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Crowley wasn't in the habit of calling things glorious. The term was altogether too reminiscent of the whole heavenly infrastructure he'd spent so long ostensibly trying to thwart. But glorious really was the best word he could find for Aziraphale's face when Crowley palmed his cock in just the way he had learned Aziraphale liked best.

In those moments Aziraphale wore an expression of bliss verging on surprise, which told Crowley one of two things. Either Aziraphale hadn't done this often... or his previous partners hadn't taken the time to really learn what he liked. Either way, Crowley was seeing a side of Aziraphale that few had been privileged to see. He craved that, jealously; he felt selfishly gratified that this view of Aziraphale was all his.

There really wasn't much in all the worlds more glorious than that. Unless it was the sounds Aziraphale made when Crowley licked his cock from root to tip. Or possibly the way Aziraphale's cock felt beneath his hands when he was right on the edge and about to come.

Crawley had dedicated a great deal of energy to discovering exactly how Aziraphale liked his cock to be handled, in the two weeks since they'd started being -- on their own side, together. Really very spectacularly together.

Tonight they'd strolled into a miraculous reservation at the most in-demand restaurant in London, where they had opted for a sumptuous seven-course tasting menu with wine pairings. All evening, Crowley had been enjoying Aziraphale's murmurs and exclamations. All evening he'd been half-hard, watching Aziraphale enjoy himself. Crowley intended to wrest even sweeter sounds of rapture from Aziraphale's mouth as soon as they returned to his flat.

And Aziraphale knew it, too. He'd made a show of his pleasure for Crowley’s benefit. ("You are wicked," Crawley murmured admiringly after watching him linger over licking a drop of cream from his thumb. "I am not; I'm exactly as She made me," Aziraphale retorted, archly.)

Oh, Crowley had been looking forward to getting his hands on Aziraphale's cock for hours. He'd been imagining it in exquisite detail.

Which was why everything ground to a halt when he pushed Aziraphale up against his bedroom door, kissing him, grinding against him, and found...

Well, didn't find, more like it. Crowley's thigh pushed between Aziraphale's, and Aziraphale was grinding back with equal fervor, but there was no cock there.

Crowley broke the kiss.

"Something wrong?" Aziraphale's lips were reddened and his bowtie was loose and part of Crowley wanted nothing more than to keep ravishing him. But.

"Aren't you -- missing something?" Crowley asked, nudging inward with his thigh.

"'s new moon," Aziraphale said, as though that were an answer, and moved in to kiss him again.

Crowley broke the kiss again. "Angel," he said flatly, "where is your cock."

"Standard oscillation," Aziraphale said.

"I beg your pardon?"

Aziraphale pursed his lips. "Oh dear. You mean you don't -- did it stop when you Fell?"

"Did what stop?" Now Crowley was confused, and the confusion distracted him from his arousal, and that was irritating.

Aziraphale sighed. "Let me sober us up." He concentrated for a moment and Crowley felt his pleasant wine-mellowness disappear. "Tea," Aziraphale said, decisively, and Crowley nodded and took a step back to let Aziraphale lead the way.

By the time they reached the sofa, Aziraphale had miracled a pair of cups of their usual: espresso with a twist of lemon for Crowley, milky Earl Grey for Aziraphale. "Look," Crowley said, "I don't care what your -- bits are." He gestured vaguely with the hand that wasn't holding the cup. "But... oscillation? What on earth are you talking about?"

"Ever since the Beginning," Aziraphale said. "When I was stationed with the flaming sword."

"I remember it," Crowley said, a bit impatiently. He wanted to know what was going on. And at the same time, he was still hoping to ravish Aziraphale, and this explanation seemed pitched to take longer than he had in mind.

"It's like it says in Scripture."

"I haven't exactly been studying holy writ the last six thousand years," Crowley pointed out.

"God stationed me east of the Garden, and gave me the sword, turning, to guard the path to the Tree of Life." Aziraphale paused, and then clearly judging that he hadn't been explicit enough, continued. "It all hinges on מתהפכת, 'turning' -- the referent isn't the sword, it's me. It's all of us. Well, what used to be us, when I was on their side."

Now that he thought about it, Crowley did recognize the quotation.[1] And thinking back on the flaming sword, he remembered that it hadn't been turning. It had burned with heavenly fire, to be sure, but it hadn't been rotating. "I did wonder why they said the sword was turning," he admitted, "but I thought that was just the usual human error."

"Oh, they got plenty of things wrong when they wrote it all down," Aziraphale said wryly. "But that sentence was correct; they've just been misreading it, most of them. The sword doesn't oscillate. Angels do."

"I can't believe these words are about to come out of my mouth," Crowley muttered, "but what's your oscillation cycle, then?"

"Two weeks." Aziraphale drank the end of his tea and put his cup neatly down on a coaster.

"So I can't suck your cock until full moon." Crowley didn't mean to pout, but he couldn't help it. He'd been looking so forward.

"Sorry," Aziraphale shrugged one shoulder, not looking particularly regretful. "But I think you'll find these bits quite interesting."

Aziraphale's cheeks were turning pink in a way that piqued Crowley's interest. "Oh?" Crowley prompted.

"I rather enjoy having these parts. They're -- ah. Enjoyable."

Aziraphale using the same word twice in a sentence was a useful tell: incipient arousal was distracting him from dithering about his sentence construction. Crowley moved closer to Aziraphale on the sofa. "Are they."

"Quite," Aziraphale said, and licked his lips.

Crowley was ready to be done with conversation, and that was more than enough of an invitation. He slithered across the sofa, draping himself across Aziraphale and licking into his mouth. Aziraphale responded with fervour, twining his arms around Crowley to hold him precisely where Aziraphale wanted him. Crowley, for his part, was happy to oblige.

After a short while, the sofa began to feel too narrow for what Crowley had in mind. Crowley wanted to stretch out beside Aziraphale and investigate his apparently changed body, and there wasn’t room. He miracled them onto the bed, because he didn’t want to disentangle from Aziraphale long enough to walk down the short hallway. "Mmm," Aziraphale said approvingly, and miracled their clothing into neatly-folded piles on the dresser.

Aziraphale didn't quite have breasts. Aziraphale's nipples were maybe a bit larger than they had been, and his pecs were slightly more voluptuous than before, but his top half still looked mostly like the body that Crowley had committed to memory. Crowley just wasn't entirely sure what to do with the new thing.

"Here, would you --" Aziraphale asked, as he reached for Crowley's hand and guided it. "Two fingers, if you -- oh!" His cheeks reddened as he gasped, closing his eyes as though to better savor the sensation.

Hellfire, Aziraphale was incandescent inside. Crowley's cock twitched, suddenly extremely interested. He withdrew his fingers and then plunged them in again, and Aziraphale rewarded him with a shameless little moan. "You like that," Crowley said, unnecessarily, because he had discovered that Aziraphale liked the way his voice lowered when they were doing these kinds of things.

That, at least, had not changed. Aziraphale shuddered, gratifyingly, and then gasped, "again," so Crowley obliged. And then he tried stroking a bit with his thumb, and Aziraphale convulsed around him, crying out. His blush extended further down his chest now, Crowley noted. Aziraphale had an iron grip on Crowley’s wrist, and he was moving it in tiny circles. The sustained thumb movements seemed to wring forth another orgasm.

Aziraphale opened his eyes, his expression blissful.

"Was that -- two already?" Crowley asked.

"I did say these parts have perks." Aziraphale smiled beatifically. "Now. Come here."

"You're bossy when you've just come," Crowley grumbled, withdrawing his hand and rearranging himself atop Aziraphale.

"I'm always bossy," Aziraphale pointed out, and parted his thighs. "Inside, please."

When Crowley slid home, Aziraphale's hands on his back stroked the join between his material body and his wings. Crowley's wings manifested instantly, shifting out of the ether and into physicality as though Aziraphale had commanded them into presence. Between the sweet friction of how their bodies were joined, and the wicked play of Aziraphale's strong fingers on his sensitive feather-shafts, Crowley saw stars.

In a distant galaxy, a new nebula burst into being, iridescent and glorious. God spoke it into being, of course, and She knew what had called forth its ethereal shimmer, and She smiled.

The next morning when Crowley awoke, he was alone in the bed. (Aziraphale still had little use for sleeping.)

Crowley's black silk pyjama bottoms were waiting on the chair by the bedside, miraculously warm as though fresh from the dryer. Aziraphale knew that he retained his cold-blooded craving for heat even in this form.

Crowley would never have admitted how much he appreciated the thoughtfulness of that little daily miracle. It warmed him in realms beyond the physical. Then again, he didn't need to admit anything at all in words. Aziraphale knew him well enough to understand even the things he didn’t say.

When he padded out to the kitchen, he found Aziraphale already impeccably dressed, drinking tea and immersed in a book. He looked exactly as he had for the last century or so. No one who saw him dressed for work would have any idea what was underneath. Then again, wasn't that always the way? His exterior might look Victorian and buttoned-up, but inside he was made of gloriously toppy candyfloss and molten fire.

And no one got to see that interior but Crowley. (And maybe Her, if She were paying attention, but he preferred not to think too much about that.)

"Good morning, my dear," Aziraphale said.

"It'll do," Crowley agreed.

Aziraphale's eyes gleamed for a moment, and Crowley was certain that he was remembering the night before. "I should say so," Aziraphale said primly, and returned to his book, with a secret smile that only Crowley got to see.