#starmarker

He found himself looking up at his angel from the perspective of the large wicker basket the angel was carrying in one hand, swaying with each step. Inside the basket, Crowley had been tucked in with a loose white cloth that had several bunches of herbs tied and placed on top of it. He eyes the basket cautiously, flicking his tongue with a certain degree of uncertainty. 

“It’s tremendously lucky you’re so streamlined, I wasn’t sure you’d fit in there but somehow it’s like it was made to fit you!”

Or I was made to fit it. How miraculous… thought Crowley, with a certain amount of annoyance at his subconscious divinity. It was interesting to him, despite Aziraphale’s lack of curiosity at how a seemingly ordinary - albeit charmingly clever and stunning beautiful - snake could alter his size at will, that Aziraphale seemed strong enough to carry Crowley’s entire serpentine weight in one hand with absolutely no effort. In his other hand he was carrying another basket, which clinked a little as he walked. He knew his Keeper was strong, but something about how effortless the small angel made it seem was oddly affecting. Crowley’s virtues as an angel differed from his companions in quite a few ways, favouring speed and a few other tricks above strength, and he had to admit to himself that whenever his knees might be in his current form, they were a little weak at the thought of his angel being so strong and powerful.

“I hope you don’t mind being bundled up, little thing, it’s just that you looked so sweet all curled up that I didn’t want to wake you,” Aziraphale was explaining. They were no longer in the garden with Dorothy, but back in the woods somewhere unfamiliar. Wherever Aziraphale was going, he wasn’t hesitant about the direction. 

Crowley considering wriggling free and leaving the basket to stretch his spine, but a glance at the ground made him reconsider. It looked cold and mossy and uninviting, whereas his basket was warm and the gentle rocking motion was so soothing… 

“You can sleep a little more, if you want to. I can wake you when we’re there, little thing,” came Aziraphale’s voice gently, adding to the seductive pull of sleep that trickled through Crowley and slowly pulled him back into the recesses of the basket. 

He didn’t need to worry, if his angel was with him. He could just sleep a little more… 

The basket being placed carefully down didn’t wake him. Neither did the rustling of fabric, or the clinking of a bottle being unwrapped, or the smell of sweet treats. What woke him was a soft hand reaching into the basket and the fingers running along the side of his jaw in a gentle caress. 

“Come see what we have, little thing,” 

Lifting his head, he didn’t let that hand go, immediately sliding up and along the inside of Aziraphale’s wrist to peek out over the edge of the basket. Aziraphale had walked them back to the bandstand, in the first garden they had found together. A late afternoon sun was filtering through the greenhouse windows high above them, colouring all of the flowers with a glorious golden amber light. The birds had retreated a little, but he could still hear their songs flitting through the air. Aziraphale had spread a blanket in the middle of the bandstand for them, and had unpacked many of the sweet treats from earlier. 

“Dorothy was so kind, she insisted we have a little bit of everything,” Aziraphale was explaining as Crowley extracted himself from the basket. “She gave me the blanket, and explained exactly how one should do this - she said it’s a picnic, and we should have one all of our very own!” 

Dorothy had certainly delivered on that promise. She had packed them a small feast, starting with a large glass bottle of the lemonade and two glasses. He could see a handful of gingerbread men and iced snowflake biscuits, two huge slices of the victoria sponge, and even a large piece of apple pie unwrapped and sitting on its beeswax cloth. There were a small selection of sandwiches cut into small triangles and quite a lot of fruit of many colours. 

Looking at the whole scene, Crowley thought to himself he had never seen such an inviting space - not just the blanket, or the food, but his angel smiling and licking his lips at their bounty, before looking back at Crowley and smiling even wider. Everything in the moment seemed so perfect. 

“Oh, little thing, you look so charming, so dressed up for our little picnic,” 

Crowley flicked his tongue, puzzled, but looked down and realised that falling asleep near a young girl clearly came with risks - he was wearing a large white ribbon around his neck, tied in a large flouncy bow. It wasn’t really his style...

“Such a handsome snake,” Aziraphale said, reaching out his hands to correct either side of the bow gently, before lifting his hands and cupping Crowley’s face in them. 

Ok, the bow could stay. For now. 

Their picnic, hopefully the first of many, went rather well. Since both of them were fairly new to the whole experience, there was an uncertainty to the exact order of events, but they figured it out. Aziraphale lounged along the side of the blanket, looking more relaxed than Crowley had ever seen - even when fully absorbed into one of his beloved books. His delightful ankles were crossed where his legs were free from his voluminous robes, giving Crowley the perfect place to coil his tail over, his scales resting comfortably against the Keeper’s skin. Crowley got to watch closely as Aziraphale chose his next bite with care, his hand hovering over the grapes, before moving towards the sponge cake, but then dancing over to the iced biscuits. Every bite was savoured to its full extent, with Aziraphale holding it reverently between his fingers to bring it to his face, to breathe in the scent, before taking just the smallest taste. Crowley could practically feel the angel’s satisfaction as the flavour filled his senses, the first small bite turning into another, and then another, each accompanied by a sound. A moan, a small gasp, a smacking of lips. Aziraphale’s eyes would drift shut as he experienced the moment with his full attention, and Crowley couldn’t tear his own away - he wanted to remember every moment of ecstasy the angel found as he ate. 

Throughout it all, even when Aziraphale was shaking his head slightly in disbelief at the food, he would open his eyes to find Crowleys and smile indulgently at him. The praises of finding such a bounty for them both went unspoken, but firmly felt. Nothing was said, nothing needed saying. 

It got better. Even as Aziraphale sampled, he never forgot his little companion. He would break a piece off, often the best bit, and offer it to Crowley who would eagerly accept it. It turned out that eating like a snake was not the most elegant process, but he managed to make it work. Aziraphale was patient with him, holding his fingers steady as Crowley figured out how to actually get the food into his mouth. It was a worthwhile effort, as everything Aziraphale fed him was an explosion of flavour, the sweetness and the richness of the food were indescribable.

The bandstand they were in seemed to be lit with a series of stringed lights that emitted a soft and romantic glow over their afternoon together. Crowley didn’t notice as the light around them faded into a pink hue, before tinging with purple and descending into the evening. All he could see was his glowing angel’s happiness as they lay sprawled on the blanket with the remnants of their picnic around them. Aziraphale was laying on his back, one arm under his head to prop himself up a little. Crowley was still partially arranged across his legs, but had graduated up onto his thighs and his head resting on the angel’s delightful midsection. Aziraphale’s robes were becoming crumpled under his steady weight but the angel didn’t seem to notice, or care. Aziraphale was smiling as he dipped his finger into the remains of the pot of cream (to accompany the handfed strawberries, now all happily consumed) over and over again and offered it to Crowley who lapped up the droplet gratefully. 

It was, in his opinion, the best way to consume anything. 

“Oh, little thing, how happy I am,” sighed Aziraphale. “To think, I was living my life without you in it for so long,” 

Crowley rippled gently in delight, pressing his head into Aziraphale’s palm. 

“I never want to leave here,” 

Crowley flicked his tongue around Aziraphale’s thumb in a gesture of agreement. Why would he be anywhere else when he could be looped so lazily over his angel? Aziraphale sighed again, a little critically to himself. 

“I suppose they will have missed me at dinner, but how can one return to the same old honey and bread after such lovely food?” 

Crowley froze. Dinner. That meant the Day bell had already sounded. That meant the Night shift would have already started. He pulled away from Aziraphale’s hand and twisted to look beyond their bandstand, and yes, the sky was dark, the garden was asleep. He missed the bell. He was late. 

Oh Lord, he was late again. 

Aziraphale hadn’t noticed the sudden tension in Crowley’s body, he was too busy lazily tracing a finger through the crumbs of the gingerbread men, looking for another little taste to make the whole thing last just a little bit longer. Crowley slid his tail free of the angel’s warmth, and the sudden contact with the floor felt cold and harsh against his scales compared to the angel, even through the blanket. 

“Little thing?”

Crowley realised a little too late that Aziraphale was talking to him, asking him a question, but he didn’t hear him as he was staring back into the library. He turned back to the angel, who had rolled to his side and was resting one impossibly warm hand on Crowley’s back. 

“Are you alright?” 

Crowley hissed gently, ducking his head and moving to press his body against Aziraphale briefly. He had hoped it to have been a comforting motion, as well as a goodbye. He had never been the one to leave first in their meetings. 

“You have to go? Are you sure? You could stay,” 

Crowley hesitated. The tone in Aziraphale’s voice was almost painful, the gentle ache of loss at being left alone. He looked back and that was another mistake. The Keeper’s eyes were wide and his brows were tilted in that pleading pout that Crowley knew would get him into so much trouble. It was so easy to return to the angel’s side, press his head against the angel’s cheekbone and just hold there for a second. 

“Tomorrow? Please?” 

He met Aziraphale’s eyes, so close to his own. Crowley bowed his head a little, of course. Of course tomorrow. He pressed his head up against the angel’s skin again, and flickered his tongue out, tasting just the smallest shimmer of a tear caught in Aziraphale’s eyelashes. 

It took all of his limited self control to pull away again, away from that warmth.

He didn’t look back, because he knew that if he had to see the sight of his little Keeper sitting under those sparkling lights, surrounded by their sleeping garden, watching him go, he would never leave his side again. 

Aziraphale may have been strong, but Crowley was fast. 

He slithered out of the garden swiftly, finding his way through the stacks with the same confidence that led him to find it in the first place. He had to be quick, he didn’t know what hour it was, if he would be noticed. Once out of the bookshelves, he regained his limbs and tangled his hair away from his face as he hurried. He didn’t bother to read the clock at the far end of the hall, he just grabbed the hem of his robes and ran. 

He climbed the stairs two at a time, one hand on the handrail to hold himself steady. He was counting under his breath as he ran, just lightly counting the stairs, waiting to reach the top for when he could push himself forward off into the Heavens. 

In the back of his mind, behind the numbered steps, a little voice reminded him over and over that he was late, that he was in trouble, that this would somehow ruin everything. 

He pushed the voice away, nearly at the top, rounding the last twist and - 

He stopped in his tracks, body pulled back to stop him crashing into the angel standing at the top of the staircase and blocking his path. He shut his mouth quickly to pull back the gasp of air, but there was no way to the angel a few steps above him hadn’t heard him. 

“Crowley. Finally,” 

The angel was facing away from him, standing and staring out at the scattered unit of Starmakers. His arms were crossed stiffly and his wings were primly and very tightly held against his body, making him appear as a statue. Crowley bit the inside of his cheek a little, fighting the urge to fidget. He wanted to slink away but there was nowhere to go. 

“Care to explain yourself?” 

The angel turned slowly. He was wearing the same dark blue robes as Crowley, but had a second overcoat of thick sapphire blue velvet hung across his shoulders and draping down across his chest, embroidered with small silver stars. 

“Sariel, I -” Crowley started and stopped, finding the words dying on the end of his tongue. He tried to keep eye contact with the angel, but Sariel’s impenetrable gaze made him uneasy. Everything about his stillness made Crowley’s own disarray more obvious. Crowley cleared his throat, reaching to adjust his robes, pulling his unruly hair back. He was aware that his face was flushed from running, his braid tangled and his feet still dusty from the library floor. 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, trying his best to quell the thunder in his chest. “It won’t happen again,” 

Sariel regarded him a moment, those grey eyes travelling to observe the details that Crowley’s adjusting had sought to hide. One ash white eyebrow raised a little. 

“You understand what it is we are trying to achieve here, correct Crowley?” 

Crowley’s gaze flickered behind Sariel, to the Heavens, before flicking back. 

“Yes, of course, the Great Pl-”

“You understand we have a schedule, Crowley?”

Crowley didn’t like the way Sariel said his name. It made the skin on the back of his neck shift as if he still had his scales. 

“Yes, of course, I’m sorry-”

“Apologies don’t mean much when you’re not doing as you have been told, Crowley. She gave Her orders, and we are to follow them,” 

“Yes, of course-” “Do you not like following orders, Crowley?”

“No! I mean, yes, of course I follow Her-”

“You understand your place in this design, Her design, don’t you, Crowley?” 

Crowley fought the urge to grit his teeth. 

“Yes, Sariel,” 

The angel nodded, his eyes narrowing just a little as he observed Crowley. Crowley made a conscious effort to release the tension in his shoulders, lifting his chin a little to avoid looking as if he were sulking. He tried to clear any expression off his face except for a suitably contrite arrangement. 

“You must remember your duty in this unit, Crowley. You must remember why you are here, and Who you are here to serve. You must remember that there is no one more important than Her, and Her Great Plan,” 

Crowley nodded, wishing more than anything that he could get this over with. 

“There is no one other than Her, Crowley. No one else,” 

Crowley nodded again, ignoring the tension that was creeping through his back again, twisting into his stomach. 

“Say it, Crowley,” ordered Sariel, his eyes refusing the release Crowley until the angel was suitably chastised. The stillness in Sariel’s body seemed to make him taller, his form bearing over Crowley in a way that seemed to obscure the stars behind him. 

“No one else,” repeated Crowley, hearing the own bitterness in his own voice. He cleared his throat, and said it again. The tension in his stomach refused to release. “No one else,” 

There was a long moment as Sariel’s eyes bored into Crowley, and the Starmaker had a horrendous thought that maybe the senior angel could read him like one of Aziraphale’s books. That he could look into Crowley’s chest and see his heart tangled up in a nest of love notes.

Sariel finally nodded, and released Crowley from his gaze, taking one step back to allow Crowley to pass him. 

“Get to work,” 

Crowley didn’t trust his voice, feeling the bitterness in the back of his throat again. He didn’t want to think about Sariel’s words, but they wriggled and squirmed and dug their way into him. He moved to his area without looking around him, avoiding the gaze of any of his unit who may have noticed his late coming, seen his scolding, witnessed his shame. 

None of that mattered. 

His mind was in a whirlwind, but nothing was landing long enough to settle and form in his brain. He reached for his brushes, his eyes seeing nothing as he was consumed in the tension that had seized his insides. 

Did Sariel know about where he had been spending his days? About the library? Did that mean others knew? Had he been seen going in and out of the library? Did they know about the garden? The books? Aziraphale? 

He drew in a shaky breath, the paintbrush in his hand static. He glanced to the side through his hair and saw an angel far to his right watching him. It wouldn’t do to give them even more to see.