Chapter Text
Crowley became aware of movement.
He was in and out - and the in bits seemed rather highly suspect - but there were various recognizable details and sensations that soothed him.
Strong, thick arms; one cradled beneath his knees and the other wrapped protectively around his back and arms. Some sort of material - damp, but unusually warm - pressed against his cheek as his head lolled heavily. A strangely strong and steady heartbeat. Soft, kind, murmured reassurances.
And movement…
The brief moments of consciousness grew fewer and father between, but here and there were flashes of events occurring without Crowley’s active participation.
A clatter and a bang, followed by a second, softer bang and the subsequent muffling of the rain’s din.
Shuffling and shifting. Grumbled swearing.
Crackling and popping and the beginnings of heat.
Gentle hands carefully peeling away layers of heavy, drenched fabric.
And warmth… The warmth of a lovely, well-built fire, yes, but also something more than that… Something that felt suspiciously like being wrapped up from all angles in a living, breathing blanket of soft, thick fur…
He must have been dreaming, of course. Surely that was the only explanation that made any manner of sense.
He continued to go in and out, never quite certain when he was properly in or decidedly out. Everything seemed hazy and indistinct, uncertain and unknowable. At some point, however, he did finally drift off into a calm, comfortable sleep.
He dreamed that he was being hugged from behind and watched over by an especially large and surprisingly gentle bear.
-
It was quite bright when Crowley began to stir, and he was very confused. He was achy, hungry, and thirsty, but what was more important: he was entirely whole, alive, and safely inside his cabin. He lay on the floor near the fireplace - in which a modest flame still jauntily burned away - in a veritable nest of blankets, towels, and a variety of random bits such as the knitted throw from the armchair and the thin cushions from the kitchen chairs. An unfamiliar baby-blue jumper was bundled up beneath his head as a pillow. It was a particularly fuzzy thing that had a musky, woodsy scent and felt a bit like a thin, short fur.
Blearily, Crowley presumed that the mystery jumper was to be blamed for his fanciful dreams about a giant, furry guardian, though…something about that didn’t quite seem-
Hold up a minute… Was he-? Was he naked?
Half awake and fully bewildered, Crowley levered himself up onto one elbow and lifted the blanket atop his body to confirm that, yes... Yes, he was as naked as a fucking jaybird. Why the fuck was he-?
“Oh! You’re awake!”
Crowley would never in a million years own up to the yelp that escaped him then. Not even on pain of death. He fairly leapt out of his skin, slamming the blanket back down over his bare body and nearly giving himself whiplash in order to whirl around and face-
O-oh … Those eyes…
Crowley stared, mouth agape and fingers clutched deathly tight in the blankets.
He hadn’t been able to see more than just the eyes before, but those piercingly beautiful orbs were far from the only striking feature on the man who stood at the head of the hallway as he’d been leaving the washroom. He looked to be of nearly a height with Crowley, perhaps just a tad shorter, but he was much sturdier. He had broad shoulders and a barrel chest that was pushing the plain white vest he wore to its absolute limits. There was a soft swell of comfortable-looking belly also beneath that vest, and a thick pair of thighs beneath a pair of tan hiking trousers. He looked cozy, but also powerful; full and hearty in comparison to Crowley’s sharp and scrawny.
Then there was his face… Freshly shaved, from the look of him, his head a fluffy riot of platinum blond curls that looked in desperate need of a trim. His round nose and cupid’s bow lips made him look almost cherubic, but there was something else there too, in the glint of those bloody gorgeous eyes….
Something untamed. Something dangerous. Something that made a shiver go down Crowley’s spine whilst simultaneously forming a hot ball of arousal deep in his belly.
The rational part of Crowley’s brain told him to bloody-well say something already, but to his dismay all that came out of his mouth was a series of aborted sounds that could in no way be likened to words.
The mystery man approached cautiously, a look of concern on his face. One hand reached out to retrieve a flannel button-up from the back of the armchair and he moved slowly toward Crowley whilst shrugging it on over his vest.
The greediest parts of Crowley were instantly depressed to see those broad shoulders and lightly-furred forearms be covered up.
“How are you feeling?” the stranger asked without getting too close.
It took a few moments of gathering his thoughts - He asked you a question, Crowley, for fuck sake, answer the fucking question! - but just as the man was beginning to look truly worried, Crowley managed to choke out some proper words. “M-much better. Achy, but…okay. A bit…confused.”
The beautiful blond man shuffled a bit closer and gingerly lowered himself down at the very edge of the blanket nest, keeping a respectable distance between them. “How much do you remember?” he asked.
Crowley wrinkled his nose in thought. It was difficult to think particularly well with the gorgeous stranger’s full attention on him. “I fell,” he admitted, though he was a bit embarrassed to do so. “Down a hill. Hit my head and went out for a while. Was raining when I woke, and…” He frowned and flushed, gaze dropping to his own hands which were nervously picking at the blanket over his lap. “Got lost. Couldn’t…couldn’t keep going…”
There was quiet for a moment or two, the only sound the occasional crack or pop from the dwindling fire.
Then came the stranger’s incredulous, scolding voice: “What in the world were you doing out there in the middle of the woods, alone, with virtually no supplies of any kind?”
Crowley looked up with eyes wide in surprise. Instinctively he wanted to get angry. Defensive. He couldn’t deny, however, that the stranger’s disappointed tone made him feel ashamed and penitent. Somehow the two states combined and Crowley found himself pouting, of all things. “I could say the same of you,” he bit out, childish and petulant.
The stranger raised an eyebrow, his expression morphing into something almost hilariously bitchy. “I was carrying supplies. Actual ones,” he bit back, gesturing to the large hiker’s backpack leaning against the wall near the door. “Lots of them, in fact. Not to mention rain gear. Plus I have years of survivalist training and experience. You, on the other hand-” He paused to give Crowley a deliberate once-over. “-have the look of a city boy who’s never spent a single night in a tent, and you were carrying a single bloody water bottle in your bag. So let me repeat my question, my dear…” Narrowed eyes then, just daring Crowley to be a smartass. “What were you doing out there in the middle of the woods, alone, with virtually no supplies of any kind?”
Crowley could feel his face growing hot. “I- I mean-” he stammered, utterly abashed. “I wasn’t expecting to- I was only going to find a place to- It wasn’t- Oh fuck it all.” Closing his eyes for a moment to gather himself, Crowley drew in a deep breath and let himself deflate while sighing it out. “I’m an absolute dumbass with no luck and even less of whatever the wilderness version of ‘street smarts’ is, alright? So, uh…” He cleared his throat and offered his absolute best sheepish smile, hoping it came off as at least a little bit charming. “Thanks for, y’know…dragging my idiot ass back here.”
The stranger’s lips twitched into a smile at that. “You’re very welcome,” he chuckled. “You’re lucky I’d passed by this place earlier and was able to retrace my steps. You weren’t terribly far away, but given the direction you were heading it seems you walked right past it in the storm because you’d gone too far west to see it through the trees.”
“Seems on par with the sort of luck I’ve been having,” Crowley grumbled under his breath. Upon second thought he added, “Hold up. What were you doing wandering around in the storm?”
The stranger answered quickly and easily, almost as if he’d rehearsed this particular response. “I’m on a hiking trip, and the night before last I’d camped in a low-lying area. When I smelled the storm coming through I thought it best to relocate to higher ground, but it rolled through faster than I expected.”
“Lucky for me,” Crowley sighed. His smile felt uncharacteristically shy. “You’re like my own personal guardian angel.” The moment the words were out of Crowley’s mouth he realized how cringey they sounded, but luckily the ridiculously handsome stranger only smiled. “So, uh…” Deciding that there was really no smooth way to work the question in, Crowley just asked, “Am I allowed to have the name of my angel?”
He may have missed it, had he not being paying such close attention, but the stranger’s eyes most definitely sparkled.
“Aziraphale Fell,” he purred with a disconcertingly knowing smile. “At your service,” he added in a tone that could have very easily been interpreted as suggestive.
Crowley felt his flush travel in response to the thoughts that tone inspired. It took significant effort to control himself enough to stammer out. “Anthony Crowley…but I prefer Crowley.”
Aziraphale’s grin somehow made him even more gorgeous. “Crowley it is,” he agreed.
Oh no, I’m fucked… Crowley thought, viciously swallowing back a whimper.
God and Satan combined, he needed to get himself under control. This man - this incredible fucking man - had almost certainly saved Crowley’s life, and he was sitting here ogling the poor bastard, letting his mind get so carried away with uncalled-for possibilities that he was even starting to stiffen beneath his-
Oh fuck, he’d entirely forgotten that he was functionally fucking starkers.
There must have been something in Crowley’s expression and the way he suddenly clutched the blanket closer to his chest, because Aziraphale seemed to come to the same realization a second later.
“Oh, bother, I’m sorry, dear boy,” he chuckled a trifle anxiously. He scrambled to reach back toward the coffee table where there was a small stack of clothing he’d presumably dug out of the suitcase Crowley had left open in the bedroom. “Apologies for the stripping down, but you were shivering half to death by the time we got here, so those wet clothes absolutely had to come off.”
Crowley accepted the clothes gratefully and immediately began pulling the faded band tee over his head. He couldn’t, however, stop himself from murmuring, “Did you really need to take my pants too?”
Aziraphale’s face was just a wee bit pink when Crowley had wriggled his shirt down enough to see him again. “They were as drenched as everything else and it wouldn’t have done you any favors to keep them on,” he insisted, though apologetically. “I’m sorry if this all makes you terribly uncomfortable, but I promise I did my very best not to see more than I had to.”
Well, fuck…that statement only made Crowley’s body flush hotter because the tone in which it was said suggested that Aziraphale’s ‘very best’ had still resulted in his seeing quite a lot.
Part of Crowley wanted to ask his incredibly attractive savior whether he’d enjoyed what he saw. All of the other parts told him to bite his idiot tongue and stop being weird about the man who’d heroically rescued his dumbass self.
“No worries,” Crowley forced a chuckle and hoped it didn’t sound too strangled. “Hardly seems sporting to be prickly about modesty when you could’ve just left me to my fate out there.”
Something curious - something…wild? - happened on Aziraphale’s face just then, but Crowley barely caught a glimpse of it before it was gone, replaced with a soft smile.
“Well…you seem to be doing well now, so I suppose I should take my leave…”
Crowley’s throat seized up at the very idea, illogical though it may have been. The words had barely passed Aziraphale’s lips before he was stammering foolishly, suddenly quite desperate to keep this man from wandering straight back out of his life.
“W-wait, you don’t have to- I- I mean, the- the least I can do is have you for dinner as- as thanks for, w-well, y’know…”
Crowley would have been mortified by his brainless blathering, had it not been for the genuinely pleased smile that twitched across Aziraphale’s face.
“Dinner?” he hummed, undoubtedly intrigued. “You do realize that it’s barely mid-morning?” the way his eyes twinkled betrayed a mischievousness behind the question that made Crowley’s heart flutter.
“Lunch then, if you’re in a rush,” Crowley offered, tentative and coy. “But if you’re in no hurry. I’d love to offer you something more…substantial.”
Oh, there was definitely something very interesting flashing in Aziraphale’s eyes now. A deep, instinctual part of Crowley shivered with the fear of a small creature being sized up by a predator. The surface, desirous part, however, shivered for an entirely different reason.
“Well…” Aziraphale drawled, a finger raised to tap at his chin as he considered. “I suppose it would really be best that I stick around for a while, to ensure that you have no delayed reactions to your misadventure.”
Crowley tried for a solemn agreement as he nodded, but he couldn’t resist the grin that fought its way onto his face. “Good, great!” he said with perhaps a bit too much glee. “Perfect… Um… Just one thing first, though.”
Aziraphale lifted an eyebrow in question before coming to a realization and pushing to rise to his feet. “Oh, apologies. You probably want to get the rest of your clothing on, yes?”
Not really, the sluttiest part of Crowley pouted, though he worked very hard to silence it with a, No jumping twelve steps ahead, you tart! You just met the man!
Aloud, Crowley affixed what he hoped was a charming smile on his face and cocked his head toward the fireplace. “Well, yes, that too, but I was actually gonna say-” He gestured with wiggling fingers toward the guttering flames. “-maybe you could teach me how to make a decent fire so I don’t use up the rest of my matches on my next attempt?”
Aziraphale blinked. Snorted. Burst into a beautiful peal of laughter that made Crowley’s heart race.
“Yes, yes…I suppose I can do that,” Aziraphale agreed. “And perhaps we can work a bit on your severely lacking survivalist skills while we’re at it.”