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“I know you must be rather more practiced with this sort of thing, but I don’t suppose you’d mind too terribly if I take a bit to catch up?” Aziraphale says, looking up at Crowley through long, pale lashes from very, very close.

“Buh?” Crowley says. Aziraphale’s hands are in his pants. His pants are very tight, so Aziraphale’s hands are very tightly in them. Tight.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Aziraphale murmurs, and kisses him. Crowley panics, and falls off the bookshop sofa. Aziraphale . . . blinks, and looks down at him. “My dear?”

“Azzzzziraphale!” Crowley hisses, somewhere between scandalized and mortified. His tongue forks in his mouth, and he has a very hard time keeping himself human-shaped.

“Yes?” Aziraphale says.

“You jusssst—you—that wassss—!” Crowley sputters, face burning, and Aziraphale frowns doubtfully at him.

“I know it can’t have been that good, and it certainly wasn’t a surprise,” he says.

“It wassss a sssurprissssse!” Crowley hisses empathically. Aziraphale gives him a bemused look.

“You’re joking,” he says. “Crowley, I’ve been wanting to do that since Rome. At least since Rome. Surely you noticed before now.”

“You think I would have noticccced that and not ssssaid ssssomething?!” Crowley demands.

“I rather thought you had,” Aziraphale says. “We’ve certainly gone on enough dates at this point.”

“Thossse were datesss?!”

“Well, what else would you call them?” Aziraphale frowns. Crowley flails a bit, and manages to get more or less to his feet. His tongue does not get any less forked, though he manages to keep the scales off. “Did you really not know, all this time? But you kept seeing me.”

“I like you, sssstupid!” Crowley hisses, finally managing to get his tongue mostly under control. “Of course I kept seeing you!”

“Oh.” Aziraphale looks puzzled, then pleased, then puzzled again. “Then you don’t want to have sex with me?” Crowley nearly falls off the floor this time. Crowley nearly discorporates this time.

“Azzzzzzzzziraphale!”

“. . . is that a ‘no’, then, or . . . ?”

“Angels don’t have ssssex!” Crowley says.

“Well, I mean, not often,” Aziraphale says. “But it’s been six thousand years in a human body, I had to give it a try a few times.”

“You what?!” Crowley says.

“Haven’t you?” Aziraphale asks, and Crowley’s traitor of a face turns bright red. “Oh! But—you’re a demon, my dear, really?”

“I take down phone lines and rearrange roads!” Crowley says, terribly close to panicking again. “I don’t personally seduce people!”

“It’s really very nice. Seducing people, I mean,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley really does nearly discorporate.

“You’re an angel!” he says.

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale says. “But it’s not a sin if you love someone, and of course I love all of Her creatures.”

“I—that’s not—that’s not what that means!” Crowley yells.

“Isn’t it?” Aziraphale blinks up at him innocently. Crowley is reminded, again, that Aziraphale is just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.

“You loopholed your way into sex?!” he demands. “Why?!”

“Well, it’s quite nice,” Aziraphale says, smiling up at him. “And it makes people so happy!”

“Argh,” Crowley says, dropping back onto the sofa and covering his face with his hands. “Angel, you—how?! Why?!”

“It’s quite nice,” Aziraphale repeats. “All . . . tingly, if you will. Among other things. Though it does get a bit messy, usually.”

’Messy’, Crowley mouths, sliding down against the back of the sofa. ’MESSY’. Aziraphale lifts his closest hand away from his face to frown at him. Crowley considers discorporating on purpose.

“Really, I don’t understand what all the fuss is about,” Aziraphale says. “Surely you’ve at least considered trying it.”

“Academically!” Crowley says. “Not—not loopholes with God-ly!”

“It’s not as if you’d need a loophole,” Aziraphale says, then frowns again. “Academically with who?”

“I don’t have to tell you that!” Crowley sputters, and Aziraphale’s frown immediately softens into a smile.

“So it was me, then,” he says with obvious satisfaction. Crowley turns several shades redder and hides his face again, fingers split just enough to keep an eye on Aziraphale before the other’s inner bastard does anything else life-destroying.

“Of course it was you, you idiot,” he says. “Cleverest bastard I know and you still have to ask me who it was, for Hell’s sake.”

“Just checking,” Aziraphale says, then tugs his hand aside and kisses him again. Keeping an eye on him has done nothing. Crowley makes a strangled noise and falls off the sofa again. This time, Aziraphale laughs. “Have you ever even kissed anyone?”

“Yes! Obviously!”

“Besides me just now.”

“I don’t have to answer that!”

“Oh, Crowley.”

“Well, what, I was going to go around kissing humans?” Crowley demands in embarrassment, struggling into an upright position against the sofa. “Worse, demons?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Aziraphale says. “I don’t mind kissing humans. And I certainly don’t mind kissing you.”

“I think you’d mind if it were Hastur!” Crowley says.

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale says.

“Perhaps?!”

“Most likely.”

Damned likely!” Crowley says indignantly, dragging himself back onto the sofa even though he’s probably just going to end up falling off it again. “You don’t kiss in Hell! You don’t do anything nice in Hell!”

“So kissing me is nice?” Aziraphale asks, the bastard.

“Nrrrrgh,” Crowley says. “Demons don’t do nice!”

“Why not?” Aziraphale asks. “We’re on our own side now. You said so yourself. I’d think we could do whatever we liked.”

“And the first place your mind went with that was to do each other?” Crowley demands.

“Yes,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley reddens all over again as something in his chest does a very acrobatic flip. “Why, what were you intending to do?”

“What we’ve always done,” Crowley says, still red-faced. “We can do whatever we like, so—what we’ve always done.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, giving him a genuinely besotted look that Crowley is not sure how he doesn’t shrivel up and die under. Demons are not built to handle looks like that. He is not equipped to handle a look like that.

Aziraphale takes one of his hands and kisses the back of it. Crowley short-circuits.

“There’s no rush,” Aziraphale says. “If you’re not ready, I mean. I’ve already waited a few thousand years; I can wait a few more.”

“You’d wait a few thousand years to have sex with me,” Crowley says.

“I already have, my dear,” Aziraphale says, squeezing his hand briefly before letting it go. Crowley has no idea what to do with it, so just lets it fall limp into his lap. “Although I was specifically referencing taking the next step in our relationship in general. If you aren’t ready, I can wait.”

“You’re talking like I’m some fainting virgin,” Crowley says hysterically.

“Well, you are, aren’t you?” Aziraphale asks.

“I’m not fainting!” Crowley hisses.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says wryly, his eyes flicking down to his mouth. Crowley is suddenly incredibly self-conscious about just what his lips are doing and if he has anything stuck in his teeth. He doesn’t even eat. “You’re fainting a bit, you have to admit.”

“I never should’ve told you about the Antichrist, I should’ve just let the world end,” Crowley says. “I should’ve gone off to Alpha Centauri alone!”

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale says indulgently, patting his cheek. Crowley groans, and buries his face in his knees for a moment, then glowers at the other.

“Look,” he says. “Look. It’s not that I’m—that I’m opposed to—to—”

“Making love?” Aziraphale says. Crowley makes a strangled noise.

“—to having sex,” he says. “I’m not! Obviously! Lust is a very demonic thing! One of our specialties, even! I could do it any time I liked and I’d probably be fantastic at it!”

“Probably,” Aziraphale says, mouth quirking.

“Don’t smirk at me!” Crowley says indignantly. Aziraphale stifles a laugh. “Aziraphale!”

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale says in that exact same indulgent tone, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand again. Crowley goes through several very intense shades of red, and settles on “flamingly crimson”. “As I said. I’ll wait.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” Crowley says.

“I don’t mind,” Aziraphale says. “Not if it’s you.”

“I don’t even know how to do it,” Crowley admits, and Aziraphale smiles at him.

“If that’s the only problem, I can deal with that,” he says. Because Aziraphale knows how to deal with that, apparently. Because Aziraphale has done that before. Crowley can’t even wrap his head around it. “Would you like me to tell you how it works?”

“Yes,” Crowley says, fairly certain he’s going to die.

“Is your body male or female?” Aziraphale asks. “Or something else?”

“Male, usually,” Crowley says. He prefers it that way, most of the time. “Does it matter? I can change it.”

“No, my dear, of course not,” Aziraphale says, lacing their fingers together in a way that makes Crowley’s whole arm tingle. “The process is just a little different. Well, there’s a few different ways to do it no matter what, of course. Have you ever masturbated?”

“Why would I?” Crowley asks. “I only want to do that kind of thing when you’re around.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says, and then gets a pleased little smile on his face. “Well, that’s very flattering to hear. Would it be alright if I showed you how?”

“Nrgh,” Crowley says. He knows how it works, technically speaking, but the idea of Aziraphale fucking demonstrating is—“Yes. That’s fine.”

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale says, and then reaches over and unzips Crowley’s pants. Crowley only does not jump a mile because the fact that just happened has him frozen in shock. Aziraphale presses a little kiss to his cheek and reaches in and touches him. Crowley slithers right off the seat. “Oh!”

“This may be slightly more complicated than I was prepared for,” Crowley says from the floor, throwing an arm across his eyes.

“You think so?” Aziraphale asks wryly, settling down on the floor beside him. “Perhaps we’ll just start down here this time.”

“Perhaps,” Crowley says, and then Aziraphale puts a hand high on his thigh and he completely gives up on his dignity. “Nnn.”

“There we are,” Aziraphale says, casually stroking his thigh. Crowley goes through several near-death experiences. “Here, let me—”

Aziraphale puts his hand on Crowley’s—what’s the right word, anyway, penis is the least sexual word he can think of. “Shaft” sounds ridiculous, “dick” is too casual, “cock” is—

Aziraphale squeezes, and Crowley’s whatever twitches and hardens in his grip, a low bolt of pleasure snaking through his gut. Aziraphale hums up a little miracle and suddenly his fingers are slick and sticky and sliding and Crowley’s body has completely forgotten how breathing works.

“Azzzziraphale,” he says in an almost normal voice, except for how his tongue forks halfway through the other’s name. Aziraphale squeezes again, and Crowley’s hips jerk entirely involuntarily against the floor.

“You’re cut,” Aziraphale says thoughtfully. “What for?”

“Should I not be?” Crowley asks dizzily. He can change that.

“No,” Aziraphale says, his fingers doing something very clever around the base of Crowley’s—shaft, dick, cock, whatever. He should pick a word, definitely. At least he should pick a word before Aziraphale’s comes into play, which he’s fairly certain it’s going to, though he’s not quite clear on the appropriate “when”. “It’s just interesting.”

“‘Interesting’,” Crowley echoes warily, and also breathlessly because he is feeling very warm and very strange all of a sudden. But interesting is good, right? He wants Aziraphale to think he’s interesting.

“Yes,” Aziraphale says, leaning over to kiss his cheek. Crowley’s fingers twitch. Aziraphale’s fingers twist.

“Oh, oh,” Crowley manages, arm dropping away from his eyes accidentally. Aziraphale hums against his cheek, those slicksticky fingers moving up and down and up and down and—“OH.”

“Are you paying attention, my dear?” Aziraphale asks as he straightens back up.

“Yes,” Crowley possibly lies, because if there’s anything to be paying any attention to besides Aziraphale’s hand, he is not even slightly aware of it.

“Good,” Aziraphale says. His fingers keep moving.

“Nrghhhhh,” Crowley manages, pushing his head back into the floor and his hips up into Aziraphale’s hand, which tightens around him. His body has not remembered how to breathe yet. He grabs Aziraphale’s wrist, mostly just for something to hold onto, and Aziraphale rubs his thumb someplace very sensitive and oh, oh, oh

Something white-hot and bright tears through Crowley, and for a second he thinks Aziraphale’s pulled his wings out but no, it’s something else, something hot and near-painful and intensely physical. It tears a strangled cry out of his throat and something out of his gut or heart or both, and Aziraphale keeps stroking him through it until it’s all suddenly too much and Crowley is gasping and shaking.

“You really haven’t done this before,” Aziraphale says, letting go of him, and Crowley’s eyes snap open.

“Did I do it wrong?” he manages dizzily. Aziraphale laughs.

“No, my dear, you did it exactly right,” he assures him, a warm rush of relief passing through Crowley at his answer, and then lifts his hand to his mouth. It’s still slick and covered in something white and wet and—covered in come, Crowley realizes a beat late, because his brain’s a warm, foggy mess and it takes him that beat to actually catch up. Why is Aziraphale—

Aziraphale licks his fingers. Crowley’s brain fries in his skull. Aziraphale sucks his fingers into his mouth one by one until they’re all clean, and then drags his tongue up his palm to get the last of it.

“You could’ve miracled that away,” Crowley says stupidly.

“I rather like the taste,” Aziraphale says, licking his lips.

“Nrgh,” Crowley says. Aziraphale smiles down at him.

“Do you want to try?” he asks.

“Yes,” Crowley says immediately, and Aziraphale’s smile widens. Crowley rolls to his side, body overheated and clumsy, and fumbles for the button of the other’s slacks. Aziraphale’s already hard inside them, and Crowley is very aware of the warmth of his body. Aziraphale leans back against the sofa and pets a hand through his hair, which nearly makes Crowley start shaking again. He pushes into the contact instinctively, before he can think better of the reaction, and Aziraphale drags his fingers against his scalp and then he ends up shaking after all.

“There you are,” Aziraphale says warmly as Crowley works his zipper down.

“Here I am,” Crowley says, licking his lips anxiously as he stares at Aziraphale’s . . . cock, he’ll go with cock. He was not previously aware that he liked the way cocks looked, but apparently he does. He is aware that he is going to say a lot of stupid things during this if he doesn’t watch himself. He knows enough about sex to know there’s a pretty simple solution for that problem, though. “I don’t want to use my hand.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says, his eyebrows shooting up immediately. “Oh, well, if you insist.”

“I insist,” Crowley says, and leans in and wraps his mouth around Aziraphale’s cock. Aziraphale immediately pushes his hand through his hair again, and Crowley can’t repress a moan. Moaning is probably a stupid thing to do, but he’s only got so much self-restraint, alright? That’s not a very demonic thing, is self-restraint.

He doesn’t really know what to do, aside from the obvious parts, but Aziraphale doesn’t seem to be complaining. Crowley bobs his head and tries to imitate what Aziraphale had done to him with his fingers with his tongue and nearly chokes, but Aziraphale just keeps petting him the same shudder-inducing way.

“Oh, that’s lovely, you’re doing very well,” Aziraphale says. Crowley whines, because with his mouth all full he can’t bite it back, and Aziraphale’s fingers drag heavier against his scalp. “Would you press your tongue up a little bit tighter, my dear?”

Crowley does, obviously, and Aziraphale's voice is so—“Ah, yes, just like that, you’re doing wonderfully.”

Crowley was really only trying to keep himself from saying anything too stupid, doing this, but now he’s thinking it’s the best idea he’s ever had. He shifts over a bit more to get a better angle and swallows Aziraphale’s cock that little bit deeper, and Aziraphale lets out a pleased, breathy noise that sends tingles all up and down his spine. His own cock drags against the soft fabric of the rug, and he’s almost surprised to feel it twitch. He thinks he might be about to get hard again. He’s not sure how that works, exactly.

Aziraphale cards his fingers through his hair. Crowley is certain he’s about to get hard again.

“You’re so sweet,” Aziraphale murmurs, and Crowley rolls his tongue up and bobs his head a little faster, and Aziraphale sighs. “I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long. You’re such a darling to let me.”

Crowley squirms against the floor. Aziraphale’s cock twitches in his mouth, and he tries to swallow him deeper still. Aziraphale keeps murmuring to him, and keeps stroking his hair.

“Such a darling,” he says. “Your mouth feels so good. May I take your glasses off?”

Crowley makes a noise around his cock and leaves it up to Aziraphale to interpret. Aziraphale shudders, then very carefully takes off his sunglasses and sets them aside. It occurs to Crowley that might’ve been a bad idea, except then Aziraphale fucking smiles at him and no, never mind, this was the perfect idea. This was the exact right idea to have.

“Aren’t you a pretty sight,” Aziraphale murmurs, sliding a thumb over the corner of his mouth and pushing his hair back off his forehead. Crowley tries to swallow him so deep he nearly chokes, and Aziraphale sighs. “Oh, Crowley.”

Crowley really might choke, if he’s not careful. Getting Aziraphale to sigh like that again would be worth it, though.

“Yes, yes, there you are, don’t stop,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley works his mouth up and down the other’s length greedily, fingers digging into his soft thighs and hips grinding into the rug. It’s a little painful, but it feels good. Aziraphale’s hands on his face and in his hair aren’t painful at all, and feel amazing.

Crowley can hardly take his eyes off him. The way Aziraphale’s shoulders press back against the sofa, and the way he bites his lip, and the way he’s looking back at Crowley like he’s just as hungry to see more as he is.

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale murmurs, and then flicks his eyes down Crowley’s body and—“Are you getting off on this?”

Crowley has no idea, but releases Aziraphale’s cock long enough for his body to catch the breath it only technically needs, his forked tongue hanging out of his mouth as he pants. Aziraphale gives him a terribly fond look, stroking his fingers along his jaw and then hooking his thumb in the corner of his mouth in a way that Crowley is definitely getting off on, fuck if he knows why.

“Is that a yes?” he asks, and Crowley nods helplessly, grinding his hips into the rug again. He feels like he’s a snake again, like he’s creeping up on Aziraphale in Eden. Or being crept up on, maybe. “Come now, my dear, that can’t be comfortable.”

Aziraphale tugs at his shoulders. Crowley follows the tugging, because Aziraphale could put him just about anywhere right now and he’d go. Aziraphale could put him in holy water and he thinks he’d go.

“Oh, look at you,” Aziraphale says admiringly as he straightens up, looking at Crowley’s erection, which twitches under the attention. Crowley makes a strangled noise. Aziraphale runs his hands down his sides. Crowley might die. At least, he’s pretty sure he has to restart his body’s heart. “May I?”

“Yes,” Crowley says without actually knowing what Aziraphale’s asking, and Aziraphale miracles his buttons open and presses a kiss to his bared chest. He tugs at the waistband of Crowley’s pants, and Crowley struggles to help him push them down. He’s never wearing pants this tight again. He’s never wearing pants again. He’ll go back to robes and togas, or just switch to skirts. Anything he can hike up for easy access.

Actually, that’s a good idea, he thinks, and snaps his fingers. Aziraphale laughs in surprise as his clothes change under his hands.

“Isn’t this your nanny outfit?” he asks in amusement.

“Would a toga have been better?” Crowley asks, and Aziraphale laughs again and tugs him down to be kissed. Crowley melts into him, and Aziraphale hikes up his skirt for him.

“You do look lovely in this outfit,” he muses. “I hate to muss it up.”

“I can miracle it clean,” Crowley says.

“You might need to,” Aziraphale says in a tone of voice that makes something in Crowley’s gut tighten.

“I could finish you off,” Crowley says, licking his lips. His tongue might still be a little forked.

“Could we do something we’ll both like, perhaps?” Aziraphale asks. “If you’re interested.”

“Yes,” Crowley says. Aziraphale kisses him again. He kisses back. It’s clumsy on his end, but Aziraphale doesn’t seem to mind. Aziraphale hooks his fingers into his underwear and the probably unnecessary stockings and tugs them down, and Crowley shudders.

“I’d like to come inside you,” Aziraphale says. “If that’s alright.”

Crowley’s nodding before he even really registers what he’s agreeing to, but once he does he just nods harder. It’ll hurt, he’s sure—he’s heard enough to know that—but he really doesn’t care about that. He’s a demon, after all. He can stand much worse pain for much less reward.

“Thank you, my dear. You’re so good to me,” Aziraphale says, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. Crowley could fucking swoon, he thinks, except Aziraphale would get too much satisfaction out of it, the bastard. He kicks off his shoes and stands up long enough to get out of the stockings and underwear, and Aziraphale kisses the inside of his thigh and Crowley melts. He’s going to be a puddle by the time this is over. He might be a puddle before this is over.

He sits down on Aziraphale’s thighs, and Aziraphale slides his hands down his sides and kisses him again. Crowley kisses back and nearly forgets everything else, because he is kissing Aziraphale and that might just be the most important thing that’s happened to him in the past six thousand years. It’s definitely the most gratifying.

Aziraphale’s hands disappear beneath Crowley’s skirt, and Crowley nearly bites his tongue in half.

“Oh,” he says.

“I still can’t believe you’ve never let anyone do this before,” Aziraphale says, nuzzling into his throat. Crowley isn’t really sure what to do with his hands, so just holds on tight to the other’s shoulders.

“You never asked before,” he says, and Aziraphale makes the happiest sound. It goes straight to his cock, which is not a place he would’ve expected something like that to go.

“You really are a treasure,” Aziraphale says, leaning back enough to look up at him with that besotted look again. Crowley squirms under it, and squirms more under the feeling of Aziraphale’s suddenly-slick fingers brushing in between his thighs. He doesn’t really know how this works outside of vague secondhand knowledge, but while it’s a little nerve-wracking, it’s hard to get too nervous with Aziraphale so sure of himself. He can trust Aziraphale, after all.

Aziraphale slips a finger inside of him, and Crowley’s startled by how easy it goes. He waits for the pain, but Aziraphale crooks his finger and starts rubbing and instead—

“Oh,” Crowley chokes, practically falling into the other as sparks go off behind his eyes. “That—how are you doing that?!”

“Prostate,” Aziraphale says helpfully. “It’s a very useful little gland. Very sensitive, isn’t it?”

“Bit of an understatement,” Crowley manages. His cock is aching. Aziraphale works another warm, slick finger inside of him, and it still doesn’t hurt. Crowley was much more prepared for it to hurt than he is for it to feel like this. He tries to hold still, but it’s very hard to.

“Feels alright?” Aziraphale asks, his free hand stroking across the small of Crowley’s back. Crowley does not even have the words for how alright it feels.

“It’s alright,” he manages stupidly, and Aziraphale twists his fingers and oh, oh, ohhhhh . . .

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale says, pressing a kiss to his chest. Crowley’s hands fist in the other’s jacket. He was definitely not prepared for this, and he’s even less prepared for how careful Aziraphale is being. Which—really, he should’ve known, what else would Aziraphale be but careful, but all the same. This shouldn’t be so controlled, should it? It’s lust. He should already be on his back or his knees with Aziraphale shoving in deep and—

But it’s not just lust, of course.

Of course.

Crowley hides his face against Aziraphale’s messy curls, and Aziraphale presses a kiss to the corner of his jaw and works another finger into him. It’s more of a stretch, but it still refuses to hurt. Maybe that’s an angel thing. Maybe Aziraphale is really just being that careful with him. Maybe . . .

“Azzzzziraphale,” Crowley says. It comes out cracked and hissing.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, nuzzling into his throat, twisting and rocking his fingers inside him. Crowley is panting. He’s not sure when that started happening. “You’re doing so well, my dear, I’m so proud of you.”

Crowley makes a noise he can’t even define, except as “embarrassing”, and Aziraphale kisses up the length of his neck and rocks his fingers in deeper.

“Your fingers—” Crowley croaks, and Aziraphale kisses his jaw.

“Yes, my dear?” he asks as mildly as he’d ask if Crowley wanted to go to lunch. More mildly than he’d ask Crowley to go to lunch, in fact. Crowley buries a strangled sound in his hair, fists twisting tighter in the other’s jacket. “Oh, you do sound so pretty today. Let me hear, won’t you?”

Just like that, Crowley loses any chance of keeping any dignity in this situation, and the next noise he makes is an unrestrained moan. Aziraphale makes a pleased little sound in response, and Crowley aches.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale says as if Crowley’s just done him some kind of favor. He reclaims his fingers from inside him and Crowley whines in disappointment at the loss of them, feeling cheated. “Would you like to lay down for this, or would you prefer to stay in my lap?”

Crowley stops feeling cheated. He thinks about it for all of a second, but the idea of staying in Aziraphale’s lap is immediately the more attractive one. If he’s in Aziraphale’s lap, he’ll have more control. If he has more control, Aziraphale might—Aziraphale will probably—

He shudders, and buries his face in the other’s hair again.

Aziraphale will be pleased with him, if he does well.

“Lap,” he manages raspily, and Aziraphale hums soft acknowledgement and puts his hands under his skirt and on his hips, tugging them closer even as he adjusts the way he’s sitting himself. He’s only half-hard now—not enough stimulation, Crowley assumes—but he puts a hand on his cock and gives it a few hypnotic strokes, spreading slickness up and down its length, and that solves that well enough.

If Crowley weren’t plenty hard already, that would certainly solve it for him.

“Come here,” Aziraphale says, and the next thing Crowley knows the head of Aziraphale’s cock is rubbing up against him, pressing inside him, and he’s too overwhelmed to do anything but cling to him. “There you are, my dear. Oh, you feel lovely.”

“You’re big,” Crowley says stupidly, and tries to figure out what to do with his hips. He needs to move, obviously, but he doesn’t know how to move so it’ll be best for Aziraphale.

“A bit, I suppose,” Aziraphale says, like he’s just commenting on the weather or an appetizer and not the size of the cock he’s pushing into Crowley inch by inch. It’s bigger than Crowley’s, which he’d already known just from looking at it, but it feels even bigger than it’d looked.

It still doesn’t hurt at all.

Crowley really—he really doesn’t know what to do about that.

He tries to move. Aziraphale squeezes his hips.

“Give yourself a moment,” Aziraphale murmurs. “It’ll be better if you adjust first.”

Crowley believes him. He’s sitting in Aziraphale’s lap in the middle of his bookshop after the end of the world, impossibly aware of the other’s hands on his hips and cock hot and hard inside him, and he thinks he’d believe anything he said right now.

He wants to squirm. He wants to move. He’s not sure how long to wait.

Aziraphale puts a hand on his cock and starts stroking it, and Crowley keens. He wants to bite it back, but Aziraphale wants to hear it and that is so much more important.

“Lovely,” Aziraphale says again.

“Azzzzzziraphale,” Crowley pants. “Aziraphale, Aziraphale, Aziraphale—”

“Are you ready?” Aziraphale says.

“Yesssssss,” Crowley hisses. His hips flex reflexively, and Aziraphale sighs warmly and rolls his up. His cock drags inside him, and Crowley moans. His hips stutter as he tries to work out a rhythm—he knows there’s supposed to be a rhythm—and Aziraphale’s hands tug lightly at him and pull him into his. It feels very, very good.

“Yes, there you are, just like that,” Aziraphale says. “Does that feel alright?”

“It feels alright,” Crowley says, though “alright” is really not enough to cover it.

“I’m so glad,” Aziraphale says. Crowley bites his lip. He moves his hips. Aziraphale’s eyes flutter shut, and he lets out another one of those sighs that Crowley might just lose his mind over. “Oh, Crowley. You’re wonderful.”

“Told you I could do it,” Crowley says, trying to sound breezy. Aziraphale huffs out a laugh and leans back to look up at him with a warm little smile, rubbing his thumbs along the bones of his hips.

“I never doubted you,” he says easily. “You’re doing marvelously.”

“Yeah,” Crowley says breathlessly, staring back at him. Aziraphale is lightly flushed and looks deliciously rumpled from all the clutching and clinging that Crowley’s been doing, and is somehow even more beautiful than usual. Crowley doesn’t remember exactly when he started seeing Aziraphale as beautiful, but he’s pretty sure Eden and that flaming sword were involved. He’d never thought anyone was beautiful, before Aziraphale. He’s never thought anyone was beautiful since Aziraphale.

Aziraphale is it. The one and only one.

Crowley can’t imagine how it could be anyone else.

“My dearest,” Aziraphale says, lifting a hand to touch his face, and Crowley’s hips stutter. He wants more. He wants everything Aziraphale wants to give.

“Say that again,” he manages, and Aziraphale smiles at him.

“My dearest,” he says, and strokes his thumb along the curve of Crowley’s cheekbone. Crowley shudders. His hips move entirely of their own volition, and he grinds down into Aziraphale’s lap over and over and over again and Aziraphale meets him every time, and every time feels even better than the last time. He wants both their clothes gone, but he’d have to concentrate to manage even that minor a miracle, and he’s really in no state to concentrate right now.

“Azzzzziraphale,” he hisses, unable to focus on anything else—nothing but Aziraphale underneath him, Aziraphale inside him, Aziraphale, Aziraphale, just Aziraphale—

“You’re so good,” Aziraphale says reverently. Crowley comes again just like that, cock practically untouched, and nearly wails with it. Aziraphale looks delighted. “Beautiful,” he says, and Crowley rides that one word all the way through his aftershocks.

“A. Azira. Aziraphale,” he manages after a few false starts, feeling warm and heavy and like he’s about to fall apart. “Am I doing it right?”

“You’re perfect,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley shudders. “May I?”

“Yes,” Crowley says, again without knowing what he’s agreeing to. Which is probably a bad idea, except it’s Aziraphale.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale says, and the next thing Crowley knows he’s flat on his back on the rug with his skirt bunched up around his hips and legs wrapped around Aziraphale’s waist and Aziraphale is fucking into him over and over in short, urgent thrusts and still talking. “Oh, yes, you feel so good, I knew you’d be wonderful but you’re amazing, Crowley, have I told you that yet? You’re the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You could say it again,” Crowley says with affected casualness, although his voice cracks a little in the middle on Aziraphale’s next thrust. Frankly he’s impressed it’s only a little.

“You’re amazing,” Aziraphale says, immediately and earnestly. Crowley doesn’t think his body could come again but he feels like it could come again. “You’re more amazing than anyone else I’ve ever met. And you were right about everything, we were always on our own side.”

“Nnnn,” Crowley chokes out, biting down on his hand. Aziraphale kisses the back of it and pulls him in tight and comes inside him, and Crowley shudders. Aziraphale presses kiss after kiss to his face, breathing heavy and warm against his skin, and Crowley screws his eyes shut and just keeps shuddering. Aziraphale kisses his eyelids with incredible tenderness, the bastard.

“Amazing,” Aziraphale murmurs one last time as he pulls his softening cock out of him, and Crowley can’t repress a disappointed moan. “Oh, my dear, you flatter me.”

“Look who’s talking,” Crowley says. He’s sweaty and sticky and feels very strange. He wants to laugh, he thinks, but not because anything’s all that funny. He wants Aziraphale back inside him again already.

Aziraphale kisses his cheek.

“You really did do very well,” he says, and Crowley’s chest tightens. “I’m very proud of you.”

“Sssssshut up,” Crowley says, hiding his face in the other’s shoulder. Aziraphale nuzzles his temple.

“About how wonderful you are?” he asks. “Never.”

“You’re goddamned impossible,” Crowley says.

“We get to do what we like, now,” Aziraphale says, shifting to the side to lay down beside him and running a hand down his chest. “And I like telling you nice things.”

“Demons aren’t nice,” Crowley says.

“I love you,” Aziraphale says. Crowley . . . blinks.

“What?” he says.

“I love you,” Aziraphale says again, immediate and easy. There’s no doubt in him at all. “And you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“Oh.” Crowley blinks again. He stares up at the bookshop ceiling. Aziraphale shifts in close against his side and kisses his throat, his arm a warm, secure weight across Crowley’s stomach. Crowley keeps staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t know what else to do. Is he supposed to say it back?

“Would you like to take this upstairs?” Aziraphale says.

“What’s upstairs?” Crowley asks blankly. He feels Aziraphale smile against his skin.

“The bedroom, my dear,” he says.

“Oh,” Crowley says, turning red. “Wha—again?”

“As many times as we can,” Aziraphale says. “If that’s alright with you.”

“I love you too,” Crowley says abruptly, half-expecting the words to burn him as badly as any holy water, and Aziraphale pushes himself up on his elbows and smiles down at him. He’s beautiful, and a bastard, and even after six thousand years can still make Crowley feel just the same way he did that first day in Eden, talking about where the sword had gone and which one of them had done the right thing and covering his head when the rain started.

“Thank you for telling me,” Aziraphale says. “I know that must’ve been hard.”

“I’ve done harder,” Crowley says, because he definitely has, and Aziraphale’s smile widens. He brushes a hand through Crowley’s hair. Crowley pushes into the contact.

“I know,” Aziraphale says. “But I still appreciate it.”

“Okay,” Crowley says, his eyes flicking restlessly over the other’s face for signs of . . . he’s not sure, exactly, what he’s looking for. Whatever it is, he doesn’t find it. There’s only warmth and affection there.

“I did mean it, you know,” Aziraphale says. “Everything I said.”

“I know,” Crowley says, and really does.