shipping | psl

"Nah, won it fair and square. S'mine now - "

The bag is quite suddenly pushed into his face and he sputters in protest.

"- I can't eat these with my eye - ooh, they do cool it off a treat though."

He holds it there for a bit, feeling the hot ache slowly numb.

"Anyway, couldn't return it if I wanted to. After I chased them off, they've gone on to who knows where. Don't care to find out, really. Six on one isn't exactly fun."

"Six!" he exclaims, suddenly feeling very sick as he grinds some herbs to a paste and fusses with one of Crowley's kelps, gently unwrapping it so he can wash off the wound and apply the herbs.

"My goodness, and no one came to help you? Oh, my dear, you should be careful out there. What would've happened if you were seriously injured?" He looks at Crowley disappointedly, and returns to his work.

"And they're not for eating. Well, yes, they'e for eating, but right now, they're for cooling down your wound. It helps with the swelling. The paste should help with the healing, and as I've said, I've got laudanum for the pain. You've never had laudanum, have you? Course not, comes from poppies. It'll give you good dreams and ease the hurt. But careful not to have too much, or you'll need it all the time."

Crowley worries. Six on one doesn't impress Aziraphale, it makes him worry and fuss, and Crowley wants nothing more to hold him close and reassure him.

And so, once his scratches are poulticed and bandaged, he sets aside the cold vegetables and does exactly that. Long arms wrap around Aziraphale's shoulders and he nuzzles gently into his hair.

"Don't have any pain like this. Much better than lodenum."

Whatever poppies were. And if it was something he could become dependent on, he didn't want it.

Oh, Crowley. Aziraphale softens in his arms like butter does under a warm dish, and he holds his new-- his beau, he supposes, this lovely merman who is currently just a man, who got in a dumb fistfight to show him how much he cares.

Which, is silly, because it doesn't demonstrate a thing, besides Crowley is a brutish man just like all the other brutish men on land. He's just quite a bit more interesting.

"Alright then, let me redress your wounds and make you something to eat, and then I can hold you until the morning to ease your pain." He brushes his fingers through Crowley's hair to push it back and kisses his forehead.

It seems he was a lot more invested in this newfound thing than previously thought, trying to hold it in his hands and nurture it as a seedling in a thunderstorm.

As Aziraphale pushes his hair back, Crowley stares at him with adoration and warmth. He hadn't wanted him to worry, he should never have let that happen at all.

And so he makes an oath, so Aziraphale will never have to worry about dressing his wounds again.

"If they do come back, I won't chase them off again. They can have my hunting grounds, anything they like, and we can run off together inland where you can't hear them calling, and you can show me that place in your painting."

"No, no," he says. "We won't let them have your hunting grounds, dear. It's alright, we can... find something in the middle, so we can both be happy. But I really would like to show you that meadow someday. Soon, perhaps, now that you've got legs!" He smiles brightly at Crowley, having momentarily forgiven him his indiscretions of getting into a fight with six sirens.

He does, however, go back to dressing Crowley's wounds, so long as he can be in close proximity while he does so. Certainly, he wouldn't want to stop, and this does make it quite easy to wrap gauze around his stomach.

And it also allows Aziraphale to run surprisingly deft and dextrous hands over the flat planes of muscle there. If he should pause to ghost his fingers over Crowley's sides, it was clearly accidental.

If his eyes should linger, that's also accidental.

"Is this tender?" he asks, pressing his fingers down.

His stomach twitches under Aziraphale's touch, soft and sensitive as it is. He effectively bares his belly to the human. He bares a lot of things, considering he's quite naked, though his cock is safe in its sheath given his bottom half still isn't entirely human. Still, Crowley wants to make it clear that he trusts him utterly despite the very short time they've known each other.

"A little, yeah. Feels nice too. Your hands, I mean."

He mirrors the action, as if to say that Aziraphale can expect the same gentleness from him, that he is as safe with Crowley as Crowley feels with him.

Because his bottom half isn't quite human, it gives him the effect of wearing particularly tight pants, and so Aziraphale has no compunctions about sitting with him in his bed. It would be entirely different if he were naked and fully human, though surely not until he was done dressing his wounds.

Those were, after all, the most important thing.

"Mm, my dear, let me finish, and I'll give you a massage. Would you like that?" he asks, gently staying Crowley's hand on his stomach. He does feel safe, safe and cared for by Crowley, who would do ridiculous things to impress him. No one had ever done so before, and even though he doesn't appreciate the result, he does appreciate the effort, now that the danger has passed.

"--Is this all because I kissed you?" he asks, suddenly. Maybe that was a sign of commitment, in merculture.

A massage sounds incredible. He doesn't even know what the word means, but if it involves Aziraphale touching him more, he's on board and eager.

"Oh yes," Crowley agrees when Aziraphale asks about the kiss. "Among other things. Like your clever mind, and how lovely you are. You seemed very interesting, the way you weren't fishing for fish, so I'm glad I decided to get a better look. Because I was right. You're very interesting."

He beams up at Aziraphale, the swelling on his eye having gone down enough that he can now crack it open.

"And you're kind, answering all my questions."

"You do have a great many questions, but I like that. You're very curious, and so am I." He wants to learn all about Crowley, and he's happy to let Crowley learn all about him in return. Very shyly, he offers, "I like that about you."

He wonders what the kelp does, and how the medicine works under the ocean. He goes to get more land medicine, rubbing ointments all over Crowley's wounds, different ones for the cuts and the bruises.

"Crowley, are you feeling better?" he asks, looking at him with the wonder of a child, a newfound lover's fascinated eyes.

Crowley gets unsteadily to his feet, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale's waist.

"Felt better the moment I saw you."

And then he'd nearly had a heart attack when Aziraphale had waded into the deeps where he couldn't swim, but that was for another time.

"See? Mended me just fine. Nothing to worry about."

He placed a tender kiss to Aziraphale's brow, and another to his nose, and then each cheek.

"And then I'll spend all hours answering your questions and haranguing you with mine."

"Yes," he answers, laughing since he's just a tad ticklish and Crowley's got him to rights. "I promise you that you can continue this particular line of inquiry later," he says, referring to the kissing.

"But right now, I'm going to fetch you something to eat. Your diet is mostly fish, is it not? I have plenty out in the ice box, but it'll be cold. Do you cook? I could heat it up, we could share something." He isn't much of a cook, but having been alone his entire life, he'd had to learn. He could manage the basics, and he particularly liked cooking eggs for breakfast, but he preferred restaurants.

"And there's still plenty of bread from yesterday." He'd have to bake more tomorrow, particularly since he'd be hosting for Crowley more often. "I'll pour you some wine, do you like wine?" he asks. "It'll go well with the meal!"

"Check the bag," Crowley encourages, inclining his head to the satchel.

It does, indeed, have a great deal of treasures inside it - mostly jewelry made from pearls and rough gemstones, but there are rolled sheafs of what appears to be dark green parchment, and small, topographic globes made from a peculiar alloy - like gold or bronze but with a pale green sheen to it. The topography is, indeed, what lies under the ocean, while the landmasses are completely smooth.

But also among the jewels and maps is a sizable tuna, already cleaned and boned, the best of the red, fatty meat all for Aziraphale. There is a knife as well, made from chipped obsidian with a whale-bone handle.

"Couldn't find salmon," Crowley admits, "but this is a good fish too. It's best when cut very thin and eaten fresh."

Aziraphale gets up to look inside the bag when he's done with Crowley's wounds, and he doesn't know what on Earth he could be referring to, though it does smell fishy. But, it came from the sea, so of course it smells fishy.

He eventually finds the tuna, and gasps. "My goodness!"

He brings the fish out and places it on his counter. "Oh, it's so big." That much meat will feed him for a week. Or the two of them for several days! Maybe. Because he has no idea how much Crowley eats.

With a quick flourish, he gets out a knife and makes a few cuts, washing the fish and making several fillets. "You eat it raw, do you not?" he asks. He lights a fire anyway, because Aziraphale does not eat raw fish.

"'Course you eat it raw," Crowley says, and takes up the obsidian knife, cutting a sliver of meat off so thin it's almost transparent. "It's fresh, yeah? Here, try. You sit it on your tongue and it practically melts."

He offers up the raw sliver of meat, brimming with anticipation. He knows humans cook their food. Hell, so do many merfolk, though not as often for obvious reasons. But this is a fresh catch, plump and tender. No need for cooking.

"Fish like this is a rare treat. Rarely get this much fat in them."

Aziraphale looks at it with trepidation, but then opens his mouth for Crowley to feed him, and then when he eats it, it does melt on his tongue. The fat is unctuous, lovely, and so fresh. It's wonderful. He tastes the sea when he eats it, he tastes luxury. Oh, goodness.

His eyes slide closed, and he moans.

It's like the most lovely things in the sea have offered themselves up to him. He expects to be bedecked in pearls and given fine ambergris for perfumery at this rate.

"Oh, that's good. I didn't know you could eat it raw." He cuts another slice, and offers it up to Crowley to eat this time. He's excited to watch Crowley eat it, as excited as Crowley was to share it with him.

Crowley is flushed and gaping when Aziraphale moans, and he's still flushed and gaping when Aziraphale offers him a slice. He may be having very similar thoughts of bedecking Aziraphale in pearls and jewels and the finest perfumes, and very little else.

He's certainly got a small horde of treasure already. Later, when he returns to his den, he'll gather it all up, and leave it as an offering. Glittering things suit Aziraphale quite well, he thinks.

Eventually he comes out of his dumbfounded state, taking the offered piece of meat. He's so far gone he barely tastes it.

"Do - do humans cook everything? Because if the meat's fresh, it's perfectly alright to eat it raw."

Aziraphale cuts them some more slices, super thin as he'd been shown, and delights in this new delicacy. "Yes, we must. We cook everything, otherwise we might get sick!" he says. "Happens a lot, here. But I suppose if we pound it really thin, we can't see anything on it." Like maggots, or bugs, which they can kill, by cooking it to death!

Or, in some cases, eat the maggots. But Aziraphale has never heard of that sort of cheese, not yet. He'd be wary to try it.

Still, the fish tastes so fresh he can't see why it'd hurt him. And he'd helped himself to plenty of cured fish - gravlax, his favorite, which was just salt and lemon and oil. And dill. Mm, dill...

"This is really very lovely." He nods and then goes to select a nice white wine, and pours them both a generous glass. "I think this should do nicely with the fish." He clinks their glasses together, and takes a sip.

Crowley is still trying to play catch up. Clinking glasses. Humans letting their food go so long it rots.

It would be terrible to refuse anything that Aziraphale gave him though - after all, this was all part of courting. Bring each other to their dens, share meals, touch, observe their compatibility. Crowley's duty is, after all, to provision Aziraphale with food and gifts.

But humans let their food rot.

It's a little worrying.

He'll just have to make sure Aziraphale gets only the freshest fish, the tastiest tidbits the ocean can provide.

He sniffs the wine.

Then tastes it.

"...It's... I've never tasted anything like this. You called it wine, right?"

It isn't a bad flavour but definitely peculiar. Light and a little sour, but also sweet, and it warms him as though Aziraphale is holding him from the inside out.

"Yes, there's also red, but I think the white goes well with the delicate taste of the fish. It will bring out the light flavors in the fish," he says, cutting Crowley another slice and proffering him. "It's a particularly fruity wine."

He wants to show Crowley all the world he knows, too. He likes Crowley, so very much. He'd gladly shower him in all the things that he could afford, like flowers, and sunshine. He would love to have been able to give him gold, or jewels. But surely there's enough of it at the bottom of the ocean for the taking.

He'd like to take Crowley up a mountain, or climbing a tree. Into a forest, through the greatest art galleries. Yes, he wishes to show Crowley all that the humans could do.

"I think this would go wonderfully on some bread..."

"I think anything'd go well with bread. It's all sweet and fluffy. Bit like you."

He had, in fact, never tasted anything so sweet - even past the flavour from the jam. He'd certainly liked it, and was eager to try more.

As Aziraphale bustles for the bread, he cuts more slices of meat, arranging them artfully on one of the shimmering golden plates he'd brought as a gift. He wants very much for his offering to appeal, so perhaps putting food on it will catch Aziraphale's eye...? He can only hope.

"I promised I'd bring the maps. We'll have to wait for nightfall though, or the writing won't show."

His ears turn a bit red, but he definitely sidesteps the comment about him being fluffy or sweet, because. Well. There are more important things at hand, anyway.

"Mystical maps that only show things in the moonlight? How marvelous!" he exclaims, clearly much more interested in that than in golden plates. He looks over and, yes, well, getting Crowley anything in gold would be useless, because clearly the man was rich.

"These are lovely," he says. "Very pretty color, really brings out your eyes." He caresses Crowley's cheek again, as if to emphasize.

He cuts them both generous slices of bread, and butters them up, but leaves off the jam for now, so they can both eat their fish and their bread and wine simply, with nothing else to get in the way of their tastebuds. "This is all such a marvelous treat, Crowley. You really shouldn't have. Thank you."

He leans in, and busses his cheek.

He melts into Aziraphale's touch, gazing up at him adoringly.

"Of course I should have," Crowley states, returning the gesture with enthusiasm. "I'm courting you. Gotta bring you the very best. Especially if you're only ever eating meat cooked. Can't imagine why you'd let it go so long you have to cook it. Get's all - "

He gestures vaguely. "Tough. And chewy. Ruins the flavour."

Crowley puffs up his chest. If he still had his tail, the fringe would be fanned out.

"But not to worry. I'll only ever bring you fresh food. Never have to cook again."

"Oh, my dear. That's wonderful, I shall keep you around forever." He bumps shoulders against Crowley as he grins at him, and then continues to eat his dinner. He keeps looking up, taking shy glances at Crowley.

"You're being so lovely to me," he says. "Have you not... found any mermen to court? Or... mermaids, perhaps?" he asks, just prying a little bit.

After all, it s a little too good to be true, isn't it?

"I haven't, you know. No one holds a candle to you in conversation." He reaches for Crowley's hand.

Crowley shakes his head.

"No one's really caught my eye like you. The whole priesthood thing wasn't exactly the best place for finding a mate either."

He takes Aziraphale's hand, now quite full and much more interested in watching him eat. The fish seems to have been a hit.

"But even after I got kicked out, there wasn't anyone so interesting as you. A sage who can't swim, studying the sea - I do love a contradiction, even if High Priests weren't so fond of me pointing them out. And you're much more interesting than singing endless praises to the Old Ones."

He rests his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder, beaming.

"Your turn. I'm pretty amazed you don't have a line of hopefuls from here to the nearest city for me to chase off. Have you no one at all?"

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