"No, probably not. There has to be a certain willingness to run around in this weather for no reason and get muddy all over." He could admire the pluckiness of their fellow campers, but he was in no hurry whatsoever to join them. They could do that by themselves and he would watch. Gladly.
"It's a good show, admittedly." Who didn't like watching a boy be athletic and get competitive? Hartley certainly found it inspiring. "Quite a few handsome lads here."
He could most definitely appreciate that. "Any favourites?"
"Oh. Oh... no, you can't -- that's not a good topic. Remember, the leaflet, we must stay to safe topics." Aziraphale corrected awkwardly, twiddling his thumbs. He didn't want to be rude but he really wanted to change and he didn't want to discuss how handsome boys were because that was the problem and the reason why he had to be here. "We should discuss their performance, not their appearance."
He watched Bill, a charmingly rough boy, slide tackle another boy and score a goal. He seemed to be the best here, by a long shot, and was more than happy to gloat with a slurry of insults and swears.
"Oh, he is. He's very cute. He's my type. There's something about it. The more they look like they'd call me slurs, the more I want to make out with them in a locker room." It was all theoretical, but it was on his mind. Especially as he watched Bill. He didn't think Bill would call him any slurs, they were all here for a reason, but he looked like he would. Looked rough, looked like he'd be a bully given half the chance... Good at football though, admittedly. "It's not really about appearance primarily. It's more personality. Just gets expressed through appearance."
But it was the foundation for the draw. "Don't worry. I'm not about to tell anyone that we are wondering what boy is a good kisser."
"Well, yes, but-- no! No, I'm not even wondering that!" Aziraphale clarified, looking over their shoulder as if someone would emerge and call them sinners. Which, to be fair, that had happened so far while he was here. And he wasn't even talking about much, he just commented on the shirt someone was wearing and had to do push ups. So yeah, he was anxious. "I don't think about kissing any boy."
"Oi! Fuck off! That was a fucking foul, the little bastard kicked me in the back of my leg!" Bill was yelling suddenly, not about to take the fact that the one guy was trying to prove he was better than Bill and had fucking tried to trip him. "You do that one more fucking time and I'll nut you in the head, you little bitch."
"... Oh, good lord. He is quite... verbal, isn't he?" Aziraphale winced. "I don't want to be on his wrong side."
"He's all bark. Look at his shoulders, I could throw him down if I had to." Which he certainly wasn't about to do, he didn't intend to get close enough for it either, but the mind did wander. Bill was a good-looking boy. He liked the way he talked, the liked all the expletives, liked his energy. They'd probably fight, should they ever have a conversation. Probably not get along. Hartley had never mastered it, getting along. Still, it was a fun thought.
"If you don't think about kissing any boy, then why are you here?"
He was just wondering. There was little reason otherwise, after all. "Looks like you are cured. Heureka."
"I don't really think about it. I guess it's just how I am... they told me I'm not allowed to come back until I'm cured but I'm not sure if I'm sick in any way or how one measures a cure." Unlike a lot of people here, he hadn't been caught with porn or kissed a boy or any of that, it was just the way he talked and, perhaps, his book choices. Maybe it was how his eyes did linger on other boys more than he needed. It wasn't kissing he thought about, it was more romance. And maybe he projected that enough for his family to worry. "I don't think on kissing much. Girls or boys."
He thought of dancing and holding hands and being happy with someone. A boy, probably. God, his family were right, he was afflicted. "I try not to think about it all or I will damn myself so I will give this all a jolly good try and hopefully I can return home with no issues."
"Maybe you are asexual. Then you have a decent shot, I suppose. Otherwise this whole farce is nonsense. You are what you are. I'm not going to stop being gay, no matter how much I pray." And he didn't pray at all, when he could help it. He was a scientist, not an idiot. "Just tell them you want to marry a good woman and you'll be home soon enough."
Although Aziraphale did seem very gay. Painfully so. However, yes, who knew. He might be asexual.
Suddenly music could be heard - Queen, if Hartley was not mistaken, very much not Christian - and then there was the sound of a car. Black and sleek looking, it stopped close to their football field, causing all the boys to stop playing and stare, to pretend to know things about cars.
The car door opened and a boy got out, dressed in black with the tightest pair of trousers - were they leather?! - that Hartley had ever seen on anyone. He was wearing sunglasses and had long, dark red hair that was tied together.
"Oh. Wow." What else could there be said about that? Especially when the boy turned to get something that was attached to the roof of his car, turning to show his tightly leather-clad arse to all those repressed gay boys gaping at him. He had a snake tattoo curling around his biceps. This was insane. "What is this?"
"A test. It's a test." Aziraphale knew it had to be a test because no one should be allowed to look that good. The pants, the tight pants, the tattoo and the -- oh no, when he lifted his arms to his roof rack, his shirt came up a little and Aziraphale stared with wide eyes. And the very obvious feeling of his dick twitching tragically reminded him that no, he was not asexual, as lovely as that would be.
"You got a bentley? That's well swank." Bill called out, not afraid to talk to the hot guy and yes, he was apparently the only one who knew anything about cars. He kicked the ball away and came a little closer. "You with us queers or what?"
The whistle blew again and the coach put his hands on his hips. "Bill, stop bothering the gardener! And watch the language, we don't use that word here."
Aziraphale watched Crowley with fascination. A gardener? Really? That man was a -- why?! Were they usually bigger and uglier?
Crowley flashed Bill a smile, lifting his shoulders with a shrug that made his shirt come up a little again. There were some audible sighs from the boys watching. They were all horribly pent up. "Sorry, I'm not supposed to talk to you. Good on you though, recognising a good car when you see one."
He was handling a rolled up hose. This had to be someone's idea of a joke. Hartley blinked, then glanced over at Aziraphale. All right, not so asexual after all. "What about kissing him?"
He asked him quietly, unable to resist the opportunity to tease. Also unable to look away for too long, especially as Crowley was walking right towards them, carrying his equipment. Swaying his hips. Damn, those pants were tight.
Aziraphale was in a state of shock. Words did not matter, they did not come. He was just there, staring, stunned and mesmerised. Bill had returned to football but he was about the only one, most of them were just standing around staring. The coach was blowing this whistle but how could anyone focus like this?
Finally, Aziraphale looked away, blushing furiously. "That is certainly not right. To invite such a-a-a man like -- this is a test."
And yes, he wanted to kiss him but no, he would not admit that. Not aloud, of course.
"I don't know. I mean, he's brought an apron along. I don't know if a trap would have brought an apron." An apron, gloves, everything a gardener needed. He simply was not wearing it yet. Hartley decided to watch him, because why not? He watched as he set down the equipment, watched while the coach berated all the other boys and watched as the gardener started lifting his arms and stretching to reach the branches of the tree he was apparently inspecting.
Hartley didn't care about the tree, he just cared to watch him. "Hm. I'm pretty sure that's a natural redhead." Food for thought. "So. Seems as if you like bad boys. The leather-clad type. Can't blame you."
"I am not." Aziraphale insisted as he tried his best not to look but, well, he kept sneaking glances. They all did. It was a very long football session, to say the least. Crowley worked through the whole thing, trimming and inspecting the trees, looking a little dubious of it all - Aziraphale guessed. It was hard to say, what with his whole glasses situation.
Aziraphale completely lost track of time as he watched, only snapping back to reality when the whistle blew.
"Okay, good game, boys!" The coach yelled and Aziraphale gulped as he tried not to stare and listen to whatever their counsellor was going to tell them next. "You've got some free time for the next half an hour. Make the most of it. Be productive. Reflect."
"Good kicking." Hartley said it to Bill as he happened to stand close to them and assessed that he sounded sarcastic. Seemed about right, that was what he got for even attempting to pretend that football was interesting to him on any level. He'd sooner watch the gardener prune trees some more. And giving them a good talking to, from the looks of it. No wonder that a number of boys had already walked over there, pretending to know things about gardening or cars simply to strike up a conversation.
"You should go talk to him," Hartley tried to encourage Aziraphale. "What's the worst that could happen?"
"Cheers." Bill sat himself on the ground near the bench cause all the benches were taken and started retying his shoelace. "Good sitting."
Aziraphale looked over at Crowley and watched all the other boys trying, and failing, to flirt with the ridiculously handsome man. No, he would never be that shallow or that foolish. And he certainly didn't want to encourage that sort of thing in himself. "No, I think not. I don't think it's a good idea, it's expressly against what we are here to do. Mingling in such a way. And-And I don't know what I would say."
"How about 'Hey, sexy. It's a crime to wear pants that tight around a bunch of us pent up fags. Wanna take 'em off for us? Seems only fair.'" Bill answered, just giving Aziraphale something to say.
"Good one. It must chafe. Basic physics. You'd be doing him a favour." Him and his balls and his evidently rather sizeable dick. Hartley crossed his arms, trying not to think too much about that. He could think more at night in bed, he supposed. "I've been wondering whether this is just some perverted experiment to see what happens when you lock up a bunch of pent-up teenagers and tell them they can't be gay. Having that gardener is not helping anything in regards to disproving my theory."
Quite the opposite, really. "Wow. Phil definitely just copped a feel."
Good on Phil, he supposed. The gardener's expression was difficult to read with the sunglasses on, but at least he seemed to be remaining somewhat cool.
"Yeah, they can. It's easy. He's making it real easy." Bill remarked as he leaned back and watched the boys swarming him. Then he tilted his head, watching Aziraphale. God, that boy was pent up. And getting stressed out at the way the boys were all over Crowley. Cute. "Someone should go over there and save the poor man."
There was a bit of silences and then Aziraphale sighed and rolled up his sleeves. "Well, if no one else will, I will."
Aziraphale marched forward on a mission and came over, trying not to look at Crowley as he started to wave his arms at the boys. "We have free time not to harass a gardener. Honestly, boys, you should be ashamed. Shoo! Go away!"
"It's like he's chasing off a load of pigeons, not a pack of horny boys." Bill sniffed, clearly amused. "Fucking love this place, there's nothing like it."
"Maybe they'll fly off to be gay somewhere over the rainbow." There was a thought. Hartley took note of the way Bill sniffed. That was a thing, that kind of mannerism. Something about it that just perked his interest. Maybe that was a way of wording it.
Best not to engage too much. He had to focus on why he was doing this nonsense, how he wanted to complete the programme as quickly as possible. Get back to his life. So he just watched as Aziraphale shooed boys around and how the gardener looked baffled, but did step to stand behind Aziraphale. Kind of cute.
"Thanks, but I can handle myself," Crowley said to the angelic boy, amused more than anything.
"Somewhere over the rainbow, queer poofs grind." Bill sang idly as he finished tying up his shoes and stood to his feet, stretching his neck idly as he watched Aziraphale. Then he leaned to the side and spat on the floor. "Poor little blondie, he's gonna have a tough life. You take one look at him, you think 'Christ, there's a nancy boy'."
But that nancy boy didn't seem ashamed of any of himself, just determined in an almost endearing way.
As the boys dispersed, Aziraphale turned to Crowley and smiled. "It's not a problem, my dear boy. These lads are doing themselves a disservice and getting in your way. It's hard conductive to anything." With a smile. Aziraphale looked at Crowley and then reminded himself that he had to behave too. "Good luck with the, uh, the tree-- stuff."
"Thanks for the save." It was quite unnecessary, but Crowley liked to do unnecessary thing when he felt that they were needed. Or at least when they could throw that little kernel of temptation the right way. So he reached for Aziraphale's hand and took a step closer, led his hand up to his lips and placed a kiss to his knuckles, eyes behind the sunglasses focused on Aziraphale's holding his gaze. "I owe you."
With that he released his hand again and Hartley let go of a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding. All right, this was better than some of those fics he had read under his bedsheets before. "Damn." He felt as if he was about to swoon and he'd just been watching. "He is having a tough life. Hard. Very hard."
Aziraphale was stunned for a long time and then he woke himself up and panic shot through him. Oh God, he just let a hot boy kiss his hand. Aziraphale tried to find words but nothing came to him and oh God, the lips, the eyes, the -- oh no, he felt faint. He braced himself and took a deep breathe. "You're welcome." His voice sounded very awkwardly high pitched. Oh dear. "I'm going to -- go."
And with that, he turned around and walked back, clearly stunned.
Bill let a wolf whistle and gave Aziraphale a thumbs up that he tried desperately to ignore. "Good on you, mate!"
"Subditi ergo estote Deo, resistite autem diabolo, et fugiet a vobis." Hartley spoke Latin with a certain casualness to it, having a good grasp of it. He also said it with a great deal of sarcasm in his voice, clearly not actually advising anything from the bible. It was just funny, because laughing at this was easier than despairing. So he gestured. "Look, he's fleeing already."
Or else Crowley was just walking back towards the car. Damn, he did have a nice behind for a guy that slender, Hartley had to admit that. And so did many others, he had no doubt.
"Oh shush, you." Aziraphale huffed as he dropped back on the bench and watched Crowley head to the car, his hand still tingling. Was he supposed to do something? Should he go over and ... be sexy? Could he be sexy? He had no idea. He puzzled for a few moments and then looked down at his feet instead, trying to work out if this was all some cruel joke. Probably. He knew where they were, he was sure Crowley was just having some fun at his expense.
"It will be time... time for chapel soon." They he could apologise to God and try to get new strength and courage.
"Blow it off and go blow him." Bill recommended as he lay back on the grass, looking up at the sky, wondering why it was always dull and grey these days.
"That's sound advice. You should listen to Bill, Aziraphale." Hartley would recommend it. He wondered whether it would even fit. He also wondered what it would be like to do it. He had no experience, of course not. He'd barely ever so much as touched a boy, much less done anything like that. Kiss on the hand was further than he'd ever gotten, so now Aziraphale was officially beyond him, experience-wise. That was depressing. He glanced at Bill, wondering just how experienced he might be.
His face grew heated and he shook his head, wondering whether he'd be able to help Aziraphale out a little. "Just walk over there and help him with getting everything back in the car. I'm sure he'll appreciate it."
"You two are devils. Demons. I don't -- you can't use such crude language!" Aziraphale protested as he watched Crowley put his stuff away. He was struggling but he had just kissed his hand - so clearly, it was dangerous. And he didn't fancy danger. "I couldn't possibly help him."
"Okay, fine, I will." Bill said boldly as he got up and dusted himself off. Aziraphale didn't know if he was bluffing or not but he decided to call it. Big mistake. No, no, no, what was that young thug doing?!"
Bill walked over to Crowley and smiled. "Alright mate, can I give you a hand?"
"Nah, I'm all good." Crowley looked Bill over briefly, having to suppress a smirk. Between the flaming queer he'd just kissed and this rent boy looking twink, how did they actually hope to ever get the gay out of any of these boys? Not that he wanted that to happen, obviously.
Which did make him think. "Actually, could you call your friends over? Bit tricky to fix this stuff to the roof, but I think we'll need a pair of hands more. Or two, whatever."
He leaned back against the car for now, looking over at the two boys Bill had just been with. "You straightening up all right, mate?"
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"It's a good show, admittedly." Who didn't like watching a boy be athletic and get competitive? Hartley certainly found it inspiring. "Quite a few handsome lads here."
He could most definitely appreciate that. "Any favourites?"
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He watched Bill, a charmingly rough boy, slide tackle another boy and score a goal. He seemed to be the best here, by a long shot, and was more than happy to gloat with a slurry of insults and swears.
"I suppose Bill is rather talented."
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But it was the foundation for the draw. "Don't worry. I'm not about to tell anyone that we are wondering what boy is a good kisser."
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"Oi! Fuck off! That was a fucking foul, the little bastard kicked me in the back of my leg!" Bill was yelling suddenly, not about to take the fact that the one guy was trying to prove he was better than Bill and had fucking tried to trip him. "You do that one more fucking time and I'll nut you in the head, you little bitch."
"... Oh, good lord. He is quite... verbal, isn't he?" Aziraphale winced. "I don't want to be on his wrong side."
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"If you don't think about kissing any boy, then why are you here?"
He was just wondering. There was little reason otherwise, after all. "Looks like you are cured. Heureka."
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He thought of dancing and holding hands and being happy with someone. A boy, probably. God, his family were right, he was afflicted. "I try not to think about it all or I will damn myself so I will give this all a jolly good try and hopefully I can return home with no issues."
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Although Aziraphale did seem very gay. Painfully so. However, yes, who knew. He might be asexual.
Suddenly music could be heard - Queen, if Hartley was not mistaken, very much not Christian - and then there was the sound of a car. Black and sleek looking, it stopped close to their football field, causing all the boys to stop playing and stare, to pretend to know things about cars.
The car door opened and a boy got out, dressed in black with the tightest pair of trousers - were they leather?! - that Hartley had ever seen on anyone. He was wearing sunglasses and had long, dark red hair that was tied together.
"Oh. Wow." What else could there be said about that? Especially when the boy turned to get something that was attached to the roof of his car, turning to show his tightly leather-clad arse to all those repressed gay boys gaping at him. He had a snake tattoo curling around his biceps. This was insane. "What is this?"
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"You got a bentley? That's well swank." Bill called out, not afraid to talk to the hot guy and yes, he was apparently the only one who knew anything about cars. He kicked the ball away and came a little closer. "You with us queers or what?"
The whistle blew again and the coach put his hands on his hips. "Bill, stop bothering the gardener! And watch the language, we don't use that word here."
Aziraphale watched Crowley with fascination. A gardener? Really? That man was a -- why?! Were they usually bigger and uglier?
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He was handling a rolled up hose. This had to be someone's idea of a joke. Hartley blinked, then glanced over at Aziraphale. All right, not so asexual after all. "What about kissing him?"
He asked him quietly, unable to resist the opportunity to tease. Also unable to look away for too long, especially as Crowley was walking right towards them, carrying his equipment. Swaying his hips. Damn, those pants were tight.
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Finally, Aziraphale looked away, blushing furiously. "That is certainly not right. To invite such a-a-a man like -- this is a test."
And yes, he wanted to kiss him but no, he would not admit that. Not aloud, of course.
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Hartley didn't care about the tree, he just cared to watch him. "Hm. I'm pretty sure that's a natural redhead." Food for thought. "So. Seems as if you like bad boys. The leather-clad type. Can't blame you."
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Aziraphale completely lost track of time as he watched, only snapping back to reality when the whistle blew.
"Okay, good game, boys!" The coach yelled and Aziraphale gulped as he tried not to stare and listen to whatever their counsellor was going to tell them next. "You've got some free time for the next half an hour. Make the most of it. Be productive. Reflect."
Oh, he was.
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"You should go talk to him," Hartley tried to encourage Aziraphale. "What's the worst that could happen?"
He kind of wanted to see it.
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Aziraphale looked over at Crowley and watched all the other boys trying, and failing, to flirt with the ridiculously handsome man. No, he would never be that shallow or that foolish. And he certainly didn't want to encourage that sort of thing in himself. "No, I think not. I don't think it's a good idea, it's expressly against what we are here to do. Mingling in such a way. And-And I don't know what I would say."
"How about 'Hey, sexy. It's a crime to wear pants that tight around a bunch of us pent up fags. Wanna take 'em off for us? Seems only fair.'" Bill answered, just giving Aziraphale something to say.
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Quite the opposite, really. "Wow. Phil definitely just copped a feel."
Good on Phil, he supposed. The gardener's expression was difficult to read with the sunglasses on, but at least he seemed to be remaining somewhat cool.
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"Yeah, they can. It's easy. He's making it real easy." Bill remarked as he leaned back and watched the boys swarming him. Then he tilted his head, watching Aziraphale. God, that boy was pent up. And getting stressed out at the way the boys were all over Crowley. Cute. "Someone should go over there and save the poor man."
There was a bit of silences and then Aziraphale sighed and rolled up his sleeves. "Well, if no one else will, I will."
Aziraphale marched forward on a mission and came over, trying not to look at Crowley as he started to wave his arms at the boys. "We have free time not to harass a gardener. Honestly, boys, you should be ashamed. Shoo! Go away!"
"It's like he's chasing off a load of pigeons, not a pack of horny boys." Bill sniffed, clearly amused. "Fucking love this place, there's nothing like it."
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Best not to engage too much. He had to focus on why he was doing this nonsense, how he wanted to complete the programme as quickly as possible. Get back to his life. So he just watched as Aziraphale shooed boys around and how the gardener looked baffled, but did step to stand behind Aziraphale. Kind of cute.
"Thanks, but I can handle myself," Crowley said to the angelic boy, amused more than anything.
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But that nancy boy didn't seem ashamed of any of himself, just determined in an almost endearing way.
As the boys dispersed, Aziraphale turned to Crowley and smiled. "It's not a problem, my dear boy. These lads are doing themselves a disservice and getting in your way. It's hard conductive to anything." With a smile. Aziraphale looked at Crowley and then reminded himself that he had to behave too. "Good luck with the, uh, the tree-- stuff."
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With that he released his hand again and Hartley let go of a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding. All right, this was better than some of those fics he had read under his bedsheets before. "Damn." He felt as if he was about to swoon and he'd just been watching. "He is having a tough life. Hard. Very hard."
Those pants really were sinfully tight.
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And with that, he turned around and walked back, clearly stunned.
Bill let a wolf whistle and gave Aziraphale a thumbs up that he tried desperately to ignore. "Good on you, mate!"
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Or else Crowley was just walking back towards the car. Damn, he did have a nice behind for a guy that slender, Hartley had to admit that. And so did many others, he had no doubt.
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"It will be time... time for chapel soon." They he could apologise to God and try to get new strength and courage.
"Blow it off and go blow him." Bill recommended as he lay back on the grass, looking up at the sky, wondering why it was always dull and grey these days.
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His face grew heated and he shook his head, wondering whether he'd be able to help Aziraphale out a little. "Just walk over there and help him with getting everything back in the car. I'm sure he'll appreciate it."
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"Okay, fine, I will." Bill said boldly as he got up and dusted himself off. Aziraphale didn't know if he was bluffing or not but he decided to call it. Big mistake. No, no, no, what was that young thug doing?!"
Bill walked over to Crowley and smiled. "Alright mate, can I give you a hand?"
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Which did make him think. "Actually, could you call your friends over? Bit tricky to fix this stuff to the roof, but I think we'll need a pair of hands more. Or two, whatever."
He leaned back against the car for now, looking over at the two boys Bill had just been with. "You straightening up all right, mate?"
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