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Crowley had been sorely neglecting his class, not that anyone other than Mokuba had complained about it. And though he felt no particular responsibility for his students (of course not) at least it gave him something to do in a place where his usual pursuits weren't exactly welcomed. So, this particular day found him on the edges of the Forbidden Forest looking for snacks for his newly acquired magical corpse plants.

His mind was on nothing particular, for a change. He was simply relishing what would probably be some of the last sunshine in Scotland for the next six months or so. Therefore, it was a bit of a shock to walk around a tree and find Aziraphale sitting in the center of a small clearing weaving what looked like a daisy chain.

Now, Aziraphale wasn't what one would call conventionally attractive, despite being an angel. He preferred an appearance that was too old, too pudgy, and altogether too tweedy for most people's tastes. However, sitting peacefully in the grass like that, a beam of afternoon sunlight turning his nondescript hair to gold, and surrounded by flowers, well, even the Enemy can change his mind.

With a mischievous grin, Crowley made his way stealthily through the trees bordering the clearing until he was just behind Aziraphale. Creeping up on him, the demon wrapped one arm gently around his chest and whispered, "Angel..." in his ear.

***

There had been a time when neither Crowley nor any other demon could have got the drop on Aziraphale so easily, if at all. Unfortunately, centuries of comfortable living, peaceful co-existence with his opposite number, and a regrettable tendency to get deeply absorbed in whatever he was doing had undermined his once-habitual vigilance to the point that by this time, he might not have noticed if Beelzebub and Asmodeus had shown up at the door disguised as Girl Scouts and sold him a box of Virgin's Blood cookies from a little red wagon pulled by Cerberus.

In short, he was caught completely by surprise. Flowers scattered in all directions, accompanied by a sound that he would later vehemently deny making, because angels, no matter how surprised they might be or how hopelessly girly the activity they have been pursuing, simply do not meep.

"Crowley!" he gasped, flushing bright red as the initial shock gave way to chagrin, "You startled me. Whatever are you doing?" Really, it was just like the demon to happen by when he'd been distracted by the patch of late-blooming flowers. The book he'd come out here intending to read lay a short distance away, patiently awaiting his attention.

***

"Startling you." Crowley laughed and flopped on the grass beside Aziraphale, arm slipping to drape around his waist. "Guess I was successful if that noise was any indication... What exactly are you doing?"

***

"Noise? I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about, I'm sure," Aziraphale sniffed, though the disdainful effect was a bit spoiled as he also scooted in a little closer to Crowley. "And I should think what I was doing was fairly obvious." He started gathering up his flowers, though the impulse to do anything creative with them had been effectively squelched. "It's a perfectly beautiful day, and I wanted to enjoy it while it lasted." He summoned a vase out of nowhere and plunked the daisies into it one by one with a sigh. No sense leaving them here to wither.

***

The demon made a disappointed noise in the back of his throat.

"I didn't mean to interrupt... Well, actually, that's not true at all. I did. But I didn't mean to stop you from performing your womanly arts."

He gave a cocky smile to show that he was teasing then glared at the flowers. Flopping down into the grass, he added, "It is a nice day, though. I wonder what we can do with it..."

***

"I don't see why women should have a monopoly on flowers simply because they're attractive and smell pleasant." Aziraphale smiled slightly at Crowley's disgruntlement, and relented. With a wave of his hand he banished the vase, and sketching a quick circle in the air, re-wove the daisies into a circlet, which he sent sailing through the air with a final quick gesture to settle gently onto the demon's head at a jaunty angle. "A picnic might be nice," he suggested innocently. "Or I could read to you, if you like. I've found a lovely volume on the history of Hogwarts..."

***

That garnered a raised eyebrow. "So, is it flowers or women that are attractive and smell pleasant? Because I rather think some male-shaped Herbology Professors fit that description as well. Women don't have a monopoly on flowers, though. Fuck that. Weaving them into chains however..." Crowley grinned but didn't attempt to dislodge the crown of small white blooms, starkly contrasting with his black hair. The irony of having some form of halo again didn't escape him, but he was too warm and comfortable to care.

Rolling onto his stomach (to be that much closer to Aziraphale) and resting his chin on the back of his hands, the demon spoke in his best imperial Latin. "Read to me, impertinent slave. It amuses me. You may feed me peeled grapes afterward."

***

"I suppose it applies to all three," Aziraphale said, leaning over to pick up his book. The move, perhaps coincidentally, brought his face quite close to Crowley's for a moment.

"I am wholly unworthy of such an honor, Merciless One," he replied in the same language, eyes twinkling behind the old-fashioned spectacles he didn't need. "Shall I also fetch snow from the mountains to cool your wine, or find a lyre and sing for your amusement?"*

---

*Amusement, alas was about all such an effort would be good for. Aziraphale did know how to play a lyre, as it happened (or had, at one time,) but he tended to stray off-key when singing anything other than a hymn.

***

"I know," murmured Crowley contentedly. "But I will allow you to continue to serve me so long as you always call me Merciless One. It's got a certain something..."

He rolled over again, fidgeting until he found a comfortable spot for his head in the angel's lap.

"The snow and music can wait, slave," Crowley said with an imperial wave of his hand. "You may commence reading now."

***

Opening Hogwarts: A History to the bookmarked page where he'd left off, Aziraphale began to read aloud from the text, which happened at this point to concern one of the former Headmasters of the school, Phineas Nigellus Black. The text noted that Phineas was widely regarded as the least popular Headmaster in the school's history, being remembered as a "snide, sarcastic fellow." He was also, to no one's surprise, a Slytherin.

"Rather surprised the old boy didn't make Head of House," Aziraphale interrupted himself to note, one hand supporting the book while the other idly combed through Crowley's thick dark hair where it wasn't festooned with flowers. "If memory serves, the name Phinehas means 'serpent's mouth' in Hebrew, does it not?"

***

Crowley listened happily to Aziraphale's voice rather than the words themselves. When the angel was drunk or wasn't paying attention, absorbed in another task, he sounded sweetly melodious, and Crowley felt like he could swim in the sound. The demon suspected that Aziraphale intentionally suppressed it most of the time, which made moments like these all the more special. The hand in his hair didn't hurt either.

His half-conscious musings were interrupted by Aziraphale's question. "Phinehas? I thought that meant Nubian. Pun on the name Black? These wizards have ridiculous names, have you noticed? Like Remus Lupin. Honestly. His parents were asking for it giving the boy a name like that...

"Old Phineas probably wished his name meant serpent's mouth, though. That'd be something for a Slytherin Head of House to aspire to. Serpent's mouths are all the rage this season," he added with a sly grin.

***

Aziraphale colored delicately at that, firmly turning his thoughts in a much more appropriate direction than they initially tried to wander. Where on earth had he picked up such scandalous ideas, anyway?

"Is that so?" he said with feigned nonchalance, shifting the book to his other hand and lightly tracing the contour of Crowley's expressive lips with one finger. "Well, apparently I'm on the cutting edge for once. I've been admiring them for years."

***

The angel's finger tickled slightly as it slid delicately along the sensitive skin of Crowley's mouth.

"Do I want to know how many?" he asked playfully. "Cause you know everything old is new again. You're proto-retro." Crowley grinned and nipped at the extended digit.

***

"Oh heavens, I couldn't say, really. Some time ago, now." How long ago had it been that he'd first begun noticing these little things about Crowley? He'd always been aware, of course, in some vague fashion, that the demon's corporation was attractive--he couldn't imagine Crowley tolerating one that wasn't--but somewhere along the line, beginning perhaps a few hundred years back, abstract admiration for a finely designed biological machine had gradually evolved into a much more personal appreciation.

"Here now," he added with mock sternness, pulling his hand away and turning the caress into a scolding finger-wag, "there will be none of that. I don't chew on them, you certainly don't get to. Pretty mouth or no."

***

Making a noncommittal noise, Crowley made another play for the rogue fingertip.

"I wasn't chewing!" he protested. "I was being affectionate. Since my pretty mouth didn't have anything else to occupy it..."

Yes. The master of subtlety struck again.

***

"Oh, is that all? I suppose you're ready for those grapes, then?" Aziraphale laughed softly, teasingly, and set the book aside again, leaning down close at a slightly awkward angle as he tipped Crowley's sunglasses up and out of the way.

"Or was it perhaps..." his lips brushed Crowley's, feather-light, "...something else you had in mind?"

***

"Mmmm, that's more like what I had in mind. Much better than grapes..."

Crowley reached up and wound his hand around the back of Aziraphale's neck, stretching up to kiss him more thoroughly.

He was so engrossed in this task that he never heard the person who stumbled into their comfortable glen.