Happy Holidays, Chocolatepot!
Dec. 27th, 2024 05:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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go_exchangeRecipient: Chocolatepot
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Warnings: None apply
Summary: A holiday tale of retirement, bad dreams, what constitutes a gift, and an awful lot of coziness.
Author Note: I tried to combine your “reunion” and “soft moments” prompts. I hope you like it!
Crowley was running from a horde of angels who were determined to stop him. Up ahead he could see Aziraphale, clearly exhausted but still ready to continue the fight. No matter how fast Crowley ran, he didn’t seem to get any closer to Aziraphale. The angels were making great progress, but he wasn’t. He tried to call out to Aziraphale, but he couldn’t make a sound. He tried to stop time, but it felt like he couldn’t access his powers. The angels were gaining on him, Aziraphale collapsed in a heap, and Crowley let out a silent scream.
With a gasp, Crowley was wrenched into the waking world. It took him a moment to realize he was not, in fact, on a battlefield, but rather in an absurdly plush bed beside a rather plush angel. Well, he was more on top of Aziraphale than beside him, with an arm slung across his chest and a leg splayed over his thighs. He took a few deep breaths and pressed his nose against Aziraphale’s shoulder, reacquainting himself with reality.
The weather had turned, it was properly cold now. Each morning brought starbursts of frost clustered in the corners of their windows. Crowley had never liked the cold, something about his snaky origins, but he didn’t mind it as much with Aziraphale around and available for cuddling. On a cold morning like this, with the remnants of his nightmare floating across his mind, Crowley was grateful for Aziraphale’s warm, solid presence. He was alive, they were both alive.
As Crowley gradually woke up, he realized that Aziraphale was asleep. It was still quite rare for him to indulge in this particular human vice, but Crowley was glad anytime he managed it. After a lifetime of being on guard, remaining watchful, Aziraphale deserved rest. Crowley carefully slid up the bed so he could take in the beautiful sight of Aziraphale sleeping. He watched his chest rise and fall and admired his face in peaceful repose. What a gift, he thought, to see a new facet of this being he’d known for so long.
After a moment, Aziraphale stirred, turning onto his side and shuffling closer to Crowley. He opened his eyes and smiled at him, “Hello, darling.”
“Good morning,” said Crowley. “Sleep well?”
Aziraphale blinked and glanced around the room. “Oh. Was I asleep? I didn’t realize.”
Crowley nodded. “You looked very relaxed.”
“I suppose I must have been, to fall asleep,” said Aziraphale. “It still feels a bit odd, I’m afraid.”
“You’re just not in the habit yet,” said Crowley. “Give it a few decades and it’ll come naturally.”
Aziraphale chuckled. “I may not need to be battle ready anymore, but there are still books to be read. I can’t sleep away all my evenings. Though I must admit it’s nice waking up here with you.”
“Mmm,” Crowley agreed. “You’re like a hot water bottle.”
Aziraphale curled an arm around him, drawing him in closer. “Ulterior motives, I see. I thought you enjoyed my sparkling wit.”
“It’s mostly the sparkling wit,” Crowley assured him, nuzzling into his neck.
“Silly creature,” said Aziraphale, with nothing but affection, and kissed the top of his head.
Crowley tipped his head up to find Aziraphale gazing at him. There was something in that look that he’d seen for years, for millennia, but which had always been hiding behind something else. There was no longer a reason to hide, Aziraphale had been let loose, and he’d been gracing Crowley with a bevy of adoring gazes. The novelty of it had not worn off, and Crowley doubted that it ever would. Aziraphale leaned down to kiss him, soft and slow. The kiss led to another, and another, and then hands began to wander.
This, too, was a new facet for them to discover together. When they’d first arrived at the cottage, battle-worn and exhausted, something in their corporations had propelled them together. They’d fumbled their way through the logistics and came out the other end feeling mighty pleased with themselves. Well, the smugness came later, after Crowley slept for about twelve hours.
They were both still gauzy with sleep, but they’d had a lot of practice in making each other feel good. There was no rush, they had nothing but time now. Crowley sat up and straddled Aziraphale’s waist, unbuttoning his ridiculous tartan pajamas and laying kisses along his chest. When he licked a circle around Aziraphale’s left nipple, he relished the sharp intake of breath, the soft moan. He could feel Aziraphale growing hard through his thin trousers, and he couldn’t resist leaning back to give him a bit of friction.
“I feel as though I’m still dreaming,” said Aziraphale, breathless.
“It’s real, angel,” said Crowley, leaning down to kiss him. “We made it.”
Aziraphale slid his hands into Crowley’s hair, holding him there and kissing him deeply. They shifted among the soft mounds of duvet, movements languid and unhurried, until they were lying side by side. Crowley made the first move, slipping his hand into Aziraphale’s trousers and squeezing him gently. Aziraphale whimpered as Crowley spread the wetness at the tip of him, staring up a slow rhythm. Before he was too far gone, Aziraphale reached for Crowley, hands at his hips, and Crowley snapped his fingers to banish all remaining clothing to parts unknown.
They pressed in close, bodies molded together like two halves of a rock severed long ago. Crowley took them both in hand, miracling a bit of slick to ease the way. Aziraphale rocked up into his grip as his hands slid down to his bum, pulling them even closer together. Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck, breathing him in. With his lips pressed to Aziraphale’s throat, Crowley could feel the rumble of his moans and contented sighs. He wanted to swallow those sounds, but he had to remind himself there was no need to hoard. He could have his fill of this anytime he liked, they both could.
Aziraphale came first and Crowley followed, and it was not so much an explosion of ecstasy as it was a delicious release of tension. Crowley pressed open-mouthed kisses along Aziraphale’s jaw as he moaned through it, letting the pleasure seep into his bones. In the aftermath, Crowley miracled away the mess and pulled the duvet on top of them, snuggling down again.
“I love you,” said Aziraphale, his voice choked with emotion.
Crowley smiled and kissed him. “Love you too, angel.”
*
Aziraphale had tried to learn how to start a fire the human way, he really had. Crowley looked it up for him on his phone, he’d studied the steps, and he’d attacked the problem with gusto. He hadn’t expected to succeed on his first try, but after several hours and more attempts than he’d care to count, success was nowhere in sight. He decided that humans mastering this skill and making it out of the stone age was far more miraculous than anything his celestial powers could manage. And then he miracled up a roaring fire and poured himself a glass of wine.
That morning, after he and Crowley untangled their limbs and had a quick shower, Aziraphale ambled downstairs and waved his hand at the fireplace. He appreciated that humans felt a sense of accomplishment after mastering a difficult task, and he did enjoy taking the long way round, but sometimes he just couldn’t be arsed.
Now, tea was a different matter entirely. He loved nothing more than firing up the kettle, waiting for it to boil, and letting the tea bag steep for the exact right amount of time. He wouldn’t rush that process for the world. It was the same with cocoa, and that process took even longer.
Crowley liked shortcuts far more than he did, but one of the areas where he took his time was his morning toilette. That was why Aziraphale was halfway through his cup of tea and their local newspaper by the time Crowley came loping down the stairs.
“Any scandals afoot in town?” he asked, busying himself with his absurdly complicated coffee machine.
“None that are fit to print, apparently,” said Aziraphale. “I’ll get back to you once I’ve spoken to Gladys down at the vicarage.”
“That woman is a menace,” said Crowley, in an admiring tone.
“They’re setting up a ‘wishing tree’ for the holiday season,” said Aziraphale, as he read through an article with all the details. “Instead of baubles, they hang slips of paper with needy children’s wishes written on them. That sounds lovely, I shall have to pop down there soon.”
“Don’t take them all,” Crowley scolded. “Leave some for the other villagers.”
Aziraphale shot him a look and folded up his newspaper. He finished his tea and leaned back in his chair. “Have we ever exchanged Christmas gifts?”
Crowley flicked a switch on his coffee machine and leaned against the counter, turning to Aziraphale while the machine did its mysterious business. “I’m sure we haven’t. At least, not in so many words.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve given you plenty of gifts over the years,” said Crowley. “Only I couldn’t call them gifts. You know, stuff like that.”
“Indeed,” said Aziraphale. Crowley was right, he had given him many things over the years. Now that he was considering the endeavor of giving gifts, Aziraphale wondered if the scales were rather out of balance. Perhaps this year he could begin to even things out. “Well, do you have any Christmas wishes of your own?”
Crowley opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by his coffee machine making a rather extraordinary noise. He turned to flick a switch that made the noise stop, and then turned back to Aziraphale. “I don’t need anything.”
“No, I know. But is there anything you want? Anything you’d like to have?”
“Really, there’s nothing,” Crowley insisted. He returned to making his coffee, or perhaps launching a satellite into space. The machine was truly obtuse, Aziraphale couldn’t make head nor tail out of it. After he’d set the next step into motion, Crowley crossed his arms over his chest and mumbled something.
“What was that, dear?”
“This,” said Crowley. “I said this is what I want.”
Aziraphale smiled a rather sentimental smile and stood up to take his mug to the sink. Once he’d done that, he came up behind Crowley and wrapped his arms gently around the demon’s slim waist. “You old softie.”
“I am not. I’m the exact opposite, in fact.”
“You’re nothing but a romantic,” said Aziraphale, nosing up behind Crowley’s left ear.
“Keep that up and I’ll sue you for libel.”
“Libel is written, this would be slander.”
“Well, that, then.”
“I’m afraid you would lose that case rather spectacularly, darling.” Aziraphale set his chin on Crowley’s shoulder. “And I would only need one piece of evidence -- the deed to this house.”
Crowley spun around to face him. “I’ll eat it before you can get your hands on it. I’ll turn into a big, scary, menacing snake and eat the deed to this house.”
Aziraphale smiled and patted his cheek. “Whatever you say, dear. For the record, of all the things you’ve given me over the years, this house is by far the loveliest.”
At that, Crowley softened, unable to maintain his facade any longer. He leaned in to kiss Aziraphale, such a soft and casual kiss that would’ve been unthinkable only a year earlier. “Then we have everything we need.”
Of course Aziraphale knew that Crowley was right. They were, at long last, happier and more content than they’d ever imagined they might be. But all across Great Britain and the world, people would be giving their loved ones tokens of love and appreciation on Christmas and all manner of celebratory holidays. Though he knew it was silly, Aziraphale wanted to join in on that human celebration.
Besides that, he loved Crowley more than anything else on Earth, and he’d spent far too long shying away from that fact. This could be his chance to make up for all that lost time. If Crowley wouldn’t give him a wish list, he would have to come up with something else.
*
A few days later they took a trip into town to see the wishing tree. As expected, Aziraphale wanted to claim every tag he read. Crowley gently explained that the tree allowed all the villagers to have a turn at being a guardian angel, and that he couldn’t take them all simply because he was the real deal. Aziraphale only pouted a little before relenting and acknowledging that it was a very good idea to encourage this kind of giving in a community. He chose two tags -- one from a child who wanted books, and one who wanted a Christmas feast for their family.
After a lengthy chinwag session with Gladys about who was potentially breaking up just in time for the holidays, they strolled up the high street to their favorite coffee shop. Crowley ordered a latte, Aziraphale ordered a cocoa, and they shared a blueberry muffin. There was another new thing to toss onto the pile -- Crowley was eating a lot more these days. He wasn’t sure if living in peace times had settled a perpetually nervous stomach, or if spending even more time around Aziraphale had finally convinced him to try it out. Either way, he was enjoying it on the whole, especially when he and Aziraphale split a dish. It was just another way to live in each other’s pockets.
“I’m glad we ran into Gladys,” said Aziraphale, sipping at his cocoa. “That woman certainly knows how to ‘spill the tea.’”
Crowley choked on his coffee. “Who’s teaching you modern slang?”
“Gladys, of course.” “Oh, come off it. Gladys is a million years old.”
“No, dear. We are a million years old,” said Aziraphale, as he broke off a bite of muffin. “And Gladys has a bevy of grandchildren who keep her up to speed on the hip language of today.”
“Unbelievable,” said Crowley, rolling his eyes. “You spend two hundred years in Soho and never seem to enter the modern era. Less than a year in the countryside, and you’re learning to keep up with Gen Z.”
Aziraphale shrugged. “I suppose I have more time for it now, or more room in my brain. I shall have to pop into the bookshop soon to ask about what children are reading these days. Perhaps I can sample a few books before choosing something for my…my wisher.”
“Something tells me they’ve moved on from Enid Blyton.”
“Yes, I don’t think she’s very au fait with today’s acceptable language and themes.”
They sat in silence for a bit, enjoying their muffin and soaking up the cafe chatter. Then Aziraphale set down his mug and said, “If you were to hang a slip of paper on the wishing tree…”
“Oh, not this again,” Crowley groaned.
“What would you wish for?” Aziraphale continued. “It’s a simple enough question, my dear.”
“I would wish for you to stop asking me this question.”
“Very clever.”
“I’m only half joking.” Crowley took another bite of muffin and softened his tone. “I told you already, there’s nothing else I want. I’ve spent my whole life wanting things, and I think you have too. Can’t we just enjoy what we have now?”
Aziraphale laid his hand atop Crowley’s and smiled at him. “My dear, I am very much enjoying what we have now. But I would like what we have to include giving my partner a Christmas gift.”
Crowley smirked at him. “Hear that? You just called me your partner.”
“Yes?”
“That’s a gift, right there. See, you’re giving me gifts every day.”
Aziraphale sighed. “Stop saying such sweet things. It makes it impossible to pester you.”
Crowley winked at him, which he knew Aziraphale could discern even with his sunglasses in the way. “You can take the demon out of Hell…”
“Yes, so I’ve noticed.”
By the time they left the cafe, a viciously cold wind was whipping its way up the high street. They walked briskly, hand in hand, back to the Bentley, which had the good sense to already be warm when they arrived. The cottage, however, had not yet learned. But Aziraphale waved his hand to light the fireplace and Crowley messed around with the aga, and soon enough their home was warm and toasty.
After making a cup of tea, Aziraphale retreated to the snug, which had been repurposed as his library. A very specific selection of books had come with him from London, with the rest remaining under Muriel’s watchful eye in the shop. The sofa had come with them as well, after Crowley made a rather full-throated plea for its inclusion in this next phase of their lives. Crowley poked his head in now, smiling at the sight of Aziraphale with his silly little spectacles perched on his nose.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked.
“I have never minded,” said Aziraphale, so quickly and easily.
Crowley smiled and made himself comfortable on the sofa beside him. He would never tire of hearing Aziraphale casually admit his true feelings. After so many years of needing to obfuscate as a matter of life and death, one might assume the habit would be difficult to break. But it was as though a bottle had been uncorked, and now Aziraphale’s feelings for him flowed freely.
Aziraphale tipped his head to bump against Crowley’s, which was now nestled against the angel’s shoulder. “You can lie down if you’d like.”
“Well, if you insist.”
Napping in the snug while Aziraphale read had not been on Crowley’s agenda, but then he didn’t have an agenda. He would never need an agenda again, he would never need to follow anyone’s orders or do things he didn’t want to do. Now they were all about going with the flow, feeling out what the day might hold for them. And as it turned out, today held a cozy moment in the coziest room in their house. Aziraphale began stroking Crowley’s hair, and in a few short minutes Crowley felt himself drifting off to sleep.
*
There was fire everywhere he looked, and he couldn’t find Crowley. All around him, angels and demons were locked in combat, and he couldn’t find Crowley. Suddenly he heard a pained cry ring out amongst the clamor and clangor. The crowd seemed to part to give him a clear view of Crowley, kneeling on the ground and clutching his head. In an instant Aziraphale was by his side, trying to ask him if he was all right. But it was too loud, everything was too much, and Crowley was sinking down into a heap as his wings began to burn.
Aziraphale woke with a gasp, his head all muddled from the images of their last battle. As he came back to himself he noticed that someone was shushing him, touching him gently.
“It’s all right,” said Crowley. “It was only a dream, just breathe.”
Aziraphale did his best to comply, and the panic slowly loosened its grip on his chest. He turned onto his side, curling into Crowley, who instantly wrapped his arms around him. Aziraphale pressed his face into Crowley's chest, taking deep breaths of him, reminding himself that Crowley was alive and well. Crowley rubbed his back gently, murmuring to him.
Eventually Aziraphale turned away from Crowley’s chest to peer around the room. “It’s not morning.”
“Not even close,” said Crowley.
Aziraphale groaned. “You're telling me that humans regularly sleep through the entire night?”
“Most of ‘em,” said Crowley. “Who cares, eh? You don’t need sleep. It can be a recreational thing, that’s fine.”
“Yes, I know.”
It was true, Aziraphale had no reason to even attempt sleep. He’d spent most of his long existence eschewing it entirely and never feeling the need to try it out. But lying next to Crowley night after night made him rather curious about what sleep was like. And one night he’d been watching the gentle rise and fall of Crowley’s chest and felt his own eyes drooping, and he’d simply fallen asleep. At first it was nice, before the nightmares began. Crowley said they didn’t happen every time, at least not for him, but they’d been rather more reliable for Aziraphale.
“Cocoa?”
Aziraphale smiled. “That would be lovely.”
Crowley was always so gentle with him when the nightmares came to call. It made his chest hurt a bit, but in a nice way. He leapt off the bed to fetch Aziraphale’s dressing gown, a fluffy, pale blue number that was the exact opposite of Crowley’s slinky black silk robe. Crowley bundled him into it, slipped on his own, and led the way down to the kitchen.
“Shall I make it?” he asked, flipping on the lights.
“No,” said Aziraphale. “I’d like to, if that’s all right.”
They’d been here before. The first time, Aziraphale had let Crowley make the cocoa. Though it had tasted just fine, Aziraphale had been incredibly stressed while watching him make it. The next time he asked to make it himself and found that following the steps forced him to slow down and fully emerge from the dream. By the time they each had a mug of cocoa, he couldn’t even recall the images that had plagued him.
Aziraphale began by gathering the ingredients -- milk, a block of chocolate, sugar, and vanilla. Sometimes he stole a small scoop of Crowley’s espresso powder to add an extra little something, but that didn’t feel appropriate in the middle of the night. He warmed the milk, chopped up chocolate to add in, and finished it with the sugar and vanilla. He moved deliberately, focusing on the recipe he knew like the back of his own hand, forcing his mind not to wander. It worked as it always did, like some sort of earthly miracle.
“That did the trick,” he said, handing Crowley his mug.
Crowley smiled at him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Want to take this back to bed?”
“Oh, yes, let’s be cozy.”
Back in their bedroom, they traded their dressing gowns for the warmth of their thick duvet. It was still the deepest part of night, with rays of moonlight trying to pierce heavy winter clouds. One lamp on Aziraphale’s bedside table provided a warm, golden glow as they sipped their cocoa. Aziraphale, realizing his mistake, waved his hand to bring a packet of digestives up from the kitchen.
“You know,” he said, nibbling a biscuit. “It might be nice to have a fireplace in here as well.”
“Sure,” said Crowley. “Don’t see why not.”
“We could call the contractor tomorrow.” Crowley grimaced. “Might be easier to handle this one ourselves. That contractor was very hung up on square footage and just how many rooms could actually be contained within it.”
Aziraphale smirked at him. “You had an awful lot of fun toying with him, didn’t you?”
“Listen, a demon’s gotta get his kicks somewhere. And I know you canceled out his frustration with good news about something or other.”
“He was worried about his partner losing their job. They got a promotion instead.”
“There you are, then. We’ve always made a good team.”
“We certainly have.”
After the cocoa was gone and biscuit crumbs had been vanished from the bed, Crowley yawned expansively and slowly became more horizontal. Aziraphale followed him, snuggling in close and pulling the duvet up over their shoulders.
“Did you wanna talk about the dream?” said Crowley, voice thick with sleep already.
“There’s no point, it’s always the same nonsense,” said Aziraphale. “Go back to sleep, dear. I don’t think I’ll join you, but I shall be right beside you until morning.”
Crowley hummed happily. “Goodnight. Again.”
Aziraphale kissed his forehead and settled in as Crowley fell back into slumber. Lying there, watching Crowley sleep, Aziraphale’s thoughts strayed back to Christmas gifts. He knew that Crowley wasn’t secretly expecting something in return for being nice to him, for loving him. But gifts were often part of a relationship, a gesture to demonstrate one’s love and appreciation. If only he could find the right thing.
The next day, Aziraphale went into town on his own. Crowley was still funny about lending out the Bentley, but Aziraphale still knew how to employ certain imploring looks. He parked on the high street and strolled up to Chalk Hill Books, a cozy little spot where he’d already become a regular. The owner was rather impressed by his knowledge of antiquarian books, and Aziraphale had given them a list of books to look out for on his behalf.
The little bell on the door tinkled as he stepped inside and the bookseller on duty -- a young mum called Jenny, one of his favorites -- looked up from her book. She beamed when she saw it was him, “Hello, Mr. Fell! Good to see you, as always.”
“Lovely to see you, Jenny. How is your little one?”
“Full of excitement for Christmas, mostly,” said Jenny, exasperated but fond. “I keep telling him it’s weeks away, but he can hardly sleep each night.”
“I do hope he’s not keeping you awake,” said Aziraphale, cheerily. “But I certainly understand his excitement. I’m wondering if you can help me find some children’s books. I took a slip from the wishing tree, and this youngster would like something to read.”
“Say no more,” said Jenny, holding up her hand. “Follow me.”
Ten minutes later, Aziraphale had a tall stack of thin books to consider. He installed himself in a plush chair at the back of the shop and began perusing them. Though he knew something about classic children’s literature, he was quite behind when it came to more recent publications. Amongst all the bright colors and sometimes silly illustrations sat some rather lovely stories. Soon he’d winnowed the stack down to seven books he liked best. He was on his way back to the till when he noticed the cookbook section.
Crowley had been talking recently about trying his hand at cooking. Sometimes they made dinner together, but it was never anything elaborate, and they still ate out most of the time. But Crowley told him he had a bunch of “tabs” on his phone with recipes he’d like to make. That probably meant he didn’t need a cookbook, but perhaps Aziraphale was onto something.
Aziraphale paid for his books and wished Jenny a very happy holiday. Then he strolled up the street to a shop that sold kitchenware and cooking accoutrements. He browsed his way through the whole store, gradually realizing that their kitchen was already fully stocked. It hadn’t exactly come that way, but anything they needed just seemed to appear. So there was no need to buy Crowley a stand mixer, or a pasta machine, or even a whisk. He was standing in the utensils aisle contemplating a ladle when a shop attendant found him.
“Can I help you find anything?” they asked, looking slightly concerned.
“Yes, I have a rather unorthodox question, if you don’t mind,” he said. “If you asked your partner what they wanted for Christmas, and your partner said ‘nothing,’ what would you get them?”
The attendant thought for a moment, and then said, “An expensive cheese knife?”
Aziraphale smiled sadly. “We already have one, I’m afraid.”
As Aziraphale drove home, he resigned himself to reality -- he wouldn’t be able to find the perfect gift for Crowley. He’d tried his best, but it seemed impossible to buy something for the demon who now had everything.
*
There were three days left until Christmas, and a snowstorm had come to call. Aziraphale joked that Adam had sent it for their first Christmas in retirement, and Crowley said he wouldn’t rule it out. As the fluffy white flakes began to pile up outside their sitting room window, Crowley and Aziraphale snuggled up together on the sofa. Aziraphale sat with a book in one hand and Crowley got as close as possible to him without disturbing his reading. The garish red and green jumper Gladys had knitted for Aziraphale was soft against Crowley’s cheek, and the combined warmth of the fire and Aziraphale himself threatened to send Crowley to sleep.
“I wonder how much snow we’ll get,” Aziraphale mused. “It might cause trouble for holiday travel.”
“Mmm,” said Crowley. “Good job we’ve got nowhere to be.”
“Indeed. I’m awfully glad I dropped off my gifts at the vicarage last weekend.”
Crowley hummed his agreement and shut his eyes. The cottage was silent except for the crackling of the wood in the fireplace, the sound of Aziraphale turning pages, and the wind howling outside. It was like one of those ASMR Youtube videos, he thought, only real. And just like that he dropped off, sinking into a pleasant nap.
Well, it started off pleasant enough. Time was weird when you were asleep, so Crowley wasn’t sure how long it took for the nightmare to begin. But soon enough he was on that wretched flaming battlefield that he couldn’t seem to shake. This time, off in the distance, Aziraphale was squaring off with the Metatron with his flaming sword in hand. Crowley’s feet seemed to be glued in place, he couldn’t go to him. All he could do was watch as Aziraphale fought valiantly, only to be knocked down as the Metatron advanced on him.
“Crowley? Crowley, wake up.”
All the cozy sounds of the cottage flooded back in as he opened his eyes, turning to see Aziraphale’s concerned face.
“Huh?” he said, fuzzy with sleep.
“Just a dream, darling,” said Aziraphale. He smoothed damp hair back from Crowley’s forehead. “Are you all right?”
Crowley sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “Yeah, ‘m fine.”
For a moment he just concentrated on breathing and focusing on the reality around him. The dream fell away and he sat up to hug Aziraphale, both arms around his shoulders and face pressed into his neck. Aziraphale wrapped him up in return, holding him close. In their first few months at the cottage, a hug like this would invariably turn Crowley into a weepy mess. Now, instead of panic gripping his chest, he felt a warm sense of relief as he reassured himself that Aziraphale was all right.
“I know, dear,” said Aziraphale. “I know. Would you like to make something for dinner? Why don’t you choose one of your recipes?”
Crowley pulled back from the hug and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, lemme have a look.”
As Crowley started thumbing through his phone, Aziraphale returned to his book but kept a hand on Crowley’s knee. The recipe possibilities were endless, as Crowley had been accruing them for quite a while. When he needed to occupy his mind and didn’t feel much like talking, he turned to his phone. He’d been trying to avoid the usual mindless games and had ended up browsing recipe blogs instead. Some things he saved because they sounded interesting to make, but mostly he saved things he thought Aziraphale would like.
“How ‘bout this?” He held up his phone, which showed a recipe for roasted tomato soup topped with cheesy croutons.
“Oh, my word,” said Aziraphale. He held the edge of the phone gingerly, keeping it steady but not taking it from Crowley. “Oh, that sounds lovely.”
“We might not even have the ingredients.”
“Nonsense, we’ll just miracle in what we need.” Aziraphale patted his knee and shut his book. “Come on, I’ll help you.”
After the first few times he and Aziraphale had cooked together, Crowley couldn’t understand why it felt so special. Eventually he’d realized that it was because he had no frame of reference for it. This was something entirely new to them, so it only belonged to their lives here in the cottage. It felt like an opportunity to start fresh with no associations to their past. In the kitchen, it was all about them being together in this new domestic way.
The soup was fairly simple but required some vegetable prep. Crowley got bored with the tedium of endless chopping, but Aziraphale was happy to have a clear task in front of him. As Crowley assembled everything and got it into the oven, Aziraphale grated the cheese, stealing a fair bit for snacking purposes. Once the prep was done, Aziraphale parked himself on a stool at their kitchen island and watched Crowley flit around.
“You’re very good at this,” said Aziraphale in a tone that conveyed what he might like to do to Crowley after dinner. “Why did you never try it before?”
“When would I have ever had the time?” said Crowley as he transferred the soup from the oven to the hob.
“Well, I don’t know. I got an awful lot of reading done over the years.”
“Yeah, well, I think we had different coping strategies.”
“I suppose you’re right,” said Aziraphale, with a chuckle. “What’s next?”
“Er, melding flavors. At least that’s what the recipe says. Basically boils down to stirring.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Actually, yeah,” said Crowley, pushing two bowls toward him. “Here, coat the bread with this butter. Then we can get it in the oven.”
Aziraphale tossed the cubed sourdough in the butter Crowley had flavored with Italian seasoning. He spread it out on a baking sheet and Crowley spun around just in time to grab it and slide it into the oven. They smiled at each other, pleased with their synchronicity.
The final step had them both sitting on the floor in front of the oven watching the cheesy croutons bubble atop the soup. Aziraphale leaned into Crowley and said, “I can’t wait to eat this masterpiece. Thank you for such a lovely dinner.”
“You helped.”
“Ah, but you were head chef. And you found the recipe.”
Crowley turned to kiss his cheek. “C’mon, I think it’s ready.”
They eschewed the dining table, choosing instead to bring their bowls of soup back to the sofa so they could watch the snow while they ate. Crowley watched Aziraphale take the first bite, his whole body pinging with electricity at the way Aziraphale moaned and smiled to himself. He could watch this beautiful sight openly now, he could let himself enjoy it.
“Absolutely scrumptious,” Aziraphale declared. When Crowley tried the soup, he had to agree.
Aziraphale returned to the kitchen for a second helping of soup, and then for dessert, and Crowley complained loudly each time about losing his warmth. Once he had the biscuit tin and a cup of cocoa, Aziraphale promised to stay put. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s middle and vowed not to let him go for the rest of the evening.
“Our first Christmas together, properly,” said Aziraphale. He was staring out at the snow, cocoa in hand but not yet drunk.
“It’s not, actually,” said Crowley. “We were here last year.”
“Oh.” Aziraphale blinked at him. “Yes, you’re right. I suppose I wouldn’t count that. We were both in quite a state.”
Crowley nodded, feeling a bit sick at the memory of bandages, the sound of stifled crying, and Aziraphale’s faraway gaze. That time was behind them now. He hugged Aziraphale tighter, and Aziraphale dropped a kiss on the top of his head.
“I’d prefer to think of this as our first,” said Aziraphale. “With so many more ahead of us.”
“What did they say at the vicarage?” Crowley asked. “When you arrived with that massive hamper of food?”
Aziraphale chuckled. “They were a bit baffled at first, but then very grateful. That wishing tree is such a lovely idea, but I wish every single needy family could have a feast like that.”
Crowley kissed his cheek. “I know you do.”
“And I…I do wish I could have got you something.”
“Angel, please.”
“No, I mean it.” Aziraphale leaned forward to set his cocoa on the coffee table, beside the biscuit tin. “I tried so hard to find something suitable for you, but nothing seemed right.”
Crowley sat up. “It’s fine, really. This is all I want.”
Aziraphale sighed. “I know, you said that before. But it’s not a proper gift, is it?”
Crowley was touched that Aziraphale wanted to get him something for Christmas. He was sure the angel could picture them sitting right here in front of the fire on Christmas morning as Crowley unwrapped a neat square package. Though he could admit it was a nice image, he couldn’t fill in that hypothetical wrapped box. They could both miracle up any physical thing they might want or need. Crowley’s desires had always been intangible and far too large to fit inside any box. And, against all the odds, he’d obtained those desires.
“Hey,” he said, placing his hands gently on Aziraphale’s shoulders. “I don’t want to make a habit out of being this sentimental, at least not out loud. So please hear me out. I’ve thought about this cottage every single day since I bought it. Sometimes I’d really believe we’d be here someday, but most of the time it was like mourning something I’d never even had.”
“Oh, my dear.”
Aziraphale reached out to touch his face, but Crowley intercepted his hand, holding it in his own. “Please, let me finish. For so long, we couldn’t admit how we felt or that we wanted something like this. Now we’re finally free, for real this time. Waking up with you, driving into town together, cooking dinner -- it all feels special. Every single day we spend here is a gift.”
By the time Crowley finished, Aziraphale was crying. Crowley wiped the tears from his cheeks and Aziraphale leaned in to kiss him.
“I adore you,” he breathed, when they broke the kiss. “I never even dared to dream of something like this, it felt too impossible. You’re right, we don’t need any trinkets or obscure kitchen tools.”
“Or books?” said Crowley, with a cheeky grin.
“Let’s not be silly,” said Aziraphale, with a smirk of his own. “But I’d stop buying them to keep this, to keep you.”
Crowley shook his head. “Nah, no more sacrifices. I think we spent long enough going without things.”
Aziraphale’s face threatened to crumple again, but he took a deep breath and nodded. “You’re right. So if there is ever anything you’d like, even if it’s not Christmas, do let me know. I’d like to give you anything and everything you want, for the rest of time.”
Crowley smiled his way through the urge to cry, feeling that declaration like an arrow to the chest, but somehow in a good way. “You already have.”
Aziraphale kissed him again, a tender but forceful thing, like he was trying to pour all his love into Crowley. Crowley clung to him and held him close even after the kiss had ended. As the snow continued to fall, they snuggled together on the sofa and fell into a blissfully dreamless sleep.
Beautiful
Date: 2024-12-28 12:05 am (UTC)Re: Beautiful
Date: 2025-01-11 06:14 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2024-12-28 10:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2025-01-11 06:15 pm (UTC)Comicgeekery
Date: 2024-12-29 03:54 am (UTC)Re: Comicgeekery
Date: 2025-01-11 06:16 pm (UTC)"...the point isn't how to mold the clay, it's that there's endless clay now" -- this is so brilliant, a perfect way to describe it. <33
(no subject)
Date: 2025-01-03 12:58 am (UTC)I really enjoyed reading all their routines - the gossip in the village, the coffee and hot chocolate, comforting each other from nightmares. A really soft piece.
"He returned to making his coffee, or perhaps launching a satellite into space. " - I snorted.
Very enjoyable to read. Thanks for writing!
(no subject)
Date: 2025-01-11 06:17 pm (UTC)