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The bookshop was uncharacteristically quiet when Crowley walked in—not that Aziraphale’s bookshop was ever what anyone would describe as a “busy,” but even when it was just the angel by himself there was usually something: humming, music, the flipping of pages or shuffling amongst the shelves. Today it was just silent.
“Aziraphale?” Crowley called, gaze sweeping around the room anxiously until it landed on a single piece of paper so white it almost seemed to glow, sitting on the counter.
C,
I’ve gone up to the roof. The door is unlocked, feel free to come up and join me.
XO,
A
Crowley smirked. He hadn’t told Aziraphale he was coming over today, but he supposed he was becoming predictable since they’d made their relationship official. He would be tempted to show the angel he wasn’t as predictable as he seemed to think, but that would mean not seeing him for more than a day and a half, and, frankly, that just wasn’t worth it.
With a shrug he made his way up the stairs and down the hall to the little back stairway that led to the shop’s roof.
“Hey, Angel, got your note, what—whoa!”
Crowley stopped short as he stepped back into the bright summer sun and took in the view before him.
He’d expected to find Aziraphale tending flowers or maybe even a beehive up here, or possibly lying out on a lounge chair with a new, old book. What he was not expecting was to see the angel stripped down to a plain white undershirt, aiming an antique bow and arrow at a large target on the other side of the rooftop.
“Oh!” Aziraphale said cheerfully, loosing the arrow so it buried itself just off-center of the bullseye, and turning to face Crowley with a smile. “Hello, Dear. I didn’t hear you come up.”
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t startle you too much,” the demon said with a glance at the arrow embedded in the target. “Might have ended badly.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Darling,” Aziraphale huffed, stooping to pick up a glass of water and taking a long drink before striding over to peck Crowley on the cheek, as the demon rolled his eyes. “You know my reflexes are better than that.”
Crowley hummed, not entirely convinced but not willing to argue. “So, what’s all this about then?” he asked after returning the kiss.
“Oh, this,” Aziraphale said with a silly grin. “I thought it might be fun to brush up on my archery skills. I spoke with Anathema yesterday and she told me she and Newton were planning on going to the Medieval Festival in Sussex next month and she said we would be welcome to accompany them. They have competitions!”
Crowley felt his lips curl into a cringe.
“You didn’t say yes, did you?” he groaned.
“Well, it would be a bit strange to practice for a competition if I hadn’t said yes, wouldn’t it?”
Crowley groaned. “Wasn’t living through the Middle Ages once bad enough? Why do you want to go relive it camping in a field for a weekend, when you could be doing literally anything else?”
“I think it sounds fun!” Aziraphale said defensively. “Besides, Anathema said she always wanted to see an authentic reenactment, and I could give her commentary on what is accurate or not. Apparently, they have events like this in America but they’re rubbish.”
“Yeah, a bunch of people running around dressed as fairies and steampunk pirates watching two guys who flunked out of theater school try to sword fight in chainmail,” Crowley scoffed. “Saw a commercial for one once… But that’s b’side the point! Just ‘cuz it’s not the American Anachronism Faire doesn’t make it a good time! You should just tell her as someone who lived through it the first time, that historical accuracy is not her friend here.”
Aziraphale sniffed. “I take it you’ll not be accompanying us then?” he said, voice somewhat chillier than it had been only moments before.
“Ngk. Gah-nah-no. No. I can’t do it, Angel. S’not my scene,” Crowley finally said. He hated to disappoint Aziraphale but he had to draw the line somewhere, and it may as well be the Fourteenth Century.
“Fine,” the angel sighed, shouldering his bow. “Shall we get some lunch then?”
Crowley cringed. He could tell Aziraphale wasn’t pleased but he was taking the rejection of the idea remarkable well… he wondered what the catch was.
“Y-yeah, sure,” he said nervously. “Anywhere you want to go.”
The rest of the day was mostly uneventful. Lunch was good but although he seemed to enjoy it, Aziraphale remained somewhat aloof throughout the meal.
He’s just pouting to get you to go to that bloody festival with him and the two crazy humans, he told himself, noting that Newt was probably the only person in the world who should like a medieval weekend since it would give him a reprieve from computers and their persistent hatred of him. You cannot give in to this madness. You need to stand firm.
He tried his best to keep things pleasant and eventually chose to head home from the shop a bit earlier than usual that evening, claiming he was tired.
“Very well, Dear,” Aziraphale said primly. “Sleep well. I imagine I’ll be seeing you soon.”
“Yeah. I’ll stop by when you might have customers,” he said with a chuckle. “Help chase ‘em away.”
Aziraphale gave a small smile. “That would be nice,” he said.
Crowley grimaced but didn’t comment on the word choice.
“Goodnight, Angel,” he said and he quickly made his way out.
-----
Crowley didn’t talk to Aziraphale the next day. He thought it might be wise to give him a little space, but he’d never been able to keep his distance for too long,[1] especially when there was a chance it would make Aziraphale more unhappy with him.
Around noon on the second day, he decided he had to at least test the waters and spent a solid twenty minutes deciding on a good excuse to call.
When he finally worked up the nerve to dial, Aziraphale answered on the second ring.
“A.Z. Fell and Company,” he said primly.
“Hi, Angel,” Crowley said with a shoddy attempt at casualness. “I was just going to swing by the shops and get some plant food, is there anything you need me to grab? I could stop by a little later and drop it off.”
“Oh, um, yes, just let me take a look in the cupboard…”
Crowley heard the angel’s steps move away from the phone and some distant shuffling as he presumably checked his snack stores. Every instinct in his body wanted to laugh about it, but he wouldn’t push his luck. Aziraphale didn’t sound angry with him anymore and he wasn’t about to cock it up.
“Crowley?”
“Yeah, Angel?”
“Yes, if it’s not too much trouble, it seems I’m rather low on cocoa powder. Would you mind picking up a tin if you’re going to be in the area?”
“No problem. I’ll be by in half an hour or so.”
Even after dragging his feet to get out and taking his time in the store Crowley still made it to the bookshop in twenty-five minutes and he cursed the Bentley’s need for speed. He didn’t want to look like he was trying too hard, but he also realized making Aziraphale extra happy would probably be to his advantage.
Deciding it was probably best not to over analyze it any more, he quickly exited the car and strode into the shop.
“Cocoa delivery!” he shouted cheerfully as he walked in. His eyes quickly found Aziraphale and anything else he’d planned to say vanished from his brain in an instant.
The angel was seated in an armchair with one leg crossed over the other at the knee, bouncing his foot slightly as he read an incredibly old-looking book. This would not have been unusual had said legs not been clad in cream-color silk stockings and gold-embellished matching slippers. Stranger still was the long blue and gold, puffy sleeved cloak he was wearing on his upper half, yet somehow Crowley didn’t seem to find that piece half as interesting.
The demon made a strangled sound of confusion just as Aziraphale looked up from his book and smiled at him.
“Oh, thank you, Dear Boy, that was very nice of you. Would you like something to drink?”
Crowley stammered, mind still torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to keep staring intently at the unexpected sight of Aziraphale’s shapely calves so prominently on display in broad daylight.
Aziraphale took a sip from a wine glass on the table next to him and smirked.
“Angel,” the demon finally managed to say clearly. “What are you wearing?”
“Hmm?” Aziraphale hummed curiously. “Oh, yes,” he chuckled. “Well, you see, I was looking through my old things to find something suitable for the festival and I thought I’d try wearing it around for a little while to readjust to the feel of it. What do you think?” He held his arms wide revealing the white and gold embroidered doublet beneath the cloak.
So that’s his game, eh? Crowley thought, puzzle pieces puzzling themselves together in his head at last. Try to sucker me into going to his ridiculous weekend outing by flaunting his legs at me? How much of a pushover does he think I am? You’re onto him now! Just act cool.
“S’nice,” Crowley finally said with a smile. “The color suits you.”
“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, sounding just a touch disappointed as he took another sip of wine.
Score one: Crowley.
“You weren’t wearing that to talk to customers, were you? Crowley asked. He was fairly certain he knew the answer but he had to be sure this madness was just for his benefit.
“Of course not,” Aziraphale scoffed. “I closed the shop so I could go through my closet in peace.”
“Probably for the best,” Crowley said with a nod. “If word got around the weird bookshop owner in Soho was walking around in a doublet and hose, I think you’d end up with more customers than ever.”
Aziraphale chuckled and slowly licked a drop of wine from the corner of his lip, making Crowley’s pulse spike. “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “It’s hardly the most outlandish thing anyone’s ever worn in this neighborhood.”
“Suppose so,” Crowley said with a laugh. “Probably’d still turn heads though.”
“Perhaps,” Aziraphale said, almost slyly. “Oh! Where are my manners? I offered you a drink and forgot all about it. Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll fetch an extra glass?”
Before Crowley could answer, Aziraphale had uncrossed his legs and gotten to his feet.
The tin of cocoa powder clattered to floor, and Crowley was lucky he didn’t follow it.
He had been expecting the puffy, knee length trousers. It came with the territory of the hose and doublet, so he’d at least in theory prepared himself for the view of the angel’s exquisite arse accentuated by shiny gold and white finery and ruffles.
What he wasn’t expecting was the codpiece.
Between his curvaceous thighs the angel was sporting an ornately embroidered—and obviously padded—gold codpiece which stood out several inches from his body, highlighting and enhancing the angel’s already-impressive manhood to an absurd degree.
Crowley made a desperate choking noise and clutched at the nearby counter as he tried to formulate intelligible words through his gaping mouth.
“Are you alright, my dear?” Aziraphale asked innocently.
“Ngk!” Crowley sputtered. “‘ngel… wha-what is that?”
“What?”
Crowley gestured to the angel’s groin with a shaky hand.
“THAT!” he said pointedly, before flicking his serpentine tongue over his lips to be sure he hadn’t started drooling.
Aziraphale tutted. “I would have thought you of all people would remember what a codpiece is, Darling. You’ve never been a stranger to lavish clothing.”
Crowley gulped. “Y-yeah, ‘course I do. I just… I don’t think I ever saw you in anything quite like that before.”[2]
“You may not have been in the country when it was in style,” Aziraphale mused. “You were spending a lot of time in Italy back then.”
“Y-yeah,” Crowley stammered, privately regretting whatever job or whim had made him switch locations all those years ago. “That must be it.”
Aziraphale smiled and threw his hands up casually as if that completely settled the matter, and hurried off towards the kitchen, hose pulling tightly on the muscles of his calves with each step.
Crowley exhaled slowly as Aziraphale left his sight.
Easy does it, Crowley, he told himself. He’s doing this on purpose. He’s trying to make you think you’re missing out on this little show if you don’t go to that—
His inner monologue stopped short as his train of thought crashed headfirst into a horrifying thought.
“Aziraphale?” he called as casually as he could manage. “Did you say you were trying on outfits to wear to that festival?”
“Of course, Dear,” the angel answered happily as he re-entered the room with a glass and a mostly-full bottle of red. “Why else?”
“Y’mean, you plan to wear THAT in front of Other People?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be much of a festival if there weren’t other people, now would it?”
“Yebt—nyha—” Crowley snatched the glass out of Aziraphale’s hand and drained it in a single gulp.
“Yeah but they can see your—” Crowley spit out almost in one word before struggling to finish the thought. “…bits,” he concluded, realizing how lame it sounded even as the word left his mouth.
Aziraphale smirked. “Are you jealous, Crowley?”
“Wha? Me, jealous? Nah. Course not! M’just concerned for you is all. Pretty angel all dressed up in revealing, antique frippery in the midst of a bunch of leering, sinful humans… could be risky. Could get into all sorts of trouble.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I assure you I can handle myself quite capably.”
Crowley hummed thoughtfully. “I know a French executioner and a trio of Nazis in Hell who might say differently,” he quipped.
He knew he was skating on thin ice. He wasn’t even sure why he was saying things at this point, beyond the fact that continued bickering was the only thing distracting him enough to keep him from staring slack-jawed at Aziraphale’s crotch.
Aziraphale sniffed. “Well, let’s hope they’re wrong because obviously I don’t have anyone concerned enough about keeping me out of trouble to bother accompanying me,” he said coolly.
“I knew it!” Crowley shouted with an accusatory point of his finger. “This whole thing has just been one big set-up to tempt me into going to that crazy reenactment with you! Well guess what—”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes, turned and bent at the waist to retrieve the fallen tin of cocoa powder from the floor, arse facing directly at Crowley in the process.
Crowley choked on his words.
“—it bloody worked because there’s no way I’m missing a chance to see you in that all day while a bunch of humans gawk at you!” he spat in defeat before grabbing the wine bottle off the counter and taking a long drag straight from it.
Aziraphale had straightened up by the time he’d finished.
“I’m so glad to hear it, Darling,” Aziraphale said with a smug smile. “I’ll feel so much better with you there.”
Crowley scowled, knowing he’d been utterly bested at what was supposed to be his own game. “Just tell me one thing, Angel,” he sighed.
“Yes, Dear?”
“Did you even need cocoa powder?”
Aziraphale smirked. “Only in the sense that I needed something to have you bring over in order to get you here.”
“Bastard,” Crowley grumbled.
“I love you too, Darling,” Aziraphale chuckled, planting a kiss on Crowley’s cheek.
Crowley grabbed his wrist as he began to pull away.
“Oh, you’re not getting off that easy, you medieval tease!” he growled.
Aziraphale giggled as Crowley pulled him into a much more heated kiss.
Temptation accomplished, the angel thought triumphantly.
[1] though his definition of ‘too long,’ he realized, had shortened dramatically over the years
[2] He was, in fact, certain he hadn’t. There was no way in Heaven, Earth, or Hell he would have ever let this image escape his memory.
