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“Here you go, one ‘Caribbean Sunset’ for you,” Crowley puts a glass on the table next to Aziraphale’s sun lounger. The cocktail looks nice and refreshing, and is a vibrant reddish orange. Ice clinks inside the glass and perspiration is immediately beginning to gather.
“Thank you, darling,” Aziraphale says, sliding his bookmark between the open pages of the book on his lap so he can take a sip. “Oh, this is very good. Absolutely scrumptious. The best you’ve made so far.”
Crowley’s made them cocktails every day of their stay so far. They are on Harbor Island in the Bahamas, where they’ve rented a nice house for the first two weeks of January. The house is much too large for the two of them but private, there is some good space between them and the next house, and they have their own pool with a perfect view of the sunset over the beach.
They’ve come to a compromise, Crowley and him. They take turns picking places for their winter holidays, with the strict rule that it has to be a place they actually want to visit and not just a place they think the other would most like to go. This year it was Crowley’s choice.
Aziraphale was a bit sceptical at first, a winter holiday without any actual winter scenery, but it turns out that it’s actually quite nice. Quiet, too. They can walk the beach at sunset and let the warm water wash over their feet. And there are no drunk tourists, no loud parties nearby, no traffic noises, nothing. It’s so peaceful it reminds Aziraphale of the serene evenings they used to have on Sicily a long, long time ago.
They aren’t doing anything special and haven’t explored very far either beyond the luxury hotels they visit for the occasional dinner, they are mostly staying right here and living into the day. Reading, swimming, playing games, dancing or just enjoying each other’s company. It’s been rather marvellous, if he’s honest.
The weather is wonderful, the sky is mostly clear, giving them lots of sun during the day and a wonderful view of the stars at night. Dancing under the stars was a new thing they tried out just last night; it was lovely. Definitely something they’ll have to do again. They even went out for a flight late one night. Aziraphale almost forgot what flying felt like, they so rarely got a chance to do it. Spreading his wings in the warm night air, letting the current carry him, side by side with Crowley - that was an experience he would never forget and would also quite like to repeat.
Aziraphale takes up his book again and reads a bit more. It’s ‘Chasing Light’ by Patricia Glinton-Meicholas. Quite modern, but he thought it was fitting, since the author was from the Bahamas herself, and the poetry is rather well written. In the background he hears Crowley puttering about, humming quietly while he’s making himself a drink as well and he lets himself drift on the sounds of Crowley, the waves, the birds and on the words his eyes touch. It really is serene.
Crowley’s naked feet are patting closer now. The demon is coming out to join him, taking a rather large mouthful of something that seems to contain mostly dark rum before he sets his glass down near his own sun lounger next to Aziraphale’s. The demon stretches, his gorgeous long legs are mostly bare, all the fabric Aziraphale can see on him is a rather skimpy and thin kimono-style robe, loosely belted. He’s quite the sight, shining like the sun and almost too bright to look at directly, one of Her most beautiful creations if anyone were to ask Aziraphale. Which no one ever does, not that he minds. This demon was all his.
Aziraphale takes another sip of his drink, his book is almost forgotten as he continues to gaze at the lovely creature, who is himself gazing out at the sea. Neither is talking. Then Crowley sighs out a sound of pure contentment, drops the robe and lowers himself on to the lounger.
Aziraphale is rather glad he’s already swallowed because the demon is wearing swimming wear that is even skimpier than the robe, miles of skin are lying open and free for nothing but the rays of the sun, the warm air and Aziraphale’s gaze to touch.
Actually, going to the Bahamas in January was a rather splendid idea, Aziraphale decides now. Maybe they should extend their stay even, it’s not as if anything important is waiting for them back in London with the plants in Muriel’s rather capable care.
“Should I charge you by the minute?” Crowley says, a smirk clear on his face now, while he’s crossing his arms behind his head and stretching out his already long form even more. All taut skin and lean muscle, gorgeous red hair and beautifully sharp bones. His eyes are closed as far as Aziraphale can tell, but Crowley has developed a kind of sense for when Aziraphale is watching him. He can’t ever keep it a secret from the demon.
“But how would I pay you?” Aziraphale asks, fully playing into the demon’s little tease. “I’m afraid I don’t really have much on me right now.”
“Oh, I’m sure we can find a way,” the demon drawls and holds out his hand. Aziraphale doesn’t hesitate, he takes it and lets himself be pulled on to the other lounger.
Going to the Bahamas was really a marvellous idea.