shipping | psl

Aziraphale cradles Crowley in his arms and picks him up, feeling so much stronger than he had been earlier, and takes him out again to the water. He steps into it, lowering Crowley into it once they're further than waist-deep, and then diving in himself.

Everything is so clear, bright and beautiful, and he can breathe as he does normally, though not with his mouth. He looks at Crowley, who glows even brighter than he did before, and whose hair is a slow-moving fire underneath the water.

Aziraphale longs to reach out and breathe into him, to show him how he feels, but instead, he swims forth.

And.

Floats.

He's not terribly good at this swimming thing.

Crowley feels a laugh escape him as he circles Aziraphale, inspecting his form. It's probably a lot easier to do swimming lessons without the fear of choking on water, and he comes to hold the human by his torso.

"Relax a bit in your back, and keep your legs straight as you kick. Fingers together, and push from your breastbone outwards, like your pushing the water aside."

He stays by Aziraphale's side, guiding him slowly through the basics of underwater swimming. Between gently encouragements, he'll correct Aziraphale's pose, keeping him close to the shallows so he doesn't suddenly panic.

Because it's never good to panic in the ocean, even if you can breathe underwater.

Aziraphale feels so carefree as he swims around, laughing with Crowley, even though he's quite terrible at swimming still. He tries, but he has no talent for it, and truth be told, he's growing quite accustomed to Crowley guiding him. He likes it.

He tells Crowley so, swimming right past him, trying to tease him in his mirth, but ending up needing to grab his shoulders for balance.

Even though it's quite scary to be underwater like this, he finds it quite exhilarating, and he finds Crowley to be incredible, the one who introduced him to this, who's taken away his fear of the water for the moment.

"Oh, Crowley!" he exclaims, watching the bubbles that he breathes out. He encircles a hand around Crowley's neck, and clings onto him, looking at him quite invitingly, though his interest hides behind a bashful nature.

Crowley is more than happy to hold Aziraphale, pirouetting them along the gentle waves with ease. Mostly it's to show off, an almost instinctual need to impress this lovely, wise, clever human, but he also wants him to get a feel for the ebb and flow of the sea. Those currents can be very strong, and how one understands them can often be the difference between life and death.

"You're doing marvelous, Aziraphale," he praises, affectionately bumping their foreheads together, much more shameless with his displays than the human. "We'll make a swimmer of you yet."

He leans in again, perhaps to bump foreheads, perhaps to kiss Aziraphale, when he stops abruptly. His whole body goes tense, and he's scouring the waters, hands covering Aziraphale's ears.

Aziraphale is having the time of his life, galavanting around with Crowley, watching as the light hits his tail and it shimmers so profusely, glimmering like starlight in the night sky. It's a sight to behold, the red fringe like fire under water, a candle flame following a smoky wick.

He's mesmerizing, and he's coming close as if to kiss Aziraphale, and he feels his eyes slide closed and he knows that he won't fight it, will gladly let the merman take him on another sort of journey tonight, and.

And the kiss doesn't come, and his eyes shoot open, confused, wondering what he sees. He tries to turn but Crowley is stopping him; he gets the sense that right now it won't be wise to move.

He mouths, "what is it?" at him. He mouths, "Are you alright?"

Crowley holds him tight and darts into the safety of the kelp, fringe flattened to his spine so that his tail now appears entirely black. He doesn't uncover Aziraphale's ears, but he could probably pick up a faint melody reverberating around them. Even muffled as it is, it promises Aziraphale knowledge and secrets, and is difficult to resist.

Crowley has practically wound himself completely around Aziraphale, making it nigh impossible to move from the powerful coil of his tail and his strong, wiry arms.

He watches as distant silhouettes of what appear to be mermaids swim past them, oblivious to their presence.

He wasn't aware that Crowley's tail could do that, and finds himself fascinated, which is just as well, because it's coiled around him again. It's remarkable how much he trusts Crowley, that he doesn't find anything odd about this at all, though he hears the muffled sound of a lovely melody. It sounds so nostalgic, so beautiful, even though he can hardly hear it.

It sounds like... knowledge, like sitting underneath a tree in the summer paging through books, like burning the midnight oil at University, being the last one out of the library at night. Like jumping on the green at Oxford only to fall through, into the cellar, bemoaning dirtying his favorite reads...

He pushes against Crowley, gently, wanting to go see what that was. Didn't Crowley want to go see it as well? Surely he could hear it, even better than Aziraphale could. There it was, an apple hanging from a tree, red and juicy, ready for the plucking. Doesn't Crowley want Aziraphale to take a bite?

If Crowley knew the apple metaphor, he'd argue it's poisoned. Or rotten at the core. No matter how sweet it might look.

But there's no reasoning with someone under a Siren's spell, and all he can do is hold Aziraphale fast until they've passed. The reverberating melody fades, but Crowley keeps a vice grip on him until he's sure he won't try to swim after them.

"Are you alright?" he asks, yellow eyes searching as he inspects Aziraphale for signs that they might still have their hooks in him. "Those were Sirens. Don't usually see them this close to shore."

It also seems like they weren't going to stick around - perhaps they were just following a particularly warm current to new hunting grounds on the open sea.

"Sirens," he responds, and then shakes his head. "Of course." He doesn't let go of Crowley, even though it's safe. "They sound beautiful." He seems wistful for a moment. "No, don't let me chase after them."

He takes Crowley by the cheek and looks him in the eyes. Yes, that's better. He doesn't need to chase after the promise of the sirens, when there's something just as alluring in front of him.

He wonders how he was so lucky, to have a friend such as Crowley.

And they are friends, aren't they?

He runs his hand down Crowley's arm. "Thank you," he says, and then presses their foreheads together again, seemingly a form of physical affection that Crowley appreciates.

"Yes, they're very good at sounding all sorts of things. If the song doesn't work for luring their prey, they're happy to mimic lost loved ones. It's all a trap though. Have you whack off over their eggs and then rip you apart."

His arms tighten protectively around Aziraphale as their foreheads touch, and some of the tension drains from Crowley's back.

He'd have to make sure they were just passing through - they couldn't have missed his territory markers, and while he isn't in the mood for a dispute, he'll gladly give them merry Hell if it means driving them far, far away from Aziraphale.

He nuzzles up against Aziraphale's temple.

"Won't let them hurt you."

"No," he says, believing him, though he doesn't know why. "You won't." But maybe it's because he's already busy having decided that he's Crowley's to keep, if only he should acquiesce to a fool such as himself.

He doesn't want to admit it, but Crowley has already shown him more than he could ever have hoped to glean in a hundred years' of study by himself, and already drawn him out of his shell. He's perhaps the first person he's met in this provincial town, and the only one so far worth talking to for more than a brief conversation.

And Aziraphale doesn't know why, but Crowley cares for him, cares for his happiness and his safety. That could hardly be said of anyone else. It's not just him - he saved that girl. He's beautiful and charitable and strong.

"But why?" he asks, instead of doing what he longs to do, and see how Crowley slithers around him, how his head fits against his shoulder. "Why me?"

Crowley cocks his head to the side as if the question does not, in fact, make any sense to him.

Why Aziraphale? Why not Aziraphale? He's a vision, of soft pink skin, and stormy grey eyes, and hair like starlight. He's curious and gentle and knowledgeable. How can Crowley resist him?

Crowley studies his face for a time, so perplexed, so bewildered. Had no one tried to take this lovely human for their own? Did he really have no idea?

Gently, Crowley brushes hair from Aziraphale's cheek, and presses a kiss to the same spot.

"Let me court you, Aziraphale, and then you'll see what I see."

Why is Crowley so confused about all this? Can't he see that Aziraphale is quite an... outcast? Sure, he had decently good looks, but he was awkward and bookish, not exactly the powerful, princely sort.

"Court me?" he asks, chuckling in the way that he avoids Crowley's gaze and looks off shyly to the side. But Crowley kisses him on the cheek and he feels a warmth grow and bloom. "Well..."

He pulls Crowley's arms around his neck, and thinks they should get on with their swimming lesson. "Alright then, my dear new friend." He hadn't realized this would be so formal, but merfolk were intelligent beings and naturally, had their own sort of societal rules and rituals to follow.

"I think I'd like that." He backs up a little, and offers Crowley one of his hands.

Crowley takes his hand, and presses another kiss to his knuckles.

"It's dangerous right now though. Tomorrow - we'll do more tomorrow. I'll take you to shore, and you go home and plug your ears. When it's all clear, I'll tie a white cloth to the big rock - the one you can see from the window by your bed."

He gently squeezes Aziraphale's hand.

"Promise me you'll plug your ears."

"I will. Should I alert the town?" he asks, concerned. He doesn't want to leave this off for the night, but he feels safe that Crowley will come to him tomorrow, and they'll continue this lesson, this courtship. His heart does a funny flop in his chest, because no one has ever thought of him this way, and certainly, he hadn't expected the first to be someone who stepped out of one of his favorite adventure-fantasy novels.

Oh, he could pinch himself, he felt he was dreaming.

"Let me know tomorrow, and I'll come to you." He swims forward, and presses a kiss to Crowley's forehead. He did find it interesting, how similar merfolk were to humans, in such ways as this. He knows for certain that he'll dream of Crowley tonight, that he'll dream of Crowley in daytime reveries until he sees the color change on the rock.

"They won't get that close. They tend to stick to ships isolated on the open seas for hunting."

Didn't mean they wouldn't pick off a lone resident of a beachside cabin however.

As his blood in Aziraphale's system wears off, Crowley guides him safely back to shore, letting his hand linger on his a little longer. How lucky he is to have met such a lovely and clever sage.

---

When Aziraphale is safely inside, Crowley dives into the ocean to go track down the trespassers, and make sure they aren't planning to stick around.

It isn't until nearly the evening of the next day that he gives Aziraphale the signal all is well.

Aziraphale watches Crowley disappear off into the ocean, and prepares himself dinner, and touches his mouth where he'd stolen a kiss, closes his eyes and licks the inside of his cheek as if he could still taste the remnants of blood. When he does, the memory of swimming is still imprinted in his brain, fresh, a sweet reminiscent vertigo.

By the time he wakes up in the morning, he wonders if it was all a very realistic dream. After all, he'd met a merman with haunting amber eyes, soft to the touch, a vision, a titillating fantasy surely created by his depraved and lonely mind.

He keeps looking up, anyway, to look at the rocks, all day long. He loses hope by late afternoon, and wakes up from a nap that he'd taken solely for the chance to see him again, a flick of an eel's tail only an arms' length away.

When he sits up in his bed, he considers supper, and then he looks up in the sunset to see that there's a cloth there, as promised. Without bothering to put his shoes on, he rushes out of his door, locking it behind him, and steps into the water, dumbly, because he still can't swim.

It's not far to the rock, thankfully, though he struggles greatly when he reaches a spot he can't get to with his tiptoes and his head above water.

Aziraphale is spared nearly drowning when a pair of strong arms catch him around the middle and hold him upright and steady above the water, gently steering him back to the safety of the shallows.

When Aziraphale isn't in danger of being buffeted about by the waves, Crowley pokes his head out the water, chin resting comfortably on the swell of Aziraphale's stomach.

The merman looks quite a bit worse for wear. He's covered in scratches, many of the deeper ones having been wrapped in seaweed. There are bruises blossoming all over his torso, including one blackened eye, swollen shut. There is a hemp satchel slung across his chest, bulging with - well it's hard to tell what, but he's also sporting a pendant carved from whalebone that he hadn't worn before.

"Took a while but I got them to bugger off. And look - "

He rustles the satchel enthusiastically. "-Spoils. All sorts of good things in here you'll like. And maps too - I didn't forget about those."

"Crowley!" he exclaims, holding him close. "Whatever happened to you? Who did this to you? My dear boy, we must get you inside. I'll tend your wounds -- don't, don't talk to me of spoils and maps, your eye!"

He's gentle with Crowley, but his face looks pained, as if he's the one with all the wounds. "I've got calendula and aloe for your wounds, and--and laudanum for the pain. My good man, please. I... I've been so selfish, I've been waiting on your signal all day, but look at you!" He's nearly hysterical now, attempting to coax Crowley out of the water. He'll have to invest in a wheelbarrow, one he can use to take Crowley around with more ease. It would be nice to have that sort of thing in a chair.

Aziraphale finds his hands in Crowley's hair, stroking it gently, half out of trying to make him feel better, and half trying to calm himself down.

Crowley looks at him, quite bewildered. He'd just won a rather brutal territorial dispute - shouldn't Aziraphale be pleased?

But he isn't pleased - he looks distressed and frightened and suggesting putting things on Crowley's wounds as though Crowley hadn't already rubbed a poultice in. It worries him greatly and he desperately wants to set the human's mind at ease.

But almost everything is forgotten when Aziraphale starts stroking his hair - it's like an off switch for the merman, his whole body going lax save for the gentle sway of his tail, and some contented rumble that starts somewhere in his belly and rolls up through his throat.

He's practically to the shore when he remembers - the best part of his plunder! A surprise for this lovely human, so Crowley can properly court him!

"Just - just wait a tick, right here. And hold onto this, I'll only be a moment."

He thrusts the burlap bundle into Aziraphale's arms - it feels like it's quite full, and there's the light clang and rattle of a good deal of metal.

Without further explanation Crowley darts off, clutching the pendant around his neck, swimming behind the massive rock. He has no idea how this will look, and he doesn't want to alarm Aziraphale any further.

From where Aziraphale stands, there is a sudden bright green glow and the water bubbles as if boiling. It dies down quickly, and it's another few long minutes, but Crowley is indeed swimming back to him.

Until he reaches the shallows and stands on his new pair of legs.

They're not bad as legs go either; long and lanky, and covered in onyx black scales up to his hips where his tail had originally gone. They're still glossy, but seemed thicker, sturdier, more suited for traversing land, like a reptile's rather than an eel's. It looks like he's wearing a rather strange pair of stockings.

He takes a few steps and all seems well until something gets mixed up in his hips and he vaults face-first into the wet sand.

Aziraphale is very not pleased, because Crowley is scratched up and hurt, and Aziraphale never wanted that. He doesn't care for territorial wars; he had told Crowley he was a pacifist, and shouldn't Crowley have bodyguards to help him with that sort of thing, if he was a landowner? Seaowner? Territory-owner?

But nonetheless, he disappears into the surf and Aziraphale feels his whole face tighten as he both tries very hard not to cry and scream after Crowley at the same time. He's lost now, he knows it, Crowley has decided he's too much trouble, he'll swim away and find another human to occupy his time with. Or perhaps no human at all.

Yet, he's frozen to this spot, and when there's a glow returning, he holds his breath.

When Crowley emerges again, with legs instead of a tail, and stands upright, Aziraphale doesn't know what to think. What had happened to his merman-- no, no his merman, Crowley was not the sort of creature that belonged to another --but to this merman, who had stolen into Aziraphale's boat?

He doesn't get a lot of time to process this, and nearly drops all the items in his arms to run forward and catch Crowley. He doesn't make it in time, but now he is unable to contain himself. "Crowley!! What on Earth do you think you're doing? My dear boy, you must stop this nonsense at once!" he exclaims, placing the items down in the shallow water so he can pick Crowley up out of the sand. "Please. You'll open your wounds, I-- will you just come with me?"

Scratched and bruised though he is, Crowley seems otherwise alright as he manages to get upright.

"'Course I'll come with you," he says, beaming with pride. "And you won't even have to carry me on land. I mean, once I... just gotta... get the hang of these things."

When Aziraphale hoists him out of the sand, he wraps his arms around him, nuzzling into those damp curls.

"Can get legs now, any time you want me to come visit. And I scared those Sirens right off. Won't give you any trouble."

Aziraphale may have been a pacifist, and Crowley wasn't exactly big on conflict, but he would defend his territory tooth and nail.

"And there's all sorts of goods in there for you. Food and treasures. Promised I'd court you properly."

Aziraphale holds Crowley steady as they go, trying to nudge him along by keeping him close to those lovely soft curls of his as a reward of sorts. "My word, Crowley, don't be ridiculous. The proper way to court a human doesn't always involve goods, and foods. It involves... company, and... and staying safe, and... and spending time together."

He gets Crowley to the cabin and opens the door, carefully depositing the satchel on the table, and then focusing his attention on Crowley instead. "My dear, let me help you redress your wounds." He caresses Crowley's face, and looks up into his eyes, those glorious golden eyes of his.

Well, one. The other one is swollen quite terribly. He goes to fetch something from his icebox outside, a cold bag full of vegetables, and hands it to Crowley. "Here, for your eye."

Crowley takes the bag, looking rather bewildered. Did... did Aziraphale expect him to eat with his eye...?

He watches him for any further instruction, holding the chilly bag of what definitely looks like food, not sure if it would be rude to point out that this is not how you eat.

"Obviously those things are a given. S'why I nabbed this pendant from one of the Sirens - " and he taps it proudly. "-So I could spend more time with you, without - you know - drying out. And I scared them off, to keep you safe."

He grins, puffing up his chest once more.

"And I got you food, and goods. So you know I can provide."

Aziraphale looks at Crowley, honestly quite exhausted. "My darling, I know you can provide." Of course, he was an excellent swimmer and had good instincts. He would make a wonderful hunter. And perhaps Aziraphale could make a little money and build a house over the water, on stilts. And so he could sit out on his porch and see Crowley, and Crowley could swim right up to him.

He hadn't needed to do all this.

Aziraphale takes the bag of vegetables and presses it against Crowley's eye, when it becomes clear that he doesn't know what to do with it. Then he goes to fill up a bucket with the clear freshwater from the well, and a clean towel to help wash him with, and herbs and oils from his garden.

"If you stole the pendant from the sirens, won't they come looking for it?" he asks. "You must return it, I don't want you getting in trouble. We can find another way to be together," he resolves.

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