shipping | psl

Crowley gets up, steadier on his feet now, though he still sways his hips unnaturally. He does a few tests for balance at the door, standing on one foot, then the other, testing his joints and, as Aziraphale packs, inspects his ankles.

When Aziraphale is ready, he even manages to figure the door out, just to get it open for him.

"Never seen 'em up close. All big and green like pillars. You get a few that fall in the water sometimes, but I bet being among them all clumped together like that is something else."

"Oh, well, we must go see them then." He beams at Crowley and then steps outside his door, locking up behind them before offering Crowley one of his arms to hold onto as they go off, though he'll lead the way.

"Hear they're quite different in Denmark. Neat and orderly." He sighs wistfully.

"I can't wait to see them. You'll have to compare!"

Crowley nods, minding his footing in the sand which seems to slip and slide under the soles of his new feet. But he holds tight to Aziraphale and manages to stay upright until they're on firmer ground.

Oddly enough, he doesn't seem to have any issue navigating the tree roots. There's a couple close calls when he's marveling at the way the trees stand so tall, pushing up to the sky, but he seems to be getting the hang of walking. Even his hip-swaying has gone from 'absurd and obscene' to simply 'scandalous'.

But then, he is walking around stark naked. Not that he particularly cares.

"Maybe with you studying fish, I should set my sights on studying trees, eh?"

He nudges Aziraphale lightly, before spotting a small outcropping of rocks. One of them looks flat and comfortable and perfectly warmed by the evening sun. Crowley eagerly points this out - perfect spot for them to snuggle up and watch the sunset together.

Aziraphale helps him head over to that crop of rocks, because indeed it does look rather comfortable.

They make it all the way and Aziraphale is so proud of him, for being a much better walker than he is a swimmer.

He unpacks his basket and lays out the blanket first and guides Crowley to sit on it, before taking out some of their food, including the rest of the cake.

"Thought we could use a little nibble."

Crowley sprawls out on the blanketed rock, stretching his long limbs every which way, like some manner of scaly scarecrow, before patting his lap invitingly. How convenient that there is a light chill in the air and his love might need keeping warm while he snacks on cake.

"Sounds tempting. Come here, love, let me rub your shoulders. You baked that cake and then did so well today in the water."

Aziraphale likes how Crowley speaks to him, and so since they are all alone out here, he indulges and climbs into Crowley's lap, holding his hand.

"You really don't need to, but..." He looks on coyly. "If you want, it is a little bit tense between my shoulderblades..."

He gives Crowley a soft smile.

And how can he resist? Aziraphale is such a warm and comfortable weight spooned in his lap. He gives Aziraphale's hand a squeeze before getting to work at kneading the tension from between his shoulderblades.

"I always thought that kelp could get tall, but trees are really something else. Must be great to just run in here and hide from predators, nothing would be able to find you."

"Oh no," Aziraphale responds. "The predators in the woods can smell you. And I'm a terrible runner, can't imagine trying to get away from anyone in the woods." He shakes his head, and then pauses to moan a little as Crowley gets a particularly nice spot.

"It's hardly an issue anymore, though, predators stay out where there are large groups of humans present. I suppose we are the predator."

When Aziraphale moans, Crowley presses an appreciative kiss to the back of his neck, humming with approval. Deft and clever fingers continue to carefully unravel the tension in Aziraphale's back.

"You're the predators? I thought you said you didn't hunt...?"

Crowley is a little bewildered by this.

"Yes, well, I don't hunt. Some humans do. We got very good at it, and then we started farms with animals that we... grow." He doesn't think he's explaining this very well. "We found some that like being kept, you see, and so, there's honestly no need to hunt anymore. But people still do it, of course. For the sport."

"Those with animals on farms sometimes have so much meat, they sell the rest to those of us who don't have animals and who don't hunt."

Crowley is trying to picture a farm, with what vague idea he had of land animals 'growing' on it like forests of kelp.

He suspects that he probably doesn't have that entirely right.

"I see, so you barter other skills for food. Yes, we do that too. Some are also too weak, too sick or too old to hunt, and they're also taken care of."

Has hands have moved to Aziraphale's mid-back, and he bumps his nose occasionally into the crook of his neck as he works away his tension.

"Do you know where a farm is? It'd be interesting to see one."

"Of course! I can take you to one nearby. The old couple who run it are very nice, they might let us come see the animals. No hunting, though, we won't be eating them. Just... petting them, maybe."

They've got goats and sheep and a cow and pigs and some chickens.

"I will warn you, the smell is quite awful."

But they are soft, and Crowley appears to like soft.

Crowley has no idea what any of those are. But he is intrigued.

"Nah, I'm used to bad smells. Can't be worse than decaying whale carcass."

Because having that float by his den one day had been an absolute nightmare.

His arms settle around Aziraphale's middle, and he nuzzles up against his cheek. He does, indeed, like soft.

Aziraphale grins and lets his hands settle on Crowley's.

"Then I will take you to see all the animals." Well maybe not all of them.

"I think you'll like the sheep." He turns his face to catch Crowley's eyes and try to imagine him lifting up and petting a huge, wooly sheep.

Crowley thinks it's a rather odd thing to get emotionally attached to animals you're going to eat, but it does sound like a wonderful trip. He'll learn so much about the way humans live, which sounds very different from the kind of hunting and gathering merfolk do.

When Aziraphale peeks over his shoulder, Crowley beams.

"What do sheep look like?" he asks eagerly, resting his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder. "Are they soft like seals?"

Aziraphale laughs at the idea. "Hmm, yes I suppose so. They've got eyes like seals. But long noses. And they're completely covered in curly white fur."

He takes Crowley's hands and he puts it in his hair.

"Sort of like this, but longer, and thicker."

A pause.

"And much softer!"

If he can believe it.

He can't believe it.

Stroking his long fingers through Aziraphale's curls, Crowley gives him an incredulous look.

"You're having me on. You're soft as - as clouds. Or that cake you made!" He nuzzles into Aziraphale's neck, flicking his tongue over Aziraphale's pulse. "...And just as sweet."

Oh, Aziraphale is a goner for sure. "I certainly am not. I will prove it."

But his pulse quickens, racing underneath Crowley's tongue, and his breath staggers and struggles in his lungs.

"Why don't we make it a bet?"

Crowley considers this for a moment.

"Alright," he affirms, lips brushing gently over the nape of Aziraphale's neck. "What'll we wager?"

Crowley's lips hover just beside the rim of Aziraphale's ear, his breath warm as he awaits his answer.

"If you think sheep are softer, I'll get an hour teaching you how to read. And if you think I am softer, we can spend an hour figuring out how to swim."

Honestly it's a win/win, there's no losing here, except for Aziraphale who feels like he is losing every time Crowley is so near and so seductive and he does nothing about it.

There's a low, soft chuckle from Crowley as he ceases his teasing kisses and settles his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder. It's not only a win-win situation, it's all things they intend to do anyway.

"I like this wager. Alright then, I accept."

His eyes droop a bit as he watches the last fading rays of sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves.

"It's so peaceful on land," he drawls lazily. "S'a nice change of pace, not having to worry if something big is going to spring out the muck."

"Mm. It wasn't always, but we built houses. And cities. And now mostly... it's quite peaceful. There are wars, of course, but generally..."

Generally it is idyllic, isn't it? Out here on the seaside, just working day to day, getting to come home.

"We built cities too," Crowley says, eyes now shut, and his body going slack. "S'not like this though. Always something trying to make you into dinner."

As if to emphasize his point, he gives Aziraphale's ear a little nibble.

He laughs a little and leans into it. "Are you going to eat me?" he asks, perhaps a little flirtatiously. He bares his neck, making it look good enough to nibble as well. After all, Crowley might be a little bit uninterested in the food he's packed for their picnic.

Crowley has never been a big eater. Not that he doesn't like food - he is, in fact, quite delighted by human delicacies thus far - but Aziraphale is far more pleasing to nibble on.

He takes the bared neck as an invitation to plant tender little kisses down his throat, though he keeps them relatively chaste.

"Oh definitely," he murmurs, arms around Aziraphale giving him a squeeze, "whenever you feel ready for that. There's no rush - just a little taste of you is divine."

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