Aziraphale had decided that a trip to the seaside was just the thing, after all the bother with Armageddon. He made Crowley pack a hamper, and they set off in the Bentley, stopping off enroute to collect Anathema and Newt, who, according to Aziraphale, deserved a treat.

Crowley spent a large part of the journey rolling his eyes as the angel pointed out landmarks that weren't very exciting, even by the standards of Heaven. Impulsively, Crowley lowered the roof, and the unwieldy map that Aziraphale was clutching was plucked from his hands by the sudden buffeting gust of air. It whirled away into the hedgerows.

'Oops,' said Crowley, not bothering to hide his laughter.

'Keep your hands on the wheel,' Aziraphale said, a little later, 'it'll make the humans feel better.' Crowley twisted in his seat to look at Anathema and Newt, but they were only paying attention to each other. He raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale. 'Not them, I meant the ones driving the other cars. You don't want to cause an accident now, do you?'

'Certainly not.'

Crowley tried an innocent look, and Aziraphale smiled at him.

*

Later that afternoon, Crowley lay back on the blanket, letting the alcohol fizz slowly through his veins. The humans had gone for a walk, and Crowley had heard their giggling long after they disappeared from view, drifting up from the dunes. He glanced over at Aziraphale to see if he'd noticed what they were doing, but for once his face was unreadable.

Crowley was waiting for Aziraphale to tell him something he wasn't supposed to know. The sun was hot, and it started to burn his nose, but before he could think to stop it the burning had gone, leaving behind the whisper of cool hands on his skin. He squinted an eye open to see Aziraphale leaning next to him, a grass stem drooping from his lips. The seed head bobbed in the air, tickling Crowley's face. He plucked it from the angel's mouth.

'You're being very helpful,' he said, looking up into Aziraphale's eyes. All he could see was a reflection of himself, a tiny black and white figure sprawled lazily on his back. Aziraphale nodded, but didn't speak. Crowley waited.

'Can I tell you something?' Aziraphale said softly, after a few minutes silence.

'Please do,' Crowley murmured, stretching himself out luxuriously.

There was a long pause. Then he felt his sunglasses being inexpertly removed. The sun beat down and the air was filled with the rhythmical crying of seagulls. A breeze played over his skin and Crowley began to drift, waiting patiently like a snake in the grass.

When Aziraphale's lips met his, he thought that he might be dreaming, until they pressed harder. He opened his eyes and Aziraphale was above him. He raised his hand and slowly traced a finger over Crowley's cheekbone, along his jaw and down to his throat. Crowley trembled, and smiled.

'Tell me everything,' he said.