Crowley dared to interrupt Aziraphale's reading by slipping his arms around the angel's shoulders and nuzzling his neck. Aziraphale smiled and reached up to Crowley's hair, which had gotten rather long again, without taking his eyes off the page.
"Good afternoon, my darling, what's on your mind?"
"The fledglings have gone off with Adam and his crew."
Aziraphale put the book down, but kept it open to his page. "All seven of them?"
"Yes." They’d had a time of it building bodies for the fledglings, especially since they didn’t line up with any human developmental stage. They had landed upon making Iri and Sprite’s bodies the same physical age of Adam, and the younger fledglings a year or two behind. The Them were delighted to have angelic friends with a (very limited and closely monitored) capacity for miracles, and less imagination than Adam had. Iri and Sprite liked the Them mostly because, for some reason they couldn’t fathom, the former antichrist and anti-Horsemen were the only humans their parents tolerated unconditionally. Besides Anathema and Newton, who didn’t count because they were adults. (Perhaps they had more in common with human children after all.) Sprite, Iri, and the Them grudgingly accepted the younger fledglings as they came, and were also given bodies, though now that the youngest triplets had been allowed to accompany them, the fledglings outnumbered the humans. This would have concerned the Them more if they hadn’t had the ultimate veto in any group of children: they were older, by almost 12 years, even if Sprite and Iri looked like young teens now.
“You’re not really fourteen,” Pepper would remind them. “You’re only five. And Adam, Wensleydale, David and I are almost seventeen.” Any debate about how the relative life cycles of fledglings and humans differed fell on deaf ears.
Aziraphale tapped his manicured fingertips on the tabletop. He was deciding, Crowley could feel, between being concerned for everyone's welfare and excitement at the prospect of actually being alone. "Some of the sky dogs gone with them, then?"
"Yes, Celeste and Orion. And Dog too, I assume."
Aziraphale turned around. "And you can still feel where they are?"
Crowley grinned and pressed his advantage. "Of course I can. Right about now they're stealing blackberries from Anathema's neighbor."
Aziraphale's face fell. "Stealing! They really shouldn't be stealing, not when we --"
"I'm kidding," Crowley said. "They're playing Mario Kart at Adam's." Crowley took Aziraphale's hands and pulled him to his feet. "C'mon, sooner or later one or more fledglings is going to come thundering in demanding to be allowed to perform more miracles this month so they can beat Pepper."
Aziraphale followed Crowley up the stairs to their room, which was sunnier than Crowley might have liked but not as stuffed with books as Aziraphale might have liked. (Meaning there were still surfaces not holding books, and enough room to walk that another table or shelf might yet be stuffed into the place for bookish purposes.) They compromised. They had agreed on the bed, at least - that being, as big as possible. Angel wings were big enough, but Crowley's many wings were something else, and several years had not been enough time for him to get used to their size.
He unfurled them now, black and dotted with bright spots like a starling. Aziraphale let his out as well, smiling shyly. "We agreed, no more fledglings until this lot, well, fledges," he said.
"I know, I know, I won't knock you up." He flashed a viper-toothed grin. "As much fun as it is." He brushed the tips of black wings against white and watched Aziraphale shiver. He reeled Aziraphale in close and began divesting him of his clothes.
All these years later, he still loved the way the angel was almost shy when Crowley peeled his clothes off of him. Not that angels and demons ever had a need for modesty (something they'd had to explain repeatedly to the fledglings, finally landing exasperatedly on the explanation "because we said so, that's why clothes.") He watched Aziraphale shrug the button up shirt off his shoulders, and leaned in to taste his bare skin.
He’d never have believed Aziraphale would have such a libido. He was always willing, always eager, singularly focused on wringing as much pleasure from Crowley’s body as he could. But nothing got him as hot-blooded as Crowley being a pushy, demanding Dom. They’d tried switching a few times, and while Crowley thought being dominated was fucking amazing, Aziraphale hadn’t enjoyed it nearly as much, and something about it had clearly bothered him. Perhaps if he had to be subservient to Crowley in the normal areas of life, he at least ought to be able to enjoy it in the bedroom.
It was always there, in the back of their minds, the dusting of dark flecks in Aziraphale’s wings. The price of their freedom from heaven and hell, of becoming something not truly angel and not truly demon. These past years they’d done a lot of research, conjecture, experimenting, and pulled a lot of theories out of their asses. They had reached few conclusions, because magic is frequently ineffable, especially when it hadn’t been done before. Their current theory, subject to change quickly, was that it had been very old magic indeed that had sealed Aziraphale’s divinity to the demon, and fused open the channel between Crowley and The Aziraphale. Of course, since a demon couldn’t really possess that kind of divinity, the logical thing for the magic to do was to make him not be a demon anymore. He wasn’t quite an angel either, and surely not an archangel, but the damnation that had chained him to Hell was gone, like rotting flesh cut away from a wound and left to heal. He could be so sure of that because of how that same divinity had redeemed the hellhounds when he shared it with them.
All the hellhounds, as it turned out, not just Dogstar’s pack. Thousands of masterless sky dogs were now gallumphing around Earth, pack bonding with anything and everything. The angels were being kept very busy. They hoped the fledglings and sky dogs would continue the tradition of teaming up on the world together.
Heaven wanted nothing to do with them, and Hell was terrified of them. It was also dealing with a tremendous internal war, after the power vacuum left by the Sky Dog Massacre.
It suited Aziraphale and Crowley very well, and the Earth and all its inhabitants also, as it turned out.
They weren’t sure if Aziraphale was still an angel anymore, a principality. He hadn’t fallen, but he’d come right to the brink of it. Bound to Crowley, it wasn’t clear anymore exactly what he was. He’d taken to just calling himself an archivist, but Crowley hadn’t been able to break the habit of calling him angel, and Aziraphale had said he was free to use it, and promised to say so if it ever bothered him.
They’d gotten very good at bringing each other to orgasm quickly, in case their time was cut short. That was the shape of lovemaking these days - one fast orgasm, then building up to another if they had time. They rarely had enough time all at once for a third round.
This time Aziraphale got on his elbows and knees on the bed and spread his wings wide and low, an angelic gesture of … invitation. Crowley loves that, and Aziraphale knew it, of course. Crowley pushes his legs apart, just to reiterate who was in charge here (technically not up for debate, but practically speaking it was a tossup.) Crowley took him by his ample hips and pulled Aziraphale back onto his cock. It was so easy to make Aziraphale come this way. Especially if he leaned over on top of him and spread his wings out. Aziraphale shuddered as wings covered his own, and rocked back harder onto Crowley’s cock.
He found the angle that rubbed Aziraphale just right, and in moments had him shaking and clenching around his cock. Crowley smiled and ran his hands over the broad, pale back.
“Such a hedonist, my darling. It’s a good thing you climax so easily, or we might be here all day trying to satisfy you.”
“I’d keep at it all day if I could,” Aziraphale grinned over his shoulder. “Nothing is as fulfilling — pardon the pun — as my master’s cock in me.”
“Turn over,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale rolled accommodatingly onto his back, legs and wings spread, expression open and eager. Crowley laid down on him, knowing the sort-of-angel could take all his weight, and liked it. As he entered him again (and Aziraphale lifted his hips helpfully), Crowley murmured in his ear, “I love you. I love you so much it hurts. You bastard.”
He felt Aziraphale smile. “I love you also. I don’t suppose you’re in a position to accept that demons - which you are not, I know - can love, and you did love me a long time before —“
“No theology in bed, Zira, we have RULES.”
Aziraphale leaned up and bit Crowley’s neck sharply. Crowley yelped — it was just UNEXPECTED, that was all — and Aziraphale purred, “You know what I think about rules.”
They did have time, after all, to thoroughly satisfy each other; hands in each others’ wings, tongues in each others’ mouths, and whatever bits one was currently sporting in or against the other’s. By the time the fledglings and sky dogs came bursting in, all talking at breakneck speed in Enochian, Crowley and Aziraphale were relaxed enough to not care that they couldn’t follow the chaotic stream of consciousness that was their household. For right now, they were as safe as could be expected while existing in this reality, on this world, and they didn’t need to understand it or control it. They could just be, and it was good.