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Crowley drove out of London on the M40 towards Oxfordshire, to stay with his family in Tadfield. His mother, Tracy, had said she’d meet him there, and they were to stay with his auntie Agnes. Her daughter Anathema, who grew up in the USA with her dad, was now living in Tadfield as well, with her English boyfriend, Newt.
Putting his foot down as he overtook a lorry in his Bentley, Crowley grumbled at the traffic. He was in a distinctly un-christmassy mood, having just split up with his partner. While he was looking forward to getting away from it all for a week or so, he wasn’t really in the mood for lots of chaotic family stuff either. But he’d promised his mum.
Arriving at Jasmine cottage on Christmas eve, he stepped out of the Bentley and was surprised to see flakes of snow beginning to fall. It rarely seemed to snow much any more, and certainly not in December. Mostly any snow storms were in January to March, and in the Northern areas. London certainly rarely saw snow, and never for long.
But Tadfield was an odd place, it always had been. It seemed to get normal weather for the time of year - which wasn’t really normal. Bright spring, Scorching hot summers, crisp misty autumns, and reliable snowfall every single Christmas. He’d heard his Auntie Agnes boasting of that fact, but hadn’t really believed her that it happened EVERY year. And yet here it was - and getting thicker by the minute, starting to lay.
Crowley could even hear carol singers traipsing from house to house further down the village, and hurried in, still grumbling, in case they spotted him and came to sing at him. There was something weird about this little village, and how it got so very into the Christmas spirit.
Inside the cottage, a log fire was crackling in the grate, and ornaments festooned every possible surface.
“Crowley, dear, you made it! We worried you might not get here before the snow began.” Tracy hurried over to hug her son, not even giving him the chance to put down his bags of presents first, making it somewhat awkward.
“Hi mum. Yeah, the weather was just fine until I got to the edge of the village. It's coming down pretty heavy now.”
“It will do, love. Now let’s get you a nice hot cup of something, how about some hot chocolate with a glug of bailey’s in it, hmm? That always used to be your favourite. I’ll pop some whipped cream on top for you. Adam! Come and take your uncle Crowley’s bags upstairs to the back room will you? Brian, Pepper, you leave those chocolates alone, they’re for tomorrow, don’t think I can’t see you!”
Crowley went to freshen up, and found he’d been put into the tiny box room with barely enough room for the bed. At least the kids were staying with his other cousins over on Hogback Lane, so it was only him, his mum, his Auntie Agnes, cousin Anathema, and her boyfriend Newt staying in Jasmine Cottage tonight. Then everyone else would descend on the cottage again the next day for Christmas lunch.
Over dinner, Anathema was keeping the kids entertained by telling them tall tales of fairies, elves, and supernatural things in the woods around Tadfield. Crowley rolled his eyes and knocked back more wine. Agnes didn’t miss his expression.
“Now don’t you go mocking Anathema’s stories, young man. She learned them all from me in the first place. There’s something special about Tadfield, everybody knows it. Things is different here. Things which are just superstitions elsewhere are real here. Things you don’t expect sometimes. You got to respect the local folklore, and if you do, then this place will look after you, and you’ll never want for anything you truly need.” She turned to the kids with a conspiratorial smile. “And if you ask Santa Claus for what you need, not what you want, then you’ll be sure to get it.” She winked.
“What I need is a new boyfriend who’s not a piece of shit,” Crowley muttered.
“Language!” Tracy smacked him on the arm and nodded towards the kids. “Behave yourself or don’t think you’re too old to be sent to bed without any pudding.”
After dinner and some board games, Agnes took Crowley to one side while the rest of the family got coats and boots on for the walk back to their own houses in the village for the night.
“If you go into the scullery, behind the chest freezer I’ve put out some labelled bags, and I want you to go put the contents of each one into the stockings after everyone’s gone to bed. Your granddad used to do that for me, but now he’s gone, it’s your job. There’s a bag of tangerines in the pantry, don’t forget to put one in the toe of each stocking. It’s traditional.”
“Uh, sure.”
“Oh don’t look at me like that, you like staying up late anyway, always been a night owl, and your mother and I are exhausted looking after this lot all day and preparing things for tomorrow, we need an extra pair of hands. Newt and Anathema are in charge of keeping all the kids entertained, and you’re my gopher tomorrow.”
“Gopher?” Crowley asked.
“A go-fer,” Agnes corrected. “As in go-fer this, and go-fer that, and bring it back when I’m too busy or up to my arms in a turkey’s arse. Oh, and I got young Adam to put out a mince pie and glass of sherry on the mantelpiece. Make sure you eat half of the mince pie and leave some crumbs. Have all the sherry if you want.”
“Can’t it be Talisker?” Crowley asked.
“You should be lucky it’s not a glass of milk like Anathema suggested. Anyway, you’re too late, they’ve already put it out.”
After the others had left, and while Anathema and Newt were hogging the only bathroom for a shower which sounded rather too giggly to be just about getting clean, Crowley sat in the armchair in the lounge, watching as the log fire burned down to glowing embers. Agnes came in and raked the coals about to encourage it to die down faster.
“You don’t want to put another log on to keep it going through the night?” Crowley asked. “I can bring more logs in from the pile outside if you need.”
“Of course not, you might burn Santa’s tootsies if we were to leave it burning all night.” Tracey tutted, bustling through picking up bits of mess and generally tidying things.
“Mum, the kids have gone now, you can drop it for the night,” Crowley sighed.
“Sounds like somebody doesn’t want Santa to leave him any presents,” Agnes admonished. "Right, if those two younguns have finished in the bathroom and left me any hot water, I’m going for a bath before bed. Night, don’t stay up too late, will you?”
Tracy kissed Crowley on the head and wished him goodnight, then headed upstairs as well.
“Night, mum,” Crowley replied, and relaxed further into the armchair, flinging his leg over the armrest, and gazing into the dying embers of the fire.
Crowley hadn’t realised that he’d nodded off, until he woke sometime in the middle of the night. The room was lit only dimly by the ancient string of softly glowing Christmas tree lights, each reflected in myriad tiny sparkles off the assortment of glass ornaments twinkling from every bough. The embers had died out and were cold in the grate.
He glanced at his watch, fuzzy-headed. It was past 2am and he had forgotten to fill the stockings, so he levered himself awkwardly to his feet, stretched, yawned, and headed to the scullery to fetch the bags of stocking fillers to put in the brightly coloured wool stockings that each family member had hung up over the mantelpiece. He paused in the kitchen doorway, then doubled back again, having nearly forgotten the tangerines, then headed back to the lounge, arms full.
In the doorway, he almost dropped the lot.
“Who the FUCK are you?”
The red-suited intruder gaped at him, wide-eyed, mouth full of mince pie, caught in the act.
“Oh bother,” he mumbled through the crumbs.
Crowley dumped the bags on the floor and stalked towards him, scowling, and jabbed him in the chest with a bony finger.
“What kind of lowlife breaks into someone’s house on Christmas Eve of all nights, dressed as sodding Santa Claus, with the world’s worst fake beard, to steal kids’ presents?”
Santa chewed faster and attempted to swallow his mouthful, hands up placatingly, shaking his head.
“Nononono, it’s not what it looks like…” he stammered, spraying crumbs. “Honest! I’m not a thief, I promise!”
“Then what the bloody hell are you doing in here, and how the fuck did you even get in?” Crowley demanded.
Santa gulped and licked his lips. “Er, the usual way?” He said, hesitantly.
(Illustration by IneffableChocolateCheeseCake. Can't see the image? Click here.)
“Which is?” Crowley demanded.
“Um…” The Santa-suited guy flicked his eyes toward the fireplace, where a trickle of soot cascaded down from the chimney as if on cue. Crowley looked down, and followed the sooty boot-prints back to the hearth.
“You have GOT to be fucking kidding me.”
The man in the cheap red suit gave Crowley a curious look.
“Wait, how can you even see me? You’re not supposed to be able to see me! Who are you anyway?”
“I’m Crowley, I live here, and of course I can sodding see you. Where’d you get this bloody outfit from anyway? Poundland?” Crowley tugged the cheap fake beard and synthetic red hat off, casting them aside, revealing a man in his early fifties, clean shaven, with hair so blonde it was almost white, and with pale blue eyes.
“The budget was cut,” the man replied, looking down at his boots, embarrassed. “Sorry, we don’t really expect to be seen, you see, and so the boss said that it didn’t really matter if the uniforms this year were a bit less fancy than in the past. It costs a lot more to do the presents nowadays with all the games consoles instead of wooden toys. We only really wear the red for tradition. We never expect anyone to actually see it.”
“We?” Crowley demanded, confused.
“Well there’s lots of us, isn’t there? The hiring agency takes care of it. I mean, Nicholas may be a saint, but he’s still only one man, and there’s only so far you can stretch the laws of physics, space, and time. So for over a hundred years he’s been outsourcing the deliveries, he’s just the boss nowadays.”
“So who the hell are you?”
“Er, my name’s Aziraphale.”
“What, did they hire you from the angel department or something in the off season?”
Aziraphale looked confused. “Oh, er, no I can understand how you might think that, with the name and everything, but that was just very traditional parents, I’m afraid. I’m human. But when you join the agency, you sign this big NDA, and undergo induction for a week or two. You get the magic boots, then you become a sub-Santa. You get granted the ability to deal with the chimneys, the invisibility and whatnot, so long as you have the boots on, that is.”
“Your shoelace is undone,” Crowley pointed out.
“Ah. Yes, that’s probably why you can see me then,” Aziraphale bent down and began to tie it up. As he tied off the knot, he disappeared.
“WAIT! No, come back!” Crowley called out.
A second later, Aziraphale became visible again, having undone the knot, and looked up at him questioningly.
“You’re really real.” Crowley whispered.
“I’m afraid so. But not really Santa, just one of many sub-Santas. But for the purposes of gift-dispersal, yes, for this household at least, I am your ‘Santa’, this year, anyway.”
“Why only this year?”
“Well there’s no guarantee I’ll be hired on again next year of course, or indeed that I’ll be assigned the same route if I am. There was even talk of them subcontracting or outsourcing to one of the big courier companies. Luckily the union put a stop to that. This is only my first year doing it, but I really think I’ve messed up tonight. I’m so behind schedule, it’s nearly 3am and you’re my last house. We’re supposed to finish by 1:45am.” He sat down heavily on the sofa. “I’m a terrible Santa,” he sighed sadly.
Crowley sat down next to him and put a consoling arm around his shoulders.
“Nah, you’re not. You’ve done great, I mean, I’m the only person to have seen you, right? And I’m not going to tell anyone - nobody has to know. You’ve done a great job, left the crumbs, the sooty footprints and everything, ten out of ten.”
Aziraphale’s eyes had been welling up, but he sniffed and managed a half smile.
“D’you really think so?”
“Sure I do. Hey, you haven’t drunk the sherry yet,” Crowley stood up to grab the glass, then came and sat next to Aziraphale again, and handed it to him. “Come on, drink up. You deserve it. Besides, I prefer whisky to sherry, myself. So you’ve saved me from having to do the pie and drink thing. I just need to do the stocking fillers.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Aziraphale said, snapping his fingers. Suddenly the bags were empty, and the stockings bulging.
“How the fuck did y’do that?” Crowley asked, shocked.
“Magic boots again. Gives you all the abilities you need for the job for the night.”
“Can you do other magic?”
“Well I am quite good at card tricks, and…” Aziraphale reached up and behind Crowley’s ear, then brandished a thruppeny bit in front of his face.
“Ta daa! It was in your ear!”
“That was never anywhere near my ear.” Crowley protested.
“Well I’m a bit out of practice,” Aziraphale replied defensively.
“So you can shimmy down a chimney thinner than you are, go invisible, and fill stockings with a snap of your fingers, but you’re ‘out of practice’ when it comes to sleight of hand?”
“The boots only deal with Christmas magic, not everyday tricks.”
Crowley was finding himself quite captivated by Aziraphale’s almost dorky but endearing mannerisms, and smiled, warming to him.
“Want another sherry?”
“No thank you, that was more than enough. I’ve had eighty three of them already tonight, I’ve rather lost the taste for it, if I’m honest.” He gazed at the glass in his fingers morosely. “The pies were nice though.”
“EIGHTY THREE SHERRIES?” Crowley exclaimed. “How are you still standing?”
“The boots magic the alcohol away after every house.”
“Ah.”
Crowley took the glass from his hands tactfully, drank the last drops of it himself anyway, and set it aside.
“So, what’s the pay like?” He asked, curious.
“Better than minimum wage, plus fifteen percent shift allowance, and free dental, so it’s not all bad. We get it better than the elves, anyway.”
“Really elves, or more humans in elf suits?”
“Humans in elf suits,” Aziraphale admitted. “At least they’re employed year-round in the toy workshops though. We just do seasonal work.”
“What do you do the rest of the time?”
“I work in a bookshop.”
“Anywhere near here?”
“No, in London.”
“Never!”
“Pardon?”
“I live in London too - Mayfair. What about you?”
“Soho.”
“We’re practically neighbours then!”
Aziraphale smiled at that.
“Perhaps that means I might bump into you again sometime, when I’m off-duty, without the boots.”
“I’d like that,” Crowley admitted.
“Really?”
“‘Course.”
“Why?”
“Well…” Crowley fumbled, “er… you’re, erm… nice, y’know.”
“Do you really think so?” Aziraphale looked relieved, and the smile that lit up his face had Crowley knowing he was utterly doomed. Smitten, in fact.
“Ngk. Y-yup. Yeah. Def’nly.” He stuttered back.
“That’s awfully nice of you to say so.”
“I’m not nice, just… honest, I suppose,” Crowley deflected, embarrassed.
“May I ask you a question?” Aziraphale asked.
“Sure, anything.”
“What did you wish for, for Christmas? We don’t normally do things for the adults, we usually just do the presents for the kiddies, and each family member thinks that someone else was the one who bought it - it’s part of the magic. But there’s no rule that says I can’t give out a bonus present, here and there…”
“Er… nothing really, I’m fine.”
“No, really, tell me.”
Crowley shrugged, mind blank.
“Well if you won’t tell me, then I shall have to find out for myself,” Aziraphale said firmly, and stood up, then reached into his sack, withdrawing an ipad, which had a scroll sticker on the protective case. He flipped it open, and consulted something.
“I have an ipad already,” Crowley protested.
“Shh, this isn’t for you, this is the database,” Aziraphale replied, scrolling and tapping. “Ah, there you are: Crowley, Anthony J.”
“I prefer just Crowley.”
“Noted, now, it says here you want…”
“Wait, that thing KNOWS?”
“Mmm-Hm,” Aziraphale agreed, nodding as he tapped through another menu. “...A boyfriend who’s not a piece of, er… I see.”
“Give me that!” Crowley jumped up and made to grab at the ipad. “That’s private!”
Aziraphale evaded him neatly, with a coy smile.
“This is company property, I can’t let you see I’m afraid, but it is true - isn’t it?”
Crowley stopped, and bit his lip. Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled mischievously at him.
“Yes,” Crowley admitted in a quiet voice.
“Well, let’s see what Santa has in his sack for a good boy then, shall we?” Aziraphale said with a wicked smile, theatrically reaching into the bag.
“You’re fucking kidding me. I swear to the flying spaghetti monster that if you pull me a six foot tall bear out of that thing I’m gonna pass out.”
“Not quite,” Aziraphale replied, still rummaging, and then brought out a large bright red bow. Crowley looked on, puzzled, while Aziraphale pinned it to his belt, then stood straight, arms wide.
“Ta-daa!” He announced proudly.
Crowley blinked.
“You.”
Aziraphale nodded, beaming.
“You’re offering me… you?”
“Quite right. The sack seemed quite insistent that I was suitable, and it’s never wrong. Was it wrong?”
“It’s not, erm… not wrong, no,” Crowley admitted, realising he was blushing. “You can’t just offer yourself to a total stranger though.”
“Why not? My shift is over for the year, and you are exceptionally handsome. Ticking all the boxes, as they say.”
“Well, erm… what does the er… gift, um… entail, exactly?”
Aziraphale smiled and stepped closer. He reached out and took Crowley’s hand, tugging it toward him, and placing it on the bow on his belt. He leaned in to whisper in his ear.
“Whatever you like. Perhaps a promise of a date when we both get back to London? There’s a lovely little restaurant around the corner from the bookshop where I work. They're open for a New Year’s eve party. I was going alone, but I’m sure my table can seat two as easily as one.”
Crowley fingered the red velvet ribbon in this hand thoughtfully, considering the offer.
“How do I know I’m not just dreaming all of this right now?” He whispered back. Aziraphale’s face was so close to his own, studying him intently. “It’s been a weird night, too weird.”
“I could show you,” Aziraphale suggested.
“How?”
“Like this…” Aziraphale closed the gap between them, and kissed him gently. Crowley almost melted. He was briefly lost for words after Aziraphale lifted off, but remained close enough to continue, if Crowley wanted to.
“Well that was pretty convincing,” Crowley whispered at last, with a huffed laugh. “That said, I wouldn’t mind a little more… convincing, if you like?” He winked.
“I certainly wouldn’t mind either,” Aziraphale whispered back, and kissed him again.
The kisses grew more heated, and Aziraphale’s hand wandered down to stroke questioningly at the growing bulge in Crowley’s tight trousers. The touch was answered promptly by Crowley’s urgent hands reciprocating by ripping the red bow off, and undoing Aziraphale’s belt with unseemly haste, yanking his body closer, and grinding against him as their kisses grew more ferocious.
Crowley broke off as Aziraphale kissed up his long throat ravenously, rubbing at Crowley’s stiff cock through his trousers, then losing patience and unzipping him to set it free.
“I didn’t, um, bring any condoms with me,” Crowley apologised. “I didn’t really to expect to end up fucking Santa on my holidays.”
“Sub-Santa,” Aziraphale corrected him between fevered kisses and nibbling his ear.
“Sub eh?” Crowley grinned back playfully.
“Sometimes,” Aziraphale teased back. “Does that suit you, darling?”
“Suits me right down to the ground,” Crowley agreed. “But I still don’t have any condoms, unless you can magic some up from that sack of yours.”
“I can’t say I’ve ever tried before, but let me give it a go…” Aziraphale rummaged for a moment, then withdrew his hand triumphantly. “Well look at that, it gave us lube as well, just in case. How thoughtful.”
“Just when I thought the night couldn’t get any weirder,” Crowley laughed, and shoved his trousers off, then yanked his shirt over his head. Aziraphale kicked off his boots entirely and flung aside the uncomfortable synthetic santa suit. Crowley gasped to see him fully naked, his body stocky, with pale skin dusted with blonde hairs, and a hint of firm musculature just hiding under the slightest bit of padding - just soft enough to make for good cuddles, he thought.
“Wow.”
“I’m not that bad, am I?” Aziraphale asked, face falling a little.
“Not at all, quite the opposite. You’re fucking gorgeous.”
“Speak for yourself,” Aziraphale replied, stepping closer again, and dropping to his knees, facing Crowley’s swaying cock. “You look rather delicious yourself.” There was the sound of a packet being torn open, then Aziraphale was rolling a condom over Crowley’s erection with practised ease. Crowley shivered with delight, before letting out a shuddering groan as Aziraphale’s talented mouth got to work on him.
“Holy fuck, you’re good at that.”
“Thank you,” Aziraphle lifted off to reply, looking up at him with a coy smile. “I try my best.”
“Your best is fucking amazing” Crowley gasped, just as those soft lips engulfed his length once more. “Fuck, if this is a dream, this is definitely the best dream ever, and I never want to wake up.”
“Not a dream,” Aziraphale reassured him, lifting off then getting to his feet. Crowley looked bereft, until Aziraphale got onto the sofa on his knees, resting his upper body over the armrest, and wiggling his soft plump bottom toward Crowley invitingly. “Grab the lube would you dear? I’d rather like to see what you feel like from the other end.”
Crowley wasted no time in complying, and was soon sinking deep into Aziraphale’s arse with a low earthy groan of pleasure.
“Best fucking Christmas ever,” he gasped out between thrusts.
“I’ll say,” Aziraphale agreed, whimpering slightly. “Good lord that feels good, please don’t stop darling.”
Crowley redoubled his efforts, until a noise made him stop, eyes wide, and turn his head to gape at the doorway to the lounge.
“Fuck.” He froze, meeting the shocked expression of his Auntie Agnes standing in the doorway.
“Well,” She said, taking in the tableaux before her. “Don’t let me stop you two having fun, but for goodness sake make sure you clean everything up when you’re finished. Glad you got your Christmas wish anyway Crowley,” She winked and went to tug the door closed behind her, but not before telling him “you go, boy!” and retreating.
“Who was that?” Aziraphale asked in a quiet voice.
“My auntie.”
“She seems nice.”
“Uh, yeah. She’s very, erm… understanding.”
“She certainly seems it. Well. Now that’s cleared up, would you like to carry on pounding me darling? I was rather enjoying that until the interruption.”
“Oh, er… yeah. Might take a minute to erm, y’know, get things going again.”
“Understandable.”
Crowley pulled out and tugged at his half-hard cock a bit until he was back to full hardness, then sank back into Aziraphale’s tight wet heat, and carried on, soon forgetting the interruption. After a few minutes, both of them had forgotten everything save for each other, and were gasping in tandem, both achingly close to climax.
Crowley stroked Aziraphale’s soft skin, desperate to be in contact with as much of him as possible. “Holy fuck you’re so fucking gorgeous Angel.”
“Angel?”
“Angelic name, right?” Crowley grunted.
“Indeed… aaaah, Crowley please don’t stop… so close.”
“Right, Angel then. Fucking sexy Christmas angel, that’s you.” He shuddered again, doubling over, and then seized up, his gut clenching, balls tightening, and he groaned through his orgasm, a series of long, shivering pulses, pain-sweet and perfect. But Aziraphale was still teetering on the brink, so despite his cock being over-sensitised, Crowley grit his teeth and carried on anyway, determined to give his lover the same release. He was almost sobbing when Aziraphale tensed and cried out his name. Crowley slowed and stopped, every muscle quivering.
“Wow.” He said again. “Wow.”
He slid out, holding the base of the condom as he did, then shuffled through to the downstairs toilet to grab some damp flannels and towels to clean things up a bit. Dawn was still hours away as it was midwinter, but even so, people might be getting up soon to start preparing things for Christmas day. So after sitting on the sofa for a few minutes just cuddling Aziraphale, they both dressed and set about cleaning up the lounge.
“So what now then?” Crowley asked when everything was put to rights again. “I can give you my number, and we can meet up again for that date. Unless…?”
“Unless?”
“I mean, there’s space if you’d like to join us today, if you haven’t got anything else on that is?”
“I haven’t - my shift is over, I was just going to go home and celebrate alone.”
“Don’t do that, Angel,” Crowley told him, cupping his chin with a gentle hand. “Don’t be alone, not on Christmas day.”
“Then I’ll stay, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Oh goodness, the sleigh!” Aziraphale exclaimed suddenly. “The poor dears are still up there.”
“What.” Crowley said, disbelieving.
“The reindeer - they’re waiting to take me home.”
“Are you seriously telling me that if I go outside now, I’m going to see a sodding sleigh and reindeer on the roof?”
“Yes.”
Well… they can come down and graze in the garden if they like?”
“Oh I think they’d like that.”
“The kids certainly will when they meet them in the morning.”
They headed outside, and Aziraphale clucked his tongue, calling up to the six reindeer waiting patiently on the roof of the cottage. They trotted out into thin air, and came down to land on the lawn. Crowley watched as he unhitched them from the traces, gave them a carrot each, and set them loose to graze in the garden, scraping the snow away with their hooves, and nibbling the frozen grass beneath with every sign of relish. Crowley fetched them a bucket of water.
When they went back indoors, Agnes was up again, in her dressing gown. She looked Aziraphale up and down frankly.
“You look a bit different to the usual chap,” she commented. “Pleased to meet you, I’m Agnes.”
“Aziraphale, charmed. Er… you know the usual person?”
“Oh yes, Reggie, he’s been doing this route for about fifteen years. Has he been reassigned?”
“Yes, they promoted him to the Oxford branch.”
“Nice promotion. Well give him my best. Will you be staying for lunch, dear?” Agnes asked with a yawn, putting the kettle on.
“Crowley asked, and if it’s alright with you…?”
“Absolutely. I’ll go and get some of my late father’s clothes down from the loft for you, you’re about his size. They’re a bit out of date but I think you’ll look rather dashing in them, if you like. Unless you want to leave the Santa suit on for the little kiddies, of course.”
“It’s a little uncomfortable,” Aziraphale admitted.
“Well I’ll bring a box down for you to go through, choose what you like the look of. We can’t have my favourite nephew’s new boyfriend being uncomfortable for his first Christmas with the family now, can we?”
Crowley admitted, once Aziraphale had chosen a faded tan suit from granddad’s wardrobe, that he looked surprisingly handsome in it - the beige and fawn suited him down to the ground, and Aziraphale declared it extremely comfortable, and closer to what he usually wore at home. Agnes told him that he could keep it, and help himself to any other clothes that fit him from the box as well. She said it made her feel good to see them being worn again.
Aziraphale put his boots on, leaving one unlaced so that he wouldn’t turn invisible, and helped with little magic tricks here and there to make the preparations go more smoothly. While he helped, he chatted to Agnes, Tracy, and Anathema as if he’d known them for years, fitting into the family immediately. Then when the rest of the family brought the children over later that morning, he introduced them to the reindeer, and showed them how to feed them carrots. The parents of course, simply thought that they’d rented the animals to entertain the kids.
That night, after the day’s festivities, Aziraphale joined Crowley in the small bedroom, where they snuggled close and whispered to one another in the dark.
Just before dawn, Aziraphale took his leave with a fond kiss, and hitched up the reindeer to return them and the sleigh to HQ. Promising to meet up with Crowley in Soho the day after, and very much looking forward to their New Year’s eve date together.
Agnes came out to stand on the snowy lawn next to Crowley in the pre-dawn, watching the sleigh disappear over the horizon.
“I told you Tadfield was magic, young lad,” she commented. “Do you believe me now?”
“Yup.”
“Gave you just what you needed, didn’t it?”
“Definitely.”
“Merry Christmas, kid.”
“Merry Christmas Agnes.”