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The sun rose over the chalk hills of the South Downs. Spring was well under way. Wildflowers were blooming, the grass was a brilliant green, and birds were busy chirping and foraging. The morning breeze was cool, but by noon the breeze would be gone and the sun would be rather warm.
At the end of the lane, surrounded by empty fields was a lovely cottage. It looked small, but looks are deceptive. It somehow was much larger on the inside. The fieldstone walls contrasted nicely with the dark red door, and it had window boxes overflowing with flowers. A gleaming black classic Bentley was parked beside it. The car had once had grey sides, and had two doors. It was briefly yellow, but now seemed to be settled in black with four doors. It also appeared rather smug.
Behind the cottage stone walls surrounded a large garden. All the beds, from the kitchen garden of herbs and vegetables, to the winding path surrounded by flowers were maintained with precision. All in their place, no plant being pushy or crowding another all nervously striving to look as green and lush as possible. The path went back to an apple tree grove with a bench beside them, overlooking a small pond with a grassy area perfect for picnics.
Aziraphale smiled as he looked out the kitchen window at the orderly garden. He sipped his tea, enjoying the sun shining in. Behind him on the counter were tea cakes cooling. (Minus the one he had sampled. He had to be sure the bake went correctly, and after all he would need his strength for when he finished unpacking)
He poured a fresh cup from his teapot, carefully replacing the tea cozy to keep it warm. The teapot was a classic Brown Betty. The cozy was tartan, of course! He picked up the cup and the saucer, and walked carefully to the stairs. Time to face the dragon, or rather demon, in his den.
Crowley gradually drifted awake. He stretched, then burrowed deeper into the sheets. The bedroom was still dark, but the light shining around the edges of the curtains showed morning was well under way. He listened to the birds chirping and thought about getting up, but he was far too comfortable. It was the angel’s fault, for getting this bed, the soft sheets, even the tartan duvet. He grumbled and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow beside his. He loved the way it smelled.
He was almost asleep again when he heard soft footsteps coming up the stairs. He groaned. So much for peace and quiet. The bedroom door opened, and he heard footsteps come in the room, and someone humming.
“Good Morning!” sang out a cheerful voice.
“Mphf” Crowley burrowed deeper into the sheets.
“Now, is that anyway to greet your beloved husband?” Was the chipper reply. Seriously, he was being obnoxious with all this ‘Sunshine and roses.’ shtick.
“G’way.” Crowley growled. “Y’know morning cheerfulness is the leading cause of husband discorporations.”
He heard a chuckle. “I hardly think that is true.”
The curtains were flung open with a flourish, the rings rattling on the rod and flooding the bedroom with light. The birdsong got louder too, somehow.
“Gah!” Crowley pulled the duvet over his head. Now he understood the argument for the curtains, instead of the blinds he preferred. You can’t fling open blinds. Always with the dramatic gestures, this angel.
“It’s time to get up! You said you wanted to get up early today, to work in the garden before the sun gets too hot.” The voice was almost lilting in its glee.
“I‘m a demon, I lied.” Considering how long they had known each other, why was this even a surprise?
“What is it you told me, oh yes” The cheerful voice made an attempt to sound growly and grumpy. “‘Stay out of the garden! You are spoiling the plants, they will never grow better with you babying them all the time. I’ll be in charge of it.’”
“They know the consequences if they don’t behave. Doesn’t mean I have to get up at such an uncivilized hour. Morning shouldn’t start until noon anyway.”
“I think you would rather just spend the next decade sleeping if you could.” There was a definite pout in those words.
Uh-oh. Crowley wanted to look at him, but if he did, the battle was lost. He couldn't say no to a pouty, sad angel.
“I even made your favorite, lemon tea cakes.”
He had been baking? Well, that interested Crowley, he knew what that meant. He shuffled around a bit and peeked out of the covers with one eye. There, smiling at him was a vision from some renaissance painting. Fluffy white curls gleaming in the morning sun like a halo, mysterious eyes twinkling, and more importantly, sleeves rolled up showing strong forearms and bowtie untied and the top two buttons undone. His Angel.
The vision took a sip from the tea cup in his hand and Crowley watched his throat move with the swallow. He then put the cup and saucer on the bedside table and turned to the window. He leaned forward to look down into the garden which pulled the tan trousers tight against that perfect peach of a derriere. Oh, the bastard! He knew exactly what he was doing!.
“I rather thought after I finish unpacking, I could sit in the garden with you, while you work. Shame not to enjoy this weather and the view.” Aziraphale looked down into the garden, thinking of the lovely view of Crowley in his tight jeans, bending over the flower beds.
“After all, it’s such a nice morning.” Aziraphale smirked as he said it. He knew what reaction that word would bring.
“Nice!” Crowley snarled and flung the covers back. His red hair was in wild disarray, curling around his shoulders. His black sleep shorts and top making a nice contrast to his freckled skin and blazing golden eyes. “It’s not NICE, Angel. Mornings are NOT ‘Nice.’ They are never nice. Nice is a four letter word that should never be used in my presence.” Grumpily he flung himself back down, and pulled the duvet up until only his hair was showing, and waited.
After a moment, he felt someone sitting on the bed, and a soft hand started carding through his hair. He smirked.
“I apologize, but really Crowley, you did ask..eeep!”
Long limbs erupted out of the bedclothes and wrapped around the soft angel, pulling him into the bed. Crowley dug his nose into the soft neck, then started kissing. The sounds coming out of the angel were most satisfying.
Just as things were getting interesting, they heard a sharp rapping.
“Someone’s at the door.” Aziraphale said between gasps.
“Ignore them.” Crowley started working on buttons, kissing each new bit of skin revealed.
The rapping came again.
“It could be important. What if something has gone wrong?” Aziraphale tried to wriggle free, but Crowley was wrapped around him like a boa constrictor.
“No one knows us here, how could it be anything important?”
Now they heard the thuds of a closed hand slamming on their door. “Mr. Fell, it's 9:30, I brought the book.”
“Oh, it’s Mrs. Gladwish, our neighbor. I said I would look at an old book that had been in her family for generations.” Aziraphale scrambled out of the bed and dashed out the door.
Crowley groaned, and threw his head back against the pillow. “This is why I hate mornings and morning people.” He heard Aziraphale’s footsteps, thumping down the stairs.
The angel called out “Coming, just a moment.”
Crowley slid out of bed, and pulled on his black silk dressing gown and sauntered down the stairs.
Aziraphale arrived at the front door, out of breath and flustered. He made a quick attempt to straighten his waistcoat and smooth his hair, then opened the door with a smile.
“Mrs. Gladwish! I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. Do come in.”
The lady on his doorstep looked to be in her 80’s. A hat sat on her short grey hair, she wore a brown tweed suit and sensible walking shoes. She held a package wrapped in brown paper. Her brown eyes examined the disheveled blonde; from the shirt tails pulled out, bowtie dangling from one collar, shirt partially unbuttoned, to the flushed face and wild hair. She smirked, knowingly.
“Did I interrupt anything?”
“Oh, no, not at all.”
“Actually you did.” Crowley drawled, slouching against the wall at the end of the stairs.
Mrs. Gladwish cleared her throat. “I can always come back later, if you have things you need to attend to.” She fought back a laugh at the guilty look on the blonde’s face. He looked like a teenager caught making out on the porch. She risked a glance back at the gangly red head who gave her a fake smile with all his teeth. This was like free entertainment!
“Ahem. Please come this way, my dear lady. Perhaps a cup of tea? Crowley could you…?” He looked hopefully at the tall red head at the stairs.
“Nope.” He said, popping the ‘p’. It seems I am required to ‘Work In The Garden.’ so I better get started.” He turned and stomped up the stairs.
Aziraphale seemed to deflate, closing his eyes and sighing. He then put on a smile, and gestured into the cottage.
“This way, Mrs. Gladwish. Have a seat at the table, and I’ll bring us some tea. Then we can have a look at your book.”
He bustled away into the kitchen, returning shortly with a tray with teapot, cups, sugar and milk, and a plate of tea cakes.
There was silence, while they doctored their cups of tea and selected a tea cake. After a sip, Mrs. Gladwish took a bit of the tea cake. Her eyebrows rose in surprise.
“This is quite good!”
“Oh, thank you, I was a bit worried the lemon was too strong.”
“It’s just right.” She took another sip of tea, then placed the cup back in its saucer. “So you two are still newlyweds?”
Aziraphale choked on his tea. “What?” He sputtered.
“Well, you seem very keen.”
The blonde raised his eyebrows in puzzlement.
“The walls are thin, sound carries.” It was all she could do not to laugh at his expression.
“I deeply apologize if we…I mean if…” He looked down at his tea in embarrassment.
That was it, she couldn’t hold in the laughter. “I’m only having you on. These fieldstone cottages are like medieval forts. The walls are too thick for any sound to carry. Why do you think I had to thump on your door so hard just to get your attention?”
“Oh, I see.” Aziraphale didn’t know quite what to think.
“Of course now you’ve confirmed everything for me.” She took a sip of tea, with an impish grin suddenly looking years younger.
“Mrs. Gladwish! How scandalous!” He tried to look offended, but it really was funny. He couldn't help but laugh, and she laughed with him.
That was when Crowley came downstairs and saw them seated at the table, laughing together, and clearly Aziraphale had given her some of the tea cakes. She was eating HIS tea cakes! He walked by without acknowledging either of them.
When he walked in the kitchen, he saw a steaming mug of coffee, and two tea cakes on a plate. Well, that wasn’t too bad. But he still hated mornings. He took the coffee and plate and went out into the garden. He walked up and down the path, as he drank his coffee and nibbled the cakes. By the time he was finished, his mind was full of the plans for the garden. He set the empty mug and plate down, pulled up a playlist on his phone, and went to get his tools.
Aziraphale sent Mrs. Gladwish off with the news her copy of Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol’ was indeed a first edition in good shape. It was delightful to see it, the color illustrations still very vibrant. He gave her tips for preservation, and got a promise if they ever decided to sell it they would call him first.
Now he could get started on the last few boxes to unpack.
Aziraphale wiped the dust off his hands, that was the last of the books unpacked, finally! He wandered into the kitchen, thinking tea and biscuit thoughts when he heard music from the garden. He stepped outside and spotted Crowley's phone next to an empty plate and mug on the patio table, playing some sort of bebop he didn't recognize. Still, it was rather pleasant.
Where was Crowley? He looked around the garden, no slender demon to be found. As he walked down the path, he saw movement by one of the young apple trees they had planted. Crowley was running his hands over it and muttering. He had dirt on his jeans and his hair was coming out of its tie. The evening sunlight gilded his hair with fire, and he was the most gorgeous thing Aziraphale had ever seen.
Aziraphale sighed, and enjoyed the view for a moment. Wait, was that one of his tartan handkerchiefs hanging out of his back pocket? Cheeky demon! He then realized Crowley hadn’t heard him walk up. He grinned and crept silently closer. In three strides he was behind Crowley, swinging him in his arms.
“Grk.” Crowley said in surprise.
Before he could say anything else, Aziraphale was waltzing down the garden path with him. Crowley was surprised, then delighted, then his angel was dipping him and kissing him, and nothing else mattered in the universe.
There was dancing in the garden forever more.
But not before noon.
