Work Text:
Somewhere in the Atlantic Hadal Zone, 2026
The sound was getting to him. All the little clicks and pops of thousands of tonnes of water pressing in on them. The careful breaths of the man he’d prefer to leave safely behind on the shore. The whirring of the machinery keeping them alive.
Crowley swallowed. These trips were always his least favourite part of the job. All of the nervous jitters he could usually let out in a quick pace about the room were now dangerous. He was pinned in one spot for fear that he’d bump something and destroy millions of pounds of equipment… not to mention himself, and most importantly, the brilliant oceanographer and marine biologist Dr. Aziraphale Fell (very probably the love of his life).
No pressure.
He stifled his sardonic, anxious laughter and produced a strangled honk instead, drawing the very first and last thing he wanted: Aziraphale’s direct attention.
“What is it? Did you see something?” Aziraphale curled a soft hand over Crowley’s shoulder and leaned towards his set of monitors.
The cramped space already sweltered with human body heat and stress. They didn’t need Crowley’s infatuation pitching in.
“Nah,” he drawled, shoving his infuriating transition lenses (always several shades too dark) further up his nose. “‘Nother tube worm.”
“Bother.” Aziraphale slumped back into his own chair. “The snailfish must be out here somewhere. This is prime feeding time. How long ago did we pass the plateau with the whale fall?”
“Few hundred meters, I’d guess.” Crowley adjusted the controls, then rechecked his topographical data. “Yup, about four hundred ago. Should be near the bottom now.”
The grainy greenish darkness of their video feed flickered alarmingly. Crowley tapped a few knobs, and it settled again.
“You’re brilliant, you know,” Aziraphale said. The tenderness in his voice was like an electric shock.
Crowley grimaced. “Says the man with two doctorates—“
“Now, don’t you go on with that again. Without your expertise, my research would be at an utter standstill. Crowley, do you think anybody else could pilot this vessel, let alone design it? You could easily be… I don’t know, on the International Space Station. Instead you’re scanning for snailfish with me.”
Pushing his fluster down with all of his might, Crowley shrugged and focused on the controls. Couldn’t afford to get distracted.
“Yeah, angel. With you.”
Aziraphale stilled, and Crowley realized he’d definitely gotten too distracted.
“Oh, Crowley, I—“
“Mh. Don’t, uh. Feel. Like y’gotta. Dignify that. M’just—”
That warm hand slipped over his shoulder again, then slid down his arm. By the time their hands touched over the controls, Crowley was on fire. Aziraphale’s twinkling eyes caught Crowley’s restless ones, and the whole ruddy ocean, snailfish and all, blipped out of Crowley’s awareness.
“I think… We’ve got a few things to discuss when we get up top. Over dinner?”
“Yuh.”
Aziraphale wiggled and stroked the back of Crowley’s hand. “Only so much oxygen in here, and I think we’re both quite hot enough already.”