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It wasn’t a nice day. It was cold. Bloody cold. This was Yorkshire after all, no one was expecting it to be tropical, but even so the weather had been fearsome today. And although Aziraphale subscribed to the ‘there's no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing’ school of birdwatching, today had tested his patience. The wind had driven most of the birds to hunker down out of view and the lighting was terrible — not that he’d been able to take many photographs with his cold fingertips. But if you were really committed to nature — as he was — you had to take the rough with the smooth. The wildlife wasn't going to spot itself!
And then the mizzle came, which rapidly evolved into a full-bodied driving rain. As he trudged up the slope of the hill and saw the bothy for the first time, he felt lighter on his feet. Sanctuary at last! A little haven to rest his weary body. It was probably an old labourer’s hut but now it was a free to use shelter, and as he opened the unlocked door he was even more happy to see it was unoccupied. The last user had even left some firewood, thank heavens, oh yes this would do very nicely!
As the light started to fade and the fire was picking up, he felt content. Flicking back through his images and planning his next day's adventure, his wet outer clothes hung up to dry and his soft warm under layers helping him to feel snug, he flinched when all of a sudden a loud noise caught his attention.
A clatter of rocks smashing in a miniature avalanche slid down the side of the little stone wall holding up the west side of the hill. But something else rang out as well. It was either his ears playing tricks, or a rough voice letting out a gritty swear.
“Fuck!” it repeated, this time with the clatter of some equipment falling to the winter-hardened earth.
Definitely a man swearing.
As Aziraphale listened, he heard the taps of rainfall at the windows quicken their pace. He heard another swear mingling with the sound of objects slipping out of reach and scattering over the muddying ground and rock.
“Great pustulent bollocks to this blasted rain!”
Aziraphale blinked primly. Clearly someone outside had not anticipated the weather. He did not have time to entertain the possibility that said unprepared outdoorsman might seek the same shelter in which he was currently huddled, as the door crashed unceremoniously against the wall, and a soaking, huffing shadow cut a silhouette against the grey light of the entry.
All the warmth in Aziraphale's blood rushed out of him as he stared at the horrible, ungainly, definitely not attractive man who stood before him.
“Who the fuck are you?” the apparition snarled, bending almost double to fit inside the snug space, at the exact moment that Aziraphale exclaimed, “Close the door, for goodness sake!”
For a brief moment they exchanged hostile glares, then the lanky black-clad creature grasped the door handle and slammed it shut.
“The guide book said there’s never anyone else in these things,” the dripping creature grumbled, wantonly tossing his belongings onto the floor.
“Excuse me,” trilled Aziraphale — he’d hoped to sound stern, but his voice came out annoyingly shrill — “would you mind please endeavouring not to get water all over the bothy? As I’m sure you know, it is extremely difficult to keep a space like this dry and tidy!”
“It would be a hell of a lot easier if you hadn't completely filled the space with all your crap!” yelled the interloper. If he had been more polite Aziraphale would have conceded he did have a point. Assuming he would be alone for the night, Aziraphale had laid out his equipment throughout the small hut, but the stranger's tone of voice and choice of language meant agreeing with him was quite out of the question.
“Well I did get here first!” he retorted, whilst also busying himself with the challenge of moving his mostly dry items of clothing out of the dripping wet path of his rather rude new companion. “But, if you'll just give me a moment,” he glared back at the sopping puddles the man was leaving on his jacket, “I'm sure we can make this into an arrangement that suits us both.”
The eyes of the intruder moved over Aziraphale’s body in a way that made him painfully aware of his partial state of undress. At least the man had stopped barging further into the small space, giving Aziraphale just enough time to snatch up the rest of his clothes and equipment and stash everything in the corner furthest away from the door.
“Unless your proposal involves you finding another place for the night, I’m curious how you plan on getting us both satisfied,” the man huffed. He started to peel out of his wet clothes, revealing only a thin, wet Henley under his stylish, but neither rain-proof nor warm jacket.
“That is not… I was not implying—” Aziraphale spluttered, then stopped in his tracks when the man pulled the Henley over his head, revealing a svelte chest. Aziraphale was not the type to stare at strangers, but his gaze was drawn to the elegant lines of the body, mesmerised by the way the muscles shifted in the light from the fire.
Oh that could be very satisfying, Aziraphale couldn't help but think.
The redhead — for now he had pulled his cap off his head, his glistening crimson hair could be appreciated — gave a smirk and raised his eyebrow. “Like what you see?”
Aziraphale, ashamed to be caught staring, replied defensively, “Just shocked at your woeful preparation for the elements, no wonder you are so miserably cold.”
Some kindly previous visitor to the bothy had left a couple of thick wool blankets rolled up on a high shelf. The interloper took one down, brushing off the flakes of desiccated leaves and fragments of brittle twig that it had attracted.
“I s’pose I’ll just have to wrap myself up in this then,” the handso— no, obnoxious, annoying stranger said. “Unless your highness might be willing to share the warmth of his fire for a moment?” He nodded towards the flames crackling away merrily in the bothy’s tiny hearth. It had taken Aziraphale an age to get that fire going.
Aziraphale surveyed the man’s body — openly this time, taking his time to enjoy every knot of muscle and clump of dark fluffy hair. “If I share my fire with you,” he asked archly, “Is there something you can offer me… in return?”
“My charming company?” the redhead said, sounding a little unsure. “Oh!” and he sounded like he'd only just remembered himself. “I do have a hip flask of whisky.”
Aziraphale’s face lit up like sunshine. “Oh, why didn't you say so, my dear.” He remembered his manners and offered his hand for a shake. “Aziraphale Fell, pleased to meet you.”
“Crowley,” the redhead replied and offered a bitterly cold hand. Aziraphale felt a twinge of concern, the poor fellow might catch his death. Hypothermia was no lark. He immediately jumped to action, encouraging Crowley to take a step closer to the fire, adding more wood, and offering him a warm cup of sweet tea from his flask.
“You've gotten yourself into quite a state,” Aziraphale said, sternly. “We're going to need to warm you up.” Instead of doing anything more directly to improve the condition of the bedraggled chap, Aziraphale began to remove his own base layers, stripping off thermal leggings and top. “Come, come, don't be shy, you need to get the rest of those wet clothes off, immediately!”
At the man's encouragement Crowley began to remove his soaked clothes, wondering exactly what he was agreeing to. “The best way to warm you up is with body heat, body-to-body contact that's what you need. Come here,” he ordered and Crowley obeyed, laying down in just his pants on the small bunk Aziraphale now resided in.
“Good boy,” Aziraphale murmured, and to his surprise Crowley gave a whole-body jolt.
Aziraphale tried to keep his face as neutral as possible while he felt his heart race in his chest at this delightful discovery. But a cold hand that tentatively brushed his stomach reminded him how they had gotten into this predicament in the first place, and he quickly grabbed the blanket and his sleeping bag to cover them.
The bunk barely accommodated the two of them, but he encouraged Crowley to snuggle even closer. Crowley followed his lead willingly, ending up lying half on top of Aziraphale with his head pillowed on his shoulder. Aziraphale was drawn between amazement at how well their bodies fit together and worry about how cold Crowley’s skin felt all over.
The extra wood on the fire was doing its job, warming the hut further, the shadows cast by its flames danced across the stone walls, and it felt like a protective spell had been cast around them. Aziraphale consciously made his breathing match Crowley’s and then began to slow the rate, while simultaneously rubbing his hands over the poor wretch’s back, feeling him relax, melting into him.
He considered chastising the damn fool idiot further for the bad choices that had got him in this mess, but that wasn't what he really wanted. No, what Aziraphale wanted was right here in his arms.
“I can’t believe I nearly froze to death only to see one waxwing and a couple of blackbirds,” Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale’s chest, the words slurred as if he was about to fall asleep.
Aziraphale, on the other hand, felt suddenly wide awake again. “You spotted a waxwing? I’ve been trying to find one for years! How did you do that?” He could not suppress the pang of jealousy in his heart. He had spent a good portion of his weekends over the last years bird watching in this area, but hadn’t seen a waxwing once.
“I just grabbed my camera and started walking.’M not trying to grip you off1, it’s the first time I’m in this area. Heard it’s a good place for bird watching, so I thought I’d give it a go.” Crowley yawned and stretched luxuriously, moving his form along Aziraphale’s body in the most enticing ways.
Then he raised his head, and Aziraphale was met with the biggest smile. “Want to see the pictures? It was so pretty.” Before Aziraphale could stop him, Crowley scrambled out of their cocoon to get his camera. Aziraphale felt the cool rush of air and sat up, disappointed that their snuggle time was obviously over and he should best be dressed again. But Crowley seemed to have other ideas, because he returned to the bunk and huddled close to Aziraphale’s side, rearranging the blanket on their sitting forms.
There was something so easy about the way their bodies fitted together, how they could be so intimately close even though they had only just met. If Aziraphale had believed in such things he'd have sworn they must have known each other in a past life; it felt like they had known each other for lifetimes upon lifetimes. Crowley passed his expensive and pristine camera over to Aziraphale as if it was a cheap throwaway. “That's a nice one of it on the rowan tree, I quite like the colours, might mess around with the file when I get home.”
“My dear, that’s a wonderful shot, why, you could enter it into a wildlife competition, you have quite an eye.”
Aziraphale looked up and their eyes met. In fact you have two… He was even more captivated by the man beside him than the image on the screen. As he gazed at the golden irises he couldn't resist the urge to reach forward and push Crowley's still damp fringe to one side, all the better to see him properly. Crowley reacted like a cat, leaning into the touch and Aziraphale felt emboldened. Carefully placing the camera on a side table, he turned his full attention back to the beautiful man beside him. “I hope this isn't too forward, but I find that all I can think about is how lovely it would be to kiss you.”
Crowley’s breathing stilled, just for a moment, and his eyes widened. Then his breathing resumed, but heavier, more intense.
“I…” he whispered, “I…. yesssss. Yes.”
They both surged forward at once, and their lips pressed together — chaste, closed-mouthed.
“Oh,” sighed Aziraphale, “You poor thing. Even your lips are cold.” He planted another soft kiss on Crowley’s mouth. “Let me” — another kiss — “warm them up for you.”
And then Crowley gave a hungry moan, and lunged towards Aziraphale, encouraging his lips apart with gentle pressure from his tongue then snaking happily into his mouth. Their tongues entwined, rolled, explored one another. But that was clearly not enough for Crowley, as his hands delved deep into Aziraphale’s sleeping bag until he found Aziraphale’s arse, which he squeezed luxuriantly.
“Oh,” Aziraphale gasped, breaking the kiss momentarily. “Oh, you devil… do that again…”
“What..? This?” And he slid his body down, his hands still cupping the round flesh of Aziraphale's pert backside, but now his mouth moved, nibbling and teasing, first tugging on Aziraphale's lower lip, then sucking at his flushed neck, before nuzzling against his pale chest hair.
Aziraphale let out a moan as Crowley found the tight bud of a nipple and began to lap at it. It felt exquisite and Aziraphale closed his eyes, breathing heavily. “Oh, yes! Oh, you wicked tempter!” His hips began to rock involuntarily, seeking contact. Crowley slid one leg between his and they ground against each other. The sleeping bag and blankets getting twisted together, their nest becoming a tangle of fabric and limbs.
They were still in their underpants, Crowley could feel his cock straining the elastic as it grew harder and harder with every slide of cotton against cotton. The friction was maddening; almost, but not quite, enough.
“Off,” Crowley grunted, rolling his hips against Aziraphale's growing hardness. “Take ‘em off, angel.”
Angel? “You flatterer.” Aziraphale threaded his arms through twisted blankets to begin to wiggle out of his pants. “Wouldn't want to make a mess, would we?”
Crowley echoed Aziraphale’s movement, trying to shimmy out of his pants while propped up on his elbows. He let out a moan when their moving hips brushed their cocks together, skin on skin. Crowley leaned over and buried his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, his tongue working into the soft flesh. Aziraphale let out a moan, his hips bucking up, sliding their cocks together and smearing a bead of precome across Crowley's abdomen.
“Going to get jizz everywhere if we keep this up,” Crowley smirked. “Not that that's a bad thing.”
“Afraid of a little jizz?” Aziraphale said tetchily, raising a single eyebrow.
“Me? Oh, I love some vibrant jizz2.” Crowley was impressed that Aziraphale could be so eloquent, but two could play that game.
Aziraphale tilted his head, the golden light from the fireplace was enough to show the amusement on his face. “Indeed. I must say, this is a very pheasant surprise.”
Crowley sucked in a sharp breath, he was not new to the bird watching circuit and was familiar with pretty much every joke out there, but coming from Aziraphale’s mouth, the words went straight to Crowley’s prick. Now divested of their clothes completely, their shared body heat and eager movements under the twisted sleeping bag were finally enough to warm Crowley up.
“Haven’t had a shag in ages.” Crowley rolled his hips.
“Is that what we're doing then?” Aziraphale asked, his warm, strong hands wrapped around Crowley’s waist and slipped down, grabbing a handful of Crowley’s arse and squeezing. “This is all so swift! I don’t even know your full name.”
“Sorry, ‘M a right tit. Anthony J. Crowley.”
“What does the ‘J’ stand for?”
“S’just a Jay, really.” Crowley shrugged. “But I prefer just Crowley. What does Aziraphale mean? Not heard that one before.”
“Two birds at once? I feel rather jammy3,” Aziraphale tittered. “And it's from the bible.”
“Charmed.” Crowley grinned and leaned down, bringing their lips together in a soft, gentle kiss. “Although I reckon you’re more of an angel now than ever.” His body felt pleasantly warm, and he no longer felt the need to rush. Breaking away, Crowley moved to kiss along Aziraphale’s jaw, down his throat and his chest, relishing the feel of Aziraphale’s hands on him, rubbing and exploring, their touch strong and needy. Sauntering vaguely downward, Crowley tried to snake his way lower, only to find the sleeping bag in the way. If he continued moving down Aziraphale’s body, one of them would have to give up the comforting warmth of the bag. While the bothy was warmer than the torrid rain outside, it remained nippy on their bunk, away from the fireplace.
With a growl of frustration, Crowley sucked at the tender flesh of Aziraphale’s sternum; he couldn’t reach any lower. “Want to taste you, angel. Want to swallow you down.”
Aziraphale moaned and clutched Crowley even tighter. “Perhaps I have a better idea?” he offered breathlessly. “If only we had the necessary supplies.” He cursed himself internally for his lack of forethought.
Crowley’s head jerked up and their eyes met. With a knowing grin, Crowley scrambled half out of the sleeping bag for his backpack, cursing at a particularly irksome knot before crowing in relief when the wet string finally gave way. He produced a small tube of lubricant and a shiny square packet. “Got everything we need, angel.”
“My, aren’t you prepared.” The idea that Crowley had packed lube and condoms on his solitary bird watching outing was frankly… Aziraphale couldn’t help but find it arousing and his aching cock certainly agreed, twitching in excitement.
Returning swiftly to their cocoon of warmth, Crowley wasted no time in slicking his fingers up, warming it before touching Aziraphale. He wrapped one hand around Aziraphale’s cock, stroking slowly before sliding down between Aziraphale’s legs, gently massaging his bollocks on his way to the tight furl between the other man’s cheeks.
“Tell me you want this, angel.” Crowley circled his fingers teasingly without pressing in, waiting.
“Please,” Aziraphale’s voice quivered, like he was begging. “Please, Crowley.” Aziraphale spread his legs as far as the sleeping would allow. Really, they should discard the cumbersome blanket for this, but they’d both committed now.
Crowley lowered his head as his fingers breached Aziraphale, their lips crushed together as he worked his finger inside. Aziraphale opened his mouth and their tongues slid together. Crowley swallowed every moan that wanted to escape from Aziraphale’s gorgeous lips as his tongue plundered into Aziraphale’s mouth while he finger fucked him. Crowley’s cock was leaking, and he knew if he kept this up he’d come before he even had a chance to fuck Aziraphale properly.
“I’m gonna—” he panted, breaking their kiss. “Gonna jizz all over the place like a great tit.” Crowley winced immediately after the words tumbled out of his mouth. “Rubbish pun, sorry.”
“No need to apologise, my dear.” Aziraphale giggled. “But if you don’t get a wiggle on, owl peck you.”
Crowley wasn’t sure what it was about these ridiculous bird puns, but as he lined himself up and felt the tight heat that surrounded him as his cock pushed into Aziraphale’s body, he was beyond caring by this point.
“Fuck… you are perfect!” Crowley moaned, taking it slowly, feeling Aziraphale relax. He leant forward and kissed him, softly and tenderly, like it meant something. He was in so much trouble.
Aziraphale kissed him back and then the bastard wiggled his hips. “Move dear, if you please?”
Crowley nodded. “Yup, yeah. Is this alright?” and began to rock backwards and forwards, increasing his depth with each dip in and dip out4. His hands were either side of the blond man's face, his lean but strong arms holding him up as his body undulated, his spine a serpentine slither.
“Oh yes, just there, oh my…” Aziraphale tilted his hips and gripped on to Crowley's back, his fingernails leaving small sickle-shaped imprints, his mouth open and his eyes fluttering shut. “…darling, more!”
Crowley found he couldn't say no to that, picking up the pace and capturing Aziraphale's mouth in another passionate kiss. He was certainly feeling warmed up now, his face flushed and his muscles pumping. Crowley kicked off the blankets and untangled himself from the bedding, to allow greater movement. The bed was sturdy, but he could hear it rocking on the stone floor. It provided the percussion accomplishment to the music of their breathing and the crackle of the fire echoing around the room. Crowley's low moans of pleasure and Aziraphale’s occasional gasps as Crowley hit home time and time again.
They were barrelling towards their climax, Aziraphale's prick rubbing between their bodies leaving a smear, his hands roaming over Crowley, his nails scraping down his back. Crowley was putting his all into this, but he was beginning to falter, his muscles burning, determined to keep going until—
“Fuck!” panted Aziraphale, spasming under him, his cock spurting onto Crowley's stomach and his hole clenching. Crowley was taken over the edge with him, pulsing deeply and coming to rest on top of the grinning blond man. “Oh Crowley, that was, that was divine!”
Crowley’s lips found Aziraphale's and they clashed together in a messy embrace, as their breathing and heart rates slowed. Hot and sticky and so satisfied.
“This definitely wasn’t mentioned in the guidebook,” Crowley murmured, nuzzling contentedly against Aziraphale’s neck. Already starting to feel post-coital drowsiness creeping up on him, all Aziraphale could manage in response was a slow, affectionate smile.
And then they heard it. A distinctively human cough.
“HOLY SHIT!” yelled Crowley, sitting bolt upright, grabbing at the sleeping bag to try to maintain some modesty.
“Newt?” exclaimed Aziraphale in horror as he took in the bedraggled figure huddling on a stool on the opposite side of the bothy.
Newton Pulsifer, Yorkshire’s most enthusiastic but inept birdwatcher, raised a gloved hand in an awkward little wave. “Er, sorry. I didn’t like to interrupt, so I just sat over here listening to Radio 4 with my earphones in. I would have, you know, waited outside, but…” The wild westerly wind chose that moment to make his point for him, by giving the bothy’s sturdy wooden door a vigorous rattle.
Crowley surveyed the room. The untended fire was beginning to dwindle. “I s’pose this wasn’t the best location for mating,” he conceded. “Next time I’ll fly you to my nest,” he reassured Aziraphale.
Although Newt told them that he’d had the Shipping Forecast turned up really loud and barely heard a thing, as the three men rather awkwardly settled down to sleep Crowley was sure he heard him chortling “owl peck you!” to himself.
But that wasn’t the last thing he thought of as he drifted off to sleep with Aziraphale in his arms. Rather, it was the soft look Aziraphale had given him when he’d mentioned next time…
1. Grip off: When someone brags about a rare bird they saw that you didn’t.⏎
2. Jizz or giss is the overall impression or appearance of a bird garnered from such features as shape, posture, flying style or other habitual movements, size and colouration combined with voice, habitat and location.⏎
3. Jammy: being extremely lucky with a bird sighting.3.⏎
4. Dip out: missing a rare or special bird you have been hoping to find.4. ⏎