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A Bolt From The Heavens

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Aziraphale’s hands are hot against his skin, this almost-reptilian body he wears, which never gets enough heat, never feels quite right unless bathing in the angel’s light.
Aziraphale’s hands are hot against his skin, and Crowley cannot believe it, because one of them is holding onto his wrist, the other one cradling his face, holding it still while Aziraphale kisses him, soft, dry lips and his warmth burning through Crowley’s flesh like he imagines holy water would. The words are still ringing in his ears, so loud that Crowley doesn’t think they will ever go away again, Aziraphale’s almost self-depreciating chuckle, the tenderness in his voice when he said, God, we wasted so much time, didn’t we?

At the time, Crowley didn’t understand what he meant, but he understands now, because Aziraphale tips his face back slightly, just enough to deepen the kiss. Crowley didn’t even know that he was kissing back until that moment, his head not having caught up with his body yet, but now, with the angel’s tongue teasing at his lips, there wouldn’t be anything in Heaven or Hell able to stop him from reciprocating.
His hands find Aziraphale’s hips, holding onto them because he feels like he is drowning, being swept from shore with every breath that is passed between them, every lick of the angel’s tongue. He is too good at this for doing it the first time, too sure about how to drag his teeth delicately across Crowley’s lips, how to flick the tip of his tongue across the roof of Crowley’s mouth, and the thought makes something burn within the demon’s chest, hot and ugly.
Every nerve in his body is screaming at him that no one else should ever be allowed to touch Aziraphale like this, but he has no right to be jealous, possessive; just because he has belonged to Aziraphale for millennia doesn’t mean the angel has to feel the same way.
And it’s not like he lived in celibacy either.

Still, it’s that fire burning inside him that makes Crowley hold onto the angel even tighter, long, slender fingers digging into Aziraphale’s hips, pulling him as close as he can get.
For all the years Crowley has longed for him, he never allowed himself to actually imagine kissing Aziraphale. It would only have made it worse, imagining what he could never have, but now that Aziraphale’s lips are on his, curving slightly upwards as the angel pulls back for a second, only to kiss him again, sucking on the swollen flesh of his bottom lip, teeth just adding the smallest sting to the pleasure, Crowley knows he won’t ever be able to think of anything else.

A sound builds in the back of his throat, a desperate little groan which spills into their kiss, into Aziraphale’s mouth. At any other time, Crowley would be embarrassed, but he cannot care now, especially not when it seems to spur Aziraphale on.
The angel’s second hand, the one that isn’t holding Crowley’s face still so Aziraphale can kiss him in whatever way he wants, wanders up across his chest, the touch slow and hot, fingers tickling across Crowley’s collarbone, up to the sensitive skin of his neck.
In the six thousand years he has spent on Earth, Crowley has had more than enough time to find out how he likes to be kissed, to be touched, but none of those trysts could ever compare to this. Aziraphale’s fingertips seem to heat him up from the inside, sparks of electricity tingling across Crowley’s chest as they flutter across his pulse point, dip into the hollow of his neck. He doesn’t think he could be without this, ever again.

Eventually, Aziraphale pulls back, and Crowley would never admit it, but he whines at the loss of contact, for a moment considers begging for more, because as much as he has come to like breathing, he would rather have Aziraphale’s lips suffocating him.
However, the angel doesn’t move far away; Crowley can still feel his breath against his own, cold skin, one hand cupping his face, the other stroking his neck with the lightest of touches.
“Oh, darling”, Aziraphale breathes out, says the endearment like it’s a prayer. “I have wanted to do this for so long. I’ve dreamt of it, so much I thought I could almost taste you on my lips, but nothing – it never compared to this. To you.”

Again, he presses their lips together, but only for a moment, too brief for Crowley’s yearning to be soothed the slightest; when the angel pulls back again, Crowley catches himself trying to follow Aziraphale’s lips. It makes the other chuckle, which was always a sweet sound, but sounds even sweeter when Crowley can feel the vibrations of it against his chest.
“But it seems that you were waiting too, weren’t you?”
Crowley wants to answer, he really does, but no words come, all of them drowned in Aziraphale’s kisses, the love shining from his eyes, so in the end, he nods instead, still breathless, still dazed.
“Tell me what I can do for you, dearest. Anything you want, just say the word. I’ve waited so long for all of this, but mostly I’ve just waited far too long to make you happy.”

The words feel like blows to his chest, knocking the air clear out of his lungs, and by G-, by Somebody, Crowley feels like he is floating. There are a hundred thousand things he wants to do for Aziraphale, at least that many he wants the angel to do to him, but there are still no words, nothing but the bottomless yearning for closeness.
So he does the only thing he still knows how to, closes the gap between them and kisses Aziraphale, lips parting immediately to let the other feel his desperation, explain what it is Aziraphale does to him through touch, how he wishes he could cut open his own chest and put the angel’s hands on his heart. Let him feel that ever since they met, it’s been him who made it beat.

He kisses Aziraphale in a way that makes even thinking about breathing impossible, drinks up the surprised sound the angel makes and kisses his love onto the other’s lips, bites and licks until he thinks that maybe Aziraphale understands just a fraction of what he feels for him. This time, it’s the angel who clutches to Crowley, holding onto his shoulders for dear life as he lets Crowley pour out his heart.

When he finally tears himself away from Aziraphale (because that is what it is, an act of violence, going against every atom in his body, every pulse of electricity his nerves are sending), his lips are swollen, sting with the force of their kiss, and yet Aziraphale is looking at him with so much tenderness, raising one hand to his face, brushing fingertips across his lips.
They look as swollen as Crowley’s feel, kissed red and tender, and Crowley desperately wants to pull him close again.

“Oh”, Aziraphale breathes out, his fingers still brushing across his mouth as he speaks; he looks like he’s glowing. “Oh, Crowley, my darling, my love…”
Maybe it’s that word which breaks Crowley down, love, because suddenly there are words again.
“Aziraphale”, he mutters, leans in just a little bit, enough so he can feel the angel’s breath on his skin. It’s a prayer, to the one person his heart has chosen as its personal saviour.

Had he ever, in the weakest of moments, imagined himself in this position, he would have dreamt of himself being smooth and a little bit snarky, but standing in front of Aziraphale now is nothing like any of his daydreams could have been. There is no smoothness he could exude, no biting wit, there is just raw, pure, brutal love, and so, for what might be the first time in forever, Crowley drops all pretences.

“Anything”, he tells Aziraphale, surprised that his voice does not break at the word. “Anything you want, angel, I’d do anything. I’m yours, I have been almost since the world was built.”
Aziraphale makes a tiny, choked off sound, one of his hands still cradling Crowley’s face, and the demon knows that it should be impossible for him to feel the vibrations of love in his surroundings, but he feels them now. A rush, a tsunami of love crashing through him, so brilliantly intense it almost drowns him, and Crowley is lost, even more so than he was before.

“Oh, you stupid, beautiful creature”, Aziraphale breathes out; it sounds like a sob, and it feels like his heart is breaking, because the angel’s is, for him.
And again, Aziraphale kisses him, a different kind of kiss than Crowley’s was, but not less passionate. There is more tenderness to the slide of their lips now, less desperation, a certainty hiding behind each touch, the drag of Aziraphale’s teeth which Crowley never possessed. It feels better than it has any right to, opens something up in Crowley’s chest that has never been unlocked before.
“I will show you how much you are loved”, Aziraphale tells him, still against his lips, and Crowley kisses the words right out of his mouth, licks them off his tongue.

Again, the angel makes a sound, something soft but determined, then the hand not on Crowley’s face comes up to rest on his shoulder. For a moment, it’s a soft touch, one to ground Crowley, one to reassure, but then Aziraphale pushes him backwards, one, two, three steps, until his back hits a wall.
He goes willingly, like he would go anywhere Aziraphale wanted him to be, but there is something about the angel guiding him, pushing him, that sets Crowley’s blood aflame.
His mouth has gone lax, pliant, and Aziraphale takes full advantage of it, kisses him deeper still, sucks on the tender flesh of his bottom lip, the hand on his shoulder returning to Crowley’s throat. The touches of his fingers are featherlight but still so good, the scratch of perfectly manicured fingernails against his pulse point while the thumb of Aziraphale’s other hand brushes across Crowley’s cheekbone.

 

When Aziraphale eventually pulls away, the light around them has changed, has grown dimmer; how much time has passed, Crowley cannot say, but it must have been hours.
He still hasn’t had enough of the angel’s kisses.
Fortunately, Aziraphale doesn’t move far, just leaves enough space between them so he can speak, their lips still brushing with every word.
“I would have found you on Alpha Centauri”, Aziraphale whispers, and Crowley catches himself shiver. He has done his best not to think of it, the stars and the life they could have built, but Aziraphale’s confession still slices him open, forces him to look at a wound that hasn’t yet fully healed.

“I would have found you”, Aziraphale repeats, drags his lips across Crowley’s cheek, leaving a trail of tender kisses and tingling skin. “I don’t know how, but I would have, just like you always found me.”
He nips at the line of Crowley’s jaw, sucks on the sensitive skin just beneath it, and Crowley feels himself melting at both the touches and the words. He is truly lost now, he realises when Aziraphale nuzzles his neck, presses another wet kiss to the spot where it meets his shoulder; he was able to go on without this because he didn’t truly know how it would be to have this desperate, all-encompassing love inside him accepted, reciprocated even, but Crowley doesn’t think he could bear it, if it was taken away from him once more.

His hands slide from Aziraphale’s hips to his back, trying to hold him closer. It makes the angel hum softly, reward Crowley with one more kiss, his sweet lips closing around a patch of skin and sucking.
Not yet strong enough to leave a mark, but sufficient to make Crowley think of it, start to crave it.
“I would have come to you”, Aziraphale continues, and Crowley can feel the words against his throat, a caress. “Because it’s the only thing I know how to do after all this time. You are the constant, the only fixed point I have, and there’s no Heaven, love, there is no Hell. There’s just us.”

Crowley shudders under him, and Aziraphale smiles, a curve of lips pressing open-mouthed kisses, a clever tongue darting out in between to sanctify Crowley with angelic love.
“Just us”, Crowley echoes, is surprised by his own voice. It’s hoarse, breathless. “I’m glad you didn’t go to Alpha Centauri with me. You shouldn’t be away from all this, your bookshop, your restaurants, your tea,  all this is you, more than the flaming sword or a dead star – “
He would have babbled on, Crowley knows it, with Aziraphale’s mouth driving him further and further away from intelligibility, but the other nips at his skin, harder than before, drags a moan from Crowley’s mouth instead.
“None of this is makes me who I am, but you do”, Aziraphale all but growls, pulls back, and there is fire in his eyes now, burning so brightly Crowley feels like he is about to combust. “Don’t you dare think any of it is more important than you. I love this planet, these people, but we both know that one day it will end, inevitably, and I swear, dearest, I’ll go with you to whatever star you fancy and make a life there. With you.”

It changes nothing, Crowley is still glad they did not leave, but at the same time, it changes everything. Because Aziraphale is not thinking about now, or the next century, millennium, he’s thinking about eternity.
“Yes”, he breathes out, unable, unwilling to consider anything else. “Yes, angel, sure, Alpha Centauri for the rest of eternity,.”
He’s half laughing, giddy with love and still not quite able to believe what is happening; Aziraphale’s expression softens, his swollen lips curve into a tender smile as he presses their foreheads together.
“Eternity sounds splendid, darling. But how about we go to bed, first.”

 

Crowley lands on his back, his clothes disappearing into thin air around him.
The bed he has been pushed down on is obviously mostly unused, the sheets still slightly scratchy, the mattress firm and dusty, but he cannot focus on any of those things, because next to the bed, still dressed impeccably, is Aziraphale, just looking at him.
The fire is still burning brightly in his eyes, and Crowley finds that he likes this, being spread out in a room that simply screams the angel’s name, almost like he’s being offered up for Aziraphale to take, to use.

“You’re divine”, Aziraphale tells him, which is untrue on every level and yet sets Crowley’s skin on fire. It’s the first time, it seems, that Aziraphale sees him, truly and without facades, and this is the word he uses, divine, and how he says it is like a prayer. “I’ve seen you thousands of times, I’ve been you, and yet I don’t think I could ever get tired of just looking at you.”
“Come here”, Crowley tells him, trying not to sound desperate, even though he misses Aziraphale’s touch fiercely, every molecule in his body aching for the other. “Kiss me.”

However, Aziraphale doesn’t move, just smiles at him sweetly, makes Crowley even more aware of the burning of his blood.
“Not yet, my darling”, he tells him, “I haven’t finished looking at you. Lay back. Tell me what you want, I’ll give you everything tenfold at least.”
Never before in all his life has Crowley felt this exposed, and it’s thrilling, makes his skin tingle with the weight of Aziraphale’s stare. And it’s so easy to do as he’s told, lay back on the bed and feel arousal pool in his lower stomach with every second the angel just spends watching him.
Telling him what he wants is a lot harder.

“Come now, dear”, Aziraphale gently nudges when no words come, his voice unwaveringly kind. “And spread your legs, would you? I want to see all of you.”
Crowley’s body seems to move on its own volition, made to do Aziraphale’s bidding; his leg fall open, and oh, it is worth the second of feeling exposed when Aziraphale’s breath hitches, his bright eyes following the long line of Crowley’s legs up to his thighs, his swollen cock.
It feels like a caress, the love and awe and desire so clearly painted across Aziraphale’s face that it’s suddenly almost impossible not to speak.

“I want you to touch me”, he says, and his voice is still wrecked, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, it seems, but the two of them, but Aziraphale’s eyes on him. “I have wanted you to touch me for so long, and now it feels like I’ll never want anything else again. Nothing ever felt like this, it’s just – when you kissed me, it was like something slotted in place, and now it almost hurts because you’re not kissing me.”
Crowley takes a deep breath, closes his eyes for a moment before he continues. “I want you… just everywhere. Any, every way, I don’t care, I want you to – to tell me. What you want. I’ve, angel, I’ve – “

What Crowley should say is that he wants to serve with his body and heart and very soul, that he shaped his entire being around Aziraphale for millennia and that there is nothing he wants more than to worship every particle of Aziraphale’s beloved body for the rest of his days, because it’s the truth and it’s what the angel asked of him.
But the words won’t come.

“If you don’t, for He-, for Someone’s sake, if you don’t kiss me, touch me, then that’s – that’s – it’s whatever suits you. That’s what I want. You watching me, waiting for me, rushing me, it doesn’t matter.”
He’s breathless, thoughtless almost, and Aziraphale still watches him with the same expression, like Crowley didn’t just bare his soul to him, and what was arousal before turns into a forest fire in his chest, his stomach.
“And what, my love, if I do not wish to… boss you around?”

Even Aziraphale’s voice is devoid of lust, of anything sinful, it’s calm and gentle and loving, and Crowley can’t help it, the words draw a moan from his lips, make his cock twitch pathetically in his lap.
“Then don’t”, he whispers, head rolling to his side as the words tumble from his lips. It feels like giving up the last secret he still has locked away in this cold heart of his. “If that is what serves you. Every part of you, every wish, every thought, it should be fulfilled. Let me be the one to do it. Anything that you can take from me, take it. Please.”

He’s not writhing on the bed, but it’s not far from it; Aziraphale licks his lips, and Crowley represses another moan.
“Oh, you impossible, lovely thing”, Aziraphale says softly, incredulously, and sounds more in love than he has ever before. “How could I do anything else?”
For a moment, Crowley thinks the angel might show him mercy, come and kiss him, but Aziraphale just takes a deep breath, then another, stays where he is.

“Sit up again, would you, darling?”, Aziraphale asks him, clasping his hands together in front of himself, even while he walks around the bed. Crowley suppresses a sob, even as he moves, because this is it, this is exactly what he wanted.  “Back against the headrest, please, and keep your legs spread. Beautiful.”
Aziraphale is standing directly in front of him now, watching his every move and Crowley’s skin burns with want, the fire in his stomach with the denial of it.
“I want you to touch yourself”, Aziraphale says, just a hint of heat tinting his words. “Not your cock, not yet, just your chest. Your neck. Show me what feels good for you. Show me how to touch you.”

The request knocks the air out of Crowley’s lungs, not that he needs it; he feels lightheaded even before the angel has finished speaking, almost desperately aroused. A sound escapes his lips with the rest of his breath, small and hoarse, and there is something thrilling, something beautiful about allowing Aziraphale to see him like this, open and vulnerable, something more intimate than even their kisses were.
His hand is shaking as he raises it to his chest, his heart beats so wildly Crowley can feel it against his fingertips when he trails them across his skin. It’s a sensation he has felt hundreds of times before, but it’s different, more intense, the little tingles of pleasure increased by Aziraphale’s eyes on him.

They are writing desire all across his chest, and Crowley is breathless with it, delirious. He pinches one of his nipples, and they both gasp.
“You’re doing so well, my dear”, Aziraphale praises, his voice just a little bit hoarse, and Crowley loves it. “Tell me how it feels.”
“Good, but, but not like your fingers would feel. Your skin is – warmer, like the sun.”

It’s not the best analogy, but Crowley’s brain isn’t working properly anymore, cannot quite put into words how Aziraphale feels like he remembers sun feeling on his scales back in the Garden, warming his cold body up enough to keep moving. This will have to do.
Slowly, he lets his hand travel up across his throat, touching all the skin Aziraphale stroked, kissed, bit; he can feel his cock twitch at the memory, lust pooling in his stomach. He wishes the angel would touch him, and if only by putting a hand on his shoulder, but Aziraphale is still, unmoving, his eyes transfixed on Crowley’s body.

“You’re beautiful”, the angel tells him, and Crowley can’t help it, he shivers, fingernails scratching across tender skin. “You’re the most beautiful thing on this Earth to me, and I’m so grateful to you for giving me this gift. Your love. There is nothing greater I could ever ask for.”
Coming from Aziraphale’s lips, the words sound so easy, so simple, and Crowley shivers, hisses when he drops his hand down to his stomach, teasing himself with deft fingers.
“There is nothing I wouldn’t give”, he confesses, and although it’s nothing he hasn’t said before, the words still taste brand new on his tongue, forbidden.
“I know”, Aziraphale says, and this time, he sounds affected, sounds like he is almost as desperate as Crowley is. “I feel the same way.”

A moment passes without a word, a sound, a motion, then Aziraphale takes one step closer to the bed.
“Ask me to touch you again”, he says.
Please.”

It takes maybe a moment for Aziraphale to join him on the bed, but it feels like a century; as soon as the mattress dips next to him, though, Aziraphale’s hands are on him, one on his shoulder, the other one on Crowley’s cheek, both of them pulling him forward so the angel can kiss him.
Of all the kisses they shared, it’s the messiest, the most desperate, and Crowley relishes in it, puts all his lust into it, all his desire.
His whole body surges up to meet Aziraphale, soft-worn cotton brushing against his naked skin, and Crowley groans against the other’s lips, grabs at cream-coloured lapels with both hands to get Aziraphale even closer.
“Thank you”, he finds himself muttering against Aziraphale’s lips, making the angel chuckle, drag his thumb across Crowley’s cheek tenderly. A sweet touch, but not enough, and by now, Crowley wonders if anything will ever be.

With Aziraphale on the bed with him, it’s easy to let his body fall back against the headrest, taking the angel with him until Aziraphale is half on top of him, Crowley’s spread legs bracketing his body.
He fits there perfectly, like they were both made for this, and without thinking, Crowley pushes himself upwards, trying to just get closer.
It does help, and it does something else entirely: it drags his cock across Aziraphale’s stomach, across light wool and tiny buttons, and the sensation is so small, but so overwhelming anyway.

What breaks free from his lips is almost a scream of the Aziraphale’s name, Crowley’s hands sliding across his shoulders to try and ground himself. The pressure alone is almost too much after such a long time of being teased, and Crowley’s eyes slip closed, his mouth goes slack.
“Oh my dear, my darling”, Aziraphale breathes against his cheek, leaves a kiss or two there, before he pulls back, looking at Crowley with wonder in his eyes. “You gorgeous thing, lay back, let me take care of you.”

There is nothing Crowley could do but as Aziraphale says, no matter how hard it is to peel his hands away from his angel’s shoulders, to lose that contact.
His whole body is screaming for more friction, but Crowley drops back, and the satisfaction in Aziraphale’s expression is worth it. And this time, the angel doesn’t make him wait, kisses Crowley again almost immediately.
It’s just short, just sweet, though, a kiss to do nothing but reassure, enough to soothe the sting at least a little. He continues with the kisses, trailing them down Crowley’s neck, each a little bolder than the one before, a little more passionate. By the time Aziraphale has reached the curve of Crowley’s shoulder, he’s sucking on the skin, dragging his teeth across it, and Crowley desperately wishes he would leave a mark.

A moan spills from his lips when Aziraphale sucks a little harder, Crowley can’t stop it, just like he can’t prevent the words that have built up behind it from escaping.
“Angel, I – I want to see you on my skin when I wake up”, he says, but it almost sounds like begging.
For a moment, he isn’t certain if Aziraphale understands what he is trying to say, but then his eyes glaze over just a little bit, his bitten, bruised mouth forms a perfect circle.
When he dives back down, there are teeth hidden in his kiss, the suction increases, and Crowley moans, one hand slipping into Aziraphale’s blond locks.

There is just enough pain to mix the pleasure to make it overwhelming, the head of his cock still brushing against Aziraphale’s suit ever so often, sending myriads of tingles down Crowley’s spine.
And Aziraphale doesn’t stop, sucks more and more kisses onto Crowley’s neck, who’ll be littered with bruises tomorrow.
Crowley feels like sobbing with pleasure.

 

The sun has long since gone down and Aziraphale’s mouth has barely just made it to Crowley’s stomach, laving his tongue across every patch of skin he can find, sucking and biting and caressing until Crowley is mindless with pleasure, doesn’t think he’ll have a single straight thought ever again.
“P-Please, angel”, he breathes out for the umpteenth time, fingers tightening ever so slightly around the silky strands of Aziraphale’s hair. He’d never dare pull it, but this seems to be alright, and maybe the only way to get his attention now, after the other has turned almost Crowley’s entire chest into a star constellation of angelic marks.

A moment passes, but then Aziraphale looks up at him, lips shiny and red, his eyes wide and loving.
“Yes, love?”, the angel asks, maybe not entirely unaffected, but not even close to Crowley’s state of dishevelment, who’s so hard that even the brush of cotton makes him moan.
And it’s another detail that drives Crowley insane, that even now Aziraphale hasn’t taken off a single piece of clothing.
“Just, just, just something, Aziraphale, it’s too much.”
Something about Crowley’s words makes the angel smile, and he doesn’t know what, until Aziraphale presses another biting kiss on his hipbone, making Crowley hiss.
“It’s not, darling, it isn’t. I told you I would show you how much I loved you, and I love you so much more than this.”

It’s sweet enough to fill Crowley’s heart with more warmth, more affection than any demon should be able to feel, and it’s agonising enough to make him whimper, because it seems like Aziraphale is intent on ruining him completely.
As if sensing his desperation, Aziraphale straightens a little, leans up so he can leave a tiny, sweet, loving kiss on Crowley’s lips, which are bruised and swollen from kissing, from biting them to try and keep quiet.
“You’re doing so well, my love”, the other mutters, and it makes everything worth it, makes Crowley glow inside. And even if this is torturous, it is what he asked for, and it is what he’d ask for again, and again, and again, no matter how often Aziraphale wanted to know. “And I do like this body of yours so much.”
Aziraphale drags hot fingertips across his collarbone, littered with bruises, his touches featherlight and his voice kind, soothing. “It’s so different from mine, stunningly so. All those angles, all those sharp lines, almost like I could cut myself on them, all those bones I can see move under your skin.”

As always, he sounds lovely, innocent, and all Crowley can think, deliriously, is break them. Break me.
He gets his wish.
“You’re beautiful”, Aziraphale continues, starts to kiss his way down Crowley’s chest once more. He ends the journey at Crowley’s hips, that same spot he already marked, sucks another bruise on the already there. “Exquisite. Marvellous. Brilliant. Terrific.”
Every word is emphasised with another kiss, and Crowley is arching into the touch.

“And how you respond to me, oh, it makes me fall in love with you all over again. So sensitive… it’s wonderful to watch.” Aziraphale has turned his head slightly, so that the words cause a steady flow of warm air to wash over Crowley’s hip, his lower stomach, just enough of a sensation to remind Crowley that his cock has been achingly hard for hours now.
He whines, a sound that seems to come from the very core of his being, and Aziraphale looks up at him through golden lashes, the smallest smile on his lips.
“See? That’s what I mean, love, you’re so responsive. I’ll never get sick of it, I know that as much as I have ever known anything.” He presses another kiss to the wet patch of skin, tongue darting out, without ever looking away from Crowley’s face. “I’ll never get sick of the taste of you either, the sound of your moans, the way you look at me… it’s all beautiful to me.”

“Fuck, angel, you’re killing me”, Crowley breathes out and means it, fingers tightening around the sheets he has been clutching at.
Something about it makes Aziraphale chuckle, nuzzle the little dip between Crowley’s hip and the top of his thigh, blonde hair tickling the oversensitive skin.
“Oh, I surely hope not. Especially not when there is still so much I want to take from you.”
He’s flinging Crowley’s own words back at him, with heat tainting his angelic voice, and the effect is devastating, leaves Crowley feeling like he’s about to slip from this body, because it’s too small to hold everything he feels.
“Take it”, he forces out, the words half a moan, his hips thrusting up just the slightest bit. “Whatever it is, it’s yours.”

And Aziraphale does.

There is a glint in his eyes, something like mischief mixed with lust, and it should be enough to warn Crowley that something is about to happen, but it isn’t. And even if it was, he wouldn’t have time to steel himself for what it about to come, not when Aziraphale pushes himself up, moves so he can lick a stripe up the side of Crowley’s cock.
His tongue is searing hot against Crowley’s skin, the sensation too little and yet overwhelming; Crowley’s entire body arches off the bed, and he’s not even certain if he’s screaming, if he’s moaning, crying. All of it would be appropriate.

The reaction seems to be a surprise even for his teasing, torturous angel, who looks at him with wide eyes, lips still parted and the tip of his tongue just so resting on the bottom one.
Aziraphale breathes out his name, voice full of wonder, and there is nothing Crowley can do but beg. “Please, Aziraphale, just give me something, anything…”
“I’ll give you everything”, the angel answers, and holds his promise.
He licks at Crowley’s cock again, like it is about tasting him, nothing else, and Crowley squeezes his eyes shut to deal with the sensation.
It might have been a mistake, because like this he doesn’t get a warning, just the sudden feeling of the angel’s lips wrapped around the head of his cock, his mouth slick and impossibly hot, the suction just enough to make Crowley scream, eyes flying open once more.

Aziraphale is watching him, even while he curls his fingers around the shaft, slides his lips further down and makes Crowley forget everything but his mouth, the pleasure every small motion brings. His eyes on Crowley make it worse, boring through him, his very soul, as Aziraphale sucks softly, laves his tongue across the underside of Crowley’s cock.
It’s torture, and Crowley never wants it to end, wants to live through eternity like this, with Aziraphale slowly sliding more of his cock into his mouth, watching him like he wants to commit every of Crowley’s reaction to memory.

His knuckles have turned white because he’s gripping the sheets so tightly, every muscle in his body tense, waiting for whatever Aziraphale wants from him, does to him. A clever tongue teases even as the angel sinks further down on Crowley’s cock, taking it deep enough that Crowley can feel the tip of his angelic nose brush against his lower stomach.
“A-Aziraphale”, he gasps out, and even the name sounds like a plea; the angel answers it by sucking a little bit harder, tightening the maddening ring of lips around Crowley’s shaft, and sending another flood of pleasure through his body.

It hasn’t yet ebbed off, Crowley has neither regained breath nor sight, when Aziraphale swallows around him, his tongue pushing up against the Crowley’s cock, the muscles of his throat working around the shaft, and Crowley thinks he can see a new universe being born beneath his eyelids.
Dimly, he is aware that he is making some kind of noise, be it moaning or begging, nothing matters but Aziraphale’s mouth on him. He’s about to lose himself in the feeling completely, but then the angel pulls off of him again, slowly, but surely.

“I love you like this”, Aziraphale tells him, his voice just the slightest bit hoarse, “God knows, I love you in every way, but like this you are just mine, aren’t you? No one else has ever seen you like this, you never allowed anyone else to do so, and I’m eternally grateful that I am the one you chose.”
Crowley whimpers, utterly uncaring by now of how he sounds, how he looks; Aziraphale’s soft, sweet words rush across his skin like a touch would, warm him from the inside, and yet they are not enough, not anymore.
“Angel”, he moans, trying to convey with looks what his lips cannot anymore.

Either Aziraphale doesn’t understand, or doesn’t want to, because instead of putting his mouth back where Crowley needs it, he presses a wet, sucking kiss to the inside of his thigh, marking soft, tender skin with sharp teeth, and it feels good, because every way Aziraphale could touch him would.
But it’s not enough, and before he knows it, Crowley has one hand tangled in Aziraphale’s soft hair.

He never would pull on it, try to push Aziraphale towards his cock, but there is an intention behind the touch he cannot deny. And this time, the angel does understand, drags his teeth across the patch of skin he is sucking on before he looks up at Crowley.
Still, he looks too calm, almost a little amused, even while he sits up slowly, removing Crowley’s hands from his hair, but keeping them in his own.
“Now, love, no need to get impatient”, he starts, and Crowley is so desperate for him that he can feel it on his tongue, on his lips. “How about you just hold onto the headboard for me? Don’t let go.”

He takes Crowley’s hands, puts them up where he wants them, even curls Crowley’s fingers for him, presses a kiss, a soft, sweet, gentle one, to one of the tips.
No hesitation, no moment he gives Crowley to protest, just gentle determination, and Crowley feels himself catch fire. From the tips of his fingers that Aziraphale just kissed to the soles of his feet, from his eternal soul to the depth of his damnation, he burns, brighter than ever before.
Nothing has changed, he still wants to touch, still wants Aziraphale to wrap his mouth around his cock again, wants him to do so much more, but Crowley knows that right until Aziraphale tells him to, he won’t move his hands, not even an inch.

It seems that Aziraphale knows that too, because he smiles down on Crowley, brushes a kiss onto his lips, cards his fingers through bright, ginger strands of hair.
“I’ll make the wait worthwhile”, the angel promises, and Crowley doesn’t know how to tell him that even if he never did anything but wait, it would be worth it.
Instead, he lets Aziraphale kiss him another time, this time a featherlight peck on his forehead, before the angel sinks down onto the sheets again, right between Crowley’s spread legs. The demon shivers, can’t help it, and Aziraphale grins, and returns to sucking a mark onto the pale skin of Crowley’s thigh. The mere sight of him there is almost too much to take, and Crowley feels his fingers tightening around the headboard, clinging onto the old wood for dear life.

Aziraphale’s mouth is impossibly hot on him, moving slowly across his thigh, biting and kissing, and Crowley is breathing heavily, ever so often letting out a gasp, a moan when Aziraphale sucks at his skin a little harder, or reaches an especially sensitive spot. His cock is throbbing with need, and he knows he could beg for more, for anything, and might even be heard, but there is something about allowing himself to be tortured like this, restraining his own movement because of a word, a touch, that leaves Crowley mindless with lust.

One of his oldest memories, the ones he never looks at, because it’s about Heaven and a time in which he wasn’t really himself, is feeling devotion so vast it seemed all-encompassing, but even that felt nothing like this. Since, back then, it was built into his soul, forced on him, while this is something he chose.
Aziraphale is something he chose, against all odds, the world ending, and submitting himself to the angel is something he will choose again every time.

So instead of demanding anything, Crowley arches up into the touches, gives up trying to suppress the sounds his body wants to make completely. And it’s easy when they are something Aziraphale covets, and when Crowley was utterly honest when he told the angel he wanted to be the one to give him everything.

Once Crowley’s thigh is sufficiently bruised, his breath coming in broken huffs and half-formed moans, Aziraphale switches to the other, lets his tongue trail down the dip between his hip and thigh, close enough to the base of his cock that Crowley sees stars. He swears in a tongue that is older than the Earth, and Aziraphale raises his head, his lips shining wetly.
“Oh”, he breathes, and there is a flush to his cheeks Crowley has never seen before. “I don’t think I have ever heard you speak Enochian before.”
Crowley huffs out a laugh, even if sounds breathless, half crazed. “I- If you continue with that, I don’t think I’ll remember a word of English, angel.”

A moment passes, so silent Crowley can hear the other thinking, then a soft hand brushes up over his thigh, fingers tickling, teasing, before they wrap themselves around his shaft.
“I suppose I should keep at it, then”, Aziraphale states, more to himself than Crowley, it seems, which makes no difference; there is nothing Crowley can pay any attention to at the moment but to the steady pressure of Aziraphale’s hand around his cock.
Not until the angel lowers himself back onto the mattress, presses a kiss to the head of his cock before sucking it into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sinks down, tongue teasing the tender flesh. His motions are still slow, but not only there to torture anymore. There is determination hidden in the way Aziraphale touches him now.

Crowley arches off the bed, fingers gripping even tighter, and Aziraphale hums his approval around the demon’s cock, causing another wave of pleasure to crash over him, almost drowning him in it. One of the angel’s hands is still on his hip, both to steady Aziraphale and to keep Crowley in place, who is grateful for the guidance, grateful for anything the other gives him.
The muscles of Aziraphale’s throat work around the head of his cock for a moment before the angel moves back up again – for a moment, Crowley fears he will pull off, just like he did last time, but instead Aziraphale plunges himself down onto his cock once more, just a fraction faster now, the suction just a little harder.
It is Heaven and it is Hell at the same time, the rhythm Aziraphale sets just tethering enough on the edge of too slow to fuel Crowley’s craving for more as well as his lust.

 A constant stream of sounds is escaping his mouth by now, moans and curses, some in English, some in other languages he picked up in the six thousand years on this Earth; it is the only way Crowley can react to the onslaught of sensation, the mounting pleasure. Aziraphale moves his hand, cups his balls to massage them, and Crowley finally gives in and lets his eyes close without trying to pry them open once more, all of his attention focussed on the angel’s touch now, the slick sounds of skin against skin, the occasional noise Aziraphale makes around his cock when he sinks down so far that Crowley can feel soft hair tickle his thighs.

He’s starting to lose himself in the pleasure once more, the tsunami Aziraphale is conjuring up with his mouth and hands, when the angel lets go of his balls, instead slides his hand further between Crowley’s legs. Suddenly, his fingers are slick, even if still warm against his skin, massaging the sensitive skin of his perineum, and Crowley spreads his legs further without being told to, bending them slightly.
Again, Aziraphale hums around his cock, causing Crowley to throw his head back against the mattress, arching off  of it, his fingers cramping around the headrest to prevent them from reaching out to touch.
Please”, Crowley catches himself whimpering, and the angel sucks harder when he slides back down on his cock. “Aziraphale, I need you –“

And his angel gives him exactly what he asked for, presses a finger against his entrance, circling the tight ring of muscle. Crowley sobs out a moan, using all the willpower he still has left not to thrust up his hips, to keep his hands where Aziraphale wants them to be.
Maybe he should have known that if anything could really, truly break him, it would be Aziraphale inside of him, so deep he could forget about anything else in this world and the next.

Instead of thrusting into the angel’s mouth, Crowley grinds down into the pressure as good as he can, but Aziraphale isn’t deterred, won’t let himself be rushed. A few more bobs of the angel’s head and Crowley is moaning uncontrollably, eyes screwed shut, because he cannot take the image of Aziraphale between his legs right now, pink lips spread wide around his cock, pupils blown wide, a pink flush across his cheeks.
The light pressure of Aziraphale’s finger gets stronger and Crowley is close to forcing himself to speak coherent sentences again, just so he can plead for the angel to fill him up, when Aziraphale finally takes pity on him, pushes until Crowley’s body opens for him.

Aziraphale’s fingers are thick, the lubricant the angel summoned enough to ease the slide of it inside of Crowley, but not so much it would take away the delicious friction against his entrance.
A hiss escapes Crowley, more snake than human, but he can’t help it, the pressure inside of him is everything he missed, everything he wanted, even before he allowed himself to realise it. His hips are moving on their own, grinding down against Aziraphale’s hand, trying to get more, but the angel does not permit it yet.
Instead, he curls his finger deep inside of Crowley, the pad of it dragging across his inner walls, making him shudder. Aziraphale swallows around his cock, then pulls off to instead mouth at the side of the shaft.

“You feel so good, darling”, Aziraphale tells him, lips brushing against the shaft of Crowley’s cock, his warm breath agonising. “And you’re being so patient for me, so lovely. Thank you, dear, for all of this, all of you.”
A clever tongue licks up from the base of his cock to the tip, teasing the slit while Aziraphale slides his finger halfway out of Crowley, just to push it back again, knocking the air from Crowley’s lungs.
“A-Angel”, he gasps out, the word dissolving into another moan, because Aziraphale sucks the head of his cock into his white-hot mouth, swirls his tongue around it. His finger is starting to move at a slow pace now, an excruciating rhythm, the tip of a second finger just so teasing the rim of Crowley’s hole.

The suction stops, but there is no moment for Crowley to try and gather his wits, because Aziraphale keeps talking, keeps mouthing at his cock in between words.
“You’ll feel so good around me, I know you will. I think God made us like this, knowing what would happen, I think this is what She wanted all along.” Another lick, another kiss, and Crowley has problems understanding what it is Aziraphale is saying, even if he tries so hard to follow the other’s train of thought. “For us to be happy. With each other. She wouldn’t have made you so perfect for me, if she didn’t want me to fall in love with you.”

Crowley does his best to answer, but he can’t do more than breathe out the angel’s name, hope it says everything Aziraphale needs to know. That Crowley, too, cannot imagine a universe in which he didn’t fall for him.
And it must have, because Aziraphale answers, with his voice so soft it feels like a caress, “I know, my love. You’ve told me so many times, in so many ways, even before I knew how to listen.”
His arms straining with the effort not to touch, Crowley sobs out his agreement.

More lubricant slicks up his entrance, and Crowley can feel that Aziraphale is watching him. Although it’s the most difficult thing, he forces his eyes to open.
They meet the angel’s, which are dark with lust and still seem to shine so brightly, and Crowley doesn’t trust his voice any longer, so it’s just his lips that form the word, no breath left to carry it up into the air.
Please, he begs soundlessly, watches Aziraphale’s lips turn upwards, his smile loving, beautiful, angelic.

He doesn’t get an answer, but he doesn’t need one, since Aziraphale pulls his finger out, pushes two back into Crowley’s waiting body. The stretch is minimal and yet Crowley revels in every second of it, the slight sting of it, the fact that Aziraphale is creating space for himself inside of his body almost enough to drive him insane.
The pace Aziraphale sets is just as slow as it was before, but it feels infinitely better, Crowley trying his best to move with the thrust, get the angel’s fingers to fuck him deeper. It’s futile, but somehow that makes it better.

Part of Crowley expected more words, wanted them to wash over him and soothe his overheating skin, his crazed mind, but Aziraphale has something else in mind. He swallows down Crowley’s cock once more, just at the same time as he curls his fingers upwards, drags them deliberately across his inner walls.
It feels like being struck by lightening, a bolt of molten pleasure hits him and makes him scream, Crowley’s whole body convulsing. His world shrinks down to this room, to Aziraphale’s mouth, to the angel’s fingers rubbing across his prostate, to how much he needs them to be one.

Faintly, Crowley is aware that he is moaning, babbling, but it doesn’t matter, because his body is moving with Aziraphale’s motions as if they had done this a thousand times before, like they used to be two halves of one whole being. It feels like an ocean inside of him, made from lust and devotion and more love than a demon should be allowed to hold, and Aziraphale is summoning a storm with every bob of his head, every shallow thrust of his fingers.

 

An eternity might have passed, Crowley doesn’t know it, only knows that the first rays of sunshine are peaking through the windows of Aziraphale’s flat, only knows that Aziraphale keeps dragging his knuckles against his prostate with every thrust, lazily sucking around his cock, only knows that it’s too much. Heat is pooling in his stomach, so intense it feels like his blood is on fire, and every lick, every thrust pushes him closer to an edge Crowley cannot be pushed over, not yet.
It’s difficult, more so than it should be, but Crowley manages to clear his head enough so he can form words in his mind; his speech, once his lips and tongue cooperate, is slurred, but it’s good enough, it has to be.

“A-Angel”, he stutters, “Stop, or I’ll – I’ll come.”
The words seem to take a few moments for Aziraphale to understand, and although Crowley has to grit his teeth to stop his body from forcing him down onto Aziraphale’s fingers, taking pleasure from the angel he doesn’t want to have yet, there is something beautiful about the knowledge that Aziraphale is affected by this as well.

Slowly, the angel pulls off Crowley’s cock, licking his swollen lips as if he missed the taste. His pupils are blown so wide Crowley can hardly make out the colour of his eyes, and his cheeks are flushed, the fabric of his suit rumpled.
“You can”, Aziraphale tells him, impossibly tender; he doesn’t understand. “I want you to.”
He crooks his fingers inside of Crowley once more, sending electric shocks through his entire body.
“No”, Crowley gasps out, even before they have subsided, his body still convulsing. “Not… not without you. I need you- inside, inside of me.”

Coherent sentences are well outside his reach, so he settles for this, for as much as he can give, looks up at the angel with desperate, yellow eyes, and it takes a moment, then another, then Aziraphale breathes out softly, his gaze even softer than before.
“Of course, love”, he reassures Crowley, still, he doesn’t pull out his fingers. Part of the demon is grateful, because he doesn’t know if he could bear being left empty. “But I cannot fuck you like this. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Something in Crowley’s brain short-circuits at that, Aziraphale’s sweet voice saying such a base word; his hips buck upwards, without him allowing it.
“F-Fuck, angel”, he whimpers, and Aziraphale chuckles breathlessly.
“Still, it is true”, the angel says, then adds, “But I won’t make you come, not now. Another time, though, love, I will make you come a dozen times, until you are covered in your own seed, until you can’t see straight anymore.”
It’s a promise as much as it’s a threat, and Crowley moans helplessly, nods his agreement, because as much as this is agony, he never wants to feel anything else again.

Slowly, Aziraphale pulls out his fingers, shushing Crowley softly when he whines, smoothing a palm across Crowley’s bruised thigh. When he pushes his fingers back where they belong, they are slicker than before.
“I just have to make sure you’re stretched enough for me”, the angel explains, and works a third finger into Crowley with the next thrust. Again, it burns, and again Crowley relishes in the feeling, pushes back into the intrusion. “I can’t wait to watch you fall apart under me, darling. Feeling you. We, no, I truly wasted too much time, I should have had you like this centuries, no, millennia ago.”

Without wasting a second, Aziraphale picks up his pace again, although he deliberately misses Crowley’s prostate now. Even so, the added fullness, the stretch of Aziraphale’s lovely fingers inside of him, the friction against the rim of his entrance are more than enough on their own to drive Crowley insane. And yet, he can feel his muscles relaxing around Aziraphale, welcoming the intrusion.
“I hope you can forgive me for being so slow, for making you suffer. It was never my intention, and I will do anything to make up for it now, my darling. My love.”

The fingers inside him curl, and Crowley shoots off the bed, his hands almost, but not quite, letting go of the headboard, wanting to bury themselves in Aziraphale’s hair, his body. He’s screaming the angel’s name, his cock dripping precome, and he could lose himself in this, Crowley knows it.
He doesn’t.
A few moments pass until he comes back to himself, sees Aziraphale watch him with his lips parted, his cheeks rosy. He is looking at him like Crowley is the most exquisite thing he has ever seen in his life, and it’s enough to set Crowley’s skin on fire, his cock twitching another time.

The silence is interrupted by a breathless little sound, and it’s only when Aziraphale continues talking that Crowley realises it came from the angel, not him, this time.
“I love you”, Aziraphale says, the words so soft, so simple; they make Crowley’s heart grow to twice its size. “I have loved you for so long, and I will love you, as long as you allow me to.”
He leans in and kisses Crowley, just a press of lips against lips, and Crowley melts into it, cranes his head to get more of Aziraphale, tell him just how he feels without words.
Even after he has pulled away, the angel stays close, presses their foreheads together, and if his whole body wasn’t crying out for more, Crowley would be happy to stay like this forever.

“Now”, he mumbles against Aziraphale’s lips still, because his very being is aching for Aziraphale to take him, “Please.”
This time, it’s Aziraphale who shudders, rubs their noses together.
“I don’t want to hurt you, my love”, he tells Crowley softly, every word a breath of warm air on his lips.
“But I want you to.”

For a second, Crowley isn’t sure if it is enough, because Aziraphale pulls back, looks at him with wide eyes, but then the angel nods.
One last time, he thrusts his fingers into Crowley, as deep as they go, before he pulls them out, leaving the demon feeling empty. He swallows a whine, just so Aziraphale doesn’t change his mind, and watches the angel sit up on the bed, his blonde hair tousled, his suit rumpled, his eyes so bright with lust it takes Crowley’s breath away.

A snap of fingers, and a change in the air, and Aziraphale is naked, his skin pale and dusting of blonde air on his chest, all lines of his body soft and gentle, like his soul, only his cock flushed and hard between his legs.
And Crowley has known that he needed a thousand things from the angel, but up until that moment, he wasn’t aware of how much he needed to feel Aziraphale’s skin pressed against his own.

If he could, if he didn’t have to keep his blasted hands where they are, Crowley would reach up and pull the angel down with him, but like this, he can only make a sound at the back of his throat, desperate and almost overwhelmed already, arch up from the mattress and hope Aziraphale will answer his prayer.

It takes a moment, but then the angel does, lowers himself onto the mattress and covers Crowley’s body with his own, every inch of his skin hot against the demon’s body. The mere pressure against his cock is almost too much, and Crowley whimpers, cranes his neck to get Aziraphale to kiss him.
“Take your hands down, love”, the angel tells him, and before Crowley’s brain has even registered the words, his fingers have let go of the headboard.
He wraps his arms around Aziraphale, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping him from drowning, and this time, it is the other who moans, who thrusts down against Crowley search for friction.

Their lips find each other, and Crowley drinks up the sounds Aziraphale makes, kisses them off his tongue and bites his curses into his flesh, mindless in his need to get closer. Aziraphale’s skin is soft, just like the hair on his chest, the meat of his thighs, and Crowley revels in it, wraps one leg around the angel’s waist to draw him in even closer.
The sensation is electric, their cocks rubbing together in the most maddening way, just enough friction to make Crowley groan into the kiss, Aziraphale jerk against him in an attempt to find more friction.
“Now”, Crowley pleads, mouthing at Aziraphale’s jaw, leaving kisses on every inch of skin he can find. “Angel.”

A strong hand grips his thigh, hoisting it up until Crowley can wrap it around the angel’s waist as well, bending himself in half and letting Aziraphale manipulate his body in a way that makes him feel even more desperate. Like he belongs.
New slickness spreads itself around his entrance, throughout his insides, and Crowley doesn’t dare to move, doesn’t even dare to breathe as Aziraphale slowly, ever so slowly, pushes his cock inside of him.
There is some pain from the stretch, but it couldn’t matter less, when Aziraphale is thick and heavy inside of him, so hot it seems to consume Crowley’s very being, burn right through his soul. It feels right, like he has been made whole for the first time in his existence, like something has finally slotted into place.

It’s only when Aziraphale gently touches his cheek that Crowley realises there are tears in his eyes, that he has been gasping out the angel’s name like a mantra.
He can only tighten his hold around Aziraphale, his legs pulling the angel further in, causing his cock to slide into Crowley until they are pressed flushed against each other, and it seems to be enough of an answer. Aziraphale presses a kiss to his cheek, undoubtedly tasting the salt of Crowley’s tears, before he pulls out ever so slightly, pushes into him again.
Even though it’s a shallow thrust, it makes Crowley keen, his cock leaking precome as it rubs against his own stomach. Nothing, not even the pleasure of Aziraphale’s fingers inside of him could prepare him for this, the fullness, the slick slide of the angel’s cock inside of him, the pleasure of just being one and the pleasure of their flesh, of their nerves singing, their bodies intertwining.

Again, Aziraphale fucks into him, the thrust a little deeper now, and Crowley clings to him, tries to move with the angel as good as he can as they find a rhythm, a pace that is just slow enough to make Crowley lose his mind. Each slide lets Aziraphale slide a little further into him, causes Crowley’s body to open up, and the pressure is just enough, the friction of skin against skin incredible.
His eyes have long since slipped shut, but even blind, Crowley’s lips find the angel’s for a moment, then slide down to his jaw, his throat, kissing his prayers onto Aziraphale’s skin.

It’s Crowley, of course it is, who forces them to go faster, just a little bit, just enough that the waves of pleasure do not have time to ebb off between thrusts, so that he can almost taste the pleasure on his own tongue, on Aziraphale’s skin, as he fucks him.
Being here, it is everything he ever wanted, and as he buries his face in the crook of the angel’s neck, smells lily of the valley and old books and Earl Grey, feels Aziraphale stretch him open, make a home for himself in Crowley’s body, there is nothing he can do to stop a sob of the angel’s name from spilling out.

“You feel just as good as I knew you would”, Aziraphale whispers in between thrusts, almost an answer, his voice strained, and without knowing, reignites the fire in Crowley’s stomach. “Made for me, you must have been, my love…”
Something about the words causes Crowley to shift his hips, trying uselessly to get Aziraphale closer than just inside of him, and the motion changes the angle of the next thrust.

When Aziraphale pushes into him, the head of his cock rubs deliciously against Crowley’s inner walls in just the right way, dragging across his prostate, and it’s finally too much.
The pleasure is as sudden as it is intense, causing his vision to white out, his body suddenly not under his control anymore as Crowley comes between them, clenching around Aziraphale’s cock. Every muscle of his body seems to tense, to shake with his orgasm, burning hot pleasure racing through it, replacing blood and air and muscles with nothing but feeling.
Dimly, he is aware of Aziraphale fucking him through it, of his limbs tightening around the angel so much it must be painful, of his own cock spurting his seed between them, but none of it matters, as wave upon wave of lust crash over Crowley until he feels like he is drowning.

It might take minutes until he comes back to himself, Crowley can’t be sure, but Aziraphale is still wrapped around him, one hand combing through Crowley’s matted hair, kisses being showered on his cheeks, his forehead.
When Aziraphale kisses his lips the next time, Crowley kisses him back lazily, licking into the angel’s mouth until he can feel Aziraphale’s hips jerk, his beautifully thick cock sliding deeper into Crowley’s body.

The friction forces a small sound from Crowley’s lips, spilling it right into the angel’s mouth, and he can feel Aziraphale starting to pull out before either of them had the chance to say a thing. His legs tighten around the angel’s waist without hesitation, seemingly on their own volition, and Aziraphale pauses, kisses Crowley softly.
“I don’t want to hurt you”, he mutters, and there is barely suppressed heat in his voice; Crowley couldn’t love him more if he tried.
“I want you to”, he replies, just like the last time, and uses his legs to pull Aziraphale close again. There is a hint of pain to the slide of the angel’s cock inside of him, his oversensitive entrance protesting, but it’s nothing against how good it feels to have Aziraphale inside of him, how much he needs to feel the angel come. “Please.”

For good measure, he kisses Aziraphale again, trying to drown out all protests with his tongue, his teeth, and it seems to work; the angel shallowly thrusts into him again, obviously hesitant, and Crowley moans into their kiss, gives himself over to the feeling.

The pace Aziraphale sets is slow but makes his cock slide so deep into Crowley it feels like they are one, and he loves it, even without the arousal pooling in his gut, the overwhelming desire causing sparks of pleasure to travel through his skin with every touch.
He loves it because Aziraphale’s breath comes quicker now, his lips still leaving kisses all over Crowley’s face, his neck, because he can feel the angel’s cock pulse inside of him. Because he is the one who made Aziraphale feel like that, because he’ll get the chance to do it a thousand times more.

The sun is bright now, it must be midday, and Crowley’s hands skim over the expanse of Aziraphale’s back, feeling the muscles working under his soft skin, the harsh edge of his shoulder blades, and suddenly, it is so easy to talk.
“I love you”, he says, and realises it’s the first time. His voice is hoarse from moaning, from screaming, from begging, but Aziraphale hears him anyway, pushes himself up to look at Crowley and there is happiness shining out of his eyes that make them brighter than the sun, brighter than even Alpha Centauri.
“I have loved you for six thousand years and I love you still and I will love you, forever, even if you’d try to forbid it.” With his legs, he pulls Aziraphale flush against him, tightens his muscles around Aziraphale’s cock. “I love you because there is nothing else I could possibly do.”

Aziraphale lets out a sob, something that almost sounds like Crowley’s name, drops his head in the crook of his neck, and lets go.
It’s like an explosion, his whole body shuddering, his hips grinding his cock into Crowley for a few more, shallow thrusts, and then Aziraphale is coming, spilling inside of waiting body.
He bites into the flesh of Crowley’s shoulder, and the feeling is exquisite, drawing a moan from Crowley as he lets his angel fill him up with warmth, with love.

 

They stay like this, tangled up in each other for a little bit, until the sunlight is starting to dim, Crowley’s fingers finding their way into Aziraphale’s hair, the angel going back to kissing, nuzzling Crowley’s neck.
There are no words, because they’ve said all of them, no movement until Aziraphale finally pushes himself up on his elbows a little bit, just for Crowley to pull him back against his chest.

“Dear, we will have to get up at some point”, Aziraphale says softly, brushes a strand of ginger hair from Crowley’s forehead.
“Not yet.” He sounds petulant and knows it, but Crowley cannot bring himself to care, not when Aziraphale still feels so perfect inside of him, around him. “Just a little bit longer.”
“We have been here for more than two days, I think”, Aziraphale whispers into his shoulder, the flow of air tickling his bitten, bruised skin.
“I know.” Crowley turns his head so he can look at the angel a little bit, see pale skin and blonde hair, eyes that shine with love that only belongs to him. “It’s not enough, is it?”

To prove his point, he tightens his muscles around Aziraphale’s cock, still deep inside of him, hears the angel gasp next to him.
And then, just as amused as tender, answer, “I suppose we could stay a little longer, darling.”