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Accidental

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1964

“So, how are things with the angel?” the demon sitting across from Crowley asked, swirling the wine around in her glass, watching it intently. She was sitting sideways in a chair, her legs dangling over one arm and her back pressed against the other. Waves of dark hair fell toward the floor behind her, and the dim lighting in Crowley’s flat made it impossible to tell where her pupils ended and her irises began. 

Crowley gave her a poisonous look. “You know his name, Livinia.” 

“Aziraphale,” Livinia said, drawing the name out. She looked at Crowley, grinning wickedly. “Does he know you’re in love with him yet?” 

“Nope.” Crowley took a sip of wine, then nodded toward Livinia’s still nearly-full second glass. “Drink up,” he said. “You know I don’t drink white; I only got the stuff in for you.” 

Obediently, Livinia took a long sip, draining nearly half the glass. 

“Good girl,” Crowley said. 

Livinia rolled her eyes. “You’re avoiding my question.” 

“Because nothing’s changed.” Crowley slammed back his own wine, drinking a full glass in one go as if it were a shot of tequila. “I haven’t told him, and I’m not going to tell him. Honestly, Linia, I’m used to it. You know how long I’ve been-” he paused. He still didn’t like to say it. 

“In love with the angel,” Livinia supplied helpfully. 

Crowley grimaced. “Yes. That. You know it’s been ages and ages and ages. I barely even notice it anymore.” 

In a way, it was true. Being in love with Aziraphale was just something that Crowley was. It was an inherent part of him, inescapable and ever-present. He was a demon, he was a motorist, he was a music lover, he was a sunglasses enthusiast, and he was in love with Aziraphale. None of that was negotiable, debatable, or alterable. It simply was. Just facts. Just truths. 

Most of the time, when he was with Aziraphale, he didn't even think about how very much he loved him. He would liken it to listening to good music; when you listened to good music, you didn't spend the whole time thinking I love this song I love this song I love this song, you just enjoyed it and maybe sang along (or hummed along, if it was an instrumental). That was what being with Aziraphale was like. Enjoying a song you'd always loved by an artist you adored and savoring the best bits. 

“But don’t you want more?” Livinia asked, polishing off the glass of wine and helping herself to another. “Don’t you want to kiss him, or, I don’t know, fuck him?” 

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “Bit vulgar, aren’t you? He’s an angel, for fuck’s sake.” 

Livinia waved a hand dismissively. “Angels can have sex if they want to.” 

“How would you know?” 

“Um. I used to be one?” 

Crowley sighed. “Of course I want that,” he said. “I want everything. If something exists in this universe, odds are good that I’ve thought about doing it with Aziraphale.” 

Livinia shook her head. “I just don’t understand how you can want so much and ask for so little. I mean, you’re a demon. We’re not supposed to be good at resisting that kind of thing.” 

“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice.” Crowley poured himself another glass. 

Livinia put her wine down and swung her legs forward, so that she was sitting normally in the chair. She looked Crowley in the eyes, leaning forward with her elbows braced on her knees, her expression serious. “One of these days,” she said, “I’m going to steal your body and tell him myself.” 

“You wouldn’t do that.” 

"You don’t think so?” 

“No, I don’t.” 

Livinia raised her eyebrows inquisitively. 

“Because,” Crowley said, responding to the question he knew was in her mind, “I trust you not to.” 

Livinia fell silent at that. Trust was such a rare commodity among demons, and she and Crowley both knew that they’d never do anything to break the other’s trust in them. They’d been friends nearly since their Fall, and Crowley relied on her more than he liked to admit. 

Crowley nodded toward the wine glass Livinia had set on the floor. “That had better not leave your hand again,” he said. 

Livinia picked up the glass and drained it. Then, as he watched, she squeezed it until it shattered in her hand. A trickle of blood began making its way from her palm to her wrist. 

Crowley clicked his tongue. “Now, what did you do that for? These are my good glasses.” 

“So fix it.” 

“You fix it! You broke it!” 

Livinia just shook her head, a smile curving her mouth. 

"You are such a child,” Crowley said. “At least heal that cut.” 

“No. I want it there.” 

Crowley made a frustrated noise. “Why do you care so much about my relationship with Aziraphale, anyway?” 

The teasing light left Livinia’s eyes and was replaced by a sincerity that almost physically hurt Crowley. “Is it so hard to believe that I want you to be happy?” she asked. 

Crowley broke their eye contact and looked down, staring into his glass. He adored Livinia, but there were certain lines that demons generally didn’t cross when talking to each other, and he was pretty sure she was ignoring all of them right now. “Just forget about it, Linia,” he said softly. “Let’s talk about what you’ve been up to lately. You’ve been making quite a stir, haven’t you?” 

Livinia accepted the subject change. She usually did, when given the opportunity to talk about herself. Though she, like Crowley, was a bit of an unconventional demon, vanity was one demonic quality she’d never had trouble with. “Well,” she said, “I haven’t been up here in a few decades. I had to do something to leave my mark.” 

“Let me guess: you’re behind the whole Beatles thing.” 

Livinia gave a mischievous smile with one side of her mouth. “I might be.” 

“Bloody well done, you.” 

“I also got Malta its independence and am working on inventing Milton Keynes.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Not much, at the moment, but it’ll grow. You’re not the only demon who can create a town, you know.” 

“I’ll have you know that Manchester is a city ,” Crowley said smugly. 

“Oh, whatever. Do you have any more glasses?” 

“Not for you! Fix the one you broke, first!” 

Livinia sighed far more dramatically than the situation called for and snapped her fingers. The glass restored itself, and Crowley picked it up and went to get her some more wine. 


 

“Is it so hard to believe that I want you to be happy?” 

It wasn’t. Crowley may not have had many friends in his existence, but he was absolutely sure that the two he did have - Aziraphale and Livinia - wanted him to be as happy as a demon could be. And he was happy, in general. There was quite a lot he liked about living on Earth; he was definitely happier than he’d be living in Hell like Livinia did most of the time. The only times he felt markedly unhappy occurred when he thought about his illicit, almost-definitely-unrequited feelings for Aziraphale. 

As a consequence, he tried not to think about them all that much, but after Livinia left, Aziraphale was the only thing on his mind. And so, after drinking his bottle of red wine down to the dregs, he miracled himself a second one and started drinking it straight from the bottle, not bothering with a glass now that he no longer had company. 

“Why’re you such an angel, though?” he slurred loudly at the empty walls of his flat, imagining he was talking to Aziraphale even though he’d never say these kinds of things to him. “Why’d you ‘ave t’make me love you s’much?” Why’re you so gorgeous and - hic - perfect and...mmmm, lovely?” 

He was dimly aware of how utterly pathetic this was, but he couldn’t be bothered to sober up and get a grip. He was laying on his back on top of his desk, something - possibly a pen - digging into his shoulder, the cord to his desktop phone wound around his hand, one leg crossed over the other. He wondered vaguely whether he should have asked Livinia to stay - she had a knack for keeping him together, but it was too late for that now. 

“She was right, y’know,” Crowley went on, talking to the ceiling as though Aziraphale might have put a camera up there somewhere. “I do wanna kiss you, and I wanna - hic - hold you, and fall ‘sleep with you, and fuck you...all of it. Wish I could let you know.” Idly, he continued playing with the phone cord. “All of it, angel, everything….. hic . Fuck. ‘M a mess.” 

Crowley closed his eyes and pictured Aziraphale as he’d been when he’d last seen him a few months ago. Handsome as ever, he’d looked, with his white blond hair and old-fashioned clothing. They’d gone out to eat - well, Aziraphale had eaten, Crowley had drunk several cups of coffee and stared at him while he ate. 

He really, really liked coffee. 

Anyway, back to Aziraphale. What would it have been like if he’d had the guts to lean in and kiss him when they’d sat in the restaurant that day? He imagined that Aziraphale would have been surprised at first, but then he would have returned the kiss, because how could he not? There’d be too much passion in any kiss of Crowley’s for him to resist for long. He hoped. 

Crowley swore under his breath and trailed the hand that wasn’t tangled in the phone cord down his body, brushing it over his groin. The thought of kissing Aziraphale was turning him on. If he’d been sober, he probably would have resisted the urge to palm himself, but he wasn’t feeling very rational at the moment, and so he began stroking the outline of his cock through his trousers, feeling it slowly start to wake up. 

Crowley tried to sit up, thinking he might stumble to the bedroom so he could give himself a proper servicing, but just then, his phone rang. Frantically, he struggled to free his hand from the cord. As he was too inebriated to manage it quickly, however, the machine had already picked up by the time he did. 

"Hi, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style.” 

Crowley couldn’t help smiling a little when he heard his recorded message. He loved this new answering machine contraption. 

His smile disappeared immediately when he heard who was calling him. 

“Er, hello. I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, dear boy; what is it I’m supposed to be doing with style? Hello? Crowley?” 

With his newly freed hand, Crowley picked up the phone, his other hand now as far away from his still half-hard cock as he could reasonably get it. “Hello.” 

“Hello, Crowley. What did you mean about-”

“Hi, Aziraphale.” 

“Yes, hello. Again. Um. Are you alright, dear?” 

“Oh, yeah. Fine. Sure.” 

“Riiiight,” Aziraphale said. “Er, listen, dear boy, if this is a bad time-”

“‘S probably - hic - a very bad time, angel.” As much as Crowley would have liked to talk to Aziraphale, he was still self-aware enough to know that it likely wasn’t a good idea to do so when he was laying on his desk, blitzed on wine and sexually aroused. 

“Are you drunk?” Aziraphale asked.

“Mmmm.” 

“I see. Well, perhaps I’ll call back tomorrow?” 

“Do. Yes.” 

“Ok. Goodnight, dear.” 

“Night,” Crowley said, and slammed the phone down before he could say anything else stupid. 

Frustrated, Crowley leaned his head back. His erection hadn’t gone away. He still had it in his head that he’d like to go to his bedroom, but he simply couldn’t be arsed to get off the desk. 

“Oh, screw it,” he muttered, and unbuttoned his trousers. He kicked them off onto the floor and pushed his pants down to his knees, then began running his fingertips lightly over his cock, working to get himself the rest of the way hard. Shutting his eyes again, listening to Aziraphale’s voice in his head, he tried to imagine it saying other things instead. 

"Crowley, kiss me.” 

“Oh, I will,” Crowley replied to the angel’s voice in his head. “I’ll kiss you bloody fucking senseless. All over...your lips, your face, your neck...chest…” 

Fully hard now, Crowley wrapped his hand around his cock and slid it slowly upwards. He bit his lip. “Aziraphale...that feels good.” 

"I want you.” The phantom voice filtered through Crowley’s mind again. 

“Fuck, angel, I’ve wanted you for millennia.” Crowley rubbed his cock with his thumb, then held it with his whole hand again and began pumping it in earnest, changing the angle slightly. “I love you. I’m…. fuck. I’m yours.” 

"You’re mine,” he imagined Aziraphale saying. “Let me take you in my mouth.” 

“Oh, please do,” Crowley moaned, arching his back so much that he lost his grip on his dick for a moment. He grabbed it again quickly and resumed the motion of his hand. “Do anything y’want to me, angel. Please. Anything.” 

As he continued to get himself off, Crowley pictured Aziraphale on his knees, wrapping his mouth around him, sucking him. He saw those blue eyes before him, watching him with love, and he moaned, muffling the sound in his own shoulder, moving his hand faster on himself. 

“Fuck, Aziraphale.” Crowley bit his teeth together as he worked his cock. “Love...angel…” Losing coherence as he got closer to orgasm, Crowley went back to just breathing heavily and moaning occasionally, trying to picture Aziraphale’s hand on him instead, Aziraphale’s lips brushing over his own. 

“Angel...oh, angel... ahh, fuck, just like that…” Crowley gripped his hair with his free hand and came, spasming and groaning loudly until he was finished. He blew out a long breath and didn’t move for several moments, enjoying the feeling of calm that rushed over him as he released his cock. He was pretty sure he could have fallen asleep on the desk, but eventually he miracled himself clean and forced himself to stand up, then stumbled to his bedroom and fell into bed to sleep off the wine. 

 


 

Just over a mile away in Soho, Aziraphale put the phone down with a shaking hand and sank into his desk chair. He dropped his head into his hands and ran them through his hair, which was damp with sweat. He was pretty sure that listening to one’s best friend masturbate was not generally acceptable, and he was already feeling guilty about that - since Crowley had clearly been under the impression that he’d hung up the phone properly - but he felt even guiltier about how difficult it was to resist Making an Effort so that he could masturbate too. He never got erections unless he specifically willed one into being, but he was one hundred percent sure that he would have one now if he were a man instead of an angel inhabiting a male body. God help him, listening to Crowley getting off, moaning, saying Aziraphale’s name in that wrecked, desperate voice - well. It had been fascinating and stimulating and had made his heart race and his blood pound. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath and sat up. He’d have to apologize to Crowley at some point for listening in on something so private. 

He also might have to ask him just how long he’d wanted the same thing Aziraphale did: to furiously kiss and engage in sexual activity with his best friend. 

Yes, he was definitely going to have to call Crowley back soon.