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Working It Out

Chapter 4

Notes:

This fic is pure romantic drivel at this point. I hope you’re reveling in it as much as I am.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Aziraphale was no expert, but he rather thought that his date with Crowley was going well. Very well, in fact.

Dinner had been amazing, the most delicious meal Aziraphale had ever eaten, and the company he’d been with had been even better. He and Crowley had flirted throughout dinner, their banter light and teasing, their looks long and heated. They’d touched a couple of times during dinner, fingers or knees brushing each other - or even overtly holding hands a couple of times. Every touch was electric and made Aziraphale want more. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of touching Crowley, but he was prepared to try to find that upper limit.

He’d gotten his wish when Crowley took his hand as soon as they finished dinner and went to retrieve the car. Crowley had opened the door for him when the sleek Bentley had pulled up, and had driven very sensibly back to Soho. Aziraphale had considered reaching over and taking his hand while he drove but decided against it. If his touch affected Crowley anywhere near as much as Crowley’s touch affected him, it could be dangerous. So he just kept his hands in his lap and counted the minutes until they were parked and he could touch Crowley again.

Crowley had parked the car near the bookshop, and gotten out in a hurry to open Aziraphale’s door again. Aziraphale had bitten his lip on a smile as he’d taken Crowley’s offered hand and stepped out of the car. Crowley had made his heart nearly fly out of his chest when he’d taken Aziraphale’s hand and kissed the back of it. Aziraphale was wondering more and more if it really was possible to fall in love with someone on the first date. If so, he was well on his way. It wouldn’t take much to tip him over into love, not much at all.

They were walking now, a couple of blocks away from the shop and headed farther out of the way, hand in hand, strolling at a leisurely pace. Aziraphale had been telling Crowley stories of his neighborhood, little anecdotes about people he knew and interacted with. Crowley was an attentive listener, asking the occasional question that let Aziraphale know he was paying attention - and Aziraphale was soaking up all the attention. Nobody ever listened to him when he talked, unless he was giving a brief answer to a question, and the fact that Crowley seemed to actually be enjoying his little monologue about his neighbors - the mind boggled. Was this man perfect?

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said after a story about the proprietor of the coffee shop and his son, who was leaving for Uni. “You must think me a motormouth, the way I run on.”

“Nah. I like hearing you talk. I think you could talk about anything and I’d listen.”

Aziraphale flushed. “Now you’re the one who’s running on.”

“Have you ever considered a career as a voice actor? Someone who narrates books?”

“No, I can’t say that I have…”

“Maybe you should think about it. I bet the books you read would sell a million copies because people would want to hear your voice.”

Aziraphale ducked his head, feeling his cheeks burn. “You’re teasing.”

Crowley squeezed his hand. “I’m not teasing at all. I think you have an utterly lovely voice, and I’d gladly pay to hear you recite the phone directory.”

Aziraphale looked up to find Crowley looking at him, too. The colored, neon lights of Soho reflected off his glasses and cast fascinating shadows on his gorgeous face, making him look somehow more attractive. How was that even possible? Was Crowley just going to grow and grow in beauty and perfection until Aziraphale inconveniently discorporated out of sheer want?

He swallowed hard. “I don’t think I’ll be giving up my shop any time soon, but maybe… maybe sometime, if you’d like, that is, I could… I could read to you?”

The offer was phrased as a question, reflecting Aziraphale’s uncertainty, but Crowley’s face cleared into a brilliant smile. “You’d do that?”

“If you’d like it,” Aziraphale answered, his heart thudding.

“Oh, I’d fucking love that,” Crowley said, his face glowing independently of the neon lights. His thumb traced along the back of Aziraphale’s knuckles. “You know the most exciting thing about hearing that?”

“What’s that, dear?”

“It tells me that you’re willing to see me again.”

Aziraphale melted. “So you want to see me again?”

“God, yes, angel. As much as you’ll let me see you.”

He beamed, happiness radiating through him. “I’d like to keep seeing you, too.”

“Good.” Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s hand and pressed another kiss to it. “Glad to know we’re on the same page.”

“I think we are, yes.”

“That’s fortunate.”

They walked a little while longer, meandering through Soho, and Aziraphale started to wonder about the end of their date. Should he invite Crowley up? He very much wanted to, but was unsure about the etiquette. Would that be inappropriate? Or too forward? He had no idea, honestly.

“What are you thinking about?” Crowley asked, breaking into his thoughts, swinging their joined hands a little.

“Hmm? Oh. Nothing of any consequence.”

One of Crowley’s eyebrows appeared from behind his sunglasses. “I doubt it’s of no consequence,” he said, one corner of his mouth quirked.

“No, really. I was just thinking of what a lovely time I’ve had tonight, and dreading the end of our date.”

“I am, too, but we’ve agreed to see each other again, right?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I’d like to, yes.”

“Then we can have as many more nights like tonight as you want.”

His smile turned teasing and he squeezed Crowley’s hand. “I don’t think we’ll have many nights like tonight. I certainly don’t expect you to bring me flowers or take me to the Ritz every date.”

“I would, though,” Crowley said immediately. “If that’s what made you happy. I would.”

Was it possible to melt into a puddle on the ground but still be a man-shaped being? Aziraphale was somehow doing both at once.

Crowley paused a little and took a deep sniff of the air. “Something smells divine.”

“That would be Anton’s,” Aziraphale explained. “Best bakery in Soho.”

“Can I tempt you into having dessert with me?” Crowley asked with a smile.

Aziraphale raised his free hand in a warding-off gesture. “Oh, no. I really shouldn’t.”

Crowley’s face fell a little. “Why not?”

“I shouldn’t be having all the empty calories. I’ve worked so hard over the last couple of months and made such progress… it would be a shame to undo all of that now.”

Behind the glasses, Crowley’s brow was knitted. “Having a danish or a slice of cake or something like that won’t undo what you’ve done, angel. Not even close.”

“I’ve just done so well. The scales are moving and I feel better --”

“And those are wonderful things. But denying yourself treats is no way to live. And it’s proven to be counterproductive in the long run.”

Oh, how he was tempted. He cast a longing look towards Anton’s.

Crowley shook his hand a little to get his attention. “Have a slice of cake with me. A sweet way to end a sweet evening.”

“You missed your calling, dear. You should have been a professional tempter,” Aziraphale teased.

The red-haired man grinned at that. “C’mon, Aziraphale. Let me buy you dessert, then I’ll walk you home.”

Aziraphale caved. “Oh, alright. We can go to Anton’s - on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You let me pay.”

Crowley gave him that devastating, lopsided grin that made his heart pitter-pat, then kissed the back of his hand. “You’ve got a deal.”

They strode down the pavement a few hundred feet until they arrived at Anton’s. Crowley opened the door without letting go of Aziraphale’s hand, and Aziraphale favored him with a brilliant smile. Fingers still entwined, they made their way up to the counter and ordered - a slice of devil’s food for Aziraphale and plain vanilla for Crowley. Aziraphale paid, then the two men had a seat at one of the many open tables. The bakery was nearly deserted at half nine on a Friday night, and Aziraphale was grateful. It made him feel as if he and Crowley were the only two people in the world, and he very much liked that.

He speared a bite of his cake and ate it, closing his eyes in bliss and moaning a little as the rich chocolate flavor burst across his tongue. Oh, he’d missed this. Perhaps he should establish a - what was it called? - a cheat day. Yes, he might have to do just that. Every other week should be sufficient. Really, though, he knew Crowley was right. As long as he kept working out, he really didn’t need to watch his diet so stringently. He shouldn’t go wild with the sweets and cakes, but a little in moderation would be fine.

He stabbed another bite and brought it to his mouth, again moaning a little. So good. So, so good.

When he opened his eyes, Crowley was shifting a little in his seat, looking almost uncomfortable, but when he caught Aziraphale looking, he gave a smile. Aziraphale smiled back happily.

“S’good, angel?”

“Absolutely heavenly. I’m so glad you tempted me into this.”

Crowley’s grin turned lascivious, and Aziraphale felt his belly clench. “I’ll be happy to tempt you anytime.”

Aziraphale could feel his cheeks flaming. “I hope you will,” he flirted back.

Crowley just grinned and took a bite of his cake.

“So,” Aziraphale said a moment later, “You took me out on this date. I think it’s only fair that you let me take you out next time.”

“When is ‘next time’?”

Aziraphale ducked his head a little. “Whenever you want it to be.”

“Tomorrow?” Crowley asked, his tone hopeful.

“I’m free tomorrow,” Aziraphale answered, his heart racing.

“Well, now you’re not. You have another date.”

He beamed. “Two in one weekend. I’m not sure what I’ll do with myself.”

“I hope you get very used to having dates every weekend night.”

“In addition to our exercise dates during the week?”

“I’m counting on it, angel. And who knows? Maybe I’ll even work up the nerve to ask you out to dinner one weeknight sometime soon.”

Aziraphale grinned, then picked at his cake with his fork. “Well, if you were to gain the courage, I feel sure you’d get the answer you were hoping for.”

Crowley’s smile overtook his whole face. “Good to know.”

They ate their cake quietly for a few moments, both of them with ghosts of smiles on their faces that had nothing to do with their dessert. Aziraphale tried, but he genuinely couldn’t think of the last time he’d been so abundantly happy. He was practically soaking in happiness, joy radiating from him, when the bells on the door to the bakery jingled. Aziraphale looked up instinctively, still smiling, and felt like he had been dunked into a vat of icy water. Every muscle in his body tensed and he felt his smile fade.

Gabriel.

He hadn’t seen his ex often since they broke up - in all honesty, Aziraphale hadn’t left his flat or the shop much since they’d split, reducing the chances for a moment like this. Running into Gabriel always left him feeling poorly about himself, and he invariably found himself in a bit of a funk for a couple of days afterwards. The last time he’d seen Gabriel had been six months ago, and he’d hoped never to run into him again. But it seemed as if those hopes were dashed.

Aziraphale’s mind spun, frantically trying to think of a way to get out of the situation he now found himself in. He didn’t want to look at Gabriel, much less speak to him. And he certainly didn’t want Crowley to meet Gabriel. No, no. Not at all. But how could he get himself and Crowley out without Gabriel noticing him? Oh, what to do, what to do?

Crowley’s expressive face melted into concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Nothing,” he lied.

The red-haired man looked over his shoulder, around the room, then back to Aziraphale. “You were smiling, then you looked like you saw a ghost.”

Aziraphale gave him a forced smile. “It’s nothing, really. I think I’ve just decided I’m quite done. Are you ready to --”

“Aziraphale!”

He flinched when he heard that voice, then closed his eyes in a silent, unheard prayer that maybe he was imagining things.

“Is that you? It is you!”

Aziraphale opened his eyes and gave a weak smile he didn’t feel, not looking at Crowley, afraid to see his reaction. “Yes, it’s me.”

“I almost didn’t recognize you! Have you lost weight?”

“Yes, a bit.”

“Well thank God for small miracles, am I right? Or substantial ones, in this case.”

Aziraphale cringed and looked down at his plate, still not willing to look at Crowley.

Gabriel stopped by the table, as if he had every right to be there, as if he were totally welcome, and smiled like his presence was a wonderful gift he was bestowing on Aziraphale and Crowley. Aziraphale wished fervently that he would just go away, but no such miracle was forthcoming.

“Who’s your friend?”

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, unsure, then offered his hand. “Anthony J. Crowley.”

Gabriel took it, and Aziraphale could see him squeezing harder than he needed to do during the handshake, in the way he always did, attempting to assert dominance. Aziraphale cringed again in embarrassment.

“Gabriel Messenger. Pleased to meet you.”

Crowley’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “Gabriel, huh?”

Gabriel’s grin became even smarmier, if that were possible. “Oh, you’ve heard about me?”

“Aziraphale mentioned you once.”

“Excellent,” Gabriel said, as if supremely confident that anything Aziraphale said would be flattering. Aziraphale wanted to crawl in a hole. “You two are on a date?”

“Yes,” Crowley said, “and we were just leaving, so if you don’t mind--”

Gabriel turned to Aziraphale. “Look at you! You look good. Well, better. Much better, though. The improvement is vast.”

“Er, thank you.”

“You should have seen him before,” Gabriel said in a conspiratorial tone to Crowley.

“I did,” Crowley replied in an icy tone. “He was stunning then, just as he is now.”

Gabriel scoffed, then turned back to Aziraphale. “Although I see that losing weight hasn’t improved your fashion sense. Still dressing like a Victorian dandy, I see.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply (although he had no idea what he was going to say), but Crowley interrupted him. “I happen to like the way he’s dressed, actually.”

Gabriel gave another scoff, but didn’t acknowledge him directly. He just kept directing his words to Aziraphale. “Seems like you’ve figured out the secret, Aziraphale - date a man who doesn’t care if you’re fat and ridiculous. Does he know you’re only mediocre in bed yet?”

Crowley was on his feet in an instant, his hands clenched by his sides. “Apologize.”

Gabriel favored him with a snort. “I’ll do no such thing.”

“Apologize. Now.”

“For what? Speaking the truth?” Gabriel huffed a laugh, giving him an up and down look. “You seem to be a fairly fashionable fellow, barring the sunglasses. I don’t know why you’d be wasting your time with him.”

“Aziraphale is handsome and intelligent and kind and fucking perfect,” Crowley snarled. “But I wouldn’t expect a tosser like you to know his worth. Now, apologize to the man.”

“You must not have been dating very long. You haven’t had time to be embarrassed by what he looks like, it’s still a novelty to you. But eventually, you’ll get tired of having a fat, boring --”

The next thing Aziraphale knew, Gabriel was shouting obscenities, holding his nose. “You punched me! You fucking punched me!”

“Insult him again, you bastard,” Crowley snarled, hand still clenched by his sides.

Aziraphale stared at both of them, his head swinging back and forth like he was at a tennis match, his eyes wide and jaw slack. This couldn’t be real. This had to be an alternate reality. Crowley had punched Gabriel in defense of him!

“I can’t believe you fucking punched me!” Gabriel shouted from behind his hands.

“And I’ll do it again,” Crowley promised. “Ready to apologize now?”

Aziraphale got to his feet unsteadily. “Crowley, dear…”

Crowley didn’t look at him. “If I ever hear of you speaking of Aziraphale like that again, if I ever get the idea that you’re speaking of him like that, I’ll break your nose all over again. Do you understand me? This man is a goddamn angel and I won’t let you treat him this way.”

“I’ll sue you!” Gabriel threatened. “You won’t get away with this!”

“I’m not scared of you. Fuck you, fuck your opinions, and fuck your bullshit bodyshaming. Go to hell.” Crowley held out his hand without looking. “C’mon, angel. Let’s get out of here.”

Aziraphale didn’t hesitate to take his hand and let himself be dragged out of the bakery. In all actuality, he may have floated out of the bakery on a fluffy pink cloud with hearts flying all about his head. He couldn’t be sure.

~*~O~*~

Crowley was seething, in some realm well beyond angry, stomping down the pavement of Soho with Aziraphale holding his hand, following along behind. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so angry. Fuck Gabriel Messenger, fuck him all the way to hell. How dare he talk about Aziraphale like that? The most perfect man Crowley had ever known and fucking Gabriel…

He clenched his teeth, furious. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to get the bastard alone for just five minutes. A punch in the nose would only be the beginning.

No, some hidden, rational part of his brain countered. It wouldn’t, because you’re not like that. This was unlike you.

That was true. He abhorred violence, normally. He’d just seen the way Gabirel’s words were hitting Aziraphale, each insult making the angel’s face fall a little more, and he’d just … acted without thinking.

“Crowley?” came Aziraphale’s voice, and he sounded unsure.

Oh, shit. Crowley had lost his temper and punched a bloke right in front of Aziraphale! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. What had he done? What must Aziraphale think of him now?

Feeling his face drain of all color, he came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the pavement. Aziraphale apparently wasn’t expecting that and bumped into him, but that barely registered. Crowley turned to him with wide eyes, his hand going clammy around Aziraphale’s own soft hand.

“Angel…” he started, unsure what he was going to say. An apology, an excuse. Anything and everything to make this okay.

To his shock, Aziraphale didn’t look angry. He didn’t even look displeased. There was a faint smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

“Yes?”

“That was… I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry…”

“For what, dear?”

“For punching that prick. I’m not… I don’t normally…” he stumbled, looking for the right words.

“Well I should hope not. You’d probably land yourself in all sorts of trouble if you did.”

His eyes were sparkling in the low light and Crowley realized with no small amount of amazement that he was teasing. He wasn’t cross, he was joking. Crowley couldn’t believe it.

“You’re not - you’re not angry?”

“Good heavens, no. If anything, I’m, well, I’m more than a little touched. No one has ever defended me like that, Crowley. Not ever in my long life. You were magnificent.”

Crowley was still stunned, his brain scrambling to make sense of this development. “But I hit him!”

Aziraphale grinned. “Yes, you did. Socked him square on the nose.”

“That’s… that’s completely unacceptable behavior!”

“Well, I suppose so, strictly speaking. But I rather enjoyed it.”

Crowley was still gaping at him, trying to wrap his head around Aziraphale’s reaction - or, rather, nonreaction.

Aziraphale ran his thumb across the back of Crowley’s hand. “I was trying to get your attention to ask if your hand is alright, or if you hurt it when you hit him.”

“My hand,” Crowley repeated dumbly.

“Yes, your hand. That was quite a punch. Would you like to come up when we get back to my flat so you can ice it?”

Crowley shook himself. “No. I mean, yes, I’d like to come up, but my hand is fine. But… you’re really alright with what happened back there?”

“Oh, yes. More than.”

“It’s just that… I don't usually do that. I never do that, in fact. I haven’t hit another human being in anger since I was a bloody teenager.”

“Well, if anyone can push a good man into violence, it would be Gabriel. I’ve wanted to punch him myself, many, many times. I’m actually quite envious of you right now,” Aziraphale teased, knocking his shoulder against Crowley’s.

Teasing again. Crowley couldn't believe it. This man… this man was perfect.

“You’re amazing. Do you know that?”

Aziraphale looked pleased, but a bit shy. “I’m not, not really. You’re the amazing one.”

“No, I mean it. You’re just… I’m so, so glad that you chose my gym to start working out.”

“I am, too, dear.”

Crowley used his free hand to reach up and cup Aziraphale’s cheek, running his thumb across his smooth skin. Aziraphale closed his eyes, smiling softly, and leaned into the touch.

“Thank you,” Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale opened his eyes and looked up at him. “For what, dear?”

Crowley was at a loss. Nothing he could say would be adequate to express the depth of his emotions. But Aziraphale was looking at him expectantly, his eyes shining, his hair lit like a colorful halo, and Crowley was overcome with gratitude.

“I don’t know exactly what for,” he admitted. “I just know that I’m so, so grateful for you, angel. So fucking grateful.”

Aziraphale beamed. “I’m grateful, too.”

Crowley couldn’t wait another second, not one more damn second. He dipped his head and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s plump ones, feeling as if every cell in his body were glowing from the kiss. He kept the kiss light and undemanding, but full of unspoken emotions.

The kiss broke when some teenager rammed into them, then shouted, “Get a room!” Crowley considered shouting something rude back at them, but his mind was a scramble. He gave a distracted glance towards the retreating back of the rude kid, then turned his attention back towards Aziraphale, who was smiling demurely up at him.

“Perhaps the pavement isn’t the best place for this.”

Crowley couldn’t help but smile. “Perhaps not.”

“I think my flat would be better.”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale nodded, his lip between his teeth. “Yes. If you’d like to come up.”

“I’d love to come up, angel. As long as you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Very sure. I have a bottle of white chilling, and we could share it. Then, well, didn’t you promise me some more kissing at the end of our date?”

Crowley felt like he could take flight. “I did indeed.”

“Well, I’d very much like it if you followed through with your promise, please.”

He raised their joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “After you, angel.”

Notes:

Look, guys, I need you to promise me that if you’re ever on a first date and the person you’re with punches the shit out of your ex on said date, you’re not going to invite them in to do the wild thing. Promise me, okay?