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only thing that can quench my thirst

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as if i’ve never said the words, i want - i want you first
only thing that can quench my thirst: i want you first, i want you first


“Please, angel. Please.”

He was kneeling, sunglasses off, hands open: he was on his knees in front of Aziraphale, who was wringing his hands together, seated at his desk, completely uncertain.

“I’m not at all sure it’s a good idea—”

“We’ve done it before.”

“By accident. And it left its mark on you.”

Hell, yes, it had: his ears had rung for a week, he’d seen spots and flashes before his eyes for longer still, he’d felt sunburnt right through to the heart of him, and it really didn’t matter at all, because:

“It was fucking incredible.”

Aziraphale puffed an exasperated breath and stood up, nearly knocking Crowley sprawling; he moved as if preoccupied, not entirely aware that he had a body or that Crowley did. That was a good sign. Perhaps his attention was Elsewhere. Crowley could work with that.

He nudged: “And you liked it too.”

Aziraphale turned to him, face anguished: “That doesn’t mean we should do it again!”

He let himself sprawl back on the ground, laughing. “Doesn’t it? If I like things, I usually want to do them as much as possible.”

“But I don’t know what it will do to you. In the long run, I mean.”

He gestured to himself. “Hasn’t done much. Here I am, large as life and twice as clever.”

“Perhaps you’re not thinking straight. Perhaps you’re addicted.”

“What, to you? Nonsense.”

“Not to me,” said Aziraphale, slightly scandalized. “No. To... well, you know.”

Crowley pursed his lips. “Can’t see how I could be. My supply was cut off long ago.”

Aziraphale shot him a look and started pacing again. His shoes clipped across the floor, steps sharp and quick; Crowley watched him go and leaned back on his arms, waiting.

“And what if we’re found out?”

“What if we are? Who could object to an angel showing a demon a bit of what he’s missing?”

Aziraphale looked at him, blinking rapidly. “I’m quite certain Heaven would not approve—”

“So add it to the list,” said Crowley.

“Oh, you’re impossible.”

Crowley inclined his head, accepting his due, and Aziraphale pressed his lips together, hiding—ah? Yes. Hiding a smile. Good. Good. Now Crowley could push himself up to his feet, crouching on his haunches, and smile back up at him:

“I’m ready for you. Ready to receive your blessings.”

“Oh, stop,” said Aziraphale, but now he was looking at the windows, at the shop door. He was thinking about it, Crowley could tell. Wasn’t hard to tempt the angel, getting easier every decade.

“I can wait, you know. But I’d rather not. I want to see you. I want to worship you.”

That brought a flush to Aziraphale’s cheeks. “Don’t blaspheme.”

Crowley just smiled, letting his eyes widen, and Aziraphale’s eyes widened in response.

“Oh, dear...”

He had him now.

“Give me just a moment—”

Shutters dropped over the windows. The door opaqued with a thick smear of dust. A. Z. Fell’s was no longer open for business. A. J. Crowley very much was.

“I’m waiting for you, angel,” he said softly, and Aziraphale looked at him, mouth opening, and swallowed hard.

“All right. All right. But if it’s too much for you—”

“I’ll say the word. I promise.”

“All right.” Aziraphale closed his eyes, breathed slowly, opened them again. “Very well, then.”

And then he—

And he, oh, he—

Washed over with divine brightness, back arched and screaming, the demon Crowley was basked in the illumination of the Principality Aziraphale, wings expanding, all eyes opening, glory streaming, and the song, the song, the song—

Immolation (but one can’t burn fire itself)—

Purification (but one can’t purify evil)—

Transfiguration (but one cannot transform that which has no true form, which only, instead, assumes, imitates, pretends)—

—oh!—

—ángele dei, quit custos es mei, me, tibi commissum pietáte supérna—

—hodie illúmina, custódi, rege et gubérna

“Amen!” he screamed, mouth dissolving, “Aziraphale! Amen, amen!”

—and it all condensed to a single briefly blinding point of light—

—and then Aziraphale had him caught in his arms, was sinking down with him to the floor, soft and warm and solid, wrapping him up and pulling him close as Crowley gasped into his shirt.

“I knew it would be too much. I knew it. Why did I let you—”

Crowley reached up, covered his mouth; managed to pull himself up until he was level with Aziraphale’s terrified face.

“Wonderful, angel. Wonderful.”

Behind a haze of sunspots, Aziraphale looked at him, unbelieving, but less afraid; then, somehow, proud.

Crowley collapsed into his lap.



truly wishin’ that you’d listen when i sweetly ask you to
striptease for me baby
striptease for me baby
striptease for me baby
aaaah...