tramitem_log | and watch how you play

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and watch how you play

Who: Aziraphale and the Crowleys (Anthony and Alec)
What: A picnic with chaperone. The ineffables have been having memories of each other and Alec is determined to keep them from destroying their lives over it.
When: May 11, noonish
Where: New York Botanical Gardens
Rating/Warnings: None--if Alec has his way.

It was a chilly, dreary day befitting Aziraphale's mood when he woke up. No hangover, thank goodness, but he did sleep in, which meant his morning was spent in a rush acquiring the necessary goods for the picnic.

He packed a selection of cheeses and a baguette, crackers and a fig compote, some grapes and small oranges (and wasn't this getting heavy now), and a bottle of red wine (because Anthony had shown a preference for it and it certainly fit with Aziraphale's). It was turning out a little fancy and a tiny bit romantic, unfortunately, but then again...weren't all picnics (that weren't children's peanut-butter-and-jam sandwiches and riddled with ants) a little romantic? That was the nature of a picnic.

(Oh, but was that enough food? Maybe he would pick up a few sandwiches on the way, just in case. And some cake.)

But this would be a nice, friendly picnic between two Friends and allies and they could discuss Aziraphale's memory. It hadn't even occurred to him that Alec might have mentioned any part of Aziraphale's conversation at the Gala to Anthony--mostly because he'd spent the better part of the morning trying to prepare for a picnic he probably should have just cancelled. But he was determined to keep this completely normal. They were adults. They could sit there and be civil and talk about things without being weird.

This was healing, right? Making his peace with the fact that the emotions stirred by memories were not reality?

Aziraphale, bundled in a warm coat and a nice scarf, arms just a little tired of carrying the picnic basket, paid for his own admission to the gardens since he had already been planning to come for the art event, and sent off a text.

I'm here! Do not rush on my account.
Is there any place in particular you would like to meet?
I'm afraid it did not warm up as much as I had hoped.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Anthony shrugged, "They wouldn't be like any Nuns I had ever met before but maybe there is some kind of strange plain clothed sect. You have to admit that would be the best way to surprise sinners. You could infiltrate them. Actually to a Catholic school kid... that's a terrifying thought."

Thankfully stealth nuns weren't a thing as far as he knew because if they were he had a feeling they would be absolutely scandalized if they happened to peer into any of the windows right now. He was more intrigued. He always was when something felt forbidden and absolutely wonderful.

Aziraphale's breathing seemed just a tick quicker, his hands exploring, searching... And he hadn't realized just how tight his jeans were until they were given that tug which excited every bit of him the fabric happened to tug across. Lord almighty, that tugging was like a wanton question...

"I can't imagine what a demon would want with Holy Water. If I were a demon, an actual demon and not just having the memories of one... I'd want to stay the Hell away from the stuff. Churches too, graveyards, I don't know why I would be any where near those places."

Wanton questions deserved wanton answers. Anthony slithered closer until he could run his palm up and over the hand he had been holding, to Azriaphale's chest and beyond all the way to the small of Aziraphale's back. His other hand soon joined the first in a very chaste hug that was made just a touch more racy when a kiss landed near the man's ear.

"Why would you bring me Holy Water? It's not like most people keep fonts of it in their homes."

He raised a suggestive brow but didn't ask what Anthony might have done to make it so terrifying. Then again, all it took possibly was a little Catholic guilt to make even a non-sinner feel like he was one.

Aziraphale on the other had couldn't even begin to keep track of the sins he'd committed that would make a nun blush.

He nodded. Hopefully this memory version of Anthony was equally wise enough to stay far away from those kinds of places. But that still didn't explain the need for Holy Water, or the sinking concern that Anthony might have to use it.

"I don't know what you wanted with it, but I wanted to keep you safe," he said, shivering at the kiss and melting into the embrace. "You asked me for the water one-hundred years prior, and would have stolen some from a church if I hadn't given it to you. I loved you, Anthony. I loved you so much in that moment, and I think, in addition to saving you from the danger of your robbery, I hoped you wouldn't use it lightly ...if it was from me."

He was a little demon as a kid and nuns have mighty fast rulers and even sharper tongues. One did not want to tick off a whole school of them. He gave the eyebrow a happy smirk but left the story for another day. They already had a few of those started and he was deeply interested in this business with the Holy Water.

There was an odd contrariness to that whole statement. I wanted to keep you safe by giving you the object of your destruction. A hundred years ago Aziraphale had said no until he was preparing to do something stupid to get what he wanted and then it was made a present to protect him. It was ridiculously romantic but...

"You keep saying loved in the past tense. What about the present?"

He smiled, just a small, cute little upturn of his lips, eyeing Anthony with a considering gleam before looking away as he pretended to consider the question.

"Oh, no, that's the problem. It's wickedly present-tense as well. Probably has no right to be, all things considered. But yet here we are, an unreasonably in-love fool." And that was a problem he didn't care to look too closely at: he and Anthony didn't know each other all that well, but the intensity of unresolved emotions bleeding off the memories added to in-person attraction (at least on Aziraphale's part) were a heady combination.

"I love you, Anthony," he said, sincere and firm in his resolve, looking up into his eyes. "I do." The statement deserved weight and attention, so he gave it a due moment of silence.

Then, recalling something Anthony mentioned before, he smiled a sly smile that wrinkled his nose and twinkled in his eyes, and leaned up until he was nearly nose to nose to add: "After all, how could I not? You may be the nicest demon I've ever met."

Oh, there was something about that ever so coy teasing, that little kewpie doll-like smile that sent actual shivers racing up his spine. It had always been said in those old movies that when love hit it was like a freight train, eighty miles and hour straight into a wall. It had never been like that with Grace. They had met at the piano bar Anthony had been working and had ended up talking all night. She was a wonderfully nice person but there had never been that 'zing'. Maybe that was why he had dragged his feet so long, refusing to escalate their romance until he had been pushed to. They hadn't even moved in together but he had the strangest feeling that if Fell asked he would drop everything to follow. Especially if those three little words, 'I love you' were breathed into his ear.

Those memories Anthony had been having definitely had been highly influential in this fall from Grace. Not only in manifesting all these hidden feelings but in other ways. Anthony had been afraid to tell her about the memories knowing what it would mean, that he would have been labeled crazy and encouraged to seek out counseling or medicate himself to the point of stupor. She wouldn't have been able to smile up into his eyes and tease him, making his poor lost heart leap with both love and a certain amount of remembered fury.

"Cheek!"

But he was smiling too, drinking in all those new yet painfully familiar expressions before dipping in to give those sly lips their second kiss.

"I was an angel once too. Apparently, I helped create the stars. So I'm nice and incredibly gifted..."

If praise was going to be leveled he might as well run with it, though he would be willing if it were still in his power, to gift a few stars to Aziraphale.

"But I'm left wondering, since technically this would be our third date," the first having ended badly with a rude accusation of a hitman's lifestyle and the second being a perfect date of motorcycles and crepes, "What do you usually do on a third date?"

They were lucky to have each other, to be able to make light of their shared predicament without judging each other crazy. If one was crazy, they both were; two sides of the same coin. Weathering this together felt appropriate. This was a perk of their friendship, confiding and enjoying these secrets that their non-Different relationships would never understand. And when one had a nice demon, one had to give him grief about it.

"The stars. Right." Tempted Eve AND hung the stars, did he? Quite the busy one, Anthony was.

Gifted. Aziraphale glanced down into the space between their bodies suggestively, even if that wasn't intended as innuendo. And so, since he was already accused of cheekiness, he figured he might as well double-down on it.

"What do I do? I don't know what you mean, my dear. Other than have a picnic?"

"Yeah, named a few nebula. I think that's you all caught up."

Anthony conveniently left out the part about being so overcome by feelings that he actually fainted dead away. He decided on a third date and while trying to impress your new fella one was allowed to gloss over a few little tidbits that might make one appear less than cool. Nevermind that he had ruined any chance of that early on by being so blastedly candid about his feelings.

"It is a fine day for a picnic."

Anthony glanced outside as his eyes had been drawn to the sound of drops pattering against the glass. So it had started to sprinkle slightly, a cold nasty rain on a freezing day. It wasn't typical picnic weather but they could make themselves nice and cozy inside.

He happened to look back just in time to catch that appraising look. Hopefully one so attuned to the visual arts liked what he saw.

"Well... I just was wondering. We could call it demonic curiosity, just what sort of picnic Aziraphale packs. Are you a blanket on the lawn sort, or do you prefer a picnic table? Or..."

He added the third option like a tempting tease.

"Maybe you like to lie back in bed Roman style?"

It was a romantic notion, creating and naming the stars, and if it had been real, Aziraphale would think him properly cool and be suitably enchanted. But then Aziraphale was also charmed by the whole awkward pumpkin thing, so clearly his idea of cool may be a little off kilter.

"Oh, certainly," he said as the rain picked just up enough to make leaving the little stone mill now an unreasonable choice.

If he believed in omens, the dreary drizzle may have seemed an ill one.

But he didn't, and Anthony was warm and close, and very distracting, and the stone walls kept out the spring storm, and with it, the Garden. It was just the two of them.

"However I like it--" He gently pushed Anthony away, stepping over to the basket to open the lid and satisfy that demonic curiosity. Aziraphale suspected Anthony would get a lot of mileage out of being the demon when he was feeling like owning the moniker. Actually, he suspected they both would and as right as it felt, he wondered if there was something perverse to leaning into it as hard as they were, embracing the connection as thoroughly in their private lives. "I prefer to not rush picnicking, so I suspect we may need to get to it, or you won't time to find out," he said pointedly, "given that you'll be due back to work before long."

"Shit!"

Work! Oh with all the drama, heartfelt confessions and all he had entirely forgotten he had work today. Anthony cast a quick frantic look at his watch but calmed when he saw what the time was. Thankfully even though it had felt like they had been hours together, those seconds stretching out into long comfortable forevers, it hadn't been nearly as long as that.

"Nah, it's fine. I'll just... stretch my break. Do an hour and a half, catch up the missing time on the back end."

Anything to spend more time with the gentleman and his picnic basket. Anthony floated closer to the basket and peered inside. If one of those classic picnic blankets appeared then he would suggest setting up shop on the floor near the grand fireplace, maybe even starting a fire because why not? It was a chill enough day for one. But if a set of fine dishes or glasses with fluted bases should be pulled out of the basket then there were plenty of tables like that one by the window they could make use of.

"They say you can tell a lot about a man from the way he packs his picnic basket."

"Alright." A man could get very spoiled to be granted so much stolen time and attention. It might just go to his head. Maybe it already was.

Aziraphale fished into the basket. Some of the contents had shifted, but everything seemed fine. He pulled out the wine, since that was rather heavy and large, then the blanket which had been settled over the top of everything to keep it all well-padded and safe. It was indeed a large blanket in traditional red and white checks. It was part of a set and matched the lining of the basket as well as the napkins.

Next came the wine glasses, short-stemmed and thick glass to keep them from breaking easily, with the napkins tucked inside. There were two, one for the each of them. He had not been expecting Crowley when he packed the basket, and now that Crowley had seemed so intent on pushing the two of them together and leaving, two glasses were all they needed. That was good, right? Two by two like a little matched set? Oh, he hoped Crowley made it home before the rain began in earnest.

"Oh, do they? Have a lot of experience with that?" He turned and presented the folded blanket to Anthony. "Would you be a dear? Maybe," He considered the choices in a glance around the room, "on the floor by the fireplace? It seems cozy."

Wine, first. That spoke of a classic man with refined taste and also a good eye. It was a red and didn't he usually prefer that. It was either a lucky guess or amazingly sweet. Aziraphale was given a look as he tried to guess which.

Anthony wasn't one bit surprised to see the blanket as Fell had already been firmly established as a classic man. Plaids. He definitely seemed like a person, that when he wasn't wearing white, might be found with plaid. And then the glasses appeared leaving him with the quandary... fireplace or table. His master plan had just been tossed a monkey wrench but fortunately Fell seemed to intuit it.

Fireplace it was!

"I've been on a picnic or two before."

He smirked over his shoulder before practically slithering his way over to the fireplace. Unfortunately it was one of those gas versions that all you have to do to turn it on was to flick a switch but it gave him the chance to look cool by snapping his fingers and 'magically' causing the fire to spring to life. The blanket could then be spread with a quick wrist snap that allowed it to float down to settle on the ground.

"I was hoping you would pick this spot. There is nothing quite like a fire on a chilly day... or on a date when you are hoping to impress some one."

Aziraphale smiled back enigmatically. Truthfully, though, he had picked it because Anthony showed a preference. Their outing with Anakin, the Gala--he had picked a red each time.

I've been on a picnic or two before. But with another man? Then again, with the level of fearlessness and devil-may-care that Anthony confronted the prospect of being in love with Aziraphale, he was certainly open enough to the idea.

Anthony had no right, though. That walk would be Aziraphale's undoing. It already had been. He paused in the middle of uncorking the wine, and leaned against the table to watch as Anthony set up their blanket and brought the fire to light. It looked cozy, perhaps even a little seductive. The cold grays of the Stone Mill were painted in a warm glow, and the flickering flames cast amber onto Anthony's hair and face.

He was stunning. Aziraphale fumbled the corkscrew and blushed.

"Consider me duly impressed." He tore his eyes away from the vision that was Anthony looking like an invitation to dine. "If you'll take the basket over, I'll just get this open."

That smile. If ever there were a smile that could launch a thousand ships it would have looked just like Fell's. Pleased, with little cherubic upturns at the corners of his lips, and hiding some unspoken truth that he knew would make him seem all the more charming if it were kept unsaid. It was very reminiscent of the Mona Lisa's. That classic sense of beauty and mystery all wound together in a prim package.

And it was certainly enough to make Anthony want to do anything in his power to please the man though he tried to play that off as coolly as possible by not diving across the room to snatch the basket the instant the request was made. Instead he walked over casually to collect it and took his slow time to stroll his way back to the blanket where the basket of goodies could be set in the center and unpacked at their leisure. Anthony sat beside it, his long legs all tucked up underneath him like the coils of a snake.

"I must have been blind that first time we met," Anthony finally stated after several quiet moments of watching Fell's struggles with the wine bottle with the keenest of interest. "You're practically glowing. I... can't imagine how I didn't notice that before."

With all his years, Aziraphale knew himself to be considered cute, coquettish and possibly a little disarming--but if he could have heard Anthony's adoration of him, there would be no surviving it. He wasn't classic or beautiful in any way; no man would be so enchanted as to cross seas for his smile. He was peculiar and frumpy. Yet Anthony looked at him as if Aziraphale had, if not hung the stars, was surely made from stardust. As if he was something to look at with love. And Aziraphale's heart glowed with something between new infatuation, puppy-love, and a deep, unyielding kind of love. It was like nothing he had ever experience before.

Even though he had requested it, Aziraphale watched Anthony cross the room to him with a held breath. The saunter and sway was enticing, but so was the way he carried himself, like a dashing knight here to assist his lady fair.

"Flatterer," he said with a blush and his heart glowed all the more. The wine eventually opened with a pop that, though expected, startled an "Oh!" out of him, and he carried it and the empty glasses to where Anthony waited on the blanket.

"Anyway, if I recall, you had something else in mind when we first met." He handed Anthony a glass and settled comfortably across from him to pour the wine. Of course, he could have poured it at the table, and it might have been easier, but there was something intimate to looking up into Anthony's eyes, leaning in close, and serving him his drink.

The floor was not soft, even with the blanket, and Aziraphale took a moment to arrange himself into a comfortable position. "I assume it's rather difficult to notice any glowing qualities of your companion when you're accusing him of being a hitman."

There was something terribly familiar in gazing over the rim of a filling glass of wine and into those deep blue eyes. Ancient even, like the pyramids, the Roman Coliseum, or Harrison Ford. Anthony felt the deep and unmistakable stirrings of what might have been called destiny which left him entirely unprepared for the playful jab that left him spluttering into his wine.

"I thought you meant the business with the apple?!"

He flailed in dramatic fashion to snag a napkin to wipe his lips with. They weren't a bit messy but after the bubble fountain he had created in his glass it felt better to make certain by giving them a quick dab with the cloth.

"You accuse some one of being a hitman one time!"

This too felt amazingly familiar, as if they had always verbally sparred with each other and Anthony soon snuggled back into that familiarity smiling at the absolute cheek of the man.

"Anyway I have a new theory now." He stabbed a finger at Fell like this must have been the answer. "Maybe you were a witch."

This was amended after a good moment's thought.

"Eeeeh, warlock. Whatever, the whole magic circle thing and paling around with demons... You weren't anything normal like a lawyer."

Aziraphale took an innocent, almost apologetic, sip of his wine. Hadn't he once swore to himself he would never let Anthony live that down? And he intended to make good on that. Besides, there was something utterly charming about throwing Anthony off his game of coolness and ease. Underneath that beauty and swagger was a man, awkward and endearingly messy with faults. Anthony was human, and all the more lovable for it. Aziraphale had been so caught up in his adoration until now, he hadn't really had much of a chance to know Anthony, and he intended to now.

He looked down his nose at the finger jabbed at him, of half a mind to bite it for its audacity, and gave another slow considering sip of wine.

"No? I thought devils employed lawyers."

Warlock was the name of the boy-- his mind unhelpfully reminded him.

"You know, though," he said, putting down his glass and rustling into the basket to pull out the plates and their assortment of foodstuffs. "You may be onto something. A pact with the devil could explain the centuries-old friendship we've seen referenced." His nose wrinkled as he smiled. "Does that mean you own my soul?"

"Not all lawyers surely... ambulance chasers, the criminal sect... ok, maybe most lawyers."

When he thought about it the profession did seem to attract more evil than was reasonable. In fact there was only one group of workers who seemed more prone to devilish acts than lawyers.

"And politicians. Clearly every single last one of them has sold their soul to someone."

The neatly wrapped little package he picked up was very obviously a sandwich but Anthony didn't know which kind until the protective paper had been pried away. It looked good, but the suggestion he might some how own Aziraphale's soul sent his stomach into a turn that very nearly had him packing the morsel back up in it's paper.

"Or... maybe you are just a time traveling wizard. Would we really be friends if I had taken something as important as that from you?"

He frowned, embarrassed to realize he'd only now thought of it. "I suppose it might be prudent to mention I did study law." Though he agreed. Lawyers and politicians. Truly some of the most consistent evils the world had to offer.

"Oh, Anthony." That kind of quiet fear hadn't been his intention at all, and Aziraphale realized that until they had this sorted out (at least; though maybe forever), he would have to be very careful teasing about the whole demon thing. Anthony had taken it to heart, and he had to wonder if Anthony was keeping to himself any of the more terrible details of being damned. Putting down the box of crackers, he reached for Anthony's face and cupped his narrow, bony cheeks in hand. "I suspect, if you had it, my soul would have been given willingly, like one gives a heart."

But that was sentimental speculation, and he wanted to offer Anthony more concrete evidence. What might their memories hold to reassure him?

There were two warring sides of himself. The side that hated the idea that he would be connected in any way with anything evil or sinister as he didn't want to go around hurting people or snatching their souls from them. And then there was the other side which felt a tug of mischief any time it was suggested that he might be a demon. The side that actually had been smirking and dreaming up some snappy reply when Fell brought up that he had studied law.

Both sides were brought to heel by Aziraphale's touch as Anthony's eyes drifted closed for just a second, to enjoy the feeling of those warm hands on his cheeks and to savor the notion that their new romance was powerful enough to freely give a soul away.

"You've a way with words."

His own hand landed on one of Aziraphale's just to guide the palm towards his lips so a thank you kiss could be pressed into the middle of it.

"You're right. I'm being silly about it. We don't know anything about what happened before. We only have these bits and pieces that don't make sense out of order. Maybe it was something like that, a token of love. Can demons even feel love?"

Sometimes. Sometimes he might have a way with words, other times he was a tittering idiot who was tripping over himself. But Aziraphale took the compliment with as much grace as he could manage, the blush deepening with the kiss to his palm.

And then everything seemed to slow to a stop.

Aziraphale knew what he felt in the memory, or he thought he did. Love, a healthy dose of fear, which he had attributed to fearing for Anthony's existence and the whole secretive nature of the exchange. What Anthony felt was a mystery. His eyes had been hidden and his expression had been surprised, somewhat soft and touched... Aziraphale had understood the feeling to be mutual. But was it love? Or was the demon only thankful to have the thing he had wanted for one-hundred years? Was it simply friendship or business? Had that moment in the car been one-sided?

What a fine mess they had thrown themselves head-first into.

"I... I don't know."

"Eh, they must do."

Anthony decided while releasing Aziraphale's hand so the pair of them could return to the task of unpacking the picnic basket. He briefly wondered if there were any apples in there but as the topic of demonic love was still very much on his mind he decided to issue his own thoughts on the subject.

Clearly as a demon he had hated the idea of being thought of as 'nice'. Demons were apparently not nice. Who would have ever suspected from all of those stories about their evil and sinful nature. Nice is a four letter word. But love is also a four letter word. Maybe demons hated being associated with it just as strongly. This did not mean they couldn't feel it of course. If he was clearly a 'nice demon' he might also have been an 'in love demon'.

These were very deep thoughts and eventually Anthony shrugged and issued his own conclusion.

"If they didn't I wouldn't have been so tempted to snog you senseless when I had you alone in that corridor."

No apples. It hadn't been a conscious decision, but in retrospect maybe it was a wise one; neither of them seemed to need more means of temptation. They accomplished that fine on their own.

But was that love?

"It it seems funny to me that a demon might be tempted. I'd have thought it was the other way around--you doing the tempting."

With the spread of food laid out before them, he popped a few grapes in his mouth and thought over the concept of demonic love. How would it present itself? Was it fickle, lustful, covetous? And then there was Anthony's sentiment that their kiss or their love confession felt like a first. Couldn't a demon as powerful as the serpent of Eden have anything he wanted?

He meanwhile had tucked into his sandwich. It was, in his opinion, the best way to find out what was hidden underneath the bread.

"Its supposed to work like that. I mean I would assume it works that way. You never hear stories about Eve tempting the serpent into sharing a bite of apple with her."

That would really have flipped that old story on its head. Anthony smirked over the idea, thinking it a fun else-world type story.

"I don't really have many memories about the rules of being a demon other than you aren't nice and... break as many of them as you can. Also 'go cause trouble', that was running through my head during the whole Eden thing."

Anthony took another bite of sandwich and tilted his head at Fell.

"What about you? Do you remember any of the rules of being a magician?"

The garden turkey sandwiches on nice whole-grain bread were from a local deli and they anything terribly fancy, since Aziraphale hadn't had a lot of time to pick them up this morning. Nor had he been sure what Anthony preferred and felt erring on the side of caution to be the best idea. But they would do, he felt.

He shrugged. Just because it was written down as the serpent tempting Eve didn't mean that was exactly how it went down, but if Anthony said he had tempted Eve, he would know best.

"Not really," he admitted, trying to recall what the magic academy's admission letter said as he opened up his own sandwich. It would probably be a good idea of eat something before he drank too much more wine--no need to have a repeat of the Gala and get drunk after only a few glasses. "I'm not sure there were... rules. Go to class, and that sort of thing, I guess. I have a feeling I was neglecting that part. Return your library books on time. Don't use your magic on other students. Don't destroy the school or endanger the town. Behave. Typical school rules."

He settled happily with a wiggle of contentment as he enjoyed a bite of his sandwich.

"I don't think I was doing what I was supposed to be doing, but whether that was exactly against the rules or not, I'm not sure."

It was a simple sort of sandwich but satisfying. He wasn't as in love with the concept of turkey sandwiches as the Americans were but paired with the lettuce and the other fixings it tasted wonderful. Or... maybe it was the company. Here they were talking about these deeply personal feelings and past life experiences and all he could do was grin at Aziraphale like some kind of love-struck fool.

It was that wiggle of contentment as he enjoyed his meal. The cute little smile as he found the taste dancing over his taste buds. His own sandwich grew forgotten as he sat there and lived vicariously through the contented wiggling.

"Did you ever find out what that magic circle was about?"

and watch how you play

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