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Of Size and other Matters

Chapter 6: The Aftermath

Notes:

And here we are!

Full disclosure: I very much wanted to write another sex scene, because it felt weird only having one smutty chapter considering the event the fic was inspired by. But then the chapter kept on getting longer and longer (as usual - at least it fits the theme?) and it felt too right to conclude the story as it started, with some texting. So this fic ended up with much less smut than intended.

Thank you once again for all the awesome and lovely comments. I'm still floored by them! (And I will be answering them one of these days.)
And also HUGE thanks once more to Mimsynims! Your support and cheer-reading was absolutely invaluable! <333

Chapter Text

Aziraphale wasn't one for sleeping away the day. Cuddling up in bed with a delicious drink, a stack of books, and every intention of not getting up until long past noon, yes, that he very much liked to indulge in every now and again. But sleep tended to be an elusive thing, easily disturbed by his wandering mind or the faintest of noises. And so he tended to take his chances during the night, when the streets outside his window were quiet – as quiet as they ever got in Soho.

It was therefore with a vague sense of disorientation that he woke up in his barely dimmed room to what sounded like the clattering of dishes somewhere in the depth of his flat. He rolled over, his muscles pleasantly sore. The sensation and the memory about what had brought that on made him burrow his face into the pillow.

There was a knock at his bedroom door.

"Sweets, are you feeling alright?"

"Go away," he muttered, too low and muffled for his uninvited visitor to hear.

Uninvited?

Oh, blasted…

The door was opened carefully and Tracy shuffled through, concern plain on her face.

"Are you alright? A bit under the weather? Should I get you anything?"

"Fine. I'm fine." He turned over and rubbed at his eyes, trying to cast away the remnants of sleep. "I merely forgot we meant to meet today." Scooting up to sit against the headboard, he patted down his pyjamas in an attempt to present a somewhat decent picture.

The worried lines on Tracy's face deepened. "You… forgot. Are you sure you're alright?" She stepped closer and sat down right on the edge of the mattress. "You don't look sick. Oh! Was Gabriel very dreadful last night?"

"No- no. He was alright." He drew a hand across his face to banish the last, stubborn traces of bleariness.

"Then what- "

Her eyes widened and Aziraphale, to his horror, felt his cheeks heat up.

"My, my, my," she purred, "isn't that a lovely surprise." Her eyes searched the room. "Is he still here? I'd love to meet him."

"No- what- how," he sputtered. "What are you talking about?"

"Mmm, so a proper round then. More than just a bit of a fumble."

"Marjorie!"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "That good, huh?"

"How did you even guess?"

"Aside from you sleeping past one in the afternoon? Maybe because you forgot about our tea? Or because you look wonderfully relaxed?" Her mouth curled into a pleased smile. He glowered at her, not feeling relaxed in the slightest. "Or," she continued, "it might be because of the very lovely mark on your collarbone. I do know what a fresh one of those looks like." The wink she sent his way was positively salacious.

Refusing to look down at himself or button up his nightshirt, he cursed past Aziraphale for his negligent approach to getting adequately dressed for bed. And for giving Tracy the spare key to his flat.

"So," Tracy was scanning the room once again, eyes sharp as a hawk's, "is he still here?"

Aziraphale's own gaze fell down to where he was wringing his hands. "No, he isn't here. We didn't… We weren't here. We took a hotel room."

"Ohh, kept you up all night, did he? Had to get yourself some proper rest?"

"Something of the sort."

There was a very tangible silence. It settled like lead on his shoulders, threatening to press them down and have him coil in on himself.

"Love, are you alright? Did something happen? Anything you'd like to talk about?"

Bile churned in his stomach. He glanced up to see her face full of barely concealed worry.

"No." He took a deep breath. "No, everything was fine. Wonderful, actually. He was perfect…" He scowled at his lap.

"Then why are you bundled up here with that look on your face?"

Aziraphale's teeth got busy worrying at his bottom lip.

"Aziraphael Zerachiel Fell."

The bite on his lip grew firmer. All too well he could imagine the look on her face were she to know. But at the same time, the wish to confess was increasing by the minute. Why must Tracy always have that effect on him?

"Out with it, what's the matter?"

"I left."

"You left."

"Rather early in the morning."

He could feel Tracy's eyes on him. When she spoke, her voice sounded carefully neutral.

"And was he awake at the time?"

Pursing his lips, he drew his knees up.

"Aziraphale!"

He pressed his palms against his forehead. Maybe, if he looked miserable enough, she would let him get away with not meeting her eyes. He did not want to meet her eyes. Not right now.

"Please tell me you left a note at least, poor form as it is. Or a text message?"

The heels of his hands were digging into his brow. It was quite a pleasant feeling. He sank into the dull contact.

The sigh that was dragging through his bedroom was very, very deep. "Why?"

Maybe if he was focusing enough on the pressure against his face, he could ignore the unnerving feeling of constriction around his ribcage.

"It was just one night anyway," he muttered.

"Is that what you both agreed on?"

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly. His lips even tighter. A hand brushed along his back, unbearably soft and soothing. It came to rest on his shoulder.

"Do you want to know what I think?"

"If I said no, would it change anything?"

Another stretch of silence, heavy with the weight of unsaid words. He sighed. "Have at it then."

"I think you have to ask yourself what you want. I think you should think of last night, and the days before. How it made you feel. Why you thought it best to leave without telling him good morning. Think about what you wanted to happen if there were a good morning. Imagine never talking with him again."

The hand on his shoulder patted him gently.

"I'm going to set the table and get the tea going. And once it's all ready, we have a nice cuppa. And if you want to, we'll talk. About whatever you feel like."

The floor creaked as she stood up. "I leave you for a bit, dear. Have a good think."

 


 

Hello.

Hi

I have come to the realisation that I have conducted myself rather poorly.

Who is this?

Crowley…

Can't be Crowley, that's me. Can't be another Crowley texting me.

I understand if you do not want to converse with me any longer. I do hope that it will be alright for you if I let you know one thing: I do not regret going to that hotel room with you. I have enjoyed our time together immensely.

Nice to know. A bloke might wonder, what with it all.

Yes, it has been brought to my attention that this might be a concern. That you might wonder whether I felt uncomfortable about something we did. Or had regrets after the event. Neither is the case.

Event? That's certainly one way to put it.

Yes, well, you know what I meant.

Obviously

Tbh, that it needed to be brought to your attention surprises me most. Didn't realise that when sneaking out?

I might not have been thinking entirely clearly at the time.

Hm

Yes.

And while I am aware that there might not be much worth in saying so after the fact, I do apologise for my behaviour. It was cowardly.

Most of all it was unnecessary. As is the apology.

I would not say that. I was acting very unfairly towards you.

Not really.

How was I not?

Aziraphale was staring at his question, not sure whether he wanted to receive an answer to it nor what to make of the gnawing sensation in his gut.

No, that wasn't right. He did know precisely what to make of that. 'Think about what you want', Tracy had said. And then, later, 'you have to be honest with yourself'.

Still, for all the things he might want, he should be glad that Crowley did not seem all too bothered by what had transpired. The last thing he wished for was to have brought grievance to him. That was the main goal, wasn't it? To hopefully alleviate some of the doubts or misconceptions Crowley might have carried away from their night.

It was one of the goals…

Look, your apology is appreciated, but you don't owe me one. There weren't any expectations, right? We had a great time. But it isn't like, idk, we planned on breakfast in bed or anything.

I suppose not. Aziraphale typed, the sinking feeling dipping even deeper.

On which you missed out, btw.

On what?

Breakfast. It was really good. Didn't have it in bed but from a very nice buffet. You'd have liked it. The champagne was first-class.

Aziraphale swallowed. He kept his fingers from typing what they really wanted to and opted for neutral instead.

I am glad you enjoyed it.

Yeah, could easily treat myself to that. Only had to pay half of the accommodation rate after all. You didn't have to do that, you know?

It felt only right. It was the least I could do.

If you say so.

His eyes squeezed shut. 'You might have to put yourself out there a little, love' Tracy's words echoed through his mind. 'Sometimes one has to face the risk of rejection. It might have to be you this time'.

I would have liked that.

Liked what?

Breakfast. Together. In bed or at a table, either would have been acceptable.

Aziraphale was staring at the corner of the suddenly too-bright screen, waiting for the notification of Crowley typing to pop up. Seconds ticked away that felt like minutes but no answer was forthcoming. He took a fortifying breath.

I would still like that. In case you would as well.

Breakfast in bed?

His exhale escaped him in a sort of wheeze.

Or at a table. It does not have to be breakfast either.

Another trip to the tea room?

Aziraphale tried to steel himself.

I was thinking about my shop. If you are interested in seeing it.

There was another long pause. Aziraphale was twiddling with seams of his waistcoat. When the notification chimed, he wiped his damp hands on his trousers and unlocked the screen.

You really feel bad about this.

I did not invite you to my home out of bad conscience.

No, you wouldn't. Not your style.

But I've thrown in three abbreviations and you haven't commented on a single one.

Aziraphale scrolled through their conversation and grimaced despite the lightness daring to trickle into his chest at the tone of Crowley's messages.

It did not seem appropriate to comment on that.

As I was saying.

Is that all you are saying? 

Which I would understand entirely, mind you.

No, it isn't.
I'd be happy to see your shop.

 


 

"What are you looking so disgustingly pleased about?"

Crowley glanced up, lips twisted into a grin. D was leaning against the doorpost, eying him with her default haughty expression.

"Not much." Crowley put his phone aside. "Apparition of an angel, that's all."

He studiously kept his eyes on D and off the phone. Aziraphale had invited him to his shop. To his home. To talk. And yes, talking might be a good idea, all things considered. He hadn't been sure whether he would ever hear from Aziraphale again. It had always been a possibility that he wouldn't. That their shared evening that had unexpectantly ended with a shared night had been a singular occurrence.

It was the sort of thing Crowley usually wanted. He had reminded himself of that, when he had been launching in the dining hall of the hotel, sipping champagne and picking at pieces of fruit and annoyingly delectable salmon on toast. A bit of fun when the opportunity and an interesting person presented itself. No strings attached. Nothing bearing the potential for him to get tangled up and caught in a constricting web.

Nevertheless, he would have liked to keep on chatting with Aziraphale, even if it had been a one-time thing. Not that he had hoped for staying in contact, certainly not, that would have been presumptuous. It would just have been nice. Fun. But the not-hope of maybe gaining something like a friend from their little adventure had gone sneaking right out of the quiet hotel on that very same morning.

And now here Aziraphale was, texting him.

"Angels?" D's voice tore him from his ruminations. "They seem to be going around."

That had him frown. "What do you mean?"

"Ever heard of someone called Gabriel Fell?"

His eyebrows jumped towards his hairline and he leaned back into his chair. "What does he want?"

"You know him?"

"Casually. So?"

"What he wants? You tell me. Sent an e-mail earlier, making vague noises about an exceptionally lucrative commission, as he put it. Wants your full dossier before he tells us more. Credentials, references, personal and professional background – the whole lot."

"Does he now?" Crowley's smirked, relishing the sweet thrill of triumph.

"I hate it when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Being smug when I have no bloody clue what batshit assignment you're about to saddle us with." D crossed her arms in front of her chest and glowered at him.

"We won't be getting an assignment out of this, but send him a dossier anyway. Better if it comes from you than me. Abridged version number three."

This time it was D's eyebrows that climbed all the way up her forehead. She whistled lowly. "The posh one… Who the hell is this guy? The archangel fucking Gabriel himself? Why are you out to impress him?"

"Oh, it's not to impress him. Just having a bit of fun."

A huge grin settling comfortably on his face, Crowley logged in on his computer to check some e-mails, ignoring D's grumble that she was not his bloody secretary.

 


 

Aziraphale was dithering about his shop, there really was no other way to describe it. He had just relocated a very creatively shaped vase from the small table beside the reading nook to one of the mahogany sideboards, only to hate the sight of it there and return it to its original place. The stack of paintings leaning against the wall right beside it probably looked rather sloppy, but he forced himself into leaving it there.

A bit of dusting and collecting the random used mug was all he had allowed himself. This was how his shop was, this was how it felt right, and so he forced himself not to alter a thing. No tidying nor reorganisation of his cornucopia of little treasures. Genuine antiques, most of them. With a few whimsical trifles strewn in-between, were they charming enough or promised to be an easy decoy for the more bothersome customers.

The items stood and lay in a clutter that he knew appeared random, yet to him each of them felt  precisely at the place it belonged to.

Shoddy, some of his less than polite acquaintances had called it, or a mess. He fretted as he glanced across his space. Maybe he should have cleaned up a bit after all. Then again, this was what his invitation was supposed to be about, wasn't it?

He strolled over to the reading nook where a small, beautifully carved table was prepared for tea.

This might have been the most grievous mistake of it all. The only person he ever had tea with right here, in the heart of his shop, was Tracy. But before he could sink into a spiral of wondering whether there was enough time to set up the spread into the backroom instead, the bell rang.

He forced his shoulders back, brushed along his waistcoat, and went to open the door.

His breath caught at the sight of Crowley. Back in black jeans and a loose black shirt, sunglasses on his nose and a non-committal twist to his mouth. Not for the first time he wondered whether the man knew what fetching an image he could strike. Going by what he had learnt of him, Aziraphale was rather sure he did.

"Please, do come in." He took a hasty few steps back, gesturing with his arm. "No coat?"

"Nah, left it in the car."

Aziraphale briefly wondered where he might have found a parking space that close by, but the thought got derailed by Crowley removing his glasses and looking about the shop.

Hands clasped tightly, he stood still while Crowley wandered through the room. Aziraphale couldn't see his face but noticed the tilt of his head every now and again when something seemed to catch his attention. After what felt like forever but was probably only a few minutes, Crowley turned towards him, a small smile clear on his lips.

"Some very beautiful things you got here." The breath Aziraphale hadn't been aware he was holding left him. "So, how many of them are actually tosh and you're hoping to fob them off on rude, rich tourists?" And the breath was right back, puffing up his chest. All righteous indignation, of course. And maybe a dash of that unique sort of excitement he felt whenever he got to exchange wit and words with Crowley.

"I only carry items of exceptional craftsmanship and worth, I'll have you know."

"Uh huh." Crowley fished a ring out of a delicate malachite bowl and held it up into the trickle of light that was falling in through the street-dusted window. It sparkled almost painfully.

The malachite bowl was indeed a marvellous piece of art. The bauble however…

Aziraphale marched up to Crowley and plucked it from his fingers.

"A treasured family heirloom," he insisted, eyes on the superficial lustre of the ring. "It would be a gem on any discerning lady's or gentleman's hand."

At Crowley's snort, he looked up – and froze. He hadn't intended to get quite that close up into his personal space. The smile was rich with humour now, a good serving of sarcasm added on top.

Aziraphale swallowed and took a step back. "It's from an estate sale that needed to be accepted in full. The furniture was extraordinary, the jewellery however rather gaudy and cheap. Though it does look very pricy to most." He eyed Crowley.

"I know quality when I see it," Crowley said, meeting his gaze evenly.

Aziraphale turned away, the abrupt movement somewhat masked by him carefully placing the ring back into the bowl.

"Is that so? In that case I do hope the quality of the tea will suffice." Once again, he gestured in invitation.

"Oh, this is cosy," Crowley admitted as he settled down, arranging himself in the nook. Aziraphale tried not to stare at the long limbs filling out the secluded space, one broad shoulder resting against where window met wall. At how well he managed to fit right in.

"I'll just get the tea," he muttered. "Or would you like something different to drink?"

"Tea's fine."

"You do have a very nice place here." Crowley said, once the tea was poured and their plates filled with an assortment of tiny sandwiches.

"I'm glad you can see past my flogging of fake goods."

Crowley chuckled with what sounded like genuine humour. It all felt so unfairly easy and lovely that it made something clench inside his chest.

"Talking of things fake, have you heard of your brother?"

Well, that certainly put a damper on the mood. Aziraphale took a sip of his tea.

"Not since the function. Why?"

"Because I have."

Aziraphale sputtered into his cup and coughed. "You have what?"

To his surprise, Crowley looked positively delighted, smirk broad on his face and eyes glittering. "Yep. Got a little e-mail sent to the office address."

"What did he want?"

"Information in the guise of a commission proposal. So I had my accountant send him a dossier. Very proper, very correct, my signature nowhere to be seen. Can't come across as boasting, can I?"

"That boat might have sailed, my dear. You did make quite the impression on him."

"Glad it worked. And now he can chew through ten pages of highly polished business twaddle. Let's see how that agrees with him."

Aziraphale was staring at his cup, fingers rubbing along its handle. The conversation was getting close to what they should be talking about. What he wanted to talk about.

"In any case," he tried, "I am very grateful to you. For your company. Even if Gabriel didn't believe us in the end, my association with you as an unknown entity alone caught him very much on the wrong foot."

"Unknown entity," Crowley murmured, sounding far from displeased. "You do call me the most flattering things."

There was a sudden heat in his cheeks that Aziraphale hoped wasn't too visible. He wanted to call Crowley all sorts of things – had called him some of them already – but it really wouldn't do to be thinking about that right now. Not before they had cleared the air and knew what page either of them was on. And if it was the same.

"Yes, well. To Gabriel you certainly are." He was still fumbling with his cup, not sure how to ease into things. Better to go ahead and take the plunge. "I also did want to apologise again. In person. Even if you don't think it's owed."

Tension was seeping into where there was so much easy companionship just before. He met Crowley's eyes, his fascinating face blank and motionless as if he too was trying to gauge where this might be heading.

After a few beats of uncomfortable silence, Crowley relaxed. "I accept your apology, but really, it's unnecessary. As I said, we hadn't planned on how the night would end."

"Yes. It was still poor behaviour," Aziraphale reiterated, because he needed it said out loud. He felt that Crowley deserved to have him acknowledge it out loud.

Crowley was watching him, eyes sharp and focused on him as if they wanted to dig into his core. It had him suppressing a squirm he was not entirely sure the cause of. There was something in the intensity of that look that was both oddly pleasing and deeply disquieting.

"Right," Crowley said at last and sat up straighter. "Truth time?" Aziraphale could only nod at that. "Okay, for the sake of honesty, I was a bit disappointed."

Aziraphale's cheeks flushed and for the first time ever in regard to Crowley, the heat spreading in them was fuelled by shame. And regret. He lowered his eyes towards the table, to where Crowley's fingers were tapping a mute rhythm in small, barely noticeable movements.

"I was a bit disappointed, but that's on me, not you."

"Oh, but–"

"No." Crowley's voice was firm and decisive. "Neither of us made any promises. We were both free to leave that room whenever and however we wanted. If I was disappointed by how you did, that's my problem."

"I still could have waited until you were awake. Or left a message the very least."

The fingers dancing against the table stilled and Aziraphale looked up. Crowley's face seemed softer somehow.

"That would have been nice. I'd have liked that. But I wouldn't want you to do that just because you felt like you had to. Or out of politeness."

"I wanted to stay. And not because of some sense of obligation." Aziraphale's stare turned back to his hands. "Do you want to know why I left?"

Crowley hummed in a way that sounded encouraging. A wordless invitation.

"I needed space to think. I… I like you, Crowley. I like you a lot. More than I felt I should without knowing what any of this meant. Without knowing what you wanted out of this. How you would react in the morning. And, you see…"

"Easier being the one who leaves and the one left behind?"

"As I said, it was cowardly."

"Maybe, but I can't blame you. 've been there myself."

Aziraphale glanced up, hoping that his eyes showed his gratitude clear enough to be recognised. The sympathetic smile on Crowley's face made him swallow thickly.

"In my defence, rational thinking proved quite the challenge while lying in bed with you. Naked." At that Crowley's smile broke into a smirk. "Oh, you don't have to look that pleased about it!"

"Au contraire. I think I have every right to be pleased."

"Maybe," Aziraphale conceded. A smile of his own was tugging at his mouth. The trepidation that had been clinging to him ever since he had taken up this part of the conversation began to ebb away. "In any case, I'd like to think that I would have sent you a message very soon. Even without Tracy's intervention."

"Tracy?"

"Ah, the friend who started all of this. She had some words with me."

"Regular old matchmaker, isn't she?"

The trepidation reared its head again.

"She thinks I should be cosied up in a proper relationship by now. Whatever she means with that. Married and living together and having a joint account and whatnot, I suppose."

"Relationships..." Crowley grimaced. "Going be honest, haven't really been great at those."

"No?" There was a spark of hope. "Me neither."

"Yeah. Never really worked out. Always ended up a bit too much for people. Or too little. And I like the life I have…"

"As do I." The spark of hope was fluttering. "And the people I tried with, they always wanted change. Of my shop. My habits. Of me. But I like how things are."

The smile on Crowley's face was open and welcoming, as if he understood precisely what Aziraphale was saying. Aziraphale thought of the few attempts he had made at something. Of how they had become strenuous and disappointing and leaving him feeling empty and drained.

He thought of how invigorating and intoxicating it was to talk with Crowley. How it made him feel free and accepted. How he didn't want to imagine losing that. Losing him. He thought of their shared night and how much he would love to do that again, would it ever be on offer.

You might have to put yourself out there, he remembered Tracy's words, and with them the promise he had made to himself.

"But I also like this. I like our talks, I like them a lot. And getting to see you. And, well, I very much liked what we did together that night." The warmth tickling his cheeks grew from a much more pleasant source this time.

Crowley's eyes shone bright and with only a little trace of smugness. "So, are you saying you want to give this a try?"

"Yes," Aziraphale confirmed, not a shred of doubt left in him. "I do. Whatever this is."

"I'm looking forward to figuring it out together," said Crowley, his voice soft enough to almost be gentle. Then his expression sharpened into glee. "Say, angel, do you know when your brother's throwing another party?"

 


 

8 months later

 

That woman is a pest.

Whoever do you mean, darling?

Your friend.

Tracy is your friend as well.

Hah, knew exactly who I've been speaking of, didn't you. Only one of your friends who pretends to be all sweet but is actually a pest.

I made an estimation as to who you WROTE of.

And I count you among my friends. So there is that.

Fair. But I pride myself on being a pest.

I cannot argue with that.

Any particular reason why our dear Tracy has been bothering you?

Sent me a box of stuff as a present.

How nice of her!

There were condoms.

I did rather hope that would be one of the ways we were going to celebrate your birthday.

XXXL ultra

Appropriate, I would say.

She's never going to let that go, is she?

Very likely not. Best just to humour her.

I take it she doesn't know how much you like getting messy?

She does not need to know all my predilections. One is more than enough.

Yeah. Though I do wonder what she'd make of that.

I prefer not to find out.

She also added a very big bottle of lube. Slapped a note on it not to use it all up right away.

I certainly hope so. I would very much like to be present for the application of that lube.

Was a bit of a task though. I was very tempted giving it a trial run.

...
Is there reason for me to worry?

There was a picture in the box too.

A picture?

You're bloody hot in those booty shorts.

SHE SWORE SHE ERASED THAT PHOTOGRAPH!

Mmm... happy birthday to me.

I pledge vengeance.

That's what I hoped to hear. I got a little idea to return the favour.

Good.

When will you be out from work?

About two more hours. Yours or mine? I'll pick up dinner on the way.

I thought I should take care of that. Seeing what day it is.

Nah, I know precisely what I want. Plus you baked a cake.

Did I now?

Yeah. I know you, and the cooking chocolate you tried to hide in the back of the cupboard. You're not that sneaky.

I hope you will like it.

I'll love it.

Meeting at yours would be lovely, by the way.

Going to greet me in nothing but those booty shorts?

Those were not mine. And I do not think I am still that flexible, I am sorry to say. In case you were hoping for an accurate reenactment of the picture.

You're plenty flexible. No complaints about your flexibility from my side, none at all.

How sweet of you to say.

Well, maybe we can figure out a satisfying adaptation of that pose.

I'm sure we can. We usually do.

That we do.

Now hurry up, darling, before I start sending you pictures.

Promises, promises.
See you soon. xx