Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Crowley came to with dirt in his mouth and all down his front, where he was lying prone on ... soil? Not mud, but soil. And his back was perfectly sun-warm, though not as warm as it would be with scales. So not a snake, then, and he still felt the tug of invisible string flowing from his body out into the universe, plus the sublime, gleaming coils binding him ever more tightly to Aziraphale.

Oh. That.

'Fuck!' he said, spitting out the dirt. 'You've done it to me again, haven't you?' That he'd begged for it and would always beg for it only increased his impulse to gripe.

But Aziraphale, off to Crowley's left and cooing congratulations to something about its lovely new leaves and plump fruit -- fruit? -- didn't seem to have heard him.

Normally, at this point in the carnal proceedings, after the neural circuits of Crowley's human form had been overloaded and rebooted, Aziraphale would still be by his side, if not wrapped around him. So Crowley opened one eye to confirm what the drier soil and the hot sun and the scents of green and growth and Aziraphale's conversation with some plant life or other were telling him. Then he began to roll over to further assess the situation.

'Oi! Azirapha--!'

'Not on the peas, Crowley!'

Crowley groaned and hauled himself up on his knees instead. Then he sat back on his heels and laughed and laughed.

All the seedlings and stunted stems had righted themselves and stood proudly in their tidy, if still improperly spaced, rows. There were no aphids to be seen, nor yellowing: leaves everywhere were full and healthy and dancing in the breeze, with a ladybird and a few bees fluttering among them. The carrot tops were as lush as could be; the kale was unfurling into deepest green. There was mature fruit -- fruit! -- in all directions: tomatoes, capsicums, and even the aubergines, which hadn't previously broken through the soil and which should have had months left to grow.

Best of all, for Crowley's temper and for the future of their relationship, there were peas. Big, fresh peapods, bigger and fresher and potentially juicier than the ones he'd purchased. They remained unstaked and too close together, but they were now untangled and trailing neatly down their furrow.

They could sell this, he thought giddily. They'd make a fortune, if they had need of one.²⁴ Though they might need to improve their control first, as next door's trees, over the fence, also appeared to have grown a few feet, and one of them held a suspicious strip of tartan in its topmost branches.

And his own arsehole was still lightly, pleasantly throbbing, in case he'd forgotten how all this had come about.

Aziraphale, who had rushed right over to him, laid a hand on Crowley's forehead as if to check for fever and poked at Crowley's head as if to check from holes.²⁵ 'Are you entirely well, my dear?'

'You haven't broken me yet, angel,' Crowley said, nudging the hand away from his forehead. In truth nearly all of his muscles were sore but that was brilliant and every twinge would serve as a reminder.

'Well you can't blame me for being concerned.'²⁶ Aziraphale bent to drop a kiss on the crown of Crowley's head, and left a hand there when he stood back up; Crowley realised by the audible crunch of his hair that it was coated with the same muck as the rest of him.

'It's breathtaking, my love,' Aziraphale said -- shiny and fizzy, rich and melty, and Crowley didn't resent it at all. 'Is this what you planned? I knew you were up to something, but you were, shall I say, in no condition to converse.'

Crowley felt that remark in his sphincter, and his face felt warm and bright. 'Can't sssay I planned it.' He got to his feet with welcome assistance from Aziraphale, for he was always low on energy for a day or so after that.

'Your tongue is still forked, dearest,' Aziraphale muttered. Crowley fixed it without comment.

'No way to predict an outcome with our miracles, is there?' he said, recalling the three tries it had taken to get the hiding miracle right, or close to right. 'I just figured if we can knock out the mains for the entire village,' which was why, the very day after they'd relocated, they'd had to cancel the service and go with miracled lights and appliances instead, 'and cause a growth spurt in the conservatory,' which was why they no longer indulged there as Crowley didn't particularly like his plants knowing that he was capable of joy, 'we should be able to jump-start your veg.'

'Jump-start? More like winning the race by a mile, I should think.'

Crowley shrugged. There was, indeed, no way to predict.

'Perhaps we're improving,' Aziraphale said, and before a smutty reply he no doubt knew was coming, 'At our miracles. Not at that.'

'Getting better at that, too, if you ask me.'

'I did not ask you.'

Now that he was looking at Aziraphale rather than the garden, Crowley let his eyes wander and found that Aziraphale was in a state: nude from his waist to his grubby sock garters, fully but messily dressed from the waist up, ground-in dirt on his hands, grass-stained knees, the top buttons of his shirt undone and his bowtie among the missing. But Crowley was surely no better, caked in dried mud and sweat and crusty semen and who knew what vegetable matter, with more semen running down his legs.

Oh, yes, buggering was the absolute best. And Aziraphale in a state looked delicious.

Still, he'd reached a conclusion, down there in the mud. 'I ought to have explained it to you,' he said.

'No condition to converse,' Aziraphale reminded him with a squeeze of Crowley's hand and a gentle but too-clever smile. 'Off in the cosmos, I believe. Your own effluvium of l--'

'Don't say it!'

'Very well. I won't say it.' His expression, though, said it very clearly. 'We both know exactly what the word is.'

Crowley grumbled, but it wasn't even half-hearted. It was barely an eighth-hearted. Maybe a sixteenth. 'Before that, angel!' he said. 'I should have asked if you wanted to take part in the miracle!'

'I always take part in that miracle of yours.' Now he was just winding Crowley up, and Crowley played along.

'The veg patch!' He huffed. 'You know I meant the veg patch!'

Aziraphale kept right on winding. 'Oh? Were you talking about the vegetable patch?'

'You're impossible, angel,' Crowley said with another huff.

'I am, aren't I? But if it's about the vegetables,' Aziraphale said, 'Well. It could just have easily resulted in no change whatsoever, with our questionable history of joint miracles. And I had already broken my rule.' Then he gave Crowley a peck on the cheek and, no doubt sensing that Crowley was more than sufficiently wound up and that his emotional circuits had also overloaded and were in need of a reset, he returned to conferring blessings on each individual plant, beginning at the farthest corner.

Crowley took a long breath and gazed up at the cloudless sky. He felt buoyant, maybe even a little incandescent still, though the combination left a bad taste in his mouth. All this! They had done all this, together.

His heart swelled uncomfortably. No, not uncomfortably -- he was going to pretend to be miserable slightly less often -- tranquilly. His heart swelled tranquilly. That left a bad taste in his mouth, too, but he'd get used to it.

Once he'd regained some small amount of equilibrium, he examined the rest of the garden, noting the location of various items of angelic clothing, and went back to studying his overjoyed angel -- so beautiful, so luminous. He couldn't turn away.

Aziraphale eventually noticed him staring and stared back. 'You appear utterly debauched, my dear,' he said.

'If by debauched,' Crowley said, striding towards him, 'you mean filthy and well-fucked.'

'Is that not what I said?' He looked Crowley up and down, then licked his lips. 'I do enjoy admiring my handiwork now and again.'

But when Crowley leaned in for a well-deserved kiss, Aziraphale held him off with a hand to his chest.

'Crowley! You'll stain my waistcoat!'

'Angel,' Crowley said with exaggerated patience and nearly unbearable fondness, 'have you seen what's become of your socks?'

'Oh, no.' Aziraphale dolefully lifted one foot and then the other, a hand on Crowley's elbow for balance. 'My garters, as well!'

He also, apparently, became aware of his half-nakedness, and patted his thighs as if they might be hiding something. 'Oh, no! Where are my--'

'Trousers.' Crowley pointed them out on one of the garden chairs. 'Excellent aim, angel.'

'Oh, for goodness's sake.'

Crowley miracled the mud off his own hands and turned Aziraphale by the shoulders. 'Boot.' One of the pair was on its side by the shed, with no sign of the other. He turned Aziraphale again. 'And up there...'

'Oh, no!' Aziraphale said as he spotted his bowtie. 'However will we get it down from there?'

'Hope for a strong gust of wind, I think,' Crowley said. 'Or hope that our hiding miracle also accidentally extended over the fence.'

'Also?' Aziraphale squinted at the trees. 'Are they taller? Did we do that?'

'Might have done,' Crowley said before trying for that kiss again. This time Aziraphale allowed it and even pulled Crowley closer, and it felt very nice indeed -- sunny and tender and intimate and imbued with that word Crowley did not allow himself to think.²⁷

After some time he gave Aziraphale's perfect cock and just as perfect balls a light squeeze. 'I do wish you'd keep these all the time,' he said. 'Knowing what's hidden away while you paint or cook or chat with the postman adds a special thrill to my days,' and he began fondling rather than squeezing.

'Erm.' Aziraphale blushed as if he hadn't just fucked Crowley into the actual ground. 'I-- Er-- Honestly, dearest. Again?'

'I like to admire my handiwork now and again, too.' Crowley's handiwork was, in fact, swelling under his touch.

Aziraphale squirmed and said, 'Er. Yes. Look.' His gaze darted from Crowley's eyes to his lips. 'If it's easier for you to keep it in your pants when you haven't got hands or pants -- oh, that's nice -- it's easier for me to keep it in my pants when I haven't got it.'

That, Crowley thought, was fair enough. Even so he allowed himself another kiss and a bit of a grope before admitting defeat and putting a few inches between them.

Aziraphale, absurdly, straightened his waistcoat. 'I will,' he said, 'attempt to manifest it slightly more often. Just for you.'

'And I will appreciate it every single time,' Crowley said.

Aziraphale twined their fingers together. 'Now may I ask you for something I want?'

Crowley arched an eyebrow and pointed to his own penis.

'Besides that! And you claim I'm impossible.' Aziraphale's eyes shone, the pupils slightly enlarged even in the bright sun. 'Now will you help me with my vegetables?'

With a laugh Crowley said, 'I am still very much not looking for something to do. But I will be taking over this project with immediate effect and managing it going forward.'

'And your assistance will be well rewarded.'

'I should hope so. But you misunderstand.' Now Crowley was winding Aziraphale up, and Aziraphale played along.

'By all means,' he said, eyes shining even more, 'correct my misunderstanding.'

'I,' Crowley said, 'do not intend to get my hands dirty. I intend to tell you what to do and to lecherously observe you doing it. The honest way.'

'Oh, I shall be sure to make it worth your lechery, my dear.'

Delighted and daring to push his luck, Crowley said, 'Perhaps in your current state of undress? Occasionally?'

'Occasionally.' Aziraphale looked equally delighted. 'On the condition that you occasionally oversee my work from out here, so that when you do feel the need to free it from your pants, I will be immediately available to assist.'

'Oh, I like those conditions.' Crowley decided to push his luck even further. 'Now may I please fix your blessed teacup?'

'Absolutely not! There are limits, Crowley!' But in Aziraphale's smile was a hint that if, say, a teacup were to mysteriously reappear in the cupboard sometime in the future, he might not call Crowley on it. Then the smile softly faded and he said, 'I despised being in our bed without you last night.'

Crowley blinked. His eyes were not burning. 'I despised you being there without me.'

They shared a long, soppy look, and Crowley took the hand that wasn't already entwined with his own.

'But I did have a thought, somewhere around dawn,' he said.

'While you were freezing your knickers off and too stubborn to miracle yourself a blanket?'

'Shh,' Crowley said. 'Listen. You'll like this. I'm curious as to whether Jane Austen was as clever an author as she was a thief.'

Aziraphale tried to hide his delight at this development. 'I wasn't aware snakes could read, my dear,' he said.

Crowley growled, one-sixteenth-heartedly. 'This snake can.' He reconsidered. 'Fuzzily. More or less. It's easier if the letters are moving. But I don't want to read it, angel.'

Aziraphale did not try to hide his disappointment at this development. 'But you said--'

'I thought' -- Crowley dropped a kiss on his cheek. -- 'you might' -- another kiss, on his other cheek -- 'in the evenings perhaps' -- and a lingering kiss, to heighten the suspense, on his lips -- 'wish to read it to me.'

Aziraphale squealed.²⁸

*

²⁴It would, however, require a public display, and perhaps he'd reconsider that idea after they hung their new mirror. ^{^}

²⁵Demons were not at all meant to do what Crowley, with Aziraphale's help, had just done, which was one reason for the poking. Other reasons included the trauma of an angel waiting seven overwrought and increasingly irate hours for his demon to awaken the first time that had happened, the swearing off of sex altogether by said angel, and the trauma of the entire fucking week the angel had held out before being forced, by a truly preposterous barrage of demonic flirtation, to revise his position from 'never again' to 'now please please please, Crowley.' ^{^}

²⁶Crowley didn't. He did, however, blame him for pointing it out. Not enough to comment on it, mind. ^{^}

²⁷In his right mind, at least. He was not responsible for any words that ran through his consciousness, what there was of it, when he was, er. In no condition to converse. ^{^}

²⁸He may or may not also have demanded a second round of reconciliation copulation at once. ^{^}