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Chapter Text

The search for the perfect moment, be it for a small or a grand announcement, must inevitably come up fruitless, as Mr Anthony J. Crowley realised in the first week of April, when he tried his hardest to find the right time to inform his family of a rather imminent change to their quiet domesticity.

‘Mr Aziraphale Fell is gracing us with a visit later this afternoon, on his way home from town. He will stay with us for two nights,’ he told his wards one morning at the breakfast table.

Even without looking up from his newspaper, Crowley could tell the sisters were staring at him. He counted down the seconds before either of them would lose her temporary speechlessness.

A double intake of breath cut through the silence. It was Pepper who spoke first.

‘Who on earth is Mr Fell?’ she asked, nearly at the same time as Anathema exclaimed, ‘Today?’

Crowley sighed and lowered his paper right into his toast and jam.

‘Mr Fell is your, er… second cousin once removed? I think? By marriage?’

‘He’s the man who is set to inherit all of this,’ Anathema said sharply, stabbing her butter knife at her sister.

Pepper only rolled her eyes. Crowley had the vague notion that he should be putting an end to this behaviour quite unsuited to young ladies, but a vague notion had never been enough to force him to any sort of action.

‘That’s right,’ he said instead, plucking the sticky newspaper from his plate and gingerly folding it into smaller rectangles. ‘I expect you both to be on your best behaviour.’

Anathema jumped up from the table and slammed both palms down on it, making the egg cups clatter. Crowley sighed.

‘Calm yourself, girl.’

It was the worst thing he could have said.

‘Calm myself? You announce at half past nine in the morning that the man I am set to marry is coming today, and expect me to be perfectly at ease with this?’

‘Set to marry?’ Pepper cut in, looking with increasing confusion between her guardian and her sister.

Crowley waved her off.

‘Don’t pay attention to her, she’s being—’

‘I’m being what exactly?’ Anathema interrupted, her gaze so piercing that Crowley didn’t dare to exercise his God-given authority over her.

In truth, she was being irritatingly accurate with her assessment. Aziraphale Fell was going to inherit Helgate House, should he outlive Crowley, and it would be advantageous for Anathema and Pepper if one of them were to become Mrs Fell.

And while Pepper was, at seventeen, perhaps a little young still to become a bride, Anathema, who was five years older, was very much in her prime, as every meddling matron in the neighbourhood insisted on reminding Crowley.

‘Sit down and eat your egg, it shan’t do any good to anyone if you faint from hunger in front of him.’

‘Yes, because I most certainly would faint in front of our guest at dinnertime if I don’t finish my boiled egg for breakfast.’

Pepper stomped her foot on the floor, and Crowley was glad the housekeeper was not in the breakfast room.

‘How have I never heard of this Mr Fell before? Lord, no-one tells me anything.’

Crowley sighed. He turned to Anathema, who was generally better at such matters, but she had her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised and so the explanation fell to him.

‘The history between the Fells and the Crowleys is complicated, and everyone involved in starting the disagreement between us is long dead.’

‘A feud?’

Pepper’s expression changed immediately from one of disgruntlement to pure excitement. An effect of those dreadful novels she was so fond of, no doubt.

‘I suppose it had been a feud back in the day,’ Crowley conceded. ‘I believe it was your great-grandfather… or his… anyway, your father hated the sight of the Fells, and they very much returned the sentiment.’

‘And you?’

Crowley shrugged. His temperament was much too placid for an emotion as strong as hatred.

Pepper didn’t let up.

‘So what’s changed?’

‘Well, as your sister rightly said, Mr Fell is the legal heir to this estate.’

‘Which he wouldn’t be if you were married with heirs of your own,’ Anathema suggested snidely.

‘Oh, please, who would marry him?’ Pepper said.

Crowley nodded furiously.

‘Exactly, who would marry— wait, no. I’m a very eligible bachelor, I’ll have you know.’

‘Right. I’m sure all the young ladies in London are queuing up to be acquainted with an ill-mannered middle-aged man with two equally unmarried dependants to care for.’

There had been queues, a long time ago. These days, of course, the young ladies that had tried to catch his attentions in the ballrooms of his youth, had long since become mothers themselves, and they had much more worthy targets for their daughters than an ill-tempered man long past his prime.

‘That is not the point,’ Crowley said, in a desperate attempt to regain control of the conversation. ‘The point is… I met him in town the week before last.’

He’d made quite the impression.

‘And you decided to invite him over to our home without even asking us? So he can choose which of us he prefers as a wife?’

‘No, he—’ Crowley threw his hands in the air and ended the sentence in a frustrated groan.

He’d had his reasons for extending the invitation. Reasons he didn’t much feel like sharing with the sisters.

‘I just thought,’ he tried again, ‘that it might be in all of our interests for us to be friendly with him. Cordial. Build new bridges between our families.’

‘Matrimonial ones?’ Anathema probed.

Pepper slammed her teaspoon down on the shell of her soft-boiled egg hard enough to smash it to pieces, which splattered across the table like bird droppings.

‘Is he handsome?’

‘Er. I only saw him twice in London.’

‘That does not answer my question.’

Mr Fell was very handsome indeed. His features were fine, with bright, intelligent eyes and hair the most unusual shade of blond. His posture was good and there was a softness to his figure that complimented it.

‘Yes,’ he conceded, ‘I suppose some would describe him as handsome. He’s certainly, er, well-dressed.’

‘Good,’ Anathema said with a huff. ‘I can hardly be expected to marry an unfashionable man.’

‘Can you stop going on about marriage? He’s… look, he’s just coming for a visit. That is all. If we could all just control our excitement.’

The sisters exchanged a look, and Crowley glowered at his ruined toast, pretending not to notice it.

He made a rather poor show of controlling his own excitement at the prospect of Mr Fell’s visit as he spent the rest of the morning pacing about the house, shouting in turn at the dog, the stable boy, and the candlestick in his study. Pepper and Anathema had shut themselves in the drawing room, reading or embroidering or whatever pastime young ladies enjoyed these days. Most likely gossiping, now that the thought about it.

Mrs Shadwell bustled about the house, preparing it for Mr Fell’s visit. If Crowley had thought Anathema’s reaction a little strong, it was nothing compared to the telling off he had received from the housekeeper when he had broken the news to her.

‘Oh my dear Mr Crowley,’ she said in the tone of voice that had already struck fear into him forty years ago. ‘We’ll do our very best.’

Then he had fled into his study, where he pretended to write letters, scowling at anyone who dared knock on the door.

The originators of the feud between the Crowley and the Fell families had been dead many a decade, and yet, somehow, the rift had remained. The issue of the estate’s entailment had always weighed on Crowley’s conscience, though he was well aware of the fact that there was little he could do about it.

And so he had tried to forget about the existence of Aziraphale Fell. It had been an easy feat while the man had been a boy at university. But now he was most of the way through his twenties and frequented the same clubs and coffee houses as Crowley. He’d even caught the occasional glimpse of him in one ball room or another. But he’d always avoided closer acquaintance. Until that fateful night in an alleyway in London, the shock of running into each other at such an indecent hour and an even more unseemly place.

He’d thought nothing of it, inviting Mr Fell over when he was finally introduced to him formally. If he had, he might have considered the effect such an invitation would indubitably have on his young wards, the expectation that an offer of marriage might be, if not made, then at least prepared on such an occasion.

As it was, he had considered very little beyond Mr Fell’s charming smile, his easy laugh. The closeness he had tasted for a single moment which had kindled an all-consuming yearning for closer acquaintance.

Well, it was too late now to do anything about it. And so, Crowley focused his attentions on the rather difficult matter of avoiding Mrs Shadwell and soothing his own fluttering nerves.

The sun had already turned crimson when Mr Fell finally arrived, his gig pulling up outside Helgate House on creaking wheels. The sisters, who had spent the afternoon lying in wait beside the drawing room window, informed Crowley of the fact before their guest had even the chance to dismount from the driver’s seat.

‘He’s here, he’s actually here!’

‘How does my hair look?’

‘Make haste, Crowley, he’s nearly at the door.’

Pepper pulled Crowley out of his study and into the drawing room, where she shoved him into the armchair by the fire, while Anathema took position at the pianoforte and Pepper arranged herself on the sofa with a novel.

Mr Shadwell knocked and introduced Mr Fell, and then he was there, his black driving gloves clutched in his hands, and his hair a windswept mess of flaxen curls.

‘Mr Crowley,’ Mr Fell said. ‘How lovely to see you again. Simply marvellous.’

He was pink-faced and breathless and, yes, very handsome indeed.

Crowley hastened to introduce the sisters.

‘This is Miss Crowley, the eldest—’ Anathema curtsied, ‘—and Miss Pippin.’

Pepper glared at him.

‘Though she prefers, er, Pepper. Like the spice.’

‘Charming, charming.’

Fell bowed to them both, still with that beaming smile of recognition he had gifted Crowley at Lady Carmine’s salon just a fortnight ago. It had much the same effect here, in his own drawing room.

‘The pleasure’s all mine,’ Crowley wheezed, digging his fingers into the fabric of his waistcoat to stop himself from reaching out. ‘Has Mr Shadwell shown you to your room yet?’

Mr Fell flushed as he turned to face the butler.

‘Not yet. I wanted to greet you all first. But yes, perhaps it’s best if I go and freshen up a little before joining your charming little gathering once more.’

Shadwell escorted him out of the room with the particularly poisonous glower he reserved for guests. The Crowleys remained silent as the door closed, all three of them listening for the telltale creak that announced Mr Fell’s arrival at the top of the stairs. When they heard a bedroom door shutting upstairs, they all began to speak at once.

‘Mr Fell—’

‘Why didn’t you say?’

‘Yes, why didn’t you?’

Crowley raised his arms to absolutely no effect.

‘Why didn’t I say what?’ he bellowed, loud enough that only a miracle could have prevented Mr Fell from hearing it upstairs.

‘That he’s a clergyman,’ Pepper said.

‘And that he’s handsome,’ Anathema added. ‘Indecently so. It’s not proper for a man of the cloth to be quite so fine-looking. Positively immoral.’

She pouted as if Mr Fell’s good looks were somehow Crowley’s fault.

‘I’m not sure he would agree with you there,’ he mumbled, still a little out of sorts from the brief moment of interaction with Mr Fell. ‘And I forbid either of you to as much as whisper the word handsome in his presence. Either way, I’m fairly certain I did tell you he was.’

Anathema waggled her finger like a stern governess.

‘You did no such thing. You called him well-dressed.’

‘Are you suggesting he’s not?’ Crowley countered.

‘I’m suggesting that describing someone as well-dressed infers a certain lack of personal charm which must be made up for by the quality of one’s clothing.’

Pepper jumped in to agree with her sister, as always united only when arguing with their guardian.

‘Quite so. Surely, if one were to describe Mr Fell, the first word to come to mind would not be well-dressed.’

It hadn’t been the word that had sprung to his mind either, but he was not about to tell the sisters that.

They continued chatting at a speed and volume that made Crowley’s head spin. Good Lord. How was he supposed to regain his composure with these two flapping about like overexcited ducklings?

Shortly after, the Crowleys were called into the dining room. When they entered, Mr Fell was already seated, thanking Mrs Shadwell profusely for her care and attention in the preparation of the bed chamber. The poor woman had never looked quite so intimidated as when faced with such a display of true gratitude.

Crowley looked at the spread of food on the table. Cook had truly outdone herself at such short notice. Not only had the finest food been procured from Lord only knew where, but the family china had been dug up from the back of the attic and the silverware was shined and polished.

Mr Fell was certainly getting a good look at his future property. Though he seemed far more preoccupied with the food and wine than the quality of the crystal-cut glasses.

‘Oh my, this is simply scrumptious,’ he said after sampling the mutton, dabbing his mouth with the corner of his napkin. ‘Quite unlike my own, rather more plain dinners at home.’

Pepper opened her mouth and closed it again, shot a quick look at Crowley, then decided not to heed his silent warning.

‘Pray tell, sir, where do you live?’

Mr Fell, not at all put off by her impertinence, only smiled at her.

‘I have the good fortune of having secured a living in Kent. It’s humble and quiet, as are my days spent there. But I am grateful to be under the patronage of Lady Agnes de Nutter, whose neverending generosity and wisdom enrich my life in every possible way.’

He said the name in a tone of reverence, but Pepper and Anathema only looked at him with blank faces.

‘What does that even mean, her patronage?’ Pepper asked.

Anathema kicked her leg under the table, but everyone pretended not to notice. Mr Fell’s smile faltered.

‘It mostly means she invites me to dine with her a lot and offers her opinion on my choice of furniture and clothing.’

‘She must be a woman of refined taste,’ Anathema said, resolutely not looking at Crowley. ‘You are exceedingly well-dressed for a clergyman.’

Crowley let out a grumble that he barely managed to disguise as a cough, but Mr Fell looked delighted.

‘Do you really think so? I’m afraid it’s all Lady Agnes’s doing. “My dear Mr Fell,” she likes to say, “a single man of seven-and-twenty must be finely attired,” and so she sees to it that I am.’

‘I suppose her intention is for you to not be single for much longer,’ Anathema said, as always incapable of controlling her sharp tongue.

Mr Fell blushed, took a large gulp of claret and spluttered as he complimented it.

‘Lovely, ah, wine,’ he wheezed, ‘very smooth.’

After dinner, the family and their guest retired to the drawing room, where Anathema gave a charming display of her musicianship at the pianoforte. Crowley watched her with a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t right that she was confined to Helgate House for days on end, with nothing to do but to spend hours at the instrument and keep her younger sister entertained.

Perhaps a match between her and Mr Fell would be for the best. Though he couldn’t quite imagine Anathema as the wife of a rector, Mr Fell was the only man of Crowley’s acquaintance whose charm and wit matched hers.

He glanced over to his guest, who had been offered the best armchair in the room. He sat in it upright, watching Anathema with rapt attention, as if he was observing a performance by an Italian virtuoso at the Argyll Rooms, rather than that of an unmarried young lady who, accomplished though she undoubtedly was, would not be filling the concert halls of London any time soon.

Crowley pushed the thought to one side and turned instead to look at Pepper, whose attention to her sister’s playing had waned some time around the end of the first movement of the sonata.

She was still so young. And yet, many of her peers were already out in society, getting introduced to eligible young men in ballrooms and salons. Would she make a good Mrs Fell? Crowley’s first instinct was to say no, but then his first instinct, and his second, was for Mr Fell to remain unmarried forever.

He sighed. How had he of all men become saddled with the responsibility for two young women whose future prosperity lay in his hands, when he could barely secure his own happiness?

If only he was like Mr Fell. Young and handsome and so agreeable, he must have his pick of company, despite the dull reputation of his profession. Indeed, Crowley had rarely seen him without company when they had finally been introduced to each other in London. And yet, he had sought him out here, at Helgate House.

Although Crowley wasn’t quite sure whether it was he who had inspired this visit or his two unmarried wards. The hope in his heart tried hard to convince him it was the former, but the cynical part of his mind, sharpened by two and a half decades in society, put up a strong opposition.

The anticipation of seeing Mr Fell again, after their all too short acquaintance in London, had overshadowed everything. But now he was here, in Crowley’s best armchair, watching Crowley’s ward play on Crowley’s pianoforte, he wasn’t quite sure whether his visit might not have been a mistake.

Anathema finished her piece at the pianoforte and Mr Fell applauded, loud and enthusiastic, praising her expression and her execution most fervently. The fair performer blushed and averted her gaze, possibly for the first time in her life.

Pepper stared at Mr Fell with big, round eyes, then jumped up from the sofa to very nearly push her sister off the piano stool, so she, too, could have the chance to impress their handsome visitor.

With every moment that passed, Crowley’s regret at extending the invitation to Mr Fell grew.

By the time the Crowleys and their guest had retired to bed, Helgate House had quietened, as it always did after the sun had set and the servants had finished their last tasks of the day.

The embers in the fireplace glowed weakly, and Crowley wrapped himself tight in his bedcovers, his restless mind struggling to find the heavy peacefulness of sleep. At the other end of the hall, he knew, Pepper and Anathema might still be awake, too, whispering to each other about the excitement of the day.

Crowley really should give them the opportunity to frequent in society more often. And yet, he realised with a familiar pang of guilt, he so rarely thought about them as anything other than fixtures in his house. They would not, they could not be that forever.

A knock on the door was so quiet, Crowley first mistook it for the sound of hooves outside the window. When it came again, louder and more insistent, he jumped out from his bed and hurried to open the door.

Mr Fell looked at him with something akin to shock, which made no sense whatsoever since he had most definitely knocked on the door. He was barefoot, in his linen nightshirt which fell down to his calves, with a deep open neckline that revealed the gentle slope of his chest, white-furred and heaving with hasty, shallow breaths.

‘Mr Fell,’ Crowley whispered, as his heart began to pound in his throat. ‘Is something the matter with your chamber? Is it cold? Or hot?’

‘Oh no, it’s quite perfect. You must give my compliments to your housekeeper, I really am most comfortable.’

He shook his head, as if trying to regain control of his wandering thoughts.

‘That’s not why I’m here. May I come in?’

Crowley stepped aside, in the full knowledge that this was most indecent, and that neither the Shadwells nor his wards must ever find out.

‘When we parted in London,’ Mr Fell began, but he was quite incapable of continuing the sentence.

He leaned back against the closed door and ran a hand through his hair, which glowed pale against the dark wood.

‘Oh, Lord…’

‘When we parted in London—’ Crowley echoed, barely daring to hope.

‘I’m not sure if you remember,’ Fell said with a small laugh. ‘After leaving Lady Carmine’s salon. We’d both had some amount of brandy.’

‘I do,’ Crowley implored, stepping closer. ‘I remember very well, indeed.’

He braced one hand on the door, right next to Mr Fell’s ear. They stared at each other for a tense moment, Fell’s countenance illuminated by the gentle brush of moonlight that shone through the half parted curtains. An unspoken question hung in the air.

‘Then, I take it, you have no objections—’

‘None at all,’ Crowley whispered, and leaned forwards to kiss him.

Chapter Text

Oh, how much better this was than the kiss they’d shared in London, which had been hurried and sickly sweet with brandy. This time, although they were both aware of the necessity for discretion, there was much less restraint in it.

Crowley held Fell against the door, both forearms pressed to the wood, encircling him completely. Fell’s hands were pulling him closer, grabbing at his shoulders, his waist. With both of them in their nightshirts and not a finger’s width between them, there was no mistaking their shared arousal.

‘Bed,’ Crowley whispered, partly out of worry that the sound of their writhing against the door might be heard out in the corridor, but mostly because he wanted more, wanted his hands free to roam, his mouth free to explore every inch of Fell’s glorious body.

They dropped their nightshirts along the three steps it took to get from the door to the bed. It creaked as they fell onto it heavily, but Crowley was not in a state of mind to worry about such things.

Fell’s hand found Crowley’s cock, thick fingers wrapped around it in a loose, light grip.

‘Lord, I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you.’

‘When you saw me in town?’

‘First outside the Red Lion, and then again at Lady Carmine’s, and most of all today, after a fortnight of dreaming, of imagining exactly this.’

Crowley wanted to respond in kind, to tell this man just how much he’d occupied his own dreams since their hasty goodbye in a muddy alleyway around the corner from Lady Carmine’s town house. Alas, he was not blessed with a quick tongue or a poetic mind, and could but stammer his feelings on the matter.

‘Me, too… I cannot believe you’re here… in my bed.’

Fell laughed softly into the crook of his neck.

‘Your incredulity does you credit, my dear. But rest assured that there is nowhere else I’d rather be.’

They scrambled backwards together, until their elbows hit the pillow. Crowley’s hand sank into the golden silkiness of Fell’s hair. His senses were alight with the closeness of him, the soft thigh that pressed between his legs, the dizzying scent of his skin, the tantalising whisper of his words, his kisses light as air.

‘I didn’t dare to hope,’ he mumbled, caressing every inch of Crowley’s willing body. ‘Didn’t plan on, you know—’

‘Propositioning me?’

‘Quite so. And yet, when I saw you again, I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist. That I had to try, had to see whether you were as interested as I am.’

‘And what’s your verdict?’

Fell’s hand shot down to press against Crowley’s cock, fingers cradling his balls.

‘If I’m not mistaken, you’re not at all indisposed… rather desperate, I daresay.’

Crowley squirmed, thrusting up into the heat of Fell’s hand, his touch which was still too light, too playful. He tipped his hips up, arched right off the mattress, spreading his knees, but it was no use.

‘Do something about it, then.’

Fell’s touch lifted away completely, which was decidedly not what Crowley had envisioned.

‘Dear me, that’s not the tone to take with one’s guest.’

With a disapproving tut, Fell straightened up on his knees. Crowley groaned, reaching out to snap a hand around his wrist.

‘You’re not exactly acting the gentleman either.’

‘How so? I’ve been perfectly polite.’

‘Indeed, you have not. I haven’t heard so much as a word of gratitude for letting you stay at my house, the house that will, sooner or later, come into your possession nonetheless.’

‘Gratitude? You want gratitude?’

‘If it’s not too much to ask. If it is, I’d settle for your cock.’

Fell let out a hearty laugh that was quickly suppressed once he remembered that there were other people sleeping in this house. He draped himself over Crowley, the weight of his belly a delicious pressure on his neglected cock. In turn, he slung both arms around Fell’s body, felt his shoulder blades shifting beneath soft skin, hot and sticky with sweat.

‘You can have both,’ said Fell, hoarse and ragged already. ‘My gratitude and my cock.’

Crowley pulled his knees up, half shoving Fell off him to reach for the bottle of oil he kept on the bedside cabinet, the one the maids thought was used to moisturise his face. He’d heard them gossip about his vanity on more than one occasion.

If only they knew. He thrust the bottle at Fell, who accepted it with a mischievous smile, before he worked his way down, licking his nipples, kissing his belly, until finally he had Crowley’s knees draped over his shoulders. His blond head of hair peeked out from between Crowley’s thighs.

Fell’s lips wrapped around the head of his cock seconds before an oiled finger pressed against his rim, probing but gentle, and altogether too much stimulation. He thrust his hips up again, made Fell take him deeper, let his tongue slide from the sensitive head down the shaft.

The vibration of Fell’s moans around him, the breach of his finger inside him, was exquisite. Fell looked up at him with darkened eyes, hair glowing in the semi-shadows thrown by the moonlight. He let Crowley’s cock slip out of his mouth, let it rest against his cheek, throbbing and wet.

‘Thank you ever so much for your hospitality, Mr Crowley. I really am… most grateful.’

‘Show me your grat—’

He was cut off by a shudder, when Fell’s finger pushed and curled inside him, gentle movements that left him desperate for more. He pressed his palm to his own mouth, bit down on the soft flesh below his thumb. This would have been so much easier at the Red Lion, without family or servants to overhear them.

The anticipation of what was yet to come made him squeeze around Fell’s finger.

‘Please,’ he panted. ‘Give me your cock.’

There were no witticisms left, only unadulterated lust that bypassed everything else.

Fell acquiesced, equally lost for words. He lined himself up, pushed inside Crowley with a gasp and a tensing of thighs. He was flushed pink from the bridge of his nose to the centre of his chest, and Crowley cursed the moon for not being brighter, for not allowing him to take in every detail of Fell’s beautiful countenance.

There was a moment of stillness, then Fell pushed down and forwards, folding Crowley in half as he pressed their bodied together.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered into his shoulder. ‘You’re a wonderful… host… most accommodating.’

‘Oh, do shut up.’

Fell did not shut up. He lowered his head, let his laughter turn to moaning as he thrust into Crowley, fucked him slow and steady, filled and surrounded him.

Crowley, too, bit down on a laugh. This was joyous. Exhilarating. Though he barely knew Fell any better than the men he was used to meeting in the stuffy upstairs rooms at the Red Lion, it felt entirely different. A connection that went much further than an old family feud, or a chance encounter outside a molly house.

He pulled Fell closer, clawed at every stretch of his back he could reach, the soft rolls of flesh above his hips, the curve of his shoulders. Every stroke lit him up from the inside, every rasping moan plucked at his nerves like a guitar string vibrating with music.

‘Oh Lord,’ Fell panted, face contorted with pleasure. ‘Oh dear Lord.’

Crowley would bet every one of his horses that his parishioners had never heard him pray to the heavenly father like that. This was for his ears only.

He took his cock in hand, worked it to the rhythm of their fucking. Above him, Fell tensed, spasms shaking the bed frame as he spilled inside Crowley, exhaling in a long, wordless sigh. All his prayers had been said.

Crowley clung to him with his free hand, didn’t want him to pull out. Not until he, too, had found his release. He clung to this feeling of fullness, the stretch, the liquid heat inside him, driving him ever faster to the edge. It didn’t take much more and he came, pulsing in his hand.

Finally, he let go, and Fell settled on the mattress next to him, limp and sticky with sweat and spend.

‘My dear Mr Crowley, you really are extraordinary. Had I known we’d get on so well, I wouldn’t have avoided you at the club so many times.’

The formality of his tone and choice of words made Crowley laugh.

‘What exactly were you expecting? No, don’t answer that. I suppose you’ve heard what people say about me.’

‘That you’re equally as handsome as you are unpleasant? They were half right about that. You’re the most handsome man I’ve had the good fortune to lay eyes upon, but you’ve been perfectly pleasant to me.’

‘Save your flatteries for courtship,’ Crowley grumbled. ‘I’m much too old to be taken in by such nonsense.’

The flutter in his chest betrayed the lie, but only to himself. Fell looked far from intimidated by his sudden sullenness.

‘As I don’t expect to ever enter any kind of courtship, I’m afraid you will simply have to endure my compliments.’

Crowley let out a demonstrative huff, but turned away, not wanting Fell to see the pleased grin that stole across his face.

‘You have no intention to marry, then?’

‘My dear, I didn’t think I could make that any more obvious than this.’

Fell gestured at his own naked body, still pressed against Crowley, who responded with a snort.

‘Oh, please. You wouldn’t be the first married man to mess around with another fellow behind his wife’s back.’

‘I would not,’ Fell conceded, ‘but that goes quite against my sense of right and wrong. Goodness, surely you weren’t under the impression that my visit is for the purpose of matrimony?’

‘It had crossed my mind. Though I must admit that my foolish hopes were that perhaps—’

Crowley flushed, incapable of finishing the sentence. Fell did it for him.

‘You were hoping that you were the cause for my presence here?’

‘No need to look so smug about it.’

‘Quite right. As it happens, you are entirely correct. I mean no offence to your wards, both perfectly amiable young ladies, I’m sure, but I’m here for you and you alone. I haven’t been able to think of much else since we parted in London.’

‘Me neither.’

Fell pushed himself up on an elbow and looked down at Crowley with a serious frown.

‘Promise you’ll visit me in Kent. I know I’ll see you in London at the start of the season but I really would like to have you in my home.’

The implications of that invitation warmed Crowley’s cheeks.

‘I will,’ he said. ‘I’ll visit you. For as long as you wish.’

With that promise given, they lay there in silence, lazy fingers trailing over rapidly cooling skin, slow kisses and whispered pleasantries.

When the last of the embers had blackened, and a heavy drowsiness threatened to swallow Crowley up, Fell stirred beside him.

‘I should return to my chamber.’

‘You should.’

But Crowley did not let go, not just yet. They could have another minute or two together, listening to each other’s heartbeats and the wind howling outside.

It was hard not to shower Fell with undue smiles the next morning when Crowley saw him in the breakfast room. He’d dressed in a hurry and come downstairs earlier than usual in the hope of catching his guest alone, but, perhaps motivated by the same desire, his wards had gotten there first.

Crowley found the trio engrossed in conversation, which appeared to be on the topic of books.

‘I expect you only ever read the bible,’ Pepper said in a dismissive tone of voice.

Once again, Fell showed himself unimpressed by her rudeness.

‘Not at all. The bible is all well and good, being the word of God et cetera, but I hardly peruse it for the purpose of entertainment. Oh no, I much prefer a novel, or a good volume of poetry.’

‘You read novels?’

‘Indeed, I do. To be frank, there is not much else to occupy my time in Kent. I have never been a great horseman, and I admit I find shooting rather dull. But my book collection, if I might be so immodest as to admit, is rather sizeable. Of course, it is minuscule in comparison with the great library at Jasmine Park. Lady Agnes’s collection has to be one of the finest in the country. Most exquisite.’

Pepper sighed into her teacup.

‘How I wish we had an exquisite collection. But Crowley is ever so stingy about buying books.’

‘I refute that accusation,’ Crowley interjected, and only then did the three others notice his presence in the door frame.

Fell beamed at him in a way that made him want to kiss every crinkle under his eyes and at the corners of his smiling mouth.

‘Good morning, Mr Crowley. We were just debating the delights of reading.’

‘Miss Pepper is very familiar with those,’ Crowley grumbled as he took his seat. ‘Some would say too familiar.’

‘Surely there can be no such thing as overfamiliarity with reading.’

‘I dare say every spinster in the county disagrees with you there.’

‘Perhaps every spinster in the county is in need of a good book,’ Fell said, grinning at Pepper who blushed to the roots of her hair.

Anathema, who was by all appearances feeling rather left out of that discussion, poured Mr Fell another cup of tea.

‘Are you fond of music at all, Mr Fell?’

‘I adore it,’ he was quick to reply, ‘your performance last night was quite extraordinary, my dear Miss Crowley. Truly a delight. I expect you’re much sought after in the London salons.’

‘I wish I were,’ Anathema replied with a pout aimed firmly at Crowley, who already knew what was coming next. ‘If my guardian wasn’t so violently opposed to taking us out—’

‘Violently opposed?’ Crowley objected, even as the unpleasant feeling of guilt settled between his ribs.

He most certainly did not afford his wards the leisure of company as often as he perhaps owed them. Pepper had been begging to come out for a good two years now, and yet he had denied her season after season. Once again it was his own dislike of society which got in the way of her future prospects.

That was not a happy thought at all.

Mr Fell, with the finely tuned sensibilities of a vicar, shot careful glances between the Crowleys, before he pushed his chair back and clapped his hands.

‘A walk!’ he cried. ‘A walk would do wonders for our constitutions. Wouldn’t you agree, fair cousin?’

Anathema, flustered by being thus addressed, nodded.

‘Yes, of course.’

Pepper appeared much more enthused by the idea.

‘There’s a lovely clearing in the woods,’ she exclaimed, already out of her chair and halfway to the door. ‘With the prettiest patch of wild flowers you’ll ever see. It’s my favourite place in the world. Let me fetch my bonnet.’

As they walked past the pond and towards the edge of the woods at a leisurely pace, the sisters’ fight for Mr Fell’s attentions continued. He had Pepper on his left, tugging at his elbow to point out a nest of blackbirds up in the tree, or a squirrel scurrying across the mossy ground. To his right, Anathema was giving her animated opinion on the works of one Ludwig van Beethoven.

Crowley was left to trudge up behind them, jabbing his walking stick into the soft ground, more disgruntled with every step he did not spend by Fell’s side. And yet, propriety forbade him from claiming the man’s company for himself.

When they reached an imposing tree that grew next to a flat rock covered in moss, Fell stopped and turned around.

‘My dear Mr Crowley, I can but admire you and the young misses for your healthy strength and stamina. I don’t remember ever being this fatigued after a mere fifteen minutes of walking.’

His breathing was calm, his complexion fair, bearing no traces of exhaustion. He looked first at Anathema, then Pepper.

‘I’m afraid I am quite simply too tired to continue without a little rest. Why don’t you two continue on to that lovely patch with the wild flowers and the upturned tree, and your guardian and I will wait here for your return? Then we can make our way back together, once I have recovered my strength.’

He wandered to the flat rock and sat down on it, straight-backed and prim as if at the dinner table. Anathema and Pepper frowned at each other, but were just well-mannered enough not to voice their confusion.

‘Quite right,’ Crowley jumped in. ‘You two continue on, we’ll see you in a little while. My old joints aren’t what they used to be.’

He put more weight onto his walking stick than was strictly necessary. It sank a good two inches into the ground.

The girls shrugged and walked on, and Crowley knew he would have a slew of questions to answer once their esteemed guest left them to it.

The two men waited until the sisters had walked out of sight, until the sound of their footsteps was swallowed by the woods. When they were all alone, Crowley lowered himself onto the rock next to Fell, and reached out to clasp a hand over his knee.

‘Fell, I—’

Fell covered Crowley’s hand with his own, pressing it against the woollen weave of his trousers, heat radiating through the layers of their gloves.

‘Aziraphale. Please. Call me by my given name, when we’re among ourselves.’

‘Aziraphale.’

It sounded right. An extraordinary name for an extraordinary man.

‘And might I in turn call you Anthony?’

‘No. Only my mother has that privilege. And, well, I’ve not been successful in dissuading her over the decades.’

Aziraphale’s mouth curled into a pout, though he was much too polite to complain.

‘I’ve been longing to talk to you all morning. I went down to breakfast much too early, to the annoyance of your man.’

‘That’s just his face, I’m afraid. Either way, I’ve no doubt you’ll have him wrapped around your finger in due course.’

Aziraphale shook his head, let the sunlight play with his flaxen curls in a way that made them look like threads of pure gold.

‘My dear, you make me sound like some awful rake. I am a clergyman, you know. A man of morals.’

‘If I didn’t know any better, I’d suspect you of being one of the worst rakes in the country. I’d be showing you out the door and locking my wards away forever, lest they fall into your evil clutches.’

‘Oh, how you tease.’

A most fetching flush spread across his features, and it reminded Crowley of the night before, of seeing him just like that in the privacy of his bedchamber.

‘You like it. You like being told that you’re handsome and charming. That you turn heads wherever you go. You’re really quite vain for a man of the cloth. And why shouldn’t you be? It’s all true. You could have your pick of them. My wards, or any young lady in London, and a good amount of the gentlemen, too, I wager.’

He leaned in, let his breath ghost over Aziraphale’s ear.

‘You had me from the moment you kissed me outside Lady Carmine’s.’

It was only appropriate for Crowley to tip his head down and kiss him again, with one gloved palm braced on the mossy surface of the rock and the other cradling Aziraphale’s jaw, letting his fingers slip into the tight space between his neck and the high-cut collar of his shirt.

‘I’m not interested in any of the young ladies in London,’ Aziraphale said when they pulled apart. ‘Nor any of the gentlemen, for that matter, not anymore. None except one, and it appears that I am fortunate enough to have caught his attentions already.’

It was hard to remain cynical when faced with such an open display of affection. Still, Crowley tried.

‘And yet, despite your best efforts, it appears that you’ve made quite the impression on my wards.’

Aziraphale tore himself away from him and frowned.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Since before your arrival they have been convinced that you are here for the purposes of courting one of them.’

‘Oh dear, that was not at all my intention. I wouldn’t want to give a false impression. Inspire hope or, God forbid, heartbreak.’

He looked genuinely put out by the idea. Crowley, guilty at having caused this state of unease, was quick to soothe, to distract.

‘That’s what you get for being young and handsome and charming and oh so well-dressed.’

It worked. Aziraphale laughed again, looking around furtively for a sign of the sisters returning. Upon finding himself still quite alone with Crowley, he pulled him down for another kiss.

‘I truly am sorry for inadvertently misleading your wards. I’ll be more careful. They must be dissuaded from any such fancies.’ He let out a deep sigh, which vibrated against Crowley’s temple. ‘I suppose I shall try my best to make myself quite disagreeable.’

‘I’ll be impressed if you succeed.’

A mischievous grin spread on the young vicar’s face, his eyes twinkling like stars in the night sky.

‘Don’t worry, my dear. I have a plan.’

Chapter Text

Aziraphale’s plan was put into motion at luncheon, when the family and their guest once again gathered around the dining table. Pepper had brought back a pretty bunch of wild flowers from the clearing in the woods which had been arranged in a vase and displayed in the centre of the table.

‘The perfume is simply exquisite,’ Aziraphale sighed, inhaling deeply and waving his hands in front of him to waft the floral-scented air towards him.

Evidently, that wasn’t enough. A moment later, he lunged out of his chair to lean across the table in an effort to get the flowers closer to his delicately upturned nose. His elbow only narrowly missed the butter dish.

‘Mr Fell, do take care!’ Anathema exclaimed in a tone as scandalised as Crowley had ever heard her.

It was too late. Aziraphale had already knocked over the vase, spilling cold water across the tablecloth. Pepper jumped out of the way and rang for the maid, who hurried into the room and mopped up the spillage, hindered rather than helped by Aziraphale, who was most ineffectively dabbing at the puddle with his own already soaked handkerchief.

‘Dear me,’ he prattled, eyes darting from one Miss Crowley to the other, ‘how mortifying. I am truly sorry from the depths of my soul. I’m afraid I am a most ungraceful person. Always dropping things, and breaking things, and losing things. Lady Agnes chides me most fervently for it. “My dear Mr Fell,” she says, “if you’re not careful, you’ll misplace your own head next.” And quite right she is, too.’

Crowley sat back in his chair, watching the spectacle with barely more than a quirk of an eyebrow, his own amusement suitably suppressed.

Aziraphale raised the sopping handkerchief in his hand and regarded it with the most pathetic frown.

‘And now I’ve ruined your beautiful bouquet. Oh, Miss Pepper, how will you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?’

‘It’s quite alright,’ she mumbled, taken aback by the intensity of his apologies. ‘I can pick more later. The vase is perfectly unharmed.’

Aziraphale sank back into his chair and dropped the wet handkerchief on his plate, before he pressed his palms to his chest in a most dramatic fashion.

‘Dear me,’ he said again, with a convincing little quaver to his voice. ‘Dear me.’

Crowley averted his gaze and instead watched the maid clear up the mess with such focus, she very nearly dropped the vase as she carried it out of the room. Aziraphale followed, mumbling something about his poor nerves. Whence he went, nobody knew.

‘He’s a bit of an odd fellow,’ Anathema remarked. ‘Making such a fuss about a handful of bluebells.’

But Pepper only frowned, staring at the door that had just closed behind their guest.

‘I think it’s rather romantic. The world would be a much better place if all gentlemen read novels and cared about flowers as much as Mr Fell does.’

Aziraphale returned some minutes later, retaking his seat at the table without further comment on the vase. He appeared to have taken off his cravat, and Crowley could not figure out what had persuaded him to do so.

Either way, the sight of his clavicles peeking through the collar of his shirt was somewhat distracting. A quick glance at the Misses Crowleys confirmed that it was not just their guardian whose attention was drawn to the alluring sliver of skin on display.

Aziraphale himself did not appear in the slightest perturbed by their stares, or the indecency of his own state of undress. His focus was all taken up by the spread of food on the table, any previous awkwardness entirely vanished.

‘Goodness,’ he gasped after taking the first bite of poached mackerel. ‘Good heavens. This is divine.’

He plucked a grape from the bunch on his plate and popped in in his mouth. Then, to everyone’s astonishment, he closed his eyes and moaned.

The girls froze with their forks in the air and their own food quite neglected. Crowley, who had been halfway through a slice of bread, flinched so hard at the sound, which he’d heard not twelve hours previously in quite different circumstances, that he nearly choked on the crust.

Aziraphale’s eyes were still closed, but the corners of his lips twitched, a mischievous smile nearly breaking free, before it was once again contained.

‘My dear Miss Crowley,’ he said, lashes fluttering as he fixed her with a rather intense stare. ‘I must congratulate you on this perfectly prepared piece of fish. So delicate. So delicious. Your skill in the kitchen, nay, your veritable talent is apparent.’

Anathema laughed, and not even Crowley had the heart to reprimand her for it.

‘My skill in the kitchen?’ she said with a cackle. ‘Mr Fell, you don’t think I cooked the fish, do you?’

‘Goodness, did you not?’

Aziraphale didn’t look in the least mortified by his faux-pas. With a treacherous gleam in his eyes, he turned to Pepper.

‘I suppose, then, it was you? Such extraordinary proficiency, and at such a tender age. Your guardian must consider himself well spoiled at the dinner table. What a blessing you are to the family.’

‘We have a cook,’ Pepper burst out. ‘But I’ll pass on your compliments next time I see her.’

Anathema had now recovered from her laughing fit. She prodded her own fillet of mackerel with her fork, and Crowley was astonished to see that she did not at all look insulted by their guest’s insinuation that the Crowleys might be too poor to afford a cook.

‘I’ve always wondered whether the helplessness of young ladies nowadays isn’t to our detriment, in the grand scheme of things.’

She leaned across the table most imploringly.

‘If Pepper and I had indeed been taught to cook, and launder, and clean, might we not be more usefully employed than we are at the present? Might we not be, on the whole, more independent?’

‘Oh, well, I never considered that,’ Aziraphale said, in quite a different tone to the overtly deferential one he had taken on just minutes prior.

‘We are bred for helplessness, are we not?’ Anathema began, and Crowley now recognised the glint in her eyes, the flush that spread across her cheeks.

‘You should know that Miss Crowley is quite the bluestocking,’ he warned, but it was too late.

‘We are helpless,’ Anathema repeated. ‘Women like Pepper and myself. We’re kept in the home, but not taught how to look after it. We are expected to keep house, but not trusted with money. We are taught to read, that much is true, but only the liturgy, and pretty words that are essentially meaningless.’

‘Actually, novels are—’ Pepper interrupted, but no-one was paying her any attention.

‘We’re taught to embroider cushions, but don’t know how to darn a pair of stockings,’ Anathema continued, now in a carrying tone Crowley knew only to well. ‘We can play music and paint landscapes and speak French, but it’s no more than teaching a caged canary to whistle a pretty tune to distract it from the eternal solitude and boredom of its imprisonment.’

She had risen from her chair now, and Aziraphale stared at her in terror, wide-eyed and, on the whole, suitably intimidated.

‘So I thank you, sir, for the compliment you inadvertently paid us. And I burn with the shame of not being able to accept it with pride. The delicious meals we are so accustomed to here are not prepared by my sister or I, but oh how I wish they were.’

Someone coughed, and the Crowleys and their guest turned to find Mrs Shadwell standing in the doorway, with her arms crossed and her mouth pulled thin. Crowley cowered in his seat, even though he knew that her disapproval was, for once, not aimed at him.

Archly, the housekeeper informed the young mistress that if she wished to learn how to clean the dishes, she and her maids would gladly instruct both her and her sister, though perhaps they would prefer to change out of their fine muslins first.

Anathema and Pepper both declined with the utmost fervour. Mrs Shadwell left, the sisters squirmed with embarrassment, and their guest once again proposed a walk.

‘And this time, fair cousins, I shan’t return without a bouquet of wild flowers of my own.’

They dressed and left the house. It was a lovely afternoon, brisk but not unpleasantly so, and when the wind let up and allowed the sun’s rays to beam down on the crisp grass and the worn pebbles, there was a sense of the approaching summer in the air.

Crowley would much rather have gone out for a ride, but, as Aziraphale insisted that he was a terrible horseman, that idea was dismissed right away.

The wards were delighted.

‘Perhaps we can make it all the way to the clearing this time,’ Pepper said, scrutinising Aziraphale for any signs of early exhaustion. ‘And we can pick the flowers together.’

Once again, Crowley was left to trod along behind them. At least he had taken the dog with him for company. Though even the mutt preferred to sniff around the undergrowth and chase after squirrels.

Crowley huffed, which nobody heard, and observed the three people walking ahead of him. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have suspected Aziraphale to be courting both his wards at once, rather than trying to dissuade them from forming an attachment to him. The man was too enchanting for his own good.

They reached the pond that marked the halfway point between Helgate House and the edge of the woodland. A small group of ducks were bobbing in the green-tinged water, dipping their heads every now and again or flapping their wings, but otherwise not paying any attention to the visitors.

‘Oh, to be a mallard without a care in the world,’ Pepper sighed and quacked at it.

The ducks ignored her. Crowley was mortified for a mere moment at her conduct, before he remembered that there were no neighbours present, that Aziraphale was not actually here to romance her and that, as far as Crowley was concerned, she could quack as much as she pleased.

Aziraphale stepped closer to the edge of the pond, excitedly rocking back and forth on his toes.

‘Look, I think that one is coming nearer.’ He pointed at the duck closest to them, a most uninterested female who floated along with her eyes closed. ‘Do it again, Miss Pepper.’

Pepper obliged with another, even louder quack. The duck remained unimpressed.

‘It’s coming closer,’ Aziraphale insisted. ‘We should have bought bread for them.’

He bent forwards at the hip, his top hat wobbling precariously in the wind.

‘How delightful. What charming little creatures they are. Oh, goodness.’

With his arms outstretched and his toes dug firmly into the mud, he tried to keep his balance, but it was no good. Flailing and wailing, he tipped forwards into the pond, landing in it with a splash so loud, it scattered even the most placid of ducks at the other end.

Dog, sensing a game, jumped into the water after him with a delighted bark and a much smaller splash.

Pepper shrieked. Anathema shrieked, too. Crowley, to his immediate mortification, joined in the shrieking as well. Only Aziraphale didn’t say a word. He pushed himself to his feet. The water came up to the tops of his pale trousers, soaking the heavy woollen fabric within seconds. The short front of his tailcoat skimmed the surface, but his sleeves were submerged to the elbow. A few feet away, his hat was floating upside down like a children’s toy boat.

‘This is quite a bit colder than I had hoped for,’ he said, finally, with a pout, and began to wade towards the edge of the water from which he had slipped.

He reached for his hat, lost his balance, and fell over again, this time landing face-first in the pond. When he emerged a second later, his once cloud-like hair hung down in yellow curtains like wet straw.

Unperturbed, he took hold of his hat and held it out to the girls on the edge of the pond, who stood there with their mouths and eyes wide open, struck dumb.

‘If you’d be so kind as to take this, fair cousin,’ Aziraphale said, handing his hat to Anathema. ‘I’m afraid it’s dripping a little.’

Crowley held out a hand and pulled Aziraphale out of the water, getting his own clothing thoroughly splashed in the process.

‘Your coat,’ he mumbled, already with his hands under the lapels, slipping the heavy garment off Aziraphale’s shoulders.

‘Dear me, it appears to be quite ruined.’

This was said in a tone of such carelessness, anyone listening might be persuaded to believe that Mr Fell did not mind an iota about the state of his dress. Crowley, who knew better, saw the glint in his eye, the unfettered joy that could not be contained, despite the involuntary shivers and shudders caused by the cold of the wind blowing against sopping wet fabric.

The coat was draped over Crowley’s arm, dripping merrily onto the ground. The Crowleys paid it no notice. All of their gazes were drawn to the vision that was Aziraphale Fell standing before them, his shirt soaked through to the collar, the legs of his trousers clinging to his shapely thighs.

Rather sheepishly, he brushed a wet strand of hair out of his handsome face.

‘I suppose I better return inside, lest I catch a chill.’

Without another glance at the sisters or the dog, who was now paddling laps around the pond, Crowley took hold of Aziraphale’s wet sleeve and pulled him, boots squelching, back towards the house.

‘This was your grand idea for making yourself less appealing?’ Crowley growled, slamming the guest chamber door closed behind him.

Aziraphale wrung his hands, which were pink and still damp with pond water.

‘I only thought your wards would hardly take a shine to a man so clumsy he trips over his own feet and makes such a spectacle of himself. After my attempts to insult their sensibilities at the lunch table had not quite landed the way I had hoped.’

‘And you didn’t consider the fact that after clumsily throwing yourself into the pond, you’d have to emerge with your shirt all… all wet and see-through.’

Crowley waved a hand over Aziraphale’s torso. Every curve of his chest and stomach was on show, the thin linen of his shirt clinging to his nipples. Two dark shadows peaked from the cold.

A sound escaped Crowley’s throat that was embarrassingly close to a whine. Aziraphale blinked. He took a step forwards, his hard stare boring into Crowley, lips curled into the tiniest of smiles.

‘I fear my devious plan got thwarted,’ he whispered.

‘Quite thoroughly, I’d say.’

‘How tragic.’

Crowley’s hand lifted to Aziraphale’s bare neck, fingers ghosting over the pink skin.

‘Why are you not wearing a cravat?’

‘Took it off as soon as I’d thought of my plan.’

Crowley laughed.

‘How very inconspicuous.’

‘I didn’t want to ruin it. I’m very attached to that one, real Italian silk. I bought it in Florence.’

Rather casually, Aziraphale stripped the wet shirt over his head and hung it over the chair by the cold fireplace. He turned around, head tipped to the side. His hair had dried just enough for the natural curl to return, pulling it into wild swirls of blond.

‘I must say, it’s awfully cold in here,’ he said with a devilish smile.

‘Dear me. I better ring for the maid then, have the fire made up.’

Crowley reached for the bell, but Aziraphale’s hand clasped around his wrist before he could even touch it.

‘Don’t you dare.’

‘But my dear Mr Fell, we wouldn’t want you to catch a chill, would we?’

‘I’m sure you can think of other ways to warm me up.’

Aziraphale widened his stance, presenting the bulge pressed against the damp front of his trousers. Good lord. Even in the cold, it was impressive. Crowley found himself slinking towards him, pushing him to the wall next to the fireplace before he not so much dropped as slowly sunk to his knees.

His sore hip made itself known, but he would be damned if he let that stop him from taking exactly what he wanted.

‘The master of the house, warming up the foolish young gentleman he has the misfortune of welcoming as a guest?’ he said, trying for an ill-tempered grumble, but sounding nothing but desperate.

He peeled the front of Aziraphale’s trousers away, pulling the fabric down to his calves. 

‘Thank you, sir. Much obliged.’

Crowley sat back on his haunches, allowing himself to admire the man before him, incredulous as to how his fortunes had turned in just a fortnight. Aziraphale’s pale thighs were soft and thick, ashy hairs standing on end from the chill air. Between them, his cock was not quite hard, but full and tempting.

Crowley leaned forwards and took the tip in his mouth. Against his expectations, it was not cold but warm, a solid pressure on his tongue.

‘Oh, Lord,’ Aziraphale panted, and Crowley revelled in the smugness of having reduced him to blasphemy so early.

He wrapped his hands around Aziraphale’s thighs, pulling them closer to fill his mouth, to feel Aziraphale growing and hardening, flicking his tongue against him.

A hand fluttered down to his head, and it too was warm now, and dry. The hard edge of a signet ring pressed into his scalp. Of course Aziraphale had wanted to save his Italian cravat from the pond, but not that.

As he had already discovered the previous night, Aziraphale was prone to talking in moments of passion.

‘I would jump into your pond ten times over for this.’

His voice was rough. It drove Crowley wild, this audible manifestation of desire for him.

‘I would jump in the Thames for you,’ Aziraphale continued. ‘In the sea. The ocean.’

It turned Crowley on just as much as the cock stretching his lips, the scent and the taste of it, the closeness of his skin. He moaned around him, used his hands to push Aziraphale even deeper, worked him faster, spit and precome filling his mouth.

His aptitude had the unfortunate side effect of shutting Aziraphale up completely. As much as Crowley wanted to hear which other bodies of water the young rector would throw himself into, he was entirely reduced to shallow panting and involuntary gasps.

Aziraphale’s fingers twisted in Crowley’s hair. He hoped he would remember to comb it back into order later. He slackened his mouth, relaxed his throat, and let himself be used. With a hand dug firmly into Aziraphale’s backside, he wordlessly encouraged him to thrust as fast as he pleased, to chase his pleasure.

Crowley was desperate for it, hard in his tight trousers, but more than happy to sacrifice his own release in order to indulge Aziraphale. He wanted to hear when he lost control completely. To see it, and taste it.

And yet, when the moment came, when Aziraphale let out a rumbling moan and spilled into his mouth, Crowley’s eyes were closed, the intensity of it all forcing them shut. He swallowed, still too wound up to let go of Aziraphale. Still too caught in the moment.

A trembling hand brushed a strand of hair from Crowley’s sweat-soaked brow. Only then did he look up, and found the young man’s stormy eyes round not just with passion, but adoration.

He had his mouth open, and Crowley didn’t know whether he was about to say something, or whether he was still gasping for air from the ferocity of their liaison.

A sharp rap on the door made them both flinch.

‘Mr Fell, sir, are you in there? The young mistresses are concerned about you. Sent me up to see to you.’

It was Shadwell, sounding quite put out by the mere idea that he should go out of his way to care for a guest.

Crowley leaned back, as if being caught by the butler with a respectable three inches between his face and his guest’s naked cock was at all an improvement on his prior position.

‘There’s no need for that, Shadwell,’ Aziraphale said, in a passably calm tone of voice. ‘I’ll be down in a tick. Tell my fair cousins not to worry. Everything’s just tickety-boo.’

He waited for the footsteps on the stairs to recede, before he reached down a hand and helped Crowley to his feet. He couldn’t suppress a wince when he shifted his weight to his sore hip.

Aziraphale’s brows were knitted together, betraying a deep mortification that had been entirely absent just a moment ago at the possibility of being caught in an act of sodomy with the master of the house.

‘My poor Crowley, you’re in pain,’ he whispered, gently pushing him towards the bed. ‘Why didn’t you say so?’

‘Don’t fuss,’ Crowley said gruffly, but let himself be manhandled into sitting down on the mattress nonetheless. ‘S’what you get for messing with an old man like me.’

Aziraphale’s smile was warm, his kiss unexpectedly soft.

‘My dear, there is no-one in the world with whom I would rather mess.’

Chapter Text

It was the second week of May, and Kent was in bloom. The Crowleys’ carriage rattled across what was hopefully the last country road, surrounded by fields and meadows, parks and gardens. The previous day had been wet and muddy, but now the sun was out, welcoming the travellers to a new adventure.

‘What a pretty part of the country this is,’ Pepper said, with her face pressed to the window. ‘And so bright. How kind of Mr Fell to invite us all. But then, he’s all loveliness, is he not?’

‘Loveliness, yes,’ Anathema said in a rather more guarded tone. ‘Though I do wonder about the purpose of his invite.’

‘Why, it’s to see us, of course! He must have missed us considerably for the invitation to be so promptly sent.’

‘Lord knows I’ll never understand the man,’ Crowley muttered.

Not for the first time since their departure from Helgate House he wondered what had compelled Aziraphale to extend his invitation to the wards. When the letter had arrived, he had read it twice with his mouth open, before Anathema leaned across the breakfast table to ask in a subdued voice whether he had received bad news.

‘It’s from Mr Fell,’ he had said, and then, reading aloud the relevant part of the letter: ‘An invitation. I would be honoured to receive you and both Miss Crowleys next month, if that does not interfere with prior plans.’

Both Miss Crowleys had been delighted, and for the weeks that followed, the visit to Kent had been the main topic of discussion at Helgate House.

And now, after a day and a morning on the road, they were getting ever closer.

‘You are as unpleasant as ever,’ Pepper chided. ‘But it shan’t ruin my excitement. I wonder if we pass Jasmine Park on the way to the rectory.’

Anathema tried, unsuccessfully, to push her sister to the side so she, too, could catch a glimpse of the outside.

Crowley closed his eyes, but could not stop his fingers from drumming rapid patterns on his thigh. The closer he got, the more his nerves were making themselves known. His correspondence with Aziraphale had been frequent and yet so unsatisfying. Not taking any risks, they had resorted to warmest regards and sincere gratitude, empty phrases standing in for the much more intimate words Crowley longed to hear, and to say.

And now, with the two sisters in tow, would he and Aziraphale have the time? The solitude? His only hope was that the grounds surrounding Jasmine Park were diverting enough for the Crowley sisters to embark on long and daily walks alone during their stay.

A good deal of squealing and shouting erupted on the seat opposite, and Crowley opened his eyes to find his wards very much excited.

‘Look, Crowley, there it is!’

‘Jasmine Park, it must be. Isn’t it beautiful?’

Even Crowley had to admit that it was. The house was large and imposing, surrounded by neatly kept gardens twinkling in all the colours of the rainbow. It radiated a sense of importance, a commanding presence that would not be ignored.

Suddenly, the carriage came to a halt, just as the house had nearly disappeared from view again. There was a knock on the door, followed by a bored sounding voice.

‘You the Crowleys?’

‘Who wishes to know?’ Crowley shouted imperiously.

‘Not me, I couldn’t care less. But my mistress sent me out here to tell you that you are to take tea with her upon your arrival. Been sitting here for an hour and a half waiting. You’re late.’

This was said in a rather accusing tone, which was entirely unwarranted.

‘We wouldn’t be if we hadn’t had to turn around at Dartford because someone left her reticule at the inn.’

Pepper did not even have the decency to fluster. She pushed open the carriage door and stuck her head out.

‘Tea at Jasmine Park? Your mistress is Lady Agnes, then?’

‘Obviously.’

Crowley craned his neck and saw that the speaker was a boy about Pepper’s age dressed in rough linens. A groom, perhaps, or a groundskeeper.

‘C’mon then,’ the lad said, with a nod to the baffled looking driver. ‘No good to keep her ladyship waiting.’

‘Not so hasty, young man. We’re expected at the rectory. As you’ve already pointed out, we are running late. So I’m afraid you must pass on our regret to Lady Agnes—’

Pepper gasped. Crowley ignored her and continued.

‘We will gladly take tea with her this afternoon, should she still desire our company then. But right now, I must insist we continue our journey to the rectory. If you’d be so kind as to close the door and let us set off.’

The boy looked past Pepper right at Crowley. His raised eyebrows and grinning mouth betrayed his feelings all too clearly. Incredulity, amusement, and perhaps a smidgen of grudging awe.

‘Her ladyship is not used to her commands being disobeyed.’

‘I’m sure she’ll understand. We are new to these parts, after all. Well, we must continue on now. If we have not drawn your mistress’s wrath, I expect we’ll see each other again, er—’

‘Young, sir. At your service. Well, on your head be it.’

The lad touched his cap and then closed the carriage door. Crowley sat back in his seat as the carriage rattled on, rather pleased with himself. But it only took one glance at his wards’ horrified expressions to see that he was alone in this sentiment.

‘Crowley,’ Anathema whispered. ‘How could you?’

‘We could have had tea at Jasmine Park!’ Pepper added, in rather louder tones. ‘And now we’ve offended Lady Agnes, who knows if she’ll invite us back again.’

‘We’re here to visit Mr Fell,’ Crowley said firmly. ‘And that’s exactly what we’ll do.’

The last minutes of the carriage ride passed in blissful silence.

‘You did what?’

Aziraphale was pacing circles around his front parlour, hands thrown in the air when they were not ruffling his cloud-like hair. It wasn’t quite the reception Crowley had hoped for.

‘I’m here to see you, not Lady Agnes. I thought you’d be pleased.’

Crowley couldn’t help a small pout, which went entirely unnoticed. The ceiling above them creaked with the footsteps of the sisters settling into their chamber, no doubt gossiping about the decision everyone except Crowley appeared to think an extraordinarily bad one.

‘Pleased? You realise I will be paying for this slight from now until Christmas?’

Aziraphale stopped, still looking rather more frantic than the situation demanded. Crowley took a step closer, safe in the knowledge that the girls were upstairs and he had so far not encountered a single servant in the rectory.

‘If anyone behaved rudely, surely it’s her. Sending a boy out to wait for us outside an hour and a half.’

‘She did? Which one?’

‘Young.’

Aziraphale laughed, shoulders dropping a fraction.

‘He won’t like that at all.’

‘I know she’s your patroness, but she sounds like the most impertinent old lady.’

‘I suppose she is. And yet, I owe all of this to her.’ Aziraphale looked around the modest, but well-furnished room. ‘My dear Crowley, I fear we must make it up to her. As soon as the young ladies are ready, I suggest we all take a walk to Jasmine Park and grovel.’

Crowley, incapable of denying himself any longer, plucked Aziraphale’s hand from mid-air and pressed it to his mouth, kissing fingertips at random.

‘Must we really? Can we not leave her ladyship to contemplate her gall in solitude and settle in here instead? In your chamber perhaps? I do so long for you.’

His whispered entreaties had an immediate effect on Aziraphale. He, too, dropped his voice, closed the distance between them.

‘And I for you. And yet, I’m afraid, Lady Agnes must be placated. It was her particular wish that she should see you, and your wards, too. You have to trust me, Crowley, it usually pays to indulge her demands.’

Aziraphale freed his hand from Crowley’s grasp and curled it around his neck, dipping his fingers into the collar of his shirt.

‘Do this for me and we shan’t let go of each other all night.’

They heard the thundering of two sets of shoes on the staircase just in time to pull apart. Crowley turned towards the fireplace, and when the sisters burst into the room, they were confronted with a scene most unremarkable.

‘Fair cousins.’ Aziraphale greeted them with a nervous smile. ‘I do hope your room is to your liking. And I must once again apologise for the absence of any chamber maids.’

Anathema cut him off with a sharp curtsy.

‘There’s no need to, Mr Fell, we’re quite capable of looking after ourselves. Is that not what we spoke of when you came to visit? The freedom of independence?’

‘Quite so.’ He looked relieved. ‘If you are settled and rested, I suggest a visit to the Park. Your guardian has just informed me that her ladyship was expecting you earlier this morning. I hope she’s as gracious as to receive you still, despite the I’m sure unintended slight.’

‘If she thinks it unintended, she’s a great fool indeed,’ Pepper said with a derisive look at her guardian. ‘When it’s only Crowley’s usual desire to make himself quite disagreeable.’

The sisters left the room again to fetch their gloves and bonnets, not without a final glower at Crowley.

‘Why are they here?’ he whispered when the door closed behind them. ‘Why did you extend the invitation to them? I was hoping… well, I was hoping it would be just the two of us.’

Aziraphale looked miserable, the last remnants of his smile faltering.

‘That was very much my intention. But I’m afraid Lady Agnes quite insisted. “I must see those young ladies,” she said, over and over again. And, well… she is not easily disobeyed.’

And so, motivated by curiosity rather than grace, they were admitted into the hallowed halls of Jasmine Park. Or, more precisely, into its spacious music room. The tea had been drunk in awkward silence, exacerbated by the unexplained presence of a young man whom her ladyship had introduced as her nephew, and who had yet to utter a single word.

Lady Agnes, however, was perfectly happy to lead the conversation herself.

‘My dear Mr Fell, I simply cannot believe your carelessness in excusing both your housekeeper and your man for a whole fortnight when you were expecting guests. Receiving them in an entirely empty and unattended house is most improper.’

On the sofa opposite the one the Crowleys occupied, Aziraphale squirmed, fingers clasping the handle of his teacup rather tightly.

‘I had granted them this leave some weeks ago, when only Mr Crowley was expected. They are so desperately needed on their parents’ farm, you see, I couldn’t ask them to alter their plans at such short notice. And us bachelors are perfectly capable of fending for ourselves for a week or two.’

A note of defiance had crept into his voice, and his lips began to curl into the pout Crowley had seen him employ to great effect before. Lady Agnes, however, ignored it and instead turned to Crowley.

‘I offered him the use of Wensleydale during your stay, he’s rather expendable here at the Park. But Mr Fell refused.’

‘There’s no need to inconvenience—’

‘Are you suggesting I could not run this house in the absence of a single footman?’

‘Of course not, I do apologise.’

‘And now these two young ladies will be at the rectory entirely without help. Most improper.’

Pepper and Anathema flinched at finding themselves the subject of discussion so suddenly.

‘We’ll be just fine,’ Anathema hastened to respond.

Pepper nodded enthusiastically, her teacup clattering against the saucer as she did so.

‘Indeed, we do not require—’

‘Nonsense. You’ll stay here, of course, and be seen to by my own chamber maid. I dare say you’ll find her services appropriate. I’ll have the magnolia suite made up for you forthwith.’

She rang the bell, and in the ensuing bustle, a secret look was exchanged between Crowley and Aziraphale. Crowley realised just to which length Aziraphale had gone to ensure their solitude and privacy during Crowley’s visit, only for his plans to be scuppered by Lady Agnes’s insistence on his inviting the two girls as well. Fortunately, she had taken care of this inconvenience as swiftly as she had caused it.

‘What say you, Pulsifer?’

The silent young man on the sofa looked up from his own teacup, terrified that his opinion might be required.

‘About what, aunt?’

‘The magnolia apartments.’

‘Oh, very pretty indeed. Lovely view of the duck pond.’

With that, the Crowley sisters’ fate was sealed. Once they had taken in that they were to stay here, at the magnificent Jasmine Park, with the magnificent Lady Agnes and her chamber maid, their countenances brightened. As did Crowley at the thought that he and Aziraphale would be alone at the rectory, entirely alone, without even a butler or a housekeeper to disturb their bliss.

The teacups and cake trays were refilled, and by the time the maids had left the music room again, presumably to hastily prepare the guest chambers for their sudden occupation, the same awkward silence as before settled.

Crowley did not mind particularly. He had always taken morose enjoyment in seeing other people’s unease in situations like this. An enjoyment which Anathema had remarked upon many a time already.

Aziraphale, evidently more sensitive to societal discomfort than Crowley had ever been even in his younger years, was quick to break the silence.

‘The pianoforte is looking remarkably well today,’ he said, as if commenting on the health of a lap dog. ‘Your ladyship must allow Miss Crowley to experience its beautifully balanced tone.’

Some colour returned to Anathema’s face, and Crowley was glad for it. He was not used to seeing his ward so quiet, tongue-tied even. But the promise of indulging in her favourite pastime, of exhibiting her skill to such an eminent audience as Lady Agnes, and on an instrument that, Crowley had to admit, appeared much superior to that at Helgate House, reinvigorated her. After receiving her ladyships permission, she hastened to the instrument and began to rifle through the displayed music sheets.

She played with the usual virtuosity and not a touch of nerves, not even under the scrutinising eye of Lady Agnes and the nearly indecent open admiration of her nephew. Young Mr Pulsifer had suddenly come to life under the passionate melodies of the sonata, swaying forwards to the music, as if only the power of decency could keep him in his seat.

 When Anathema finished playing, he was the first to applaud.

‘Bravo, Miss Crowley, Bravo. Was this not an exquisite performance, aunt?’ he said, more animated than he had been at any previous point in the day.

Lady Agnes deigned Anathema’s performance with a gracious nod.

‘You play with much expression, indeed. And I should know, being one of the foremost connoisseurs in the country. Ah yes. Had I ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient.’

She let out a sigh at the tragedy of her situation.

Pepper, who had remained unnaturally quiet since she had sat down on Lady Agnes’s brocade sofa, burst out in a strangled laugh, then bit her tongue so hard, tears threatened to flood her eyes.

‘I should know,’ Lady Agnes said again, this time with a scowl. ‘Your expression is adequate, Miss Crowley, but your technique lacks finesse. A little more application, I dare say, is required, but the young ladies of today are not as patient as we once were. You will never play really well unless you practice more.’

‘I beg your pardon, your ladyship,’ Pepper piped up, as always ignoring her guardian’s warningly raised eyebrow. ‘But if you never learned to play, does that not rather show a similar lack of application in your own generation?’

 Lady Agnes’s eyes flashed, and this time even Crowley cowered.

‘The difference is, young lady, that I am the daughter of an Earl and quite in possession of my own fortune, whereas you and Miss Crowley have very little to recommend yourselves aside from your natural charms and whichever accomplishments your by all accounts neglectful guardian allows you.’

Crowley sat up straight, contemplating just how offended he should be by that insult.

‘If one assumes that the only reason for learning music is to attract a husband,’ Pepper snapped back.

‘What other reason is there?’

‘I was rather hoping you would be able to enlighten me, seeing as you’re one of the foremost connoisseurs in the country. I don’t suppose your enjoyment of music is borne from a desire to marry?’

‘Impertinent girl!’

Three Crowleys, one rector, and one nephew of nondescript purpose all held their breath, but to everyone’s surprise, Lady Agnes broke out in a bellowing laugh that sounded all wrong in these fine surroundings.

‘It’s a shame you’re not wealthy, Miss Pepper, or I would have a lot to teach you about the world. But perhaps there is something to be done about that, too. Do have another biscuit, child, cook’s recipe is a close-kept secret and the envy of the county.’

‘Lady Agnes is truly terrible,’ Crowley growled as he pushed Aziraphale into his bedchamber back at the rectory. ‘I don’t know how you put up with her.’

‘Not terrible enough for you to forbid your wards from staying the fortnight at Jasmine Park, I dare say.’

Aziraphale was already most of the way out of his clothes; his coat, waistcoat, shirt, and cravat forming a trail that led all the way down the stairs to the front door. Careless evidence of urgency. Crowley was hastily divesting of his own trousers now, letting them drop onto a pile on the floor with the rest of his clothing.

Every ounce of him was filled with longing, wiping all concern for his wards and their unpleasant hostess from his mind.

‘It will do them good. Remind them what a kind and generous guardian I’ve been to them.’

He sank into a crouch to tear down Aziraphale’s trousers to the ankles.

‘And this has nothing to do with the conveniently empty house in which we find ourselves?’

‘You are being extraordinarily rude, Mr Fell. And to a guest, too.’

Aziraphale stepped out of his trousers and pulled Crowley to his feet. He opened his mouth, indubitably with a sharp remark ready on his tongue, but Crowley was faster, hands snapping around Aziraphale’s shoulders, mouths crushing together. He would never get tired of kissing this man. Two weeks were not going to be enough. They spun for a moment, nearly toppling over, then parted with a breathless laugh.

‘Forgive me, I’m a little out of practice,’ Aziraphale said, running his thumbs down Crowley’s neck, along his clavicles and down to brush his nipples.

Crowley shuddered and rolled his hips to press their naked cocks together.

‘As am I. I’m not often blessed with visitors at Helgate House.’

He swung Aziraphale around and pushed him down onto the bed, which creaked so loudly it would surely have woken up the whole rectory. But tonight, they had no such worries. Nothing mattered but them.

‘I should hope not. It would hurt my pride immensely were I so easily replaced.’

Aziraphale crawled backwards until his head hit the pillow. Crowley followed and straddled him, even as his sore hip, tired from the morning’s carriage ride, began to twinge.

‘Is pride not a deadly sin?’

‘Do shut up. I’m not at the pulpit now. If you want to hear me preach, you’ll have to wait until Sunday.’

‘I want to hear you pray again.’ Crowley bent down to whisper this blasphemy right into Aziraphale’s ear. ‘I want to hear you worship.’

He placed a hand on Aziraphale’s chest, softly padded, heaving with hasty breaths.

‘I’ve been worshipping you since London, Crowley. At first your hands.’ Aziraphale clasped his own over Crowley’s fingers, pressing them closer into his skin. ‘When we were playing cards at Lady Carmine’s. I couldn’t stop looking at them. So beautiful.’

He raised Crowley’s fingertips to his mouth, just as Crowley had done to him earlier. His pulse pushed insistently against Aziraphale’s soft lips, fast and heavy.

‘Lady Carmine thought you were trying to cheat.’

‘She’s always been terribly prejudiced against the clergy.’

‘Also, you lost every game.’

‘Entirely your fault, my dear.’

Crowley laughed and pushed two fingers between Aziraphale’s lips, into the wet warmth of his mouth. The sight of it made him shiver, the young rector trapped beneath him, eyes glazed over with lust, sucking on his fingers.

‘Do you want to know what these hands can do, Mr Fell? Other than win at Whist?’

In response, Aziraphale bit down, lightly, just below the nail. Crowley let out a squeak that he stifled immediately.

‘You shan’t find out if you keep mauling me.’

Crowley reached down between his legs, wrapped spit-slicked fingers around Aziraphale’s cock, squeezing and pulling, eliciting exquisite little gasps.

‘You’re ever so… talented. No wonder you make a fortune at the card table.’

Aziraphale fumbled for something from the bedside cabinet, and Crowley was not at all surprised by the small and half empty jar of grease that was thrust at him, and promptly applied.

‘And you’re ever so loquacious.’

With one hand braced on Aziraphale’s shoulder, Crowley lowered himself onto him. Thickness breached him like he had been yearning for since Aziraphale’s departure from Helgate House. Slowly, inch by inch, until the stretch was nearly too much. Calm settled, punctuated by the quivering of Aziraphale’s stomach muscles as he strained to keep still.

They gazed into each other’s eyes, full of unsaid things that were too sacred to be shared blithely. Crowley put them into his touch, let his thumb sink into the dip between Aziraphale’s shoulder and his neck, and continued down until he pressed his whole palm against his chest, fingers spread wide to catch every single heartbeat.

Then he moved, thighs and hips tensing with exertion as pleasure spread through his core, radiating through him. Sharp and intense, an ecstasy like no other. He began to rock on top of Aziraphale, and when he called out next, it was loud, unrestrained, and wonderfully inarticulate.

‘Oh Lord, yes. Don’t stop, Crowley. Don’t stop.’

Chapter Text

‘Anathema is going to marry Mr Pulsifer.’

Pepper stated this absurd idea in a startlingly casual manner, as if it was not only a fact, but a rather unremarkable one at that.

Her guardian, upon hearing it, tripped and nearly fell into the frail old gentleman ahead of him in the queue to leave the church.

‘She’s going to what?’ he snapped. ‘How do you know? Did she say as much?’

With a pitying smile, Pepper steadied him, holding onto his elbow.

‘She didn’t have to. The way she looked at him this morning told the whole parish.’

‘Did it?’ Crowley craned his neck to see if he could spot her in the crowd. ‘I didn’t notice.’

‘No. You were rather more absorbed in the sermon than I’ve ever seen you be at home. Mr Tyler never holds your attention like that.’

‘Yes, well, Mr Fell is more, er, engaging, don’t you think?’

Crowley freed his arm and shuffled forwards. There was Aziraphale, greeting the parishioners with a beaming smile that, even at a distance, didn’t fail to make Crowley’s insides twist.

Pepper couldn’t know, could she? She was a young girl, and sheltered even for her age. She knew love only from novels, and Crowley’s type of love would never be the subject of those. But then, she had become a lot more worldly ever since Lady Agnes had taken her under her wing. Crowley had yet to decide whether he approved of her influence or not, though he was under no illusion that his opinion mattered very little.

‘Mr Crowley. Miss Pepper,’ Aziraphale greeted, when he and Pepper had reached the front of the queue. ‘How lovely to see you both here. I do hope you enjoyed the sermon.’

Crowley bowed low enough to hide his grin.

‘Very much so, Mr Fell. Your ruminations on the deadly sin of pride were particularly enlightening.’

‘I’m glad. If you’re in need of further instruction on the matter, you know where to find me.’

‘Much obliged, sir. Though I believe we are both taking lunch at the Park today?’

‘The last one before you leave.’

Tomorrow evening, Crowley would bundle the two wards into the family carriage, rip Pepper away from her ladyship and Anathema from Mr Pulsifer, until they saw each other again in London.

Then, and this would be hardest of all, he would have to tear himself away from the safety of Aziraphale’s home, the comfort of his embrace, the heat of his kisses. Crowley was suddenly heavy with the bitterness of it. A fortnight had not been enough, but he had the creeping suspicion that no amount of time with Aziraphale would ever be sufficient.

He drew himself upright, trying his best not to let his dismay show.

‘Shall we be on our way, then?’

The rest of the parish had already disappeared up the path, dispersing in all directions.

‘Come here, child, leave the gentlemen to their trivialities,’ commanded the booming voice of Lady Agnes from beyond the gate.

With a half-hearted curtsy in Aziraphale’s direction, Pepper hastened to make her way over to her mentor. Crowley shook his head. Had he dared to address her as child, he would have been snubbed at best, and stabbed with the sharp end of a fan at worst.

Crowley set off after them, with Aziraphale by his side. Where Anathema and Mr Pulsifer had gone unchaperoned, he did not know, nor did he particularly want to investigate.

‘Do you think Mr Pulsifer will propose to Anathema?’ he asked Aziraphale, after ascertaining that they were a safe distance away from Pepper and Lady Agnes, who were being helped onto the high seat of her barouche by Young.

‘I expect so. He’s not been subtle with his affections, and she appears to return them.’

‘They’ve known each other for barely a fortnight!’

‘I’ve known you for little more than that,’ Aziraphale replied quietly, leaving the rest of the thought unsaid.

Lord knew he was right. It had taken Crowley very little time to fall for Aziraphale, and though they had not spoken about their feelings in so blunt a manner, he knew it was not a one-sided attachment.

And yet, the news of Anathema’s apparent connection with Newton Pulsifer, should it be of as strong a nature as Pepper and Aziraphale suggested, weighed heavy on him. Though perhaps it was rather the accompanying feeling of paternal inadequacy with which he was intimately acquainted.

‘Why did nobody inform me of that?’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I must have a word with young Mr Pulsifer… this is by no means a done deal.’

‘Is it not? Why, my dear Crowley, you are hardly going to stand in their way.’

‘What makes you so certain of that?’

‘For one, he has ten thousand a year. Not the type of man one refuses.’

Crowley stopped in his tracks.

‘Ten thousand? Are you quite sure of that?’

‘I thought you knew. It’s hardly a secret. Ten thousand and the most exquisite estate in Derbyshire. Half the ton has been after him these past three seasons.’

‘They have?’

‘Goodness, you really don’t spend much time in town, do you?’

‘I do, though not where matters of courtship are usually discussed.’

In the Red Lion and places like it, talk was frowned upon, and gossip even more so. Aziraphale shook his head.

‘Forgive me for being so frank, but you have not done your wards justice with this carelessness. If I were you, I would do everything in my power to encourage Mr Pulsifer. Should there be real affection between him and Miss Crowley, there can be nothing more natural than this match. For Miss Pepper, too.’

‘I must talk to Anathema. Where on earth has she disappeared to?’

Aziraphale put on his most disapproving pout and walked on.

‘Next week’s sermon might just be on the topic of familial responsibility.’

‘You laugh now, but one day you might just be saddled with dependants of your own and then you’ll see.’

‘Considering my fate as an eternal bachelor, I highly doubt that.’

‘That’s what I thought, too, at your age. And now look where I am. Running after an unruly seventeen-year old falling under the spell of an eccentric spinster, and a young lady who might at this very moment get up to mischief with a man who—’

‘— has ten thousand a year. Don’t forget that.’

Crowley kept a very close eye on Mr Newton Pulsifer all throughout their lunch at Jasmine Park. He was a quiet young man, but perfectly well-mannered, with a tendency to blush whenever Anathema’s attentions were directed at him, and to flinch whenever his aunt’s attentions were directed at him.

‘Mr Crowley.’

Crowley flinched, too, at being thus addressed by the formidable spinster. Spluttering over his cold cuts, he nodded at her. Of course, she required no such invitation to continue speaking.

‘Miss Pepper tells me you are still insisting on leaving tomorrow.’

‘That’s correct. I have—’

‘You’ll do no such thing. You must stay at least another week. Longer, if necessary. Then I will take the Miss Crowleys to town, and they will spend the start of the season with me. You’ll be able to spare them, I’m sure.’

‘Er.’

‘My nephew will accompany us. You need not fear for their safety.’

The nephew in question looked rather taken aback by that declaration. Anathema took a deep sip from her glass, which didn’t quite cover up her amused smile.

‘You are very generous indeed,’ Aziraphale said in the reverent tone he always affected when talking to Lady Agnes. ‘I’m sure Mr Crowley is ever so grateful for your care and attention to the young misses.’

A booted toe kicked him in the shin, and he flinched again.

‘Quite so,’ he hastened to say. ‘Very grateful, your ladyship.’

She bared her teeth at him and he did his best to appear the very image of gratefulness. Though, he thought grimly, not quite in the same way Aziraphale was used to by now.

Lunch was cleared away and Anathema took her place at the pianoforte, with Pulsifer by her side turning the pages when he was not too busy staring at her. To his credit, he appeared to know the music just as well as she did, swaying to the rhythm, humming along under his breath.

A perfect match, indeed. Crowley crossed his arms at this blatant display of courtship. How had he missed it these past weeks? They were certainly not subtle.

Aziraphale sat on the sofa next to him, watching Anathema’s performance with the usual rapt attention, and Crowley longed to reach out to him, to hold him close and let himself be distracted in the way only he had ever managed.

His indignation at Lady Agnes’s decision-making, her insistence on their staying was quickly replaced by unfettered joy at the prospect of another week at the rectory, another week of Aziraphale’s presence, his affections, before he returned to Helgate House and the aimless life he led there.

The sonata came to an end and Pepper, whose appreciation for music had never been more than superficial, rose from her seat before the applause had rung out. Without so much as a curtsy or a word of goodbye, she strode out of the room.

Crowley shot an apprehensive glance at Lady Agnes, awaiting her reaction to this incivility, but she only smiled indulgently at the door that had just closed behind Pepper.

‘She spends a great deal of time in the library,’ was the only explanation offered. ‘The improvement of the mind through reading is one of the worthiest pastimes in which one can indulge. Don’t you agree, Mr Crowley?’

‘Er, I suppose reading is—’

‘Miss Pepper told me of your reluctance to buy books.’

Despite his nerves, an indignant huff escaped Crowley.

‘Reluctance? If it was up to her, she’d fill every room at Helgate House with books, and the stables, too.’

‘Novels are such an enrichment, indeed,’ said Aziraphale, raising his voice to drown out any further hostility on Crowley’s part. ‘I do love to read. Though, with the weather being as fine as it is this afternoon, I am quite desiring a walk. Who would care to join me?’

Crowley groaned, but got up from the sofa anyway. Aziraphale’s proclivity to suggest countryside walks as a way to end conversations was most vexatious.

It was too sunny, and too warm, and Crowley’s hip was already sore from the rather vigorous activities he and Aziraphale had indulged in the previous night. He was left bringing up the rear of the walking party, with even Lady Agnes marching ahead of him as if the three decades that separated them were a mere triviality. Pepper had emerged from the library just as they had gotten ready to leave, full of indignation at nearly being left behind as if she hadn’t been the one rudely abandoning them in the drawing room.

Crowley stabbed his stick into the ground, wondering if anyone would notice if he simply made his way back to the house and laid down on the comfortable drawing room sofa.

‘Whatever’s the matter? It’s a beautiful day and it saddens me to see you so taciturn.’

He looked up from the mossy ground, right into Anathema’s smiling face. She offered him her arm and he took it, shamelessly leaning on her, slowing them both down.

‘If your sister is not mistaken, I understand I am to congratulate you on your engagement.’

A hint of bitterness seeped into his tone despite his best intentions.

‘Don’t be so dramatic. Should I be engaged, you’ll be the first to know. Well, after Mr Pulsifer and myself. And I suppose Pepper might wheedle it out of me first. Oh, and Lady Agnes is unnervingly perceptive. You’ll be the fifth to know.’

Crowley laughed, all acrimony dispersing in the late spring air.

‘He has not yet proposed, then?’

‘No, but he will in due course. I’m afraid the matter is quite settled. As soon as he has gathered the courage to ask. And the courage to seek your blessing.’

A short engagement, as was the fashion these days, followed by an early autumn wedding perhaps. And then, before the season was over, Anathema would be off to live her new life as Mrs Pulsifer.

‘Derbyshire is a long way away,’ Crowley mused, mostly to himself.

Even without turning, he sensed Anathema’s frown.

‘It is. Will you be alright on your own?’

‘Of course.’ Crowley laughed it off, though he was not at all sure that she believed him. ‘I’ll have—’

‘Mr Fell.’

He coughed and looked away, his heart thundering all of a sudden.

‘I was going to say Pepper.’

‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed the difference in your happiness since we arrived here. Or the change in your disposition during his visit at Helgate.’

‘Right, er… er…’

‘He seems a great friend to you. I’m glad you found him.’

‘As am I.’

They walked in silence for a while, slowly catching up to the rest of the party. Sunlight filtered through the bright green treetops, casting mottled shapes onto the forest path. Up ahead, Pepper was arm in arm with Lady Agnes, deep in conversation, followed by Mr Pulsifer and Aziraphale, both looking somewhat unhappy with their choice of walking companion.

‘I will continue to look after Pepper,’ Anathema spoke in a half whisper, even though the others were still a distance away. ‘When I’m married. Though with her ladyship having taken her in like a lost duckling, I don’t expect either of us will get to see much of her this season.’

‘I do hope she’s not filling her head with ideas above her station,’ Crowley said gravely.

‘I’m certain she’s doing just that. But Crowley, once I’m Mrs Pulsifer, her station will be rather elevated. Once word reaches the ton that she is Lady Agnes’s protegee, she will be much sought after at parties and salons. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had two weddings to oversee before the year is out.’

They had reached a clearing in the centre of which grew an oak, tall and majestic, branches sprawled out like an ancient canopy. Ahead, Pepper turned and laughed.

‘What on earth are you two chatting about so sombrely? Is this not lovely? Oh, I could spend the rest of my life here, despite Lady Agnes’s insistence on needlework after dinner. I swear if I have to spend another minute embroidering that horrid cushion, I will stab myself with the needle, let this tree be my witness.’

With that exclamation and a shrieking laugh, Pepper disentangled herself from her ladyship’s arm to skip towards her sister and guardian.

‘Obstinate, headstrong girl,’ Lady Agnes muttered, shaking her head, but it sounded rather fond.

Back at the house, Pepper insisted on dragging Crowley off to the library while the rest of the party settled in the drawing room for tea and cakes. He sighed as he followed her through a maze of corridors, silently lamenting the loss of any real authority he might ever have possessed.

‘This is where I spend my days,’ Pepper was saying, waiting at the top of a marble staircase while Crowley, one hand on his sore hip, dragged himself up it step by step. ‘So many books to read, ones I’d never even heard about before.’

She pushed open a door. Crowley followed her through it into the library. It certainly was exquisite, just as Aziraphale had described it weeks ago. Even Crowley would not mind spending an afternoon here among the volumes that lined every wall of the room, every inch of space between the tall windows.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Pepper crossed her arms and stared right at Crowley, with a hardness in her eyes he was sure had not been there before this visit to Jasmine Park.

‘I like it here,’ she declared, ‘and I want to stay here. Not just this week but for as long as Lady Agnes permits.’

The air was well and truly knocked from Crowley’s lungs.

‘Why?’

Pepper furrowed her brow, as if the answer to that was rather obvious.

‘Once Anathema is gone, I’ll be all alone at Helgate House.’

Crowley opened his mouth, but she stopped him with a raised hand.

‘I know what you want to say, Crowley. You say you’ll be there, but you very rarely are. You spend more time in London than you do at home, doing God knows what. Always so secretive. I know you’ve tried to look after us to the best of your abilities, but… well, the best of your abilities is not quite enough anymore.’

Dear Lord, it was true. Ever since the sisters had arrived at Helgate House dressed in mourning, he had resigned to his fate as a guardian, but never relished this role. Even the question of their inheritance, brought about by his own unwillingness to marry, had been barely more than a dark spot on his conscience, before his chance meeting with Aziraphale had brought the issue to the forefront of his mind.

It was quite the realisation to have at three in the afternoon in an overstuffed library in Kent. The weight of it made him seek out the nearest couch, like a lady ready to faint. Pepper sat down next to him, and when she spoke again, her tone was much softer.

‘Lady Agnes has taught me a lot already, but there is so much more for me to learn here. She said she’d take me out in town as well. I need this, Crowley. You know I do. Anathema has been lucky with her Mr Pulsifer, but I shan’t rely on fate for my future.’

‘Is this about marriage?’ Crowley asked miserably, twisting his fingers. ‘Courtship?’

‘Quite the opposite. I am beginning to see the advantages of spinsterhood.’

‘Pepper, you are much too young to speak of such things. You don’t want to get to my age and be filled with regret.’

‘Well, are you?’

‘I— er. No, actually.’

He was not. Had never regretted remaining a bachelor, not even before meeting Aziraphale. However, it was different for Pepper. Crowley would not patronise her by pointing out that difference. She was well aware of it.

‘For years, I’ve wondered about you. There were times I thought you too bitter to marry. Too sullen.’

He laughed. How many times had he joked that no lady of sense would have him? But this Pepper, mind sharpened by Lady Agnes’s influence, no longer believed it.

‘It’s about freedom, is it not?’ she continued. ‘Yours and mine. I see that now. All I ask is that, since you have secured yours, you won’t stand in the way of mine.’

A knock on the door spared Crowley from having to come up with a response to this. It was Aziraphale, sticking his head through the gap in the door.

‘Tea is ready. Her ladyship requests that you join her in the drawing room forthwith.’ He slipped into the room and closed the door behind him. ‘Between us, I think she’s rather fed up of Mr Pulsifer’s and Miss Crowley’s flirting.’

‘It’s nauseating,’ Pepper agreed, wrinkling her nose.

She stood up, offered Crowley her hand. He shook his head.

‘Do go ahead and make my apologies to her ladyship. I should like a word with Mr Fell in private, before we join you.’

He watched Pepper leave the library with a strange heaviness in his heart. With her so seamlessly integrated at Jasmine Park and Anathema on the brink of betrothal, it occurred to him perhaps for the first time that they were both young ladies with their own lives and their own destinies.

Where did that leave him?

The sofa cushion sank with the weight of Aziraphale, sitting down much too close for decency. It did not matter, they were alone.

‘Never age,’ he groaned, turning to bury his face in the comforting solidity of Aziraphale’s shoulder. ‘And never take on responsibility if you can avoid it.’

‘Sage advice, my dear. Whatever would I do without such guidance?’

For lack of a witty response, Crowley bit down on Aziraphale’s neck. To his misfortune, it was thoroughly covered by the high collar of his shirt. The taste of starched cotton was most unpleasant.

Aziraphale tipped his chin up with a thick finger and kissed him anyway.

‘I don’t know what’s causing this morose mood. You’re staying at least another week, or however long Lady Agnes deems your presence necessary. I suspect she is keeping you around until poor Mr Pulsifer has gathered his wits enough to propose to Miss Crowley. You should be content. This visit could not have gone any better for you.’

‘I am content.’ Crowley sighed, unwilling to put any more distance between his mouth and Aziraphale’s. ‘Joyous, even. Anathema married off, Pepper taken in by a rich spinster, and the man to whom my entire estate is entailed turned out to be—’

‘Handsome and charming and all around agreeable?’

‘A devious rake of the worst variety. A shameless flirt. A degenerate soul in the body of an angel.’

‘You do know how to flatter.’

A now familiar touch grazed Crowley’s thigh, trailing from knee to hip, lazy and languorous. The pressure of Aziraphale’s lips on his, the sweep of his tongue in his mouth washed away all of the confusion of the day, the bitterness of his inadequacy.

‘It was Lady Agnes who persuaded me to visit you at Helgate House,’ Aziraphale whispered when they parted again. ‘To accept your invitation. I was torn, after that moment we shared in London… I was so worried matters would get complicated. All this talk of entailment, and suitable matches with accomplished young ladies… and, well, you’ve seen now how insistent Lady Agnes can get about these things.’

‘Things did get complicated, though, didn’t they?’ 

Aziraphale drew back, with his hand still resting on Crowley’s hip. A promise. He smiled, affection radiating from every crease around his mouth, every flicker of his twinkling eyes.

‘I came to seek my inheritance, and instead I found you. Nothing could be simpler than that.’