The Biscuit Tin
Tiny fic for @aristo-kitty, who was very excited about this tweet:
They were in for a long drive from London to Sussex, and the Bentley was more than warm enough to warrant the removal of Aziraphale's gloves. He opened the glove box to stow them away, knowing he'd have to fight for room amongst Crowley's piles of sunglasses—but the other object the glove box held was a surprise.
"What's this?" Aziraphale asked, pulling out the tartan-patterned biscuit tin.
"Oh, that," Crowley said, cheery and casual. He was frequently cheery these days. "Picked that up a while back, just before all Hell tried to break loose, didn't have a chance to give it to you."
"For me?" Delighted, Aziraphale wrapped his hands around the tin, half-consciously indulging in one of the happy wriggles that seemed to please Crowley so much. "Terribly good of you, dear chap! What's the occasion?"
"No occasion, just made me think of you. Tartan and all."
"Well, I think it's perfectly splendid of you. I can't even recall the last time someone gave me a gift!"
Crowley's ears were turning red at the tips. "It's just a biscuit tin, angel, not the bloody Taj Mahal."
"What sort of biscuits?" Aziraphale turned the tin around in his hands, anticipating.
"I dunno, the biscuity sort! Like you—the biscuity sort, I mean. You're the… biscuity… oh, just open it, angel!"
Aziraphale leaned over to kiss Crowley on the cheek, just under that lovely little tattoo, and opened the tin.
Which was full to bursting with cassette tapes bearing the title "The Best of Queen."
