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Monday
Relax, Maggie had told him. Forget about the shop for a week, just enjoy yourself.
Aziraphale was trying to do as his friend had suggested, but relaxing wasn't really a word in his personal lexicon. He was uptight by nature, a worrier to his core, and being in another country was not about to change his basic personality. And there was so much to worry about: had he packed enough clothes, had he packed enough books, would his skin react badly to the sunscreen, had he learnt enough French from his phrase book to get by, where was his passport, what if he forgot the code to the hotel room safe, what if he missed his flight home…
Breathe, he told himself. It's fine.
He paused for a moment, wriggled his toes into the sand, and carried on walking.
The scenery really was worth it. The beach here was all miles of pristine sand, the sea a deep, clear blue that you just didn't get back home. It was sunny, hot enough to enjoy the beach without being oppressive, and Aziraphale had been forced to admit defeat several days ago and strip down to just his swimming shorts when lounging at the sea shore. Add a wide-brimmed sun hat and quite a lot of sunscreen (to which his skin didn't react badly at all) and Aziraphale was ready to lay on a sun lounger and read for hours in the sunshine.
Lunch had called to him eventually, though. The receptionist at his hotel had kindly recommended a little place that apparently did amazing things with crêpes, and a quick look at a map had placed it within walking distance of the beach he was frequenting. So he put his shirt back on, gathered his things, and set off along the beach
He was busy contemplating crêpe toppings, his eyes focusing on the little outcrop of land in the middle distance where his destination lay and not at all on where his feet were.
Really, he was lucky he only fell over the man's bag, and not the man himself.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Aziraphale scrambled awkwardly to his feet and turned to apologise to the stranger's face. "I wasn't looking where — oh!" The rest of his sentence fled the sudden rush of blood to his face.
The man was, well, to put it bluntly, naked. Just…lying there, on his back on a black towel, with every last inch of skin on show.
Aziraphale's first coherent thought, which really took rather longer than it should have, was I hope he's put sunscreen down there.
His second, slightly more sensible one, was stop looking, you pervert.
With considerable effort and certain that his face was as red as the stranger's hair — as the hair all over his body, good Lord — Aziraphale dragged his eyes up to the naked man's face.
This did not actually help in the not making a fool of himself department.
The smirk on the man's face told Aziraphale that he knew exactly what Aziraphale's busy little brain was doing. He propped himself up on a skinny elbow — gosh, he really was all just sharp lines and long limbs, wasn't he? — and slid his sunglasses down his nose to peer at Aziraphale. His eyes were a fascinating shade, somewhere between brown and green, almost yellow, really, and just as amused as the quirked line of his mouth suggested.
"You okay there, mate?"
"Oh, yes, I…" was staring at your cock, did you notice you're naked? "…wasn't looking where I was walking."
"Noticed that, yeah."
"I, er, well…" Aziraphale was usually known to be rather erudite, actually. He doubted he would be able to convince this (naked!) stranger of that today, though.
"Bit lost, are you?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"S'just, you seem a bit…surprised. You know this is a nudist beach, right?"
Oh. Oh. In truth, Aziraphale had seen it on the map, but he'd been so focused on the idea of crêpes, he must have forgotten, must have missed the signs. A quick glance around confirmed that yes, people here did seem to be wearing rather less clothing than even the average beachgoer. "I…didn't realise I'd walked that far, no," he admitted, still blushing like a tomato under the other man's amused gaze.
"You astonish me," the stranger drawled. "Maybe pay a bit more attention to your surroundings in future, yeah? You wouldn't want to trip over anything more…prominent."
Was that…was that a joke? Was the man…flirting? No, surely not. Aziraphale was hardly an expert in the matter, but he was fairly sure he'd just committed a sizable breach of etiquette, at the very least. And speaking of sizable breaches… Stop that. He was lucky the man wasn't…reporting him to the authorities or something. No, he was just being teased, good-naturedly perhaps, but mocked nonetheless. And his stomach was reminding him of how long it had been since the croissants he'd had for breakfast.
"Well. Thank you for the warning. And apologies again." He nodded politely and set off again across the sand, making sure to keep more of an eye on where his feet were going and none whatsoever on the people around him.
Tuesday
Aziraphale nursed his glass of wine and stared blankly out of the window. He hadn't picked this destination for the nightlife — he'd never picked anything for the nightlife, unless it was for a lack of it — and he'd spent most nights so far in his hotel room, reading.
But tonight… He'd been restless since yesterday lunchtime, when he'd nearly tripped over that handsome, naked stranger. He'd barely even tasted his crêpes, and he'd spent half the evening on the phone with Maggie, letting her draw the story from him bit by embarrassing bit. It was nice to be able to laugh at himself, at least, and Maggie was always good at bringing him down from the heights of his anxiety. Still, when he'd set up his sun umbrella today, it had been with several covert glances in the direction of the nudist section of beach, though he'd really been too far away to make out any actual people. He'd ignored the little voice in his head that had suggested perhaps those crêpes deserved a second try, and stayed resolutely where he was.
God, he needed this drink. Drinking alone in a hotel room had seemed rather too pathetic, so he'd ventured downstairs to the bar and found a table overlooking the beach. The first glass had gone down far too easily, but Aziraphale knew himself well enough to not do the same with the second. He was a rather maudlin drunk, without a decent distraction, and this really was neither the time nor the place for that.
"Well, well. Fancy seeing you here. And fully clothed to boot."
Oh. Oh, fuck.
At least the man was no longer naked. Not that it seemed to matter much to Aziraphale's brain cells. Not with how tight those slim black trousers were and how many buttons of that burgundy silk shirt were undone, revealing a smattering of ginger chest hair that Aziraphale knew carried on down under that rather ostentatious snake-head belt, from which Aziraphale had to physically drag his eyes away.
"Anybody sitting here?" the man continued as if Aziraphale were a full participant in this conversation, nodding towards the chair opposite him.
Aziraphale's eyes flickered around the bar. It wasn't particularly busy: there were several free tables and numerous empty chairs. So this man — this devastatingly beautiful, no longer naked man — clearly meant to sit with him.
"Ah. No. Please, be my guest, er..."
"Crowley. Anthony Crowley." A glass of whisky was set on the table between them before Crowley dropped into the seat.
"Aziraphale Fell."
"Nice to properly meet you, Aziraphale." This was accompanied by a wink of one of those strangely coloured eyes, no longer partially hidden by sunglasses.
"Ah. Yes. I do apologise for that, I really wasn't—"
Crowley waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. It's not like it was a hardship, being stared at by a beautiful man."
"Oh!" Aziraphale's face was an inferno. "Ah. Thank you."
"Besides, I think you were more embarrassed than me. Never seen a naked man before?"
"Of course I—"
"I'm joking, Aziraphale. Can't help it. You just go such a pretty shade of pink."
"I…" Aziraphale shook his head, flustered. "I don't know…"
"S'okay. I'm being an arse. You can tell me to piss off, I don't mind."
"I, er, don't think I'll do that, actually. But I just…need to pop to the loo. Would you mind my drink?"
Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale felt those eyes watching him all the way across the bar.
As soon as he was through a door, out of sight and earshot, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Maggie.
"Aziraphale? What's up?"
"He's here!" Aziraphale hissed into the speaker.
"Who? Where? Are you all right?"
Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to remember how to breathe normally. "The man from yesterday. He's at the hotel bar."
"Oh, your naked man friend?" came another voice on the other side of the line. Maggie had apparently put him on speakerphone so that her girlfriend could hear his humiliation as well.
"He's not…he's not my…well, he's certainly not naked anymore!"
"Disappointing," Nina said. "Would you like him to be?"
"Maggie!" Aziraphale wailed, to the sound of smothered giggles. But when Maggie spoke again it was clearer, without the strange echo of the speakerphone.
"Sorry. I don't see how this is a problem, though."
"Well he said…and I…I think he might be flirting with me!"
"So, the attractive man that you spent ninety minutes gushing about last night came up to you at a bar and started flirting?" Maggie clarified. "And you're both staying at the same hotel, in another country, where you'll only be for the next three days?"
"Ah. Yes?"
"Aziraphale. You—"
"Just fuck the guy already!" Nina's distant voice interrupted.
"—Do what she said," Maggie finished. "Seriously."
"But I—"
"Bye, Aziraphale." She hung up.
Aziraphale glared at his phone for a moment, as if it could bring Maggie back and make her give him some slightly more useful advice. But then he sighed, pocketed it, and returned to the bar.
Crowley was still sitting there when Aziraphale approached with a fresh glass of wine and a tumbler of whisky, now sprawled casually across his seat and staring out of the window as if he had no cares in the world. But when Aziraphale cleared his throat, Crowley turned and something in his face relaxed. As if…as if he'd not been sure Aziraphale would come back.
The brief break seemed to have restored Aziraphale's cognitive functions a little, at least, and he managed to form what might have been his first complete sentence of the evening.
"I hope you don't mind; I asked the barman what you were drinking." He slid the tumbler across the table and reclaimed his seat.
"Thanks. You here for long?"
"Just until Saturday morning."
"Pity." Crowley smirked at him over the rim of his glass. "Was hoping I'd have a bit more time to get to know you better."
Aziraphale felt his face burn again. What was wrong with him? He took a too-large sip of his wine and tried to regain his rapidly fleeting control. Flirting. He could do that. It had been a while, but surely it was like…something that you didn't forget how to do.
He put his glass down and tried not to fidget. "What would you like to know?"
Wednesday
Aziraphale woke up late on Wednesday morning with a sore head and a tragically empty bed.
He and Crowley had dragged the evening out into the early hours, talking about their jobs and their friends and their lives in London. As it turned out, Crowley lived not ten minutes away from the bookshop, and they'd laughed about how unlikely it was that they'd met here, at a random hotel in the South of France.
Aziraphale had managed to remember how to flirt, and Crowley's smile had only grown wider as he did so.
But still, when the barman had begun to pointedly clean off the bar, Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to do what Nina had suggested. Not for lack of wanting, certainly, he was practically itching to get his hands on all that skin he'd seen at the beach on Monday.
But, when the time came, the words had stuck in his throat, and he'd merely bidden Crowley goodnight and headed back to his room alone.
Aziraphale hauled himself upright, grabbing his water bottle and downing half of the contents in one go.
In the morning light, last night's caution seemed nothing more than foolishness. He could have been waking up with a beautiful, charming, naked man in his bed. Could have been tempted into staying there for several more hours yet.
Instead, having missed breakfast but feeling too nauseous to care much, Aziraphale dressed and headed down to the hotel pool.
It was cowardice, really. Staying at the pool meant that he wouldn't be tempted to walk along the beach, couldn't just happen across Crowley sprawled nude across his towel like he should have been across Aziraphale's bed. And if he didn't see Crowley, then he wouldn't be forced to admit what a fool he'd been.
It would have been an excellent plan, had Crowley not already been lounging at the side of the pool in what might have been the world's tiniest Speedo.
Aziraphale stopped in his tracks, torn between approaching and fleeing. But then Crowley's face turned towards him, eyes hidden again behind sunglasses, and he waved Aziraphale over.
"Feeling a bit the worse for wear?" Crowley asked as Aziraphale gingerly took a seat next to him, trying not to look too obviously.
"Hmmm." God, that swimsuit left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Not that it needed to, the memory of what was beneath it was permanently burnt into Aziraphale's brain. He shifted slightly, trying to hide the front of his own, rather more modest, swimming shorts.
"Maybe you should go back to bed?" Crowley's tone was innocent enough, but then he raised one eyebrow and peered over the rims of his sunglasses. The way his eyes lingered on Aziraphale's body was not innocent at all.
To hell with it.
"I could," Aziraphale admitted. "But it seems awfully…lonely."
"Yeah?" Crowley's tongue darted out and swept across his lips. Aziraphale badly wanted to chase it with his own. "Want some company?"
Aziraphale hesitated for only a split second. "That would be lovely."
"Mmm," Crowley agreed, getting to his feet. "Just give me a second…"
The garment he drew from his bag and pulled over his head was almost certainly designed for women, and ones considerably shorter than Crowley to boot. The sheer black material came to a halt not even halfway down his thighs, making only the barest concession to the hotel's rules on being covered up in the lobby and corridors.
It was all Aziraphale could do not to reach out and touch. To slide his hands up those lovely long legs and under that scandalously high hemline and…
He shook his head, trying to dispel the thought before he embarrassed himself in public. There would be time enough for that soon; that much at least was clear.
The lobby was busy, a dozen noisy Americans crowded by the reception desk waiting to check out, and they passed through it in silence. The lift, similarly, was disappointingly occupied, and Aziraphale contented himself with several slow drags of his eyes up and down the long, enticing lines of Crowley's body. Crowley's mouth curled up into a smirk, and he slid his sunglasses down his nose to wink at Aziraphale over the top of them before taking them off entirely and slipping them into his bag.
The journey from the lift to his room seemed to take an eternity. Several of the housekeeping staff had the temerity to be having a conversation in the corridor and, although he knew they couldn't care less, it was impossible not to feel like he and Crowley were doing something wickedly illicit as they hurried towards his door.
This did not help the growing situation in his shorts.
Crowley's hands found Aziraphale's hips as he fumbled with the key card, thumbs skimming lightly over his lower back, and Aziraphale couldn't hold back the whimper that escaped him. Crowley's laugh was little more than a puff of breath, startlingly close to Aziraphale's ear.
He opened the door, somehow, let Crowley push him over the threshold and maintained just enough presence of mind to move the 'Do Not Disturb' sign to the outside handle before he was shoved bodily against the closing door. Somewhere, twin thumps indicated that they'd both dropped their beach bags with little regard for the contents.
"Who knew," Crowley growled in his ear, pressing himself against Aziraphale's back, "that there were so many people in this damned hotel?"
"Shocking," Aziraphale agreed breathlessly, squirming against the press of Crowley's body, desperate to get his eyes and hands and mouth on it.
Crowley didn't yield. Aziraphale could have broken free if he'd really wanted to, that was clear, but this was much more fun.
"Y'know, when you nearly fell over me the other day, the sun was behind you and for a second I thought you looked like an angel." Crowley's teeth scraped gently over the shell of his ear. "But you're really not, are you? Fucking gagging for it."
"In my defence, I had a rather full-on view of what I could be gagging for."
"Nnnngh." It took only a second for Crowley to spin him around, press him back against the door and push their mouths together. Aziraphale kissed back hungrily, hands finding the mesh of Crowley's cover-up and using it to pull Crowley even closer.
This close, the firm line of Crowley's erection pressed deliciously hot against Aziraphale's thigh, and Aziraphale gave in to his earlier impulse, dragging his hands up that inviting expanse of thigh until he could hook his thumbs over the waistband of those rather inadequate Speedos and gently ease them down.
"Fuck." Crowley's mouth slid away from his, pressed desperately against his cheek, his jaw, his neck. "Want you. Have you got any lube? Condoms?"
"I'm afraid not." Aziraphale trailed his fingers back up under the barely-there fabric, wrapped them loosely around the heavy weight of Crowley's cock, stroking it slowly. "I wasn't exactly planning on bringing anybody back to my room." All that worrying about packing, and he'd never once considered this scenario. How very remiss of him.
Still, there was plenty they could do. Crowley's grip on him had eased, and it was simple enough for Aziraphale to get to his knees, crammed between Crowley and the door.
It probably wasn't soundproof. Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to care.
"May I?" he asked, looking up imploringly as he lifted the cover-up until it covered nothing useful at all, and thumbed over the dripping head of Crowley cock. His own throbbed in the confines of his swimming shorts as Crowley's hand dropped into his hair and gave a light tug.
"Fuck. Yes. Please."
Aziraphale stuck his tongue out, followed the line his thumb had traced out, lapping up beads of precome and moaning at the bitter-salt taste of it. God, he'd missed this. He didn't mind being single, was perfectly happy with his own company, but there was no good substitute for the silken slide of hot skin across his tongue, the stretch of his lips around swollen flesh as he took the flared head fully into his mouth, the slow pool that formed on his tongue.
"Jesus Christ, that's hot," Crowley groaned, making little abortive thrusts with his hips and tightening his fingers in Aziraphale's hair. "No no no, don't close your eyes, look at me…that's it, angel. God, you're fucking perfect. Knew you would be but…aaahhh." Despite his command, Crowley's own eyes squeezed close for a moment before finding Aziraphale's again. "Thought about you…all last night. Cursed myself for missing my chance. Fuck, your mouth."
Aziraphale moaned around his mouthful, pulling Crowley forward until the head of his cock filled Aziraphale's throat. Swallowed and choked around it and pulled back, working Crowley with his hand instead as he dragged in a heaving breath.
"There's no…need to…be gentle with me," he panted. "I can take…however much you give me."
"Ngk." Crowley's hand tightened, yanking Aziraphale's head back. "You mean that?"
"Please…"
"Shit." Crowley's cock pushed between his lips again and Aziraphale relaxed and let it slide in. "Fuck, I'm not going to last like this, y'know? Gonna come in that pretty little mouth of yours. Yeah?"
Aziraphale whimpered in assent as Crowley picked up the pace and fucked into his throat. Lord, he couldn't remember wanting anything more. He felt perilously close to the edge himself, his whole body hot and tight, though he was still dressed and his own cock lay neglected between his legs. He reached for it, desperate, but Crowley tugged hard on his hair.
"Nonono. I can see how hard you are, angel, but I'll return the favour, I promise. Want to… Just keep your hands to yourself while I…" Crowley cut himself off with a hiss, his hips stuttering as he came down Aziraphale's throat.
Aziraphale let Crowley's cock slide slowly from his mouth, giving them both a moment to recover themselves. He grasped the hem of Crowley's cover-up and brought it with him as he got to his feet, pulling it over Crowley's head and tossing it onto the floor, leaving him just as bare as he'd been that day on the beach.
"Not fair," Crowley complained, orgasm-drunk fingers fumbling ineffectually with the buttons of Aziraphale's shirt. "This. Off."
Aziraphale felt himself blushing again, his earlier confidence draining away now that he was the centre of attention. "If…if you're sure. I'm—"
"If the next bit of that sentence isn't 'the hottest thing on two legs' then I'm not interested in hearing it," Crowley cut in, finally undoing the topmost button with a small triumphant noise. The rest followed with slightly less trouble, until the shirt joined its counterpart on the floor.
"Ngh." Crowley ran his thumbs over Aziraphale's nipples, stole the whimper that escaped from his mouth with another kiss. He dropped his hands to the waistband of Aziraphale's shorts. "These too?"
Aziraphale nodded, incapable of words. Slowly, reverently, Crowley peeled the fabric away.
"On the bed?" he whispered, and Aziraphale let himself be gently manhandled in that direction, pressed into the mattress by the weight of Crowley's body.
Time turned slow and syrupy, indulgent, all wandering hands and exploring lips; soft, freckled skin under his palms and heavy breaths in his ear. And then — oh, glory of glories! — Crowley's hands parting his thighs, Crowley's hot, wet mouth surrounding him, the scarlet strands of Crowley's hair between his fingers…
If the housekeeping staff had had any doubts about what was going on in Aziraphale's room, the wail he let out as he spilled into Crowley's mouth must have assuaged them.
Crowley crawled back up the bed, pressing his mouth against every inch of skin he could on his way up, eventually pulling Aziraphale into a tangled embrace.
"Sleep now, angel," he murmured and Aziraphale, exhausted, let himself drift away.
Thursday
"Angel? You awake?"
Aziraphale wasn't, but the sound of Crowley’s voice and, importantly, the tempting smell of pastry and coffee that wafted through the room persuaded him to open one eye.
"I could be tempted to be, given sufficient reward."
"I brought you some breakfast. Croissants, pain au chocolat…"
"Temptation accomplished." Aziraphale wiggled his way upright, taking in the rather delightful view of Crowley and French pastries.
It still didn't seem real. They'd spent the whole of the day before together: waking from their nap still tangled together and much refreshed, finding a lazy climax in the embrace of their joined hands before heading out for a lunch so late it was practically dinner; sharing a rather nice bottle of wine in the hotel bar before heading, giggling, back to Aziraphale's room for another round.
If Aziraphale had woken up five minutes earlier, he might have thought it all a rather pleasant dream. But Crowley was undoubtedly here, stripping off his t-shirt and climbing onto the bed beside him, the little bag of pastries in hand. Aziraphale wasn't sure which was the greater temptation.
"You're up early," he commented, accepting a proffered pain au chocolat and taking a bite, causing a small shower of flaky pastry. "Ooohhh, that's good."
"Ngk." Crowley's blush spread enticingly quite a way down his bare chest. Interesting. Aziraphale took another bite of his pastry, although it was no longer the thing he was hungry for. "Er. I also went for a bit of a walk, found a shop selling…well…" He leant over to pick up another, larger bag from the foot of the bed.
Aziraphale peered inside. "Ah. Yes."
"No pressure or anything, I just thought…"
"A splendid idea. Might I have time to finish this rather delicious pastry first?" Aziraphale sucked a few stray flakes from his chocolate stained fingers in emphasis.
Crowley growled at him, already shimmying out of his trousers. "No guarantees."
"Pity." Aziraphale took another bite. "Mmmm."
"Fucking tease."
"I think you'll find you brought this on yourself, darling." The remains of the pain au chocolat were hastily dropped back into the bag and set aside as Crowley pushed the covers away and settled himself between Aziraphale's spread thighs. "Oh, dear, what a mess…"
"Nothing compared to the mess I'm going to make of you," Crowley murmured, leaning forward to take Aziraphale's sticky fingertips into his mouth. Aziraphale groaned as the warm undercurrent of arousal suddenly flared hot and bright in his belly.
"Crowley… I need…"
Crowley hummed in agreement, pulling off Aziraphale's fingers with a shockingly obscene sound.
"Yeah? Tell me what you need, angel."
"Need you to kiss me," Aziraphale pleaded, to the instant reward of Crowley's mouth on his, Crowley's body pressing him into the mattress. Wonderful, glorious, but nowhere near enough. "Need… Oh, God…"
"This?"
Aziraphale hadn't even noticed Crowley getting the bottle out of the bag, but the fingers that pressed, butterfly-light, against his entrance were slick and slightly cool.
"Please."
Crowley seemed determined to tease: revenge, perhaps, for Aziraphale's earlier little game with the pain au chocolat. His fingers pressed and stroked but never quite pushed inside; his mouth trailed hotly across Aziraphale's collarbones but skirted just shy of his nipples. Aziraphale whined and whimpered, tangled his hand in Crowley's hair to try and direct his mouth, tried to push himself down onto Crowley's fingers; but Crowley was merciless.
"God, you look good like this," Crowley whispered in his ear, punctuating his words with a sharp nip. "All desperate and begging for me…"
"I'd look better stuffed full of you," Aziraphale gasped in reply, tipping his head back to give Crowley more access to his neck. "Please…"
"You know what? I think you're right." The breach was sudden, almost burning, two fingers stretching him open wonderfully. "Oh, yeah…"
It still wasn't enough. Crowley fucked his fingers in and out almost leisurely, watching Aziraphale's face, smirking every time he let out another desperate, wanton noise. Aziraphale pulled him into another kiss, uncoordinated and messy and still tasting slightly of chocolate and coffee.
"More," he demanded, reaching between them to find Crowley's cock, rock hard and leaking onto Aziraphale's belly. "Fuck me."
"Didn't realise angels had such dirty little mouths," Crowley teased, but he finally withdrew his fingers, hastily applied a condom and lube, and then lined himself up against Aziraphale's waiting hole.
And, oh, it was exquisite. Aziraphale was already hanging by a thread and that slow, inexorable push, the glorious weight and heft and heat of it, the needy little noise that escaped Crowley's mouth as he made room for himself in Aziraphale's body… Aziraphale had long since given up on the religion of his childhood, but the whole experience was close to divine.
He no longer needed to beg. Crowley's restraint seemed to have snapped and he drove into Aziraphale, hard and fast; long, slim fingers gripping into his thighs, pushing them open and up to give himself better access, to find the angle that had Aziraphale cursing and wailing and squeezing…
Aziraphale floated down slowly, Crowley's laboured breathing in his ear.
Crowley had been right: they had made rather a mess.
Friday
"I'm really not sure about this."
"S'fine, angel. You don't have to if you don't want to."
"I know."
"But you're okay if I…"
"Oh, yes. Please. Go ahead."
Aziraphale tried not to look too obviously. Not that Crowley would mind, of course, but there were certain rules of propriety.
They certainly didn't include climbing on top of Crowley and riding him into the sand. So Aziraphale didn't. It would likely not be as pleasant in real life as in his imagination anyway.
"You know you're really fucking obvious, right?" Crowley asked, his tone teasing as he lay back, naked, on his towel.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Aziraphale replied primly, turning to look at the rather less inspiring view of the brilliant blue sea.
"You've not been out in the sun long enough to be that pink, angel."
"You wound me."
"Suuuure."
"Do be quiet will you? I'm trying to read."
Crowley snorted but stopped talking, face turned up to the sky, apparently perfectly relaxed.
Aziraphale, for once, didn't really feel like reading. He cast a furtive look around, but nobody was watching them. It seemed Crowley was right: nobody really cared about what people were, or were not, wearing.
After another few minutes of indecision — and determined looking elsewhere — Aziraphale wriggled out of his swimming shorts and settled back on his towel with his book.
He read a few pages, but found he wasn't really taking anything in. He shot a look at Crowley, who was still lying almost serenely beside him.
Was he asleep? Admittedly, there had been little sleeping going on in Aziraphale's room the last couple of nights but…just falling asleep, nude, in public seemed a stretch too far.
Aziraphale's eyes flickered back, entirely unbidden — Crowley really was lovely — it was rather difficult not to. There was the smattering of freckles across his shoulders, the tight little buds of his nipples peeking out from between the red strands of chest hair…a bruise, livid purple with the edges just beginning to yellow, adorned his inner thigh, only just visible from Aziraphale's perspective. Not that he needed to see it to know the shape of it rather intimately.
At least he no longer had to worry about the safety of Crowley's skin, being fully aware of exactly how much sunscreen he was wearing…
"Ah. Crowley?"
"Mm?"
"What do I do if…?"
Crowley's head lifted slightly, the way his eyes travelled along Aziraphale's body obvious even behind the dark glasses. One corner of his mouth curled upwards as he lay back down.
"Cover it with a towel. Or turn over."
Aziraphale took the latter option, twisting on to his front. His beach towel rubbed roughly against his swelling prick, and his body rolled into it without his consent.
"You're meant to be hiding it, not making it fucking obvious to anybody in a thirty-metre radius," Crowley drawled, amusement colouring his voice. He rolled onto his side, incidentally giving Aziraphale an even better view.
"Sorry. I'm not sure this is for me. I feel rather…exposed."
Crowley hummed appreciatively, peering over his sunglasses so that Aziraphale couldn't possibly miss the lingering look his arse received. "Suits you."
"You're a devil."
"Mmm. Probably."
Aziraphale didn't miss Crowley's smirk as he, too, turned over to lie on his belly.
Saturday
The sun was barely peeping over the horizon as Aziraphale pulled on his shoes — his old, reliable Balmoral boots, not the easy, slip-on beach shoes he'd been wearing for the last week — and cast one last look at the figure sprawled out on the bed, illuminated only by a weak ray of early-morning light that broke through a gap in the curtains.
They'd stayed in Crowley's room last night, partially so that Aziraphale could leave him to sleep, partially so that they wouldn't have to look at the carefully packed suitcase resting by Aziraphale's door.
An early morning flight had seemed like a sensible idea when Aziraphale had reluctantly booked the holiday: he would be back in time for lunch, able to check that no damage had been done to his precious bookshop while he was away, that his assistant, Newt, hadn't sold any of his first editions.
Now, though, it just meant leaving Crowley alone in the bed.
Aziraphale wanted to linger, wanted to wake Crowley up with gentle caresses and maybe a little light suction. But they'd already said their goodbyes, whispered in each other's ears as they fell asleep, pressed into each other's skin. He'd agreed to let Crowley sleep.
They hadn't talked about the future. They might only live minutes from each other, but neither of them had suggested that this might be anything other than a brief holiday fling.
"Goodbye, Crowley," Aziraphale whispered, but the figure in the bed didn't stir.
Sunday
The bookshop was closed, which was how Aziraphale generally preferred it. He wandered between the shelves, running his fingers over the spines and not making the slightest note of the inventory.
It didn't feel as comforting as it once had. He felt a little like a hermit crab, trying to force himself back into a shell he'd outgrown.
You're being ridiculous, he chided himself. All he'd done was go on holiday. Had a little fling.
Fallen completely, irrevocably in love. And let it slip between his fingers.
He didn't know where, exactly, Crowley lived. They hadn't even exchanged telephone numbers. The folly of this was only just fully dawning on him.
Monday
Aziraphale called the shop, told Newt he must have picked something up on the plane home.
Promised to eat some soup and drink plenty of fluids, and assured Newt he'd be right as rain in the morning.
Tuesday
Wednesday
Thursday
He gave Newt the day off.
The young man deserved it. Not only had he worked alone for over a week while Aziraphale was on holiday, not only had he covered for Aziraphale on Monday, but he'd put up with two days of — let's be honest — sulking from his employer.
Maggie had popped in not long after he'd opened, her bright expression fading quickly to concern when she'd seen how despondent he was.
He'd used the excuse of Newt’s absence to avoid being dragged over to Nina's coffee shop and subjected to questioning that would make the Spanish Inquisition look like a play on a swing.
He was wandering the rear shelves, doing something vaguely adjacent to dusting, when the bell over the door tinkled brightly, announcing the arrival of a potential customer.
Bugger.
"I'll be with you in a moment!" he called, forcing a measure of brightness into his voice. "Feel free to browse!"
He heard a few, almost hesitant, footsteps make their way further into the shop.
"I'm not actually much of a book person, if I'm honest."
Aziraphale knew that voice; knew what it felt like whispering ragged in his ear, had been haunted by it in his dreams when he'd managed to get a little sleep.
Still, he couldn't believe it was real. Not until he could confirm it with his eyes.
His feet carried him out from between the shelves. They were apparently more optimistic than the rest of him. His heart beat a fierce tattoo against his ribs, his mouth had gone inexplicably dry and—
Oh.
Crowley was a long, black line against the warm browns and yellows of the bookshop, wearing rather more layers than Aziraphale was used to seeing him in, although admittedly that wasn't very many.
He was real. Gorgeous and enticing and perfect and here in Aziraphale's bookshop.
All the air in Aziraphale's lungs escaped at once. "Crowley."
"Hey Aziraphale."
"How did you…how are you here?"
Crowley shrugged. "Not that many antique bookshops in Soho. And your name's right over the door."
"Ah." It was a wholly inadequate response, but Aziraphale's brain had rather stuttered to a stop.
Crowley's expression, mostly concealed by his sunglasses, fell. "Sorry. I shouldn't've… I can go—"
"No!" Aziraphale took a step forwards, his hand held out in front of him as if to hold Crowley there, despite the fact that there were still several metres between them. "Please, don't. Stay."
Crowley sagged in relief. "I thought you might…might not want me to…"
"Oh, Crowley." Aziraphale launched himself across the bookshop floor, collided with Crowley in the centre. Held him tight and was held in return. "I should have woken you up, should have left my phone number…"
"I should have said something," Crowley said, his voice thick. "Should have told you I was… Fuck, this is too soon and too much and—"
"I love you too."
"Oh, thank fuck." Crowley's shaky laugh ruffled the fine hairs at the nape of Aziraphale's neck. "I came as soon as I could, my suitcase is still in the car, and I'm parked on double yellows. I just didn't want to go home without knowing…without trying."
"Oh, darling." Everything felt lighter, all of a sudden. Aziraphale pressed a kiss against Crowley's cheek and, rather reluctantly, pulled away. "You should probably move that before you get a ticket. And I do have some work to do. Why don't you go home, unpack, get some rest. And pick me up at seven?"
"For what?"
"Whatever you like. We could…have a picnic. Dine at the Ritz."
"Sushi?"
"Perfect."
"It's a date."