon each other. Did he want to do the same with Aziraphale? The same warmth from the deconsecrated chapel filled his chest. At the same time, he couldn’t deny the growing nerves. Falling in love was a major no in Hell’s books. Falling for the Enemy? Even more so. Sneaking excitement overtook his growing nerves, and he began to plot. He almost didn’t notice Aziraphale’s arrival until the angel practically shoved a glass into his hand.
“This was another great choice as usual, though rather odd. I don’t think I’ve seen a live pianist with a sparkly cowboy hat.” Aziraphale stood behind Crowley and leaned down, so their gazes met. “Enjoying the company?”
Crowley was about to answer when the angel placed a hat on his head. He glanced at it and groaned. “Out of all the hats you could’ve chosen, you went with the tartan one. Why am I not surprised?”
“Tartan is a tried and true pattern that suits a variety of situations.” Aziraphale sat down, set his drink on the table, and donned his own tartan flat cap. He smiled as the couple gave him two thumbs up.
Crowley rolled his eyes before sipping the drink. To his surprise and satisfaction, the absinthe had more variety in flavor than he remembered, and the champagne complemented it well without overpowering it. Not that many drinks could overpower absinthe; it was usually the other way around. While he sipped the cocktail, he listened to Aziraphale explain the history of absinthe and how Ernest Hemingway created the “Death in the Afternoon” cocktail. Aside from asking where Hemingway had gained inspiration for his cocktail name, which earned him another scoff and smile, Crowley listened without comment. Listening to Aziraphale discuss his interests ignited some of that passion in Crowley himself, and he liked watching Aziraphale’s eyes light up.
A few drinks later, and a bar worker announced that they would be allowing other people to sing. Crowley straightened, the gears in his head turning, before glancing at the piano. Memories of watching romantic serenades, both in person and on the screen, played through his mind. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d played piano, but he didn’t let that stop him. After downing his Necromancer (what was with the death-related names for absinthe cocktails?), he headed to the piano in the back corner. The pianist played an energetic tune, which matched the bar’s overall tone, but not what Crowley was planning. Handing over a stack of euros convinced the pianist to take a break, and he had the instrument to himself.
He ran a hand over the keys, trying to think of which song to play. He wanted one that applied to Aziraphale, specifically how he felt about him, and that explained his sentiments in a way that even a drunken haze wouldn’t obscure. Eventually, an Elvis Presley song came to mind. He played the opening chords a few times, warming up his hands after a long time of not using them, then began singing.
“You look like an angel
Walk like an angel
Talk like an angel.”
One by one, patrons turned to the new performer. A few started singing along with the lyrics. Even Aziraphale had stopped talking with the couple to watch Crowley. His eyes widened, then he smiled and stuck a thumb up. With this encouragement, Crowley repeated the first refrain for emphasis, enjoying how more people joined in.
“You look like an angel
Walk like an angel
Talk like an angel.”
He faltered as he struggled to remember the lyrics. He didn’t need to, for a balding middle-aged man shot up from his chair and hollered, “You’re the devil in disguise.”
Crowley’s hands froze, as did the rest of him. None of the patrons noticed, hollering or chanting the lyrics in their own keys. While Crowley continued providing the instrumental, he glanced at Aziraphale. Sure, he hadn’t dedicated the song to him, but surely Aziraphale would’ve figured out that it was supposed to be for him. Would he view the performance as an attack on his integrity or character?
Aziraphale had narrowed his eyes at Crowley, and his lips curled downward into a sneer. Then, the sneer morphed into a grin, and he laughed while clapping his hands. Even with the rest of the patrons making a ruckus, it was clear that Aziraphale was singing along to the song or making up his own lyrics. For the finishing touch, the angel tossed his hat in the air, which prompted many others to do the same. Soon, a shower of head garments rained onto the floor, and the crowd of drunk people bumped into each other as they tried to claim one.
In contrast, Crowley wanted to throw his hat on the ground. How had he forgotten the actual meaning of the song? He’d listened to it multiple times. Hell, he’d been there when Elvis was recording the original track. Maybe the alcohol, the affection, or both were clouding his judgment. Part of him leaned more toward the second or third. At least, demons were encouraged to go after alcohol and similar substances.
“That was wonderful, my dear.” Aziraphale sat on the piano bench next to Crowley. “Nice to see you still remember how to play. How long has it been?”
“A while.” He didn’t feel like recalling a specific time frame, too occupied with other matters. “What did you think of the song? You’re not offended, right?”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “What? Why would I be offended? If anything, I can relate. I can tell stories of the higher-ups that could make them indistinguishable from those on your side.”
Crowley nodded, not even bothering with glancing down. Instead, he noticed that Aziraphale had replaced his tartan cap with a black-rimmed hat. Seeing that he still wore the other tartan cap, he snickered at the irony of the situation. Somewhere along the line, they’d switched styles.
“What’s so funny?” Aziraphale raised his gaze, then removed his hat and stared at it. “Oh yeah. I grabbed this one, thinking you might like it. It’s much more your style. You can have it if you want, unless you’d like to give tartan a chance for once.”
Crowley considered it before removing his cap. “Eh, you can have this. You’re the bigger tartan fan, and it fits better with your style, anyway.”
“Well, thanks.” After swapping head garments, Aziraphale gazed up at his. “I suspect I know what you’ll say, but what do you think?”
A snarky remark about tartan being out of style formed on Crowley’s tongue, but then he remembered how much Aziraphale adored the pattern. He swallowed the comment before saying, “On you, it looks really good. Not that you need a hat to do that.”
Aziraphale paused before smiling. “See, I knew you’d come around to liking tartan.”
The hope that was swelling in Crowley deflated, and this tugged at him as he and Aziraphale continued their night at the absinthe bar. Sure, the angel didn’t hate his guts for his poor song choice, nor did he dismiss his genuine compliment, but he hadn’t even come close to interpreting what he’d wanted. Maybe, he was going about this the wrong way. It wasn’t like Hell or the higher-ups had encouraged affection in subordinates.
Whatever the reason, he refused to give up. He’d stared down an impending apocalypse without faltering. He could show Aziraphale how he felt, too.
As their trip continued, they visited various establishments such as rural wineries, posh clubs, and cosier bars. Crowley lost track of how many drinks he’d consumed, though he’d likely be in trouble if he were human. He also lost track of how many people he and Aziraphale had chatted with, though memorable conversations lingered despite the haze of alcohol. What didn’t escape his memory were his failed attempts at wooing the angel.
Apparently, millennia of experience hadn’t prepared Crowley to convey his affection in a way that the angel understood or that didn’t invite some dilemma. He tried complimenting Aziraphale over a bottle of pinot noir, but Aziraphale had assumed he’d been defying Hell’s behavioral expectations through kindness. His attempt to reach for the angel’s hand while at a posh club went wrong when he somehow grabbed the candle instead, earning him a fistful of hot wax. Moving closer to the angel in bars was interpreted as avoiding the crowds, and it backfired on a vineyard tour when he’d tripped and taken the angel down with him. Additionally, he struggled to set the proper tone due to loudmouth drunks in the background.
So, why didn’t he talk to Aziraphale between stops if he faced all these distractions? First off, if his attempts went wrong while at a bar or winery, he could blame it on the alcohol, the drunk patrons, or just bad luck. A botched advance elsewhere could lend to the idea that he was bad at love. Not that he disagreed, but he didn’t want it confirmed.
Second, and he didn’t dare to voice this even to himself, he feared how Aziraphale would react. Sure, they’d had a solid alliance that eventually grew into friendship, but what if friendship was all the angel wanted? Would Aziraphale view him differently if he knew how Crowley felt? What if he called off the Arrangement? Crowley could lose the closest person he’d had to a friend. As much as he tried to convince himself that wouldn’t happen, the possibility hung in the back of his mind like a shadow.
Their last location differed from the others. It was an old fashioned microbrewery with stone block walls, wooden floors, and little walking space. The low lighting created a more intimate setting, while a television showing sports encouraged patrons to relax and watch the show. Crowley and Aziraphale sat at a back corner table. Straying from their usual selections, they’d ordered pints of locally brewed beer. Crowley had a stout with a dark, bitter flavor similar to black coffee. Aziraphale had wrinkled his nose at his pale ale, commenting on the overwhelming hops and fizz, but that hadn’t stopped him from downing half of it before the game’s midpoint.
Crowley eyed his bottle, then compared it to Aziraphale’s drink. “I’m surprised you ordered that. I mean, I know you like lighter drinks, but I didn’t think you’d like something with… that name.”
“What’s in a name, as Shakespeare wrote.” Aziraphale sipped his pale ale again, this time without wrinkling his nose. “It’s a good lesson.”
“Somehow, I don’t think he was envisioning a beer called Unicorn Balls when he wrote that.” His smile grew when he spotted the angel’s eye roll. “Roll your eyes if you want. You know I have a point.”
“I won’t deny it.”
“I’ll count that as a win.”
Aziraphale squinted at Crowley, who responded by raising his eyebrows and holding his gaze. Not even a few tables away, the other patrons hollered and hooted over the sports match, yet the duo didn’t even spare them a glance. Who would break first? Aziraphale smiled first, but Crowley’s snickering eventually caused their light staredown to fall apart. Once Crowley calmed down, he continued watching the angel, aware of the growing warmth in his chest and the flutter in his stomach. Now was his chance.
Crowley cleared his throat. “Hey, I wanted to say something. I like you.”
“What was that?” Aziraphale leaned forward with a hand to his ear.
The commotion from the other patrons had grown, despite what Crowley had thought possible. Gritting his teeth, he leaned forward and repeated what he’d said earlier with more emphasis.
“I’m sorry, what?” Aziraphale put a hand to his ears before leaning closer. “It’s rather noisy here.”
As the crowd’s volume grew, so too did Crowley’s desire to zap them elsewhere. He took a deep breath to focus– no need to go off when on a fun trip.
“Can you hear me now?” He raised his voice. “If not, we can go outside.”
A lull entered the festivities. Aziraphale furrowed his eyebrows before nodding.
He had his chance again. “I wanted to say that through this trip, I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you, and I realized that I–”
“What the FUCK? You MOTHERFUCKERS! THIS TEAM PLAYS LIKE A BUNCH OF FUCKING–”
Anger shot through Crowley. He clenched his hands into fists, and the television shot off sparks before dying. Jeering turned into complaining. As Aziraphale glanced between the crowd and the television, his eyebrows lowered. What was he thinking? Would he blame the freak accident on Crowley? Part of Crowley objected that the act hadn’t been entirely intentional, though he certainly didn’t regret it. Instead, the angel stood and approached the television.
“Wait, where are you going?” Crowley grabbed his wrist.
“Trying to see if I can fix the telly.” Aziraphale’s frown remained. “It’ll be unfortunate if the business has to pay for a new one. Rather not leave them with that burden.”
He tried to free himself, but because he wasn’t paying attention to what was behind him, he stumbled into a man. Said man had been shouting obscenities the loudest and was now voicing his complaints with as many expletives as he could muster. His eyes narrowed, and he walked up to Aziraphale until less than a chair’s width separated them.
Crowley shot up from his seat before jabbing a finger at him. “Hey, back off.”
“Butt out of this, tough guy.” He jutted his chin toward Aziraphale. “This knothead thinks he can get in other people’s spaces.”
“I tried explaining it was an accident, but he didn’t listen,” Aziraphale spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Maybe, it’s the alcohol impairing his judgment.”
The man’s face reddened, and a vein stuck out in his neck. “You wanna go?”
“I’d like to go somewhere less crowded and loud. There’s a ruckus going on–”
Before Aziraphale could finish, the man brought his fist back. Crowley yelled a warning, and Aziraphale only had time to step back before the man’s fist crashed into his face. The thud filled the now silent bar, and Aziraphale fell to the floor. A red mark formed on his face.
Crowley’s stomach dropped. Then, a fire exploded within him. The man stepped toward Aziraphale with his fists poised, but he never got the chance to use them. Crowley pulled him forward by his wrist before striking him in the jaw. When the man stumbled backward, he drove his heel into the man’s knee and toppled him to the ground. He then lifted the man by the back of his shirt before leaning down.
“Lay a hand on my angel again, and I’ll take you to the bloody cleaners,” Crowley hissed.
The man nodded. When Crowley released him, he scampered away before fleeing to the exit. The rest of the patrons stared with widened eyes and slack jaws. None of their reactions bothered him, but when he spotted Aziraphale eyeing him, his stomach sank. He’d messed it up.
An employee, likely the brewery owner, approached the group with a frown. Crowley didn’t wait for his arrival. With a wrist flick, he returned the game to the television before excusing himself from the establishment. While he sat in the Bentley’s driver’s seat, memories of the trip flooded his mind. They’d organized the trip as a fun way to drink alcohol and defy their superiors’ expectations. When had that changed? Probably when he’d allowed the loud drunkards, aka a bother that he’d dealt with many times before, to ruin his and Aziraphale’s time. He didn’t blame Aziraphale if he preferred staying in the pub with the sports game and unicorn ball beer.
The door opened, and Aziraphale climbed in. “Dear boy, are you okay?”
Crowley glanced over and grimaced at the red mark on the angel’s cheek. “You’re asking me? It seems like the strike left a mark.”
“Mm, it did. Nothing I can’t fix.” Aziraphale ran a hand over his face, and the redness disappeared. His frown didn’t. “I hope that ruffian’s behavior hasn’t soured your mood too much. Humans can get rather hostile when alcohol gets involved.”
His words should’ve reassured Crowley, but they didn’t. “What are we doing? Actually, what am I doing?”
“What do you mean?” Aziraphale furrowed his eyebrows.
“This trip was supposed to be our way of sticking it to our supervisors. When I worked for Hell, I couldn’t bring about the Apocalypse or commit ‘proper’ wiles.” He included air quotes for emphasis. “Then, when I try to do the opposite, I end up going back to those ways, as you saw before.”
Aziraphale’s expression didn’t change. “To be fair, the ruffian had thrown the first punch. Plus, my attempts to use the good methods weren’t exactly helping. Working for Heaven makes encouraging good deeds easier, but not easy.”
“True, but then there was the television before then.”
“That was because of…” Aziraphale paused, then nodded. “Alright, that wasn’t good. At least, the television got fixed eventually.”
Crowley propped his head up with a fist. “So, I can’t commit to one side or another, and I can’t bloody say when I like a certain angel.”
“Pardon, did you say you liked me?” When he nodded, Aziraphale waved a hand. “Oh, you don’t have to worry. I already know that.”
“You do?” He straightened.
“Of course. Why else do you think I kept the Arrangement all these centuries? You’re a great ally and an even better friend.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Crowley groaned and propped his head against the window. He remembered what Aziraphale had said about him not understanding love. Evidently, he was equally as terrible at explaining it. “Bloody, this should not be this hard.”
“We can figure this out, or I can.” Aziraphale wrinkled his eyebrows. “So, you like me, but not just as a friend or an ally. What else is…?” He froze, and his eyebrows rose. “Oh, you meant that.”
“Yes, and it’s what I’ve been trying to say for a while.”
He frowned again. “How long?”
“Since the deconsecrated chapel. I can give a list of examples, but living them once was more than enough.” Crowley straightened. “Why?”
A long pause followed. Crowley’s stomach churned, and not just from the stout beer. His heart beat harder and faster, yet he couldn’t be bothered to remind himself that such an action was not necessary. Watching the angel’s focused stare, he could only imagine what he was thinking about. After many failed attempts, he’d finally gotten his sentiments into the open, and he was about to see how his effort would pay off.
Eventually, the angel shook his head. “Looks like you’re not the only one who can’t stick to their side. I’m supposed to know about and be able to detect love, yet I somehow missed signs of love right in front of me. I hope you aren’t mad.”
Crowley didn’t know whether to relax or tense, so he waited. “No, don’t blame yourself. I wasn’t always the best at stating my intentions. Hell isn’t exactly an advocate for love, unless lust and pride count.”
“True, but your intentions were still there. I just missed them.” He nodded, then froze before squinting. “Hold on, is this another one of your ways to stick it to Down–?”
“No.” Crowley raised his hands. “I mean, I’ll take whatever chance I can to stick it to those bastards, but this is separate from that. I do like you a lot. Hell, I stood with you against the Devil himself, and if I had to do that crazy feat for anyone, it’d be you.”
“Hopefully, that doesn’t become necessary again.” Despite shaking his head, a small smile spread across his face. “I’d do the same for you, my dear.”
As much as the words warmed his heart, Crowley didn’t want to play these guessing games anymore. “So, do you feel the same way, or would you rather we leave the Arrangement how it is now?” A small voice in his head said that Aziraphale might end the Arrangement altogether, but he squashed it.
Aziraphale held out an open hand. “If I extended a hand, would that be enough to convince you?”
“It would.” Crowley held it, enjoying how well they fit together. “A kiss would be nice, too.”
“That’s another thing we agree on.”
As the angel’s words registered, Crowley’s heart rate sped up again. He turned to Aziraphale with a smile to see that he’d done the same. They leaned forward, and their lips connected in a short and sweet kiss. Crowley’s heart fluttered, and the warmth from earlier spread throughout him. Time slowed around him as he relished the softness of the angel’s lips. All his failed attempts, lingering doubts, and fears of rejection disappeared in a flurry of excitement. When they disconnected, Aziraphale’s grin almost made him want to lean in for more.
Instead, he turned to the steering wheel. “Shall we head elsewhere? I’m down for finding another place, unless you’d rather that we find somewhere to crash for the night.”
“I’m not the one who sleeps.” The angel snickered. “Plus, I don’t know if I could even if I wanted to.”
“Well, whichever one we choose, it’ll be based on what we want to do.” Crowley raised a thumb. “Sounds good?”
“Sounds better than good.” Aziraphale returned the gesture.
Starting the car again, Crowley steered the Bentley onto the street and to their next destination. Where they would go next remained up in the air, but they’d choose their location and path on their own, together.
(no subject)
Date: 2020-12-02 09:47 pm (UTC)One thing I thought was particularly well done in this fic was the use of setting. I could vividly see all the unique places they visited. I loved how they were also all so different in mood and decor, but connected in that they were all unique places to have a drink. (Plus I feel like "drinking road trip" is so Aziraphale and Crowley!) I plan to google around in hopes these places are real and I can see them one day.
From Ri, who doesn't have an account.
(no subject)
Date: 2020-12-03 02:32 am (UTC)I loved this. You did a great job with capturing the moods of their different "watering holes," and all the different drinks were a lot of fun. And of course Crowley would drive!
Poor Crowley! He was so delightfully awkward. I'm glad he finally made his feelings known, and had them reciprocated. <3
Thanks so much for a delightful read!
(no subject)
Date: 2020-12-03 02:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2020-12-03 09:14 pm (UTC)Thank you for the story!
(no subject)
Date: 2020-12-04 08:01 am (UTC)Crowleyy:"a kiss would be nice, too"
Aziraphale: "that's another thing we agree on."
Awwww <3 <3
I felt so into the scene Aziraphale couldn't hear Crowley's confession I also felt a bit exasperated. And I loved that.
Aziraphale actually realizing he didn't notice the love from Crowley's actions and acknowledging it wat quite satisfactory.
How about the beverage's names, Are those real?! I know nothing about drinks but that was interesting and fitting.
(no subject)
Date: 2020-12-13 03:22 am (UTC)"he took a page out of Aziraphale’s book – not literally, of course –" HEAVEN FORBID. Well, something even scarier than heaven....
Oh, Aziraphale, hinting that you'd prefer Crowley's wine, and KNOWING that he will get the hint XD
I love your descriptions in this! Makes me feel like I'm there, I can even smell it!
I adore Crowley playing piano!!
Cuuuute! What a nice trip, even with a fight in the miiddle! They can always muddle through :D