Chapter Text
“Please, Crowley, for me?” Maggie pleaded, batting her eyelashes. As if that was going to do any good. “I really want this book club to get off the ground. Right now I only have myself, Nina, Mrs Sandwich, and Mr and Ms Cheng. To get any kind of interesting conversation going, I feel like I need six people, and my only other option is Mr Brown.” Crowley made a face as she said Tim Brown’s name, and Maggie nodded in agreement.
“What kind of book club are we talking about?” He waited for her to say something about Jane Austin and cotillion balls so he could walk away. Instead, Maggie’s face began to turn pink.
Interesting.
“Nina and I thought we might choose books based on what is popular on TikTok? And right now there is a, um, trend for a series of hockey–”
“Nope,” Crowley said, cutting her off. “Not interested in sports. Sorry.” Not sorry at all. “I’ll have to say no.”
“It’s not really about hockey,” Nina interrupted. Neither of them had seen her stroll over to their table while they were talking. She pulled out a chair and gave Maggie a quick kiss. “It’s a romance novel where two hockey players have a lot of hot gay sex on the sly.”
Crowley’s eyebrows shot up above his sunglasses. Wot now? That was much more appealing.
“How long have I got to read the book?”
“We’ll meet here, after closing, on the last Wednesday of the month,” Maggie said, a smile spreading across her face as she bounced in her seat and clapped her hands.
“Okay, I’m in. But only if I can listen to an audio book. You know about my, um…”
Nina looked at him, her lips in a tight, straight line. “You can say it, Crowley. Dyslexia is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s like how I have diabetes and Maggie has migraines. It’s just something that is. It’s not a defect.”
“Yeah, yeah, so you keep telling me.”
“So you’ll join us?” Maggie asked.
“Sure. Just have to download the book. Hope it’s not boring.”
It wasn’t boring.
The story started off being about hockey, and Crowley felt like he’d been lied to. But even then, the narrator’s voice was distractingly attractive. Crowley didn’t give a single fuck about hockey, but he found himself mesmerised by the rich, resonate voice of the man speaking directly into his ear. That meant he was already half hard by the time the narrator began describing how the Russian, Rosanov, had swallowed his rival Shane's cock and began sucking him off. It was definitely hot.
Unfortunately the action was interrupted by a lot of (needless) description about Shane’s fucking feelings, and Crowley was sure that if anyone else had been narrating the story, he would have been bored out of his mind. But that voice could have read him the dictionary and Crowley would have continued to listen. His patience was rewarded. Soon enough, Rosanov was fingering Shane open before fucking him into the mattress. By then, Crowley had slipped his joggers down, and he joined in by fucking his own fist. He was almost there when he heard that seductive voice tell him that the two men had moved to the shower and Shane was going down on Rosanov… and had pulled off in time to let him come on his face.
That was it. Crowley came hard and fast. He ripped his earbuds off and laid panting on his sofa, come splattered on his t-shirt and a stupid grin on his face.
Nope. That wasn’t boring at all.
That night, Crowley dreamt about white-blond curls, stormy blue eyes, and the most delicious arse he’d ever seen walking away from him.
It was always walking away from him.
When he woke up, Crowley grabbed his phone and his earbuds and started the next chapter of Heated Rivalry. As he listened to the deep, warm voice reading the narrative to him, he made the connection. He knew that voice, though he hadn’t heard it in more than twenty years.
Aziraphale Eastgate.
Crowley closed his eyes and let Aziraphale’s voice wash over him. He wasn’t listening to the story anymore, only the voice that had haunted him for years after grad school. He saw white-blond curls and peachy skin that looked oh so soft. Not that Crowley would know. He’d never been allowed to touch it. And that beautiful backside—round and firm, it filled out those conservative trousers in the most filthy way possible.
And it was always walking away from Crowley.
They met in a comparative religion class Crowley had taken as part of his art history coursework. He was immediately smitten, drawn in by Aziraphale’s kindness and beauty, as well as the way he could be a right bastard when the situation called for it. Before long, Crowley was calling Aziraphale angel, something that seemed to both embarrass and please the young man.
Just before graduation, Crowley made one last attempt to express his fondness. It went down like a lead balloon. That moment had haunted him for two decades.
They were at a party when he saw Aziraphale on the periphery of the garden, barely at the party at all. Crowley gathered up his courage and walked over.
“Hey, angel.”
“Hello Crowley.”
“So we’re all going to be scattered to the wind after graduation.”
“Ah, yes, so we are,” Aziraphale said, looking around the garden at their classmates. “I will miss everyone.”
“I’ll miss you,” Crowley said with a sigh, stepping closer.
Aziraphale stepped back, away from Crowley. “I will miss you as well,” he said stiffly.
Crowley reached out and took Aziraphale’s hand. “Would you… might we take a walk?”
Aziraphale gently pulled his hand away. “Oh, I think not, Crowley. I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood our friendship. I don’t… Well, I’m not…”
Crowley stared at him, sure he’d misheard. Was Aziraphale trying to say he wasn’t attracted to Crowley? That he wasn’t gay?
Aziraphale was speaking, but Crowley couldn’t hear him. And then, as he always seemed to be doing, Aziraphale was walking away.
The last Crowley heard, Aziraphale was the vicar in a small village. But that was twenty years ago. People change. And it appeared that Aziraphale Eastgate had changed more than most.
Now that he’d listened to the book—and Nina was right, this was not a hockey book with a little sex, it was a sex book with a little hockey thrown in—he knew there was no way a vicar would read smut like that. And he doubted that a straight man could put his back into it the way Aziraphale had.
Out of bed and in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, Crowley searched the internet for ways to contact voice narrators. It was easier than one might think. The first suggestion was to search for a personal website. When he typed in “Aziraphale Eastgate voice actor” (and, honestly, how many Aziraphale Eastgates could there be?) his was the first result.
Crowley clicked on the link, and Aziraphale’s face filled his phone screen. It was him alright. He was older, but still beautiful, with the same white-blond curls framing his lovely face, and lines at the corners of his expressive blue eyes. Crowley would have recognised him anywhere. He scrolled to read his bio, the awards he’d won, the books he’d narrated. And there, at the bottom of the page, was an email address.
The only question was whether or not Crowley would be brave enough to use it.
It was summer, so he had no classes to teach. No office hours. Crowley almost wished for papers to grade. Instead, he wandered around his flat all morning, drinking coffee and staring at Aziraphale’s face on his phone.
Around noon he took a shower. As his imagination took hold of him, he took hold of himself, and he had another go. He hadn’t wanked this much since he was a much younger man. Come to think of it, the object of his obsession then and now were the same.
Oh, fuck me, he thought. And then he chuckled. Yeah, I’m begging you, please do.
Crowley got out of the shower, dried his hair roughly, wrapped a towel around his hips, and sauntered into the bedroom to get his phone. Before he could change his mind, he sent a quick email to Aziraphale.
Anthony Crowley
<[email protected]>
Hey, angel. I’ve been listening to an audio book, and it seems you’re no longer a vicar. It sounds like this line of work suits you.
I would love to see you. If you’re interested in catching up, you can reply. If not, no hard feelings.
Crowley
Now that it was out of his hands, he relaxed and settled in to listen to the rest of the book. It wouldn’t do to let down his book group, now would it? And if he had a happy grin on his face and made sure to wear loose joggers, that wasn’t anyone’s business but his own.
It didn’t take long. The next morning, Crowley opened his email to find a reply from Aziraphale. A very enthusiastic reply. It seemed he had never forgotten Crowley either, and now that he had returned to London, he hoped the two of them might reconnect. He even offered his phone number.
Crowley was delighted. And terrified.
Should he call? Text? And no matter what he did, should he dare assume that Aziraphale would be more receptive to his advances now than he was all those years ago? He couldn’t bear to have his heart shattered again.
In the end, he went with a text to set up a meeting. If that went well, he thought he might lay his cards, and his heart, on the table. Better to get it over with than to carry a torch any longer.
Crowley: Hi, angel. It’s Crowley. You said you’d like to meet?
The reply came almost immediately.
Aziraphale: Yes! If it’s not too forward, might you come to my flat for tea tomorrow at 3:00?
Not too forward? In Aziraphale Speak, that was practically a seduction. Of course Crowley agreed, and Aziraphale sent his address. It appeared to be as simple as that.
For Crowley, there was nothing simple about it.
The last time they’d seen one another, Crowley had tried to hold Aziraphale’s hand and Aziraphale had pulled away. They’d been twenty-five years old. Now they were forty-seven. Would it be easier all these years later, or was Crowley setting himself up to be hurt again?
He supposed he’d know tomorrow.
Crowley spent the entire next day getting ready, and in the end, with clothes strewn all over his bedroom, he wore the first outfit he’d tried on: tight black jeans and a black waistcoat over a black silk button up. Black snakehead belt and black snakeskin boots. Basically, his everyday uniform. His hair was longer than he wore it during the school year, but still cleared his collar. He felt comfortable, and he knew he looked good.
And still he was nervous.
He hadn’t had a date or a hookup in three years. It just wasn’t in the cards for him. He’d had a good run, but he was done with all of that—the apps, the clubs, the horrifying prospect of getting to know someone or, worse yet, them getting to know him.
But here was Aziraphale, his angel. If he was the type who prayed, he would be praying hard to Someone that he had a second chance with him. Or a first chance. That he just had a fucking chance.
It turned out that Aziraphale lived in Soho, not far from Crowley’s Mayfair flat, and literally around the corner and down the road from Maggie and Nina. How they’d not run into one another was anyone’s guess.
Crowley walked the familiar route, hoping the exercise might shake off the nerves that were plaguing him.
No such luck.
He rang the bell and heard hurried footsteps, then the door swung wide and there was Aziraphale, looking very nearly the same as he’d looked all those years ago. Dark brown trousers and a baby blue button up. No bow tie; the top two buttons undone to show a lovely patch of fair skin. And the man had the audacity to wear braces.
Fuck. Me.
“Crowley, how lovely to see you again. Come in, come in.” Aziraphale’s smile was as bright and beckoning as it always had been.
Crowley knew right away he was in trouble.
Aziraphale led him to the lounge, where he’d set up tea. Actual tea. They settled on the sofa, and he poured them each a cup. As he handed Crowley his, it was obvious Aziraphale was nervous. His hand was shaking so much the cup rattled in the saucer.
“Hey, hey,” Crowley said. He took the tea and set it down, then reached over and put his hand on Aziraphale’s forearm. “Nothing to be nervous about. It’s just me. Same as I ever was.”
Aziraphale blinked rapidly and tilted his head up to the ceiling. When he looked at Crowley a moment later, it was obvious he was fighting back tears. “That’s the problem,” he said quietly. “You’ve always been so patient, so perfect. I don’t deserve another chance.”
Another chance?
Crowley’s heart lept, but he told himself to slow down. That could mean anything. Maybe Aziraphale only wanted another chance to be friends. God knew it was difficult to make friends in London.
“Not perfect, angel. I do wish we’d stayed friends, though.” Crowley didn’t know what to say or where the conversation was going.
Aziraphale sat up straighter and scooted a bit closer. Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand that had been on his forearm and held it, looking into his eyes.
“Do you remember the last time we saw each other?”
“I do,” Crowley said. “I’ve always regretted pressing you–”
“I was terrified,” Aziraphale said, cutting him off. “I had never even been kissed, and you were so….” He shivered. “I wanted you, Crowley. I just didn’t know it at the time.”
Crowley’s heart raced as the words tumbled from Aziraphale’s mouth. He thought about the boy he knew then and the man sitting before him now. So many years had passed that they were virtually strangers, but the desire was still there.
He slowly leaned towards him, giving Aziraphale every chance to move away. When their mouths were so close he could feel Aziraphale's warm breath on his lips, he said, “I’m going to kiss you now, angel. You want that?”
Aziraphale nodded. Crowley closed his eyes and pressed their lips together.
It was better than he had imagined in all of his filthy fantasies. Azirapahle’s lips were soft beneath his, and he opened them immediately, urging Crowley to explore the hot, wet depths of his mouth. He moaned as Crowley tentatively brushed their tongues together, seeking more connection. As soon as he had done so, Aziraphale reached for him, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s torso. He dragged him onto his lap, never breaking the kiss.
Aziraphale’s cock was already hard, and Crowley reached down between them to feel the length and girth of it. Fuck. After that, Crowley couldn’t help but grind into his angel’s lap, and the movement elicited a filthy moan that was anything but angelic. So Crowley did it again. All the while, Azirahale was biting and licking at Crowley’s neck as he slowly undid the buttons on his shirt. He’d already removed Crowley’s waistcoat.
Soon, Crowley’s chest was bare, and Aziraphale was scratching through the sparse hair there, tweaking and twisting his nipples, sucking and biting him just the way he liked. Twenty years is a long time, Crowley thought. His angel was no unkissed virgin now. He knew what he was doing, and he was doing it very well. Crowley felt his leaking cock twitch in his pants, felt the pressure build, and he knew he was close. This wasn’t how he wanted things to end.
“Angel, please. I need–”
“Anything, darling. Tell me," Aziraphale said, as he continued to tease Crowley with bites and kisses.
“Fuck me, yeah? Or… your mouth?”
Aziraphale stood, lifting Crowley with him. Crowley had no choice but to wrap his arms around Aziraphale’s neck and his legs around his waist. This was by far the most exciting part of the evening, especially as he felt Aziraphale’s magnificent erection pressed against his arse. Crowley was carried into the bedroom, and the pressure of Aziraphale’s cock pressing against his hole, combined with the friction of his own cock rubbing against the man’s belly, was almost too much.
Aziraphale laid him down on the bed, leaned over him, his hands on either side of Crowley's head. He kissed him again, his mouth hot and wet, his tongue seeking, and began running his hands down Crowley's sides to his hips, then around to his arse, gripping him tightly. Crowley was writhing underneath him, thrusting up against Aziraphale's cock. He felt like he was losing his mind.
"Oh, fuck, angel," Crowley groaned. "Please." He didn't even know what he was pleading for.
It was almost instinct at this point, the rutting, the seeking of pleasure. Crowley wished he could stop, but it was uncontrollable. Before he knew it, his orgasm was tearing through him, his cock pulsing, the sticky warmth of his come soaking into his pants.
“Darling,” Aziraphale sighed, quietly laughing, kissing him sweetly. He held Crowley through the aftershocks of an incredibly intense, if embarrassing, orgasm. As Crowley became aware of his surroundings, he realised Aziraphale was now lying beside him, his erection pressing into his hip unabated, his ardor unsatisfied.
“Sorry about that, angel.”
Aziraphale chuckled, running his hands through Crowley’s hair. “You needn’t apologise. That was without a doubt the hottest thing I have ever witnessed.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yes, darling. The idea that I encouraged you to behave in that way? I’ve thought about something like that for years.” Aziraphale smiled as he said it, still petting Crowley’s hair and kissing him sweetly.
“But whatever shall we do about this?” Crowley grinned as he reached down to stroke Aziraphale’s cock through his trousers.
“I imagine we’ll think of something in the shower while I help you clean up.”
When Crowley laughed, Aziraphale looked at him quizzically.
“It’s not you, angel,” Crowley said. “It’s just, well… It’s been such an unbelievable night, don’t you think? I’m a little overwhelmed, to tell you the truth.”
Crowley put his forearm over his eyes and laughed again, then reached over and grabbed Aziraphale, pulling him to his chest to hold him close. “I mean, we’ve only just gotten back in touch and we’ve barely talked. Still, we’ve suddenly had unexpected but incredible sex. And now you’re, what? Suggesting we take a shower together and see where it goes?”
Aziraphale nodded, then kissed him much less sweetly. Crowley groaned, even knowing he wasn’t going to be ready for another round for quite some time. Sadly, forty-seven was not twenty-five.
“I don’t see a problem with any of that,” Aziraphale said when they came up for air. “Why do you find it so funny?”
“Only because life imitates art… or something,” Crowley chuckled. “It reminds me of a book I’ve been reading. An audio book, actually.”
“What book is that, darling?” Aziraphale asked as he helped Crowley remove his sticky jeans and pants. The look on his face betrayed the innocent question. Crowley was pretty sure Aziraphale knew exactly where the conversion was headed.
“Angel, have you ever heard of Heated Rivalry?”
They’d been dating three weeks when Crowley noticed it was the third Wednesday of the month. By then he’d heard all of the books in the Game Changers series, though he’d never downloaded another book. There was no need; he had his own private narrator.
“Angel, fancy going to book club with me?” Crowley asked as they got into the shower on Wednesday morning. Crowley reached for the shampoo as Aziraphale leaned into the spray. Washing Aziraphale’s hair was something Crowley was quite fond of, and he did it every chance he got. As he created a rich lather, Aziraphale moaned. Crowley felt his cock grow interested.
It was like this every damn time, and he wouldn’t give it up for the world.
“Oh, is this the book club that caused you to find me again, darling?”
“Yep. That’d be the one.”
“Then I wouldn’t miss it.”
Crowley rinsed Aziraphale’s hair, then pulled him into a filthy kiss. When Aziraphale felt Crowley’s interest between them, he insisted on dragging him out of the shower and into the bedroom, both of them dripping wet. Breakfast could wait.
When they arrived at the coffee shop that evening, the door was locked. Crowley pounded on the door, and pulled a face when Nina came to let them in.
“‘Bout time,” he growled.
“You’re lucky I let you in at all,” she growled right back. When she saw Aziraphale, her tone changed, and she smiled. “Oh, hello there.” She turned to Crowley. “Who’s this?”
“My date,” Crowley said, taking Aziraphale’s hand and dragging him to the counter to order. “One Earl Grey tea, one black coffee, and one slice of lemon drizzle.” He felt more than saw Aziraphale wiggle when he ordered the cake, and he tried not to smile. He couldn’t help it. He’d smiled more in the past three weeks than he had in the past twenty years.
The two of them sat at a cosy table in the corner, holding hands and talking quietly, ignoring everyone else. When Maggie came in, she stared at them, then looked at Nina, who mouthed “his date” and shrugged. Maggie’s eyes went wide, but she said nothing, simply took her seat.
It was the first either of them had heard of it. In all the time they'd known him, Crowley had never dated anyone.
“We’ll get started then,” Maggie said. “I want to welcome everyone. I think we all know one another. Except, possibly, for Crowley’s guest. Would you like to introduce yourself?”
“Yes, of course," Aziraphale said pleasantly. “Hello. My name is Aziraphale. I’m Crowley’s…” He hesitated.
“Boyfriend,” Crowley said possessively.
Aziraphale’s face grew pink. He looked at Crowley, first with surprise, then with delight. “Yes, that’s right. I’m Crowley’s boyfriend. Thank you for allowing me to join you.”
“Welcome, Aziraphale,” Maggie said. “We’re happy to have you with us tonight. We’re going to start our discussion in just a moment. Have you, by any chance, read Heated Rivalry?”