Aziraphale doesn’t quite know what he expected when he first reached down to take Crowley’s hand, both of them walking down one of London’s busy streets, he only knows that it wasn’t this.
Crowley’s fingers are slender, his skin feels cool against Aziraphale’s palm, and for a few moments, their fingers intertwine, as if they had done this a hundred times before.
Something deep within Aziraphale’s chest, buried inside him even further than his heart is, grows lighter, expands and blossoms, but then Crowley freezes in the middle of a step, while Aziraphale is still walking; the demon’s fingers slip from between Aziraphale’s, even though he is trying to hold onto them.
When Crowley catches up to him again, a muttered sorry falling from his lips, his hands are stuffed into his too-small pockets.
Aziraphale doesn’t try to weave their fingers together again.
They’re at the shop, and it’s been hours since the sun set, hours since they started drinking.
Aziraphale is sipping his port, listening to a story Crowley is telling about some concert he visited in the seventies, although Aziraphale still doesn’t know what century he is talking about and it’s nothing he thinks about, just something that happens.
One of his hands is empty while the other holds his glass, and so it seems almost inevitable that Aziraphale finds something to hold onto, and there’s nothing he wants to keep close as much as Crowley.
He reaches out, half fuelled by alcohol, half by love, and puts his hand on Crowley’s forearm, just a simple touch, but it’s enough to make the demon pause.
A second passes, then another, and Aziraphale is just starting to get used to the feeling of cool skin under a soft shirt, the tingles on his fingertips that always seem to accompany touching the demon, but then Crowley shifts, movements as fluid as quicksilver, and Aziraphale’s hand falls to his side.
Something in his chest constricts painfully, his fingers already missing the contact, but the ache does not last for long, because when he looks up at Crowley’s face, the demon’s amber eyes are still glued to his forearm, a whole new kind of craving shining out of them.
It’s that look in Crowley’s eyes that stays with Aziraphale, following him like his own shadow. Since, if he thought that Crowley didn’t want Aziraphale’s hands on him, the angel would stop immediately, keep the desperate need to be closer to Crowley now that he is permitted locked inside his chest forever.
But he has known the demon for so long, has seen him happy and desperate and scared and hurt, and has catalogued every expression, every tilt of Crowley’s mouth and rising of his eyebrows, every break in his voice, for at least three millennia. Aziraphale knows him, better than he has ever known another being, possibly, probably including himself.
And he knows the way Crowley’s eyes linger on his face too long, knows the softness of his voice whenever the demon says his name, knows the moments in which Crowley allows Aziraphale to touch him.
He knows love, has to know love, because he’s made from it, because he feels so much love whenever he looks at Crowley that he feels it drip from his lips, gush from his eyes, seep from every of his pores.
The only thing he does not know is why Crowley, now that Aziraphale is finally free to give it, keeps shying away from him.
When he tries again, it’s not a conscious decision, it’s something that just happens, something he cannot stop, because he doesn’t want to.
Crowley has been gone for not quite a year, but enough months to make Aziraphale miss him dearly, crave the sound of his voice and the sight of his face, to, in idle, intoxicated moments, consider venturing out into the world to find the demon. He could, Aziraphale knows that much, but he doesn’t, decides against it every single time just before walking out of the door, because no matter how much he misses Crowley, he needs to give the demon the space he deserves.
But then he comes back and it’s another story entirely, because there’s a knock on the door and it’s opened although Aziraphale has shouted at the knocker about the shop being closed, and even before he has turned around, Aziraphale knows that it’s Crowley.
It’s a feeling he cannot quite describe, like the first day of spring after a long winter, like a ray of sunshine warming his frozen face; it’s like Aziraphale has forgotten how to breathe and all it took for his lungs to remember the motions was for Crowley to step back into his life.
His first instinct is to call out the demon’s name, but his lips, his tongue don’t seem to work, so instead Aziraphale spins around instead, eyes widening and loving heart picking up its pace, and Crowley is just there, his hair longer and a different pair of glasses on his nose, but still the same, still beautiful.
It takes Aziraphale six steps and maybe half a second until he has his arms wrapped around the demon’s frozen form, pulling Crowley so tightly against his chest that Aziraphale knows neither of them is still able to breathe. But it’s so worth it when Crowley is right there, sharp collarbones pressing against Aziraphale’s shoulders, the smell of cinder and old leather, the affection so intense in Aziraphale’s chest that even if his lungs could expand, he wouldn’t be able to breathe.
And Crowley hugs him back, whatever the demon has been carrying falling to the floor next to him as slender arms wrap themselves around Aziraphale’s middle and hold onto him as if he was the only thing still keeping Crowley from drowning.
It’s a sentiment that Aziraphale shares completely.
For a few moments, the world around them is calm, beautiful, filled with the love Aziraphale has wanted to let spill for so long now, and Aziraphale is considering if they cannot stay like this for a day, a week, a century, just wrapped around each other, but then Crowley stiffens in his embrace, feels like he cracks, splinters under Aziraphale’s touch.
When Crowley pulls away, his heart broken, shattered on his sleeve, it’s no surprise, but hurts nonetheless.
However, Crowley doesn’t leave.
He doesn’t leave because after a night of gin and champagne and sake, when they both know that Crowley should go back to his own flat, the demon still looks like he is desperate to stay and Aziraphale feels like the mere thought of being without Crowley is tearing him apart.
So, he asks Crowley to stay, and can almost feel the relief flowing from the other in waves; it mixes with his own when Crowley agrees.
He stays and they have another bottle of Pinot Noir before they go out for breakfast, have waffles and espresso and fresh strawberries with cream. Crowley shares his last waffle with Aziraphale when he has finished his already, while Aziraphale removes the little, green leaves from the strawberries before he lets Crowley have them.
If, just occasionally, he miracles them a little bit juicier, sweeter, the demon never has to know.
All the while, Crowley talks about the things he’s seen, the places he’s visited. He talks about Moscow and Shanghai and Casablanca, he talks about never-visited grottos and exotic fish and deserts so vast one can lose themselves in them, and Aziraphale doesn’t know why it hurts, but it does.
It cuts into some part of his heart that Aziraphale thought hidden, rubs it raw, but Crowley talks so animatedly, laughs and smiles so freely that Aziraphale can’t do anything but swallow down the ache, drown it with another sip of coffee. Because he missed Crowley, so fiercely that everything is worth it, has to be worth it, if it means seeing the demon smile, look at Aziraphale over the rim of his glasses with his amber eyes soft and happy.
Once, twice, Aziraphale catches himself just before he reaches out and tries to take Crowley’s hand, slip his own fingers between the demon’s.
He’d still like to, craves to just feel that Crowley is right there with him, solid and real, but the risk is too great.
They don’t talk about it, but when they leave the restaurant around noon, Crowley returns to the bookshop with Aziraphale.
It seems natural, something Aziraphale doesn’t even think about until they are walking through the doors and he turns around to ask Crowley if he wants to have a cup of tea and realises how incredibly lucky he is that the demon is still there.
For a moment, he cannot speak, but Crowley doesn’t seem to notice, just smiles at Aziraphale, his posture relaxed, his sunglasses having disappeared.
It’s one of the things Aziraphale is grateful for every single time, being allowed to see the demon’s eyes, and so he relishes in it now, drinks in the sight of gold and amber, a whole universe hidden behind them.
There is a moment of silence, something that seems to happen far too seldom for Aziraphale’s taste nowadays, then Crowley’s thin lips move to form a perfect circle, something like realisation passing over his face.
He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his too-tight trousers, pulls something from them that he holds out.
“I almost forgot, I got you something. It’s a bit silly, I know, but you had one just like it ages ago, and I think you mentioned that you lost it…”
Aziraphale steps closer so he can see what Crowley is offering for him to take, a small trinket made from gold, a brooch that looks eerily familiar and yet it takes Aziraphale a few moment to recognise it. Two wings, perfect to adorn a toga, a subtle hint of one’s identity if worn by an angel.
It’s not his the one he misplaced centuries ago, of course it isn’t, the wings are not quite the right angle and the whole thing slightly larger than Aziraphale’s used to be, but it’s close enough that Aziraphale must assume it was made by the same artist.
“Oh…”, breathes out, reaches out to take the brooch from Crowley’s hand, feels its weight, the scratches that time has left on the polished surface. He hasn’t thought about it in ages, because it is nothing but a trinket, a memory of a time the world around them has forgotten, but Crowley remembering it suddenly makes it mean something more. “Where did you find it? Didn’t I- oh my, I think I lost mine in Pompeii, a few dozen years before that dreadful thing with the volcano.”
“Yeah, I know”, Crowley says and his smile has gotten more tender, his eyes seemingly glowing with adoration. “I was there. Drunk off my arse, but then again, so were you. When you realised you lost it you said something like, and I think this is a direct quote, Never will I look upon something this exquisite ever again, oh Crowley, why do I keep losing everything that I hold dear?”
A moment passes in which Aziraphale sorts through the memories he has of Pompeii, of a woman’s sweet smile, the feeling of wind and sun on his skin, of ash and the taste of the sea, until he has found the one that Crowley means.
Slowly, a smile spreads across his face, because what Crowley told him is the truth and yet not all of it.
“Your answer was You’ve always found me again.”
Again, there is silence, but this time not soft, not sweet, but charged with the millions of words they should have said since the beginning of time and yet never did.
“Angel…”, Crowley starts, and there is something in his voice that Aziraphale cannot take, not now and maybe not ever again.
It’s not a decision what he does next, it’s a kind of reflex that he has suppressed a thousand times before but hasn’t got the strength to push down another time.
The brooch is still in his hand as he closes the distance between them for the first time, reaches out hand so he can hold Crowley’s face steady as he presses their lips together in a kiss. Crowley’s skin is cool beneath his touch, his lips taste like bitter espresso and strawberries, and Aziraphale feels a part of his very soul burst open, flood him with something that feels like bright colours would taste, vibrant and intense and overwhelming.
It feels right, it feels like coming home, like Aziraphale could stay like this for the rest of eternity and miss not a single thing.
One of Crowley’s hands comes up to lightly rest on his hip, fingers fluttering across the fabric of Aziraphale’s vest like they cannot stay still, and for one beautiful, perfect moment, Crowley kisses him back. The demon’s lips slide against Aziraphale’s, tentative and tender, and Aziraphale tries to pull him closer, drink up Crowley’s closeness, replace his doubts with love.
It works, but then the demon freezes up, all motion halted, even Crowley’s breath seemingly caught in his throat; he is there for another second, maybe two, letting Aziraphale kiss his love onto demonic lips, and then there’s the sound of air rushing into the vacuum Crowley has left behind when he disappeared.
The pain has dulled to a hollow pounding in his chest by the time Aziraphale has reached Crowley’s flat, leaving him more numb than tortured, because there is something more to this.
This is Crowley pushing him away, but not because of lack of feeling; Crowley kissed back, with the same gentle devotion Aziraphale feels when he looks at the demon, unsure how to touch, but wanting to anyway, hands fluttering, lips parting for just the briefest fraction of a second before Crowley vanished.
There is something behind it that Aziraphale doesn’t understand but desperately wants to, because whatever Crowley is holding back, they’ll solve it, they have to.
His heart aches for just the sight of Crowley’s face, the feeling of the demon’s lips against his own, and yet it takes a moment to gather the courage to ring the doorbell.
Aziraphale expects to have to wait, maybe for hours, before Crowley lets him in, but the door flies open almost immediately, Crowley behind it looking as desperate as Aziraphale feels, eyes wide and pained, his lips still slightly flushed from Aziraphale’s kiss.
Neither of them speaks, not for a long while, because there is everything to say but no way to put it into words.
In the end, much to Aziraphale’s surprise, it’s Crowley who speaks first, whispering out the angel’s name as if it was a prayer.
“I’m – “, he adds, voice breaking and Aziraphale’s heart breaking with it, “I’m so sorry, angel, I’m… I can’t, I can’t risk it. Not this. Not you.”
“Risk what?”, Aziraphale asks, voice rising and sounding less angelic and more desperate, more pained. “You don’t have to risk anything. I love you, I have loved you for so long and I know you love me too. I can feel it whenever I am around you, I can see it on your face even now, you love me, and I just can’t understand why you won’t allow me to love you back.”
He’s breathing heavily by the time he has finished, chest heaving, and Crowley is just looking at him, eyes filled with something that Aziraphale cannot decipher, but that makes him ache all over, chokes off his breath and seems to clot his blood, as if pain this intense was enough to shut off the functions of his mortal body.
Aziraphale tries to take a step forwards, towards Crowley, to somehow help, but the demon backs away as if the thought of touching Aziraphale was too much even to consider.
“I’d risk everything”, Crowley hisses, like it’s an answer. “I’d risk you. Hell doesn’t have much sway over me anymore, not after all of this, but Heaven… they can still hurt you, how do you not think about that? You’re still an angel, you’re still theirs, and they can – they can make you Fall. And it’s one thing that we’re friends, that we fraternise, but if they knew that I – if we became more than that, angel, they could do whatever they wanted to you. And I can’t, I cannot let that happen.”
There is fire blazing in Crowley’s amber eyes, fierce and determined, the kind of look Aziraphale knows must have been written across his face when he would not stop asking question even in the face of Falling, unshakable, unwavering.
He loves Aziraphale, just like the angel has always known he did, and yet is willing, no, is determined to put Aziraphale’s wellbeing over everything else, is willing to fight for it, and Aziraphale loves him so much he would burn down everyone who dared to stand between them.
Again, he takes a step towards Crowley, and this time the demon stands his ground, chin raised and eyes shining like copper, like molten gold. They don’t leave Aziraphale, their gaze making him feel vulnerable as he slowly raises his hands to start unbuttoning his own vest.
“Darling”, he mutters as softly as he can; still the term of endearment makes the demon flinch. “It couldn’t happen, not the way you think it would.”
The vest falls open, and Aziraphale catches Crowley’s eyes dart down for just a moment, sees the confusion mixing into their gaze, but doesn’t address it, just starts to undo his bowtie, leaving it hanging around his throat before he starts to unbutton his shirt.
“It’s not Heaven’s decision who Falls, dearest, it’s Hers. And she wouldn’t make me fall for loving, or for being loved, because it’s all she wanted for all of her creations. What I feel for you, it’s not how an angel is supposed to love, you’re right about that, because it’s not the gentle, all-encompassing love I feel for all creation. It’s fierce and it’s passionate and it’s painful and it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever felt. And She knows it.”
Slowly, ever so slowly, as not to startle Crowley, he reaches out and grasps the demon’s hand, pulls it up so he can put it on his chest, sliding Crowley’s trembling fingers underneath his unbuttoned shirt so he can feel the beat of his heart.
“My darling, this isn’t new. I’ve loved you for years and years and years, longer, most likely, than even I know, and God knows my heart, so She has to know that it is yours.”
Crowley’s eyes are fixed on his chest, the bump of Aziraphale’s shirt that conceals their hands, and for a moment, Aziraphale expects the demon to bolt, but then Crowley’s fingers curl ever so slightly against his chest, as if trying to hold onto him.
“What if you’re wrong?”, he asks and his voice sounds hollow, brittle, like there is nothing Crowley would rather do than believe the angel and yet cannot bring himself to do so. “What if something goes wrong? I can’t let that happen to you, everyone but else, but not you.”
“It won’t.” Aziraphale squeezes his hand, then slips his fingers in between Crowley’s, holding them tightly. “And if should, dearest, I wouldn’t care. I’ve waited millennia for this, for you, because I’ve been too afraid. But not anymore. If God thinks that me loving you is a sin bad enough to make me Fall, well, then I don’t want to be Her angel any longer.”
He watches Crowley’s features, sees the demon’s eyebrows furrow before relaxing again, his lips parting, and there’s that hope again in his eyes, although Aziraphale can’t yet say if he’ll give into this time, will give them both what they do desperately need.
“What do you want from me?”, Crowley asks, soft and with so much longing in his voice that Aziraphale’s fingers tighten around the demon’s without him noticing.
He doesn’t know the right answer, but he knows the only one he can give.
“Everything”, Aziraphale says, and steps just a little bit closer. “I want all of you, your time, your love, your soul, the body they gave you, I want to possess you whole. I belong to you, darling, no matter what you say, what anyone says, and the only thing I could ask for is to have you in return.”
Each word is the truth, nothing more and nothing less, and Aziraphale watches Crowley take them in, check their worth, their value, before he looks back up at the angel.
“It’s more than I deserve”, he whispers, and Aziraphale shakes his head harshly, but doesn’t have a chance to speak before Crowley continues. “The only thing I ever wanted was to be yours.”
Something in his eyes changes, something small but with enormous consequences, something breaks and allows something else to be made anew; Crowley glows so brightly that it takes Aziraphale’s breath away, looks at him so openly, so vulnerable that it feels like the demon had scooped his heart from his chest and offered it to Aziraphale to take.
“It feels like I’ve loved you longer than time itself exists”, Crowley tells him, and for the first time, he’s the one to come closer, even if he doesn’t kiss Aziraphale like the angel had hoped for. “If you want all that from me, just take it. Take whatever you need from me, make me forget about everything else in this world, about Heaven, about Hell, oh, make me forget my own name. I don’t need it any longer, not as long as I have yours.”
Their lips do not quite brush, but Aziraphale can feel the warmth of Crowley’s breath against his skin, smell cinder and desperation, knows that the demon is waiting for him to push them both over the edge. It’s a side of Crowley he hasn’t seen often, vulnerable and needy and hopeful, and Aziraphale loves it, loves it enough to postpone kissing Crowley for just another moment, then another, so he can watch the demon’s eyes, see the longing in them.
But in the end, it’s Aziraphale’s own need that wins, because his lips, his fingertips tingle with craving, with the residual feeling of Crowley’s skin pressed against his own, and it’s too much and yet can’t ever be enough.
He almost falls against Crowley in the end, pressing their lips together, his unoccupied hand coming up to cup the demon’s face in his so he can kiss Crowley the way he deserves, the way they both do. Slow, but firmly, sliding his lips against the demon’s with the intent of doing all that Crowley asked of him, darting out his tongue to pry at Crowley’s lips, tease them open so Aziraphale can lick his love into Crowley’s mouth. His hand holds the demon’s head steady, fingertips caressing cool skin as Crowley finally kisses back, taking Aziraphale’s rhythm, his pace and turning it into theirs, allowing the angel to kiss him deeper.
They are still in the doorway, exposed to anyone who could come along, but Aziraphale cannot bring himself to pull away even just long enough to step into the flat, so he doesn’t.
Instead, he gently pushes Crowley backwards, never breaking their kiss as he guides them through the door, across the hallway. The moment Crowley’s back hits the wall, a sound escapes his lips, which Aziraphale drinks up eagerly, relishing in the sweet surprise, the aroused hitch of breath.
Even after just minutes of this, he knows he’d do anything to hear that sound again.
Crowley’s second hand comes to rest on his hip, holding onto him, and finally he kisses Aziraphale back with the passion the angel knew was within him, sucks Aziraphale’s bottom lip between his teeth, draws the design to a whole new world into the angel’s mouth.
Although he doesn’t want to, Aziraphale has to let go of Crowley’s hand that still rests on his own chest, just so he can trail it up the demon’s chest, his throat, feeling Crowley shiver so sweetly under his touch. It’s intoxicating, so he does it again, letting his fingers flutter across shirt-clad collarbones and down his sides, letting them dip just so under the hem of Crowley’s trousers. He wants to know every inch of Crowley’s body, feel it under his palms, taste it on the tip of his tongue, have his demon’s image imprinted on his retinas, and so Aziraphale pushes even closer, slots his leg in between Crowley’s thigh.
The added pressure makes the demon gasp into their kiss, a sound so soft and precious that Aziraphale can’t help but kiss him even more fiercely, using the hand he has on Crowley’s cheek to tilt his head so he can lick into the demon’s mouth, draw another sound from him.
It’s breathless, helpless, and Aziraphale feels how each little noise sets him aflame, makes him burn with lust, with love, with every single emotion he ever felt for the demon.
If he could, Aziraphale would never leave Crowley’s lips again, but he needs to taste the rest of the demon’s body as well, so with one last kiss, a last nip to Crowley’s lips, Aziraphale draws away.
To make up for it, he presses a kiss to the corner of the demon’s mouth, then follows the line of Crowley’s jaw with his lips, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses on the sharp edge; Crowley all but moans, leans into the touch like a flower would tilt towards the sun, and Aziraphale wants to give him everything he craves tenfold.
“Oh, darling”, he mutters, still against Crowley’s skin, and feels the demon react to the term of endearment, shudder against Aziraphale’s body. “I shouldn’t have been so afraid. I should have chosen you all along, ever since the beginning, every time. I should have kissed you a million times already, I should know your taste, the way you breathe, the beat of your heart. I shouldn’t have made you wait, not even for a moment.”
He kisses Crowley’s throat, trails his lips across the sensitive skin, laps at the demon’s pulse and feels the change if its pace beneath his tongue, tastes salt and skin and the sharpness of fire. There is no need for an answer and yet Aziraphale gets one; when he does, Crowley’s voice is beautifully breathless, raspy with emotion.
“It’s okay, angel”, he utters, fingers twitching against Aziraphale’s chest, and the angel kisses his throat again, loving how he can feel the vibrations of the words against his lips before he hears them. “It doesn’t matter anymore, you’re here now, you’re here.”
He almost whispers the last part, and Aziraphale pulls back just enough to look at Crowley, whose eyes are wide, nothing human left about them, and they’re so beautiful it takes Aziraphale’s breath away.
“I won’t leave, not unless you’re coming with me. Not ever again. I’ll make sure you forget how it feels to be alone, dearest.”
Amber turns to gold as Aziraphale watches Crowley’s pupils dilate, and there is nothing in this world or any other that could stop him from kissing Crowley once more, sweetly at first, but turning more passionate within seconds when Crowley parts his lips so easily, allows Aziraphale to draw another soft groan from him.
And it’s so easy to kiss back down to Crowley’s throat, to drag his teeth gently across the line of his jaw and feel the demon’s breath hitch, lave his tongue across sensitive skin and let the taste set his own blood aflame. Crowley’s hand slides from Aziraphale’s chest down to his hip, pull him closer until their hips are pressed flush together, the leg Aziraphale has between Crowley’s rubbing against the demon’s hardening cock.
It’s a heady feeling, knowing that it’s him who affects Crowley so, but it’s even better when Aziraphale seals his lips across a patch of the demon’s skin and sucks, and Crowley’s hips thrust forward in search of friction.
A moment passes in which Aziraphale doesn’t quite know why it seems so important, why it affects him as much as it does, such a small motion, but then he realises.
It’s so important because after knowing the demon six thousand years, this is new. And this is what he wanted, what he asked for, to be allowed to discover what it is that makes Crowley moan, gasp, groan, to put a new side to their relationship, their love.
Again, he sucks on Crowley’s skin and hears the other whimper, hips moving against Aziraphale’s, and he can’t help but pull away for a moment.
“Do you want me to leave my mark on you, darling?”, he asks, both because he wants to see Crowley covered in bruises, knowing that his lips were what left them there, and because he thinks it might be what the demon wants, too. “Do you want to see my kisses on your skin tomorrow?”
There’s no answer, at least not a spoken one, but Aziraphale can feel Crowley nod his head almost frantically, even before he has finished speaking, and Aziraphale rewards him instantly, brings his lips back to Crowley’s throat and bites at the skin there before he sucks on it, using his tongue to take away the sting of it.
The sensation draws a sharp hiss from Crowley, and so Aziraphale does it again, again, until the demon is rocking against him, gasps and the angel’s name falling from his lips, his cock deliciously hard against Aziraphale’s thigh.
His skin bruises so easily, blood rushing in to make turn it crimson, and Aziraphale loves it, knows the second he sets eyes on Crowley’s throat, rose-coloured kisses speckled on alabaster skin, that if Crowley allows it, he’ll make sure that the demon’s body never has the chance to heal.
Even while he leaves kiss after kiss on Crowley’s throat, his finger start to undo the buttons of the demon’s shirt, revealing more skin to caress, to suck his love onto and with every mark he leaves, Crowley’s breathing grows more laboured, the rhythm of his hips quickening and fuelling Aziraphale’s own lust.
He wants to take Crowley apart, watch him lose all sense of himself and the world around them and it’s what the demon asked of him, too. So Aziraphale latches onto Crowley’s skin one last time, uses teeth and tongue and lips to suck another mark to the demon’s collarbone, before he pulls away.
“Come with me”, he whispers, soft and sweet and tender, brushes a quick kiss to Crowley’s lips because he just cannot resist it. Just because he is allowed to do so now.
Crowley looks a little confused, looks like there is nothing he wants more than to pull Aziraphale back against him, but he lets the angel take his hand, lets himself be pulled away from the wall and into the next room.
Aziraphale can count the times he has been in Crowley’s flat on one hand, but he knows the layout of it well enough to remember a stark, uninviting room, empty except for a single desk.
“Where are we going?”, Crowley asks, sounding dazed and looking so beautiful Aziraphale almost kisses him again.
“Somewhere I can do what you asked me for”, Aziraphale answers and explains not a single thing, only leads Crowley into the next room. It looks just like he remembered, cold and harsh, the desk littered with reports Crowley will never have to send in, paperwork for a Hell he doesn’t work for anymore.
The thought, albeit not a new one, makes Aziraphale’s heart flutter, and this time, he doesn’t even try to resist, just turn around to kiss Crowley with all the relief, the hope, the love he feels. He was right, even when Aziraphale had been too afraid to see it, they are on neither side anymore, but instead on their own.
He lets go of Crowley’s hand and instead reaches up to cup the demon’s face, stroking fingertips across a sharp cheekbone, and Crowley kisses him back with the same kind of intensity, the same kind of love.
The kiss ends and Aziraphale follows it with another, then another, while he walks them backwards until Crowley is pressed against the narrow side of the desk, their lips still connected. He could spend eternity right there and not get bored of it, Aziraphale is certain of it as he trails his fingers down the side of Crowley’s neck, across his chest.
It’s enough to make the demon buck into him, open and vulnerable and beautiful, and Aziraphale has known that he isn’t the best of angels for a long time, and yet he never was so certain of it as he is now. Something burns inside him and it’s everything he shouldn’t be, it’s wild and possessive and overwhelming, drowns out all thoughts of duty, of ineffable plans.
His hands find Crowley’s hips, slender and sharp, and it’s so easy to hold onto them, lift the demon onto the desk so he can push himself between Crowley’s thighs, right where he belongs. Arms wrap around him, holding him closer, then a slick, swollen mouth is peppering kisses onto his neck, as if Crowley, too, wants to feel every inch of Aziraphale’s body.
“I’ll never be able to stop now”, Crowley mumbles against his skin, in between kisses. “I was before, before I knew what I was missing, but angel, never again. It would kill me, having to give this up, give you up…”
He sounds almost pained, as if he still thinks that Aziraphale might want a way out, maybe not now, but in a dozen years, in a hundred; it’s the most ridiculous thought when Aziraphale wants to drown in him, merge their bodies into one so he’ll forget how it is to be just himself.
A hum escapes the angel, soft, almost tender, and Aziraphale brushes his lips against Crowley’s hair, half a kiss, half a touch.
“I don’t want you to stop”, he mutters, just in case it’s not enough, in case Crowley needs to hear it. “I don’t want you to leave. You belong right here, and I won’t let you go ever again. Not until time itself ends. Perhaps not even then.”
It seems that the words have been the right ones, because the kisses stop; for a moment, Crowley’s lips stay pressed to his throat, before the demon pulls back, looks at Aziraphale with impossibly wide, impossibly bright eyes. They seem to light up the room, burn right through the angel’s immortal soul, and Aziraphale looks right back at him, hopes that his own gaze fills Crowley with as much love as he is feeling right now.
“You mean it”, Crowley whispers, both incredulous and elated, and it’s not a question at all.
“I do”, Aziraphale answers anyway, smiles a little when Crowley’s eyes grow even wider. “I love you.”
A moment of silence, then Crowley, with his cheeks flushed and his lips red, replies, “I love you, too.”
It will take some convincing, some time, Aziraphale suddenly knows that, until Crowley believes him fully, completely, but that’s alright. He’ll wait, happily, just like Crowley waited for him.
Instead of repeating the words, watching them have no more impact than the first round, he closes the distance between them and kisses the blossoming smile off Crowley’s lips, tastes it on his tongue as sweet as honey.
“Let me show you how much I love you”, he mutters against them, once he has had his fill, nips at Crowley’s lips to draw a gasp from the demon. “You wanted to forget your name, I’ll make you forget about the world.”
It doesn’t take a sound, not even a gesture, just a thought, and Crowley is naked in front of him, bare skin cool under Aziraphale’s hands. He’d like to pull back and just take in the sight of the other, but he can’t, can even consider tearing himself away from Crowley’s touch, his body.
His hands roam across the demon’s chest, feeling the beat of his heart, and it’s Aziraphale who moans this time, who feels his cock swell within the confines of his trousers. Crowley’s skin is soft and Aziraphale wants to taste it, wants to commit the feeling of it to memory until it’s the only thing his fingertips can remember.
Crowley bucks up against him, so sweetly responsive, and Aziraphale kisses his lips, his cheeks, the line of his jaw, slides his hands up across Crowley’s sides, his back. It’s only when he feels his palms tingle, his lips prickle that he pulls away, because there is still a promise he has to fulfil.
The demon’s lips follow his when Aziraphale breaks their kiss, silently begging for another one, but just for now, Aziraphale denies him what he wants. Instead, he takes a few moments to just look at Crowley, his creamy, pale skin, the sharp lines of his body, the slender limbs.
His cock, hard and flushed with blood, precome glistening at the tip.
“Do you trust me?”, the angel asks, although he knows the answer. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to hear Crowley say it.
The response takes a moment, but then comes with conviction, once Crowley has remembered how to speak. His tone is slightly surprised, like he can’t believe Aziraphale ever doubted it, his head tilted, and God, Aziraphale loves him more than he has ever loved anything before.
Making sure to hold Crowley’s gaze, Aziraphale lowers himself down onto his knees in front of the desk, the floor hard and unforgiving, and pulls the bowtie from where it still hangs around his neck.
He can hear Crowley’s breath hitch as he slides his hand across the demon’s shin, down to his foot, before he wraps his bowtie around the leg of the desk and Crowley’s ankle, pulling it tight enough that Crowley won’t get out of it unless he really wants to. Then, Aziraphale risks a short gaze up to see Crowley watching him, pupils blown so wide they seem to swallow up the whole of his eyes.
The demon’s legs spread without Aziraphale saying a word, and the simple gesture makes the angel’s lust burn brighter, his lungs forgetting how to breathe for a short moment.
He wants this, of course he does, he has wanted it for decades, centuries, and he has known that Crowley wanted him for even longer. However, that Crowley wants this, wants him like this and wants to submit to Aziraphale like this, trusts him enough to let Aziraphale do what he wants with him, is almost too much, and enough to leave him breathless, almost mindless with how much he wants Crowley, needs him.
“I love every inch of you”, Aziraphale tells him, even as he pulls the knot tighter, words pouring from his mouth without thought. “Every molecule in your body, every thought, every second you have spent on this Earth no matter if with or without me. I know you are not perfect, that you never will be, but it doesn’t matter, because you are perfect for me.”
Without taking his eyes off Crowley’s face, he presses a kiss to the demon’s knee while another small miracle brings Crowley’s scarf back to his hands, the fabric soft and thin. It’s not perfect for what Aziraphale plans to do with it, but it’s good enough. And there is something so intimate about it, tying Crowley up using their own clothes, that Aziraphale simply cannot resist it.
Crowley is watching him, lips parted and cheeks flushed, so beautiful that it’s hard for Aziraphale to finally tear his gaze away from the demon long enough to wrap the scarf around Crowley’s second leg and pull the knot tight. But as enchanting as Crowley’s face is, as are the arches of his beloved feet, the silken skin stretched across his ankles, the dusting of hair on his calves; Aziraphale wants to learn the shape of all of Crowley’s limbs by heart, wants to commit their weight, their taste to memory.
He finishes tying the demon down before he places a kiss to Crowley’s shin, leaving a trail of them up to his knee, before he looks back up at Crowley.
The demon is watching him with barely-amber eyes, and Aziraphale wants to say something, anything, but for the first time his brain cannot think of the words. There is such tenderness in Crowley’s gaze that it seems to punch the air right out of his lungs, such open trust, such unwavering love that Aziraphale knows he will have to spend eternity to try and become worthy of it.
“I’ll do anything you want from me”; Aziraphale finally says, slides his hand from Crowley’s ankle up to his thigh.
What he hopes to get is a smile, and he does, but there is something more hidden in the demon’s eyes, something that almost looks like desperation.
“Then take me”, Crowley answers and sounds like he is begging, pleading.
Aziraphale doesn’t quite know what it is that has left Crowley this affected, but it doesn’t matter, not right now. He will have a thousand lifetimes to figure out every single way he can leave Crowley breathless.
“I will”, he tells the demon now, slides his hand further up Crowley’s thigh, fingers just so dancing across the soft skin of the inside. “I’ll take anything you want to give. But first, you must to promise me one thing, just for now, for tonight.”
Crowley nods without hesitation, bites his lips, and Aziraphale rewards him by letting his fingertips flutter across the part of skin where his thigh meets his hip. The demon makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, then leans back on his hands, spreading his legs even wider.
When Aziraphale is finished with him, the angel promises to himself in silence, Crowley’s arms won’t be able to support his weight any longer. If Crowley wants to forget, then Aziraphale will make sure that even if he tries, he won’t be able to remember anything but this, but them.
“You are not allowed to come, until I give you my permission”, he tells the demon, and again, Crowley nods. Maybe without thinking about the implications, his mind maybe just as sweetly hazy as Aziraphale’s, because he seems too calm for another moment, until Aziraphale leans in and drags his tongue from the base of Crowley’s cock to the very tip of it.
He tastes like salt, like skin, and Aziraphale knows by the sound that spills from Crowley’s lips, the jerk of his hips that he’ll never get tired of it. Again, he laves his tongue over the underside of Crowley’s cock, swirls it around the head, and Crowley whines so sweetly, the muscles in his thighs tensing, that Aziraphale is almost certain that while making Crowley forget about the world, he will in turn make sure he won’t ever remember anything but the demon ever again.
It’s music, the way Crowley’s sighs, his gasps are woven together in the air above him, worthy of being named in the same breath as Mozart, as Bach, and Aziraphale is glad to play conductor to the symphony that is this stunning creature, this demon he has grown to love.
His tongue swirls around the head of Crowley’s cock and makes the demon shudder beneath Aziraphale’s touch, leaving the angel unable to do anything but wrap his lips around it for a few, precious moments, suck the taste of precome onto his tongue and dip the tip of it into the slit. The sensation causes Crowley to moan out his name with a hoarse, breathless voice, buck up as much as he can while still tied to his desk.
He’s so sensitive, so easy to react to him, and so Aziraphale does it again, seals his lips over sensitive flesh and sucks, uses his tongue to tease the demon even further.
It seems to work, because Crowley pushes into the touch, hips jerking as if he could not control their movements any longer, and Aziraphale gives him just what he wants for another few moments, before he pulls away.
The lack of contact seems to be as potent a way of making Crowley sing, for the demon whines, whimpers out his name until Aziraphale returns his mouth to Crowley’s cock, leaves open-mouthed kisses on the side of it. One of his hands fully slides to the inside of Crowley’s thighs, kneading the sensitive, tender flesh, while Aziraphale brings the other to his balls, cups them.
Crowley’s cock twitches at the sudden sensation, and when Aziraphale kisses up to the head again, presses his lips to the slit, he finds the skin slick with precome.
“For G- Sa- Fuck’s sake, angel”, Crowley gasps out, still unfamiliar with the terminology now they belong to no one but themselves, and Aziraphale loves his voice like this, desperate and raspy in the best of ways.
He rewards the demon with the only thing he can give at the moment, seals his lips around the head of Crowley’s lovely cock and sucks it deep into his mouth, while his hand starts to massage the demon’s balls.
Crowley’s hips jerk up, bury more of his cock in Aziraphale’s mouth; a muttered, unneeded apology follows, but there is nothing that Aziraphale wouldn’t gladly take, wouldn’t welcome.
He tries to tell the demon just that by touch, sinks down farther onto his cock, his tongue pressing against the underside of Crowley’s shaft, the tip of it following the trail of a prominent vein. It’s the most delicious feeling, having Crowley underneath him just like this, reacting so sweetly to his ministrations, and Aziraphale feels his own cock hard and hot in his trousers, begging to be touched and yet denied.
Once he has the demon mindless, thoughtless, he will get to it, but until then, his own lust is something that is easily forgotten.
The weight of Crowley’s cock on his tongue is heavenly, as is the friction against his lips when Aziraphale pulls back up, leaving only the head resting on his tongue before he pushes back down, sucking, swallowing around Crowley’s cock as he takes his fill of the demon’s taste. Above him, Aziraphale can hear Crowley’s laboured breaths, his half-formed words, his whimpers, as if the demon was already overwhelmed.
And there is nothing that could be as delicious as that, as knowing that his tongue, his mouth, his hands are enough to reduce Crowley to this state.
It takes another two, three bobs of Aziraphale’s head, his hand still stroking, rubbing, massaging Crowley’s balls until the demon gasps out his name, his hips jerking upwards in an attempt to get more friction.
“Please, angel”, he all but moans, and Aziraphale knows what Crowley wants even before he says it. “May I come?”
He sounds breathless with pleasure, his voice cracking under the pressure of keeping his body under control, and a part of Aziraphale wants nothing but to let him spill deep inside his mouth, make Crowley come a dozen times before the night is over. But the demon is just breathless, hasn’t yet lost his mind, so Aziraphale slowly, ever so slowly, pulls off his cock, this time completely.
He misses the weight, the feeling, the taste immediately, but it’s necessary, because under Crowley’s heated, pleading gaze, Aziraphale shakes his head.
“Not yet”, he tells the demon, who whines, his body shaking, trembling.
“Why?”, Crowley asks, not challenging the decision, just asking for the reason. His breath is still coming in huffs, his hips moving against the flat surface of the desk, and to Aziraphale, who pulls his hands away, stops touching Crowley completely, he has never looked more beautiful.
“Because I want you mindless with pleasure before I let you come”, Aziraphale explains, watches Crowley’s body slowly calm in front of him. “I want you so desperate for my touch that you can taste it on the tip of your tongue, I want you to feel like it would only take the brush of my fingertips to make you explode. I want your whole world to narrow down to this, to us, I want you to forget everything so when you come, it will drown out the world out.”
Aziraphale bends down to brush a kiss onto the soft, cool skin of Crowley’s hip as if to soothe, nips it lightly before he looks up at Crowley, who, if possible, seems more aroused than before.
“I will give you exactly what you asked for, my love”, he adds, before he moves closer once more, wraps his lips around Crowley’s cock.
The mere feeling of heat, of slickness, makes the demon gasp, hips snapping upwards again, and Aziraphale takes it, swirls his tongue around the head before he takes Crowley deeper, relaxing his jaw and throat until he can suck the other’s cock down to the root, the tip of his nose pressed against Crowley’s stomach.
Like this, the demon’s scent is even stronger, like fire, like citrus, like something sharper still, and Aziraphale breathes it in greedily, then swallows around Crowley’s cock. The sensation earns him half a shout from the demon, half a curse and half a plea, but Aziraphale ignores it, just rises back up before setting a slow, deep rhythm, making sure to swallow Crowley down completely every time he sinks back onto the demon’s cock.
It’s slow on purpose, to make it even harder for Crowley to get to that blessed edge of orgasm, but that doesn’t seem to take any away from the pleasure, at least judging by Crowley’s moans, the way he still tries to push up into Aziraphale’s waiting mouth, hips moving in time with the angel. Maybe it makes it even better, because it gives Aziraphale more than enough opportunity to work his tongue along the underside of Crowley’s cock, allows him to tease the slit, increase the suction when it’s only the head left in his mouth.
What it does, in any way, is make Crowley curse in between moans of Aziraphale’s name, his beloved voice making unholy words seem sanctified.
Aziraphale drinks them up, lets them stoke his own desire, fuel his own lust, the love he holds for the demon.
One of his hands returns to Crowley’s balls, cradling them, while he rubs his thumb across the patch of skin just below the root of the demon’s cock, drawing a long, pained sound from Crowley. His cock is leaking precome, the taste all over Aziraphale’s tongue, his lips, and so it’s no surprise that it’s only minutes, if even that long, until Crowley’s hips spasm beneath him once more, while the demon tries to keep them still.
“A-Aziraphale”, he breathes out, and the angel hears how Crowley’s fingernails scratch across the desk sharply. “May I come, please – “
It doesn’t even sound like he expects to be allowed, not truly, and yet Aziraphale answers once he has pulled off Crowley’s cock, left a last, wet kiss on the head of it.
“Not yet, darling”, he mutters, breath washing over the saliva-slick skin of Crowley’s shaft, and the demon whimpers sweetly. “Not while you’re still coherent.”
“Yes, my love?”
There is a moment of silence, just enough for Aziraphale to take in Crowley’s laboured breaths while he keeps rubbing that sensitive spot just above Crowley’s balls, a little pause in which the demon finds his words.
“Thank you”, Crowley finally says, his voice so full of emotion it shines even through the arousal, the desperation. It’s almost overwhelming.
“No, thank you. For giving me the only thing more beautiful, more enduring, more worth my loyalty than a place in Heaven could ever be. Your love.”
Their eyes meet, Crowley’s black and amber, shining with emotion, and they just look at each other for so long that, when Aziraphale finally breaks away again, he’s surprised that night has not yet fallen.
“I love you”, he finally tells Crowley, knows that he has said it before and that he will say it again. “I will love you forever.”
The words draw something like a whimper from the demon, something so sweet, so soft, so happy that Aziraphale takes the tone of Crowley’s voice and locks it safe inside the confines of his heart.
“I’ve loved you forever”, Crowley whispers, beautiful and vulnerable and trusting. “I’ll love you until time itself stops.”
Aziraphale presses his lips to the side of Crowley’s stomach, his hip, just because he needs some kind of contact, some way to show Crowley how much he is being loved, but then the demon whispers, “Please.”
And Aziraphale remembers there is still something he needs to do.
His lips slide from Crowley’s hip down to the root of his cock, peppering kisses up the shaft until he has reached the head, can once again suck it into his mouth, swirl his tongue around it. But it’s not enough, at least it doesn’t feel like it; he wants Crowley to have all the pleasure in the world, his whole body singing until they both get drowned by the volume of his music.
So, he asks for another miracle, and there’s slickness around his finger as he guides his second hand between Crowley’s thighs, rubs them across the demon’s entrance. The touch is rewarded by a choked off gasp coming from the demon, suddenly twice as desperate, followed by a litany of please, please, please…
This time, it’s easy to give in to Crowley’s begging, since there is nothing Aziraphale would rather do anyway. Slowly, while still licking, kissing, sucking on Crowley’s cock, Aziraphale starts to work his finger into the demon, making sure to allow the muscles to get accustomed to the stretch before he continues pushing, no matter how Crowley grinds down against his fingers, trying to get more.
He won’t hurt Crowley, even if the demon seems so beautifully desperate, and even if Aziraphale wants nothing more than to give him what he needs.
Beneath his lips, Crowley’s cock is twitching, precome staining Aziraphale’s lips and tongue, but he continues licking, just like he continues thrusting his fingers into Crowley’s waiting body, the slick warmth of his inner walls.
He feels fantastically tight and yet opens so easily for Aziraphale, as if he had been waiting for the opportunity for centuries; maybe he has. And maybe that is why the sounds that fall from the other’s lips are sweeter than any others Aziraphale has heard before, heated and lovely in their desperation, their pleas.
“You will feel so good around me”, Aziraphale tells him, lips brushing against the sensitive skin of Crowley’s cock while Aziraphale finally pushes the rest of his finger into the demon. “I just know it, darling.”
Again, he sucks Crowley’s cock into his mouth, just as he rubs his finger against the demon’s inner walls, searching for that spot that will make Crowley see stars. It only takes a few moments to find, and Aziraphale for once doesn’t show a second of mercy, just rubs his fingertips hard across Crowley’s prostate.
The reaction comes with a second or two of delay, as if Crowley’s body short circuited in between, but then the demon arches off the desk, arms giving out as he tumbles back down onto the surface; his hips try to push down against Aziraphale’s finger and up into his waiting mouth, while Crowley cries out his name.
It does not take long until he is begging again, his whole body trembling.
“Angel, oh fuck, please, I need – “
Aziraphale stops before a moment has passed, slides off the demon’s cock, his finger staying inside of Crowley, but stopping its cruel ministrations. He doesn’t say that he’ll deny the demon another time; there is no need to do so, not when Crowley is already whimpering, all those soft, sweet sounds dripping from his lips that make Aziraphale feel like he has been set alight with holy fire.
Crowley knows, and yet doesn’t do more than slump down on the desk, breaths coming in harsh pants, his hips still twitching.
“You’re doing so well”, Aziraphale tells him sweetly, instead of allowing him to come, kisses the inside of Crowley’s thigh, nuzzling the sensitive skin there. “And you’re so beautiful like this, all spread out for me, letting me touch you, kiss you… allowing me to have you in every way I want. I could not ask for more than this.”
Another kiss to Crowley’s hip, then Aziraphale nips at the prominent bones there, sucks a little mark onto the skin. It still makes Crowley suck in a breath, the demon strung too tightly for him to yet continue with his teasing, so Aziraphale instead drags his mouth across tender flesh, talks while having his lips brushing across Crowley’s skin.
“If I could, I would stay right here for an eternity”, he tells the demon, feels him clench around the finger Aziraphale still has inside of him. “Wrapped up in you, your taste on my tongue, my name on your lips. I tried most pleasures this Earth has to offer and yet none of them compare to you.”
Again, Crowley moans, but this time he follows the sound with words, something that tells Aziraphale that the demon is far enough from that delicious edge to take more touches, more kisses, more of Aziraphale’s fingers buried inside of his waiting body.
“Y- You can have anything from me”, he gasps out; Aziraphale can hear his fingertips scratch across the polished wood of the desk once more, harder now. “Whatever you want, I’ve been waiting for so long to give it…”
“I know, my love”, Aziraphale answers, and curls his finger inside of Crowley. “I shouldn’t have waited so long to take it.”
His fingertip drags across Crowley’s prostate, and the demon sobs out a moan, the sound of it almost soaked in unshed tears, and he’s so stunning Aziraphale can hardly breathe.
“You belong to me now, just as I belong to you”, he tells Crowley and kisses his hip again, his stomach. “And I’ll never let you go.”
Beneath Aziraphale, Crowley has started moving again, grinding down against the angel’s finger in time with his shaky breaths, and Aziraphale knows he could show mercy, but that is not what Crowley asked him for. It’s not what he wants to give.
Instead, he slicks up another finger by thought alone and starts rubbing it against the rim of Crowley’s entrance, giving the demon a few moments of time to get used to it before he starts to push it in next to the other.
The sound that Crowley makes at just the barest hint of a stretch is not from this world, nor any other, it’s pure craving, pure need, and this time, Aziraphale grants the demon almost everything he is asking for.
Crowley’s body opens for him impossibly easy, the muscles of his thighs straining as Crowley tries to spread his legs even further, begging for more with motions instead of words. His inner walls cling to Aziraphale’s fingers, almost as if sucking them in, and the angel rewards Crowley with fleeting, teasing touches against his prostate, never enough to push him far, but certainly to fuel his lust. The sounds come in waves now, moans and gasps and whispered curses, and Aziraphale drinks them up, laves his tongue across Crowley’s hipbone until he has both of his fingers inside of the demon, deep enough that he can feel the muscles contract around them, massage them.
Still, every molecule of Crowley’s body is begging for more, so Aziraphale gives him just that, too.
Slowly, he pulls his fingers from the demon’s body, before he thrusts them back into Crowley, curling them upwards to add to the friction. Crowley’s whole body convulses, arches up, so Aziraphale does it again, and again, until there is precome dribbling from the demon’s cock, his hips jerking with every of Aziraphale’s movements.
There is nothing the angel would like more than to seal his lips around the head of Crowley’s cock, suck him clean again, but he doesn’t dare to, not when it appears that even the slightest additional sensation could be enough to push the demon over the edge.
Between Aziraphale’s thrusts and the motions of Crowley’s hips, they find a rhythm that is slow, but deep, and with every time Aziraphale fucks his fingers into Crowley’s desperate body, he can hear the demon’s breaths get more ragged, the words that mingle with his moans and gasps getting less and less.
It’s the loveliest sight the world has to offer.
Since he cannot let Crowley fuck his mouth, Aziraphale instead sucks another bruise to his demon’s pale skin, even while he presses his thumb against Crowley’s perineum, rubs against the sensitive patch of skin while he thrusts his fingers back into the demon’s slick hole.
The onslaught of sensation draws a cry from Crowley, no words, just pure desire, followed by a litany of please, please, please.
It’s all Aziraphale needs to know that he has to stop, his fingers stilling inside of Crowley until it’s only his lips that move against Crowley’s skin, leaving kisses and little nips while the demon whines, whimpers.
“Angel, please, I need – “, he gasps out, almost but not yet quite where Aziraphale wants him at.
“And you’ll have it”, he tells Crowley, uses his second hand to stroke Crowley’s thigh, down the line of his leg to his ankle to soothe him. “Soon, so soon. I can’t wait to watch you come apart in front of me, around my fingers, inside my mouth… and I’ll make you come again afterwards, and again, until you can’t think anymore, can’t speak.”
The single word is the only answer Aziraphale gets, but he doesn’t need more, just needs to watch the way Crowley begs with his whole shaking, trembling, magnificent body.
While waiting, he passes the time by leaving open-mouthed kisses on every inch of skin he can find, needing to taste Crowley on his lips, his tongue.
It’s only when the demon has stopped trembling that Aziraphale pulls back a little, licks a stripe up the demon’s cock before he allows his fingers to curl upwards again, rubbing them across Crowley’s prostate. The sound he gets in response is nothing more than a sob, and Aziraphale relishes in it, does it again just to watch Crowley twitch beneath him, hear the breath catch in his throat.
“God, you’re exquisite”, he mutters, gives Crowley a shallow thrust of his fingers and watches the demon roll his hips against the intrusion, trying to get more. “The most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”
Crowley keens, gasps, and Aziraphale fucks his fingers back into him, dragging the tips against his inner walls slowly to make the demon feel it, leave Crowley even more desperate than before.
His own cock is leaking steadily, precome having left a stain on his trousers, but although his body is begging him to allow any kind of friction, any kind of pressure, Aziraphale ignores it, instead kisses up the length of Crowley’s cock, swirls his tongue around the head.
He tastes divine, and by now, there is a continuous flow of sounds coming from Crowley, as if every breath pushed them out of his lungs, and Aziraphale drinks them up, lets them set his body on fire.
His fingers spread before he knows it, craving more of Crowley’s wordless prayers, and the demon grants them easily, moans out Aziraphale’s name and moves his hips in time with the angel’s fingers. Ever since Aziraphale has known him, Crowley has been ever-moving, fluid like quicksilver, and it’s how he looks now, too, his whole body in motion.
The muscles of his thighs are straining, his hips twitching, his chest heaving; he’s like a symphony and Aziraphale cannot wait for the next movement.
For a few more moments, Aziraphale continues to brush his lips up and down Crowley’s shaft, occasionally darting out his tongue, but then he pulls away, unsure of how much more Crowley can take. His withdrawal makes the demon whimper, his hips jerking up to try and regain some of the friction, but Aziraphale cannot permit it; instead, he miracles another of his fingers slick, pulls the others out of Crowley so that when he thrusts them back inside, Aziraphale can slide all three into the demon’s hole.
It’s a tight fit, at least at first, but Crowley seems mindless now, grinds back down onto Aziraphale’s fingers uncaring that his body hasn’t yet stretched enough to take them easily. Instead, he forces them inside.
He’s slick and warm and makes the sweetest sound, a choked off moan mingled with a plea, a sob, and Aziraphale loves him so much it feels like he is overflowing with it, pure, raw emotion spilling from his eyes, his mouth, his every movement.
Even after all this time, it’s overwhelming, humbling, and Aziraphale wishes he could tell Crowley, but there are no words, not even coherent thoughts, just love. So instead he kisses his confessions onto Crowley’s thighs, his hips, while he rubs his fingertips across Crowley’s inner walls, milking every sound, every sweet moan from the demon.
The noises he makes become frantic within seconds, even if the sudden stretch must still make him ache, but Crowley keens, pushes back against Aziraphale’s fingers like he has lost all control over his body, shudders under Aziraphale’s touches as if a careless breath, a tiny push, could shatter him.
And maybe it could, because when Aziraphale drops his head in between Crowley’s thighs to lave his tongue across the demon’s balls, while he starts fucking his fingers into Crowley slowly, steadily, Crowley almost shouts, his voice breaking halfway through it, crumbling into a breathless sob. His hips move down against Aziraphale’s fingers, who rubs them across Crowley’s prostate with his next thrust, with the one after that, until he can feel Crowley’s balls pull up under his tongue, his praying lips.
This time, Crowley doesn’t ask for anything, at least not with his words, only moans, gasps, sobs, and it’s enough. He’s almost broken, and Aziraphale can’t deny him another time, not when there is nothing Aziraphale wants more than to watch Crowley come apart at the seams in front of him, because of him.
So instead of pulling away, of stilling his fingers inside of Crowley, Aziraphale pushes them deeper, rubs them roughly against the demon’s prostate. It’s not a teasing touch anymore, it’s a relentless torture, meant to drive Crowley mad with pleasure, and Aziraphale takes it further still, wraps his lips around the head of Crowley’s cock and sucks it down.
He can taste the precome, the sweat, and Crowley all but shouts, his voice already so raspy, so horse that even if he was still using words, Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to understand them, his hips twitching, jerking, unable to decide on a direction.
Aziraphale lets him take his pleasure, lets him thrust up into his mouth, sucks hard when Crowley slides his cock down the angel’s throat, lets him grind down onto his fingers until Crowley is shuddering, trembling all over.
And then, on a hunch, Aziraphale pushes a fourth fingertip against the stretched, swollen rim of Crowley’s hole, lets the demon decides if he wants more.
It takes a moment, Crowley’s confused body pausing mid-motion, but then the demon keens, some high, desperate note pouring from his mouth, and Aziraphale knows the answer even before Crowley forces himself down onto the angel’s fingers, taking all of them.
The sudden stretch seems to punch the air out of his lungs, and Aziraphale suddenly needs to give Crowley everything at once, needs to feel him come.
He starts to fuck his fingers into Crowley in time with the jerks of the demon’s hips, relaxes his jaw so that Crowley can push up and bury his cock deep inside of Aziraphale’s mouth. The slide of it against his lips is addictive, the taste of precome heavy on his tongue, and Aziraphale sucks hard around the shaft, brings his second hand up to cradle Crowley’s balls, squeezing them gently.
And it’s too much.
Crowley explodes beneath him with the force, the intensity of a supernova.
His whole beautiful body arches up, into Aziraphale’s touch, burying his cock deep inside of the angel’s throat, a sound ripping from his mouth that should not be made by either angel or demon, so desperately overwhelmed that Aziraphale can feel it vibrate in his own bones, echo in the depths of his grace and the immortality of his soul, so full of abundant pleasure that for a moment, Aziraphale almost expects it to be enough to push him over the edge.
The demon is lost to the world, lost in the sensation, and Aziraphale can only drink up whatever Crowley wants to give him, the sounds, the motions, the taste of come on his tongue and down his throat as Crowley rides out his orgasm.
His inner walls seem to try and suck Aziraphale’s fingers deeper inside, as if four of them could never be enough, his hips moving so fast, so frantic that they seem to oscillate, his cock twitching, filling Aziraphale’s mouth with come until he thinks that maybe, Crowley will be the only thing left he will ever taste again.
It’s pure bliss, it’s Heaven, and Aziraphale doesn’t stop until Crowley has stilled beneath him, only the occasional twitch of muscles, a soft sigh.
His knees ache from kneeling, his back is stiff, but Aziraphale hardly notices, because it doesn’t matter; what matters is Crowley in front of him, spent and still speechless, his body laid out for Aziraphale to take.
At first, he undoes the bounds around Crowley’s ankles with a simple gesture, before he allows himself to get up, look at the damage he has wrought. And it almost looks like damage, because Crowley’s hips and throat are peppered with bruises, his fingernails have left deep furrows and long scratches in the dark wood of the desk, his ginger hair matted with sweat and his lips bitten, kissed red and swollen.
He is magnificent, and he’s all Aziraphale’s.
“Crowley, darling”, he mutters softly, brushes a gentle hand over the demon’s thigh, but Crowley doesn’t respond with words, just with amber eyes blinking open, still shining with tears, lips parting to let out a soft groan.
Aziraphale cannot help but chuckle, round the desk to press a sweet kiss to Crowley’s mouth, which isn’t reciprocated, at least not by more than a miniscule movement of Crowley’s head.
“Let’s get you to bed, huh?”, Aziraphale asks, and the only reason he knows that Crowley nods is because their lips are still brushing when he does. He leaves another kiss right there before he pulls away, gathers Crowley up in his arms.
He’s light, almost too light, and Aziraphale holds him close to his chest as if it would help Crowley absorb the love that is still burning inside his chest, so brightly Aziraphale thinks it has to outshine most stars on the night sky.
Since that first night after the almost-apocalypse, Aziraphale knows where Crowley’s bedroom is, even if he has never set a foot inside, but it’s fortunate now, because Crowley is still boneless in his arms, cheek pressed against Aziraphale’s shoulder as the angel carries him to the bed, using a minor miracle to open the door and close it again behind them.
The sheets are black silk, the mattress sinfully soft, and Aziraphale lays Crowley down gently, yet can’t pull away again, because without Aziraphale noticing, Crowley has wrapped his arms around his neck, is refusing to let him go.
“Sweetness”, Aziraphale murmurs into Crowley’s hair, turns his head so he can press a kiss to the demon’s temple. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”
Crowley just hums in response, but his arms don’t loosen, and really, it’s not like Aziraphale wants to pull away. So instead, he miracles his clothes off before he slides onto the bed, on top of Crowley, who makes a soft, surprised sound in the back of his throat at the sudden contact of skin against skin, spreads his legs so easily.
It’s that sensation, the friction, which suddenly, violently reminds Aziraphale of his own lust, of his cock hanging hard and aching between his legs, ignored up until a few seconds because Crowley’s pleasure was, is more than enough for Aziraphale. And yet, he promised Crowley to make him come again, and again, and there is nothing Aziraphale wants more than to feel every of those orgasms around his own cock as he fucks Crowley to completion.
A soft moan escapes Aziraphale at just the thought of it, and Crowley beneath him reacts, even if sluggishly, tilting his hips so that Aziraphale can settle comfortably between his legs, his hard cock pressing against Crowley’s spent one. The demon’s skin is cool like always, but Aziraphale knows that he’d be warm, tight around his cock, that he could just thrust right into Crowley like this and make them one.
His lips brush across Crowley’s cheek, down to his throat, and slowly the demon seems to come alive again, fingers dancing down the line of Aziraphale’s spine, across his shoulder blades, a soft breath stirring the angel’s hair.
“Aziraphale”, Crowley whispers, and his voice is low and raspy, enough to make Aziraphale shiver in his arms. He answers with a kiss to Crowley’s pulse. “Please…”
Crowley’s tone is enough to tell Aziraphale just what he is asking for, and yet he needs to hear it, needs to be certain. Once more, he presses his lips against the sensitive skin of Crowley’s throat, his hips jerking just enough to shoot a barrage of sparks through Aziraphale’s body; Crowley’s breath hitches, his arms tighten around the angel’s neck.
“Will you let me have you?”, Aziraphale asks, doesn’t pull away to watch Crowley’s reaction because he never wants to leave the other’s arms again.
At first there is no answer, just another choked sound, but then Crowley nods, not yet frantic, but not too far away from it either. He’s desperate for it still, just like Aziraphale is, and the thought is almost as addictive as Crowley’s fingernails scratching across Aziraphale’s back, as the feeling of Crowley’s body pressed against his own.
“I’ll make sure you never forget about how it feels when we are one”, he promises, and again Crowley nods, as if speaking was too much for him at the moment. “I never will.”
Crowley is pliant beneath him as Aziraphale reaches under him, hitches up one of the demon’s legs and wraps it around his own waist, moves his mouth from Crowley’s neck to his lips, kisses them.
It’s a sweet kiss, but Aziraphale can’t do anything but lick into Crowley’s mouth anyway, lose himself in the demon’s love. And yet, the desire inside him burns too brightly to be forgotten again, so it’s only a few more moments until Aziraphale changes his position slightly, pushes Crowley’s leg a little higher so he can slide into the demon’s waiting body.
Aziraphale’s fingers have left Crowley’s entrance stretched, slick, but he’s still so tight when Aziraphale pushes into him, so warm, and there is nothing the angel could do to suppress his moans when Crowley’s leg around his waist pulls him in even closer, as if he needs this as much as Aziraphale does.
For a moment, he feels like he is about to lose it, just fuck into Crowley with abandon, because the demon feels like Heaven around him, just like Aziraphale knew he would, but Crowley clings to him, his fingernails digging into Aziraphale’s back, and it’s everything the angel needs to ground himself.
He takes a deep breath, then pulls away just slightly, enough to look down at Crowley’s beloved face, his pupils blown so wide they almost make his eyes appear black, his lips swollen from their kisses and the demon’s teeth. Almost, Aziraphale kisses him again, just because Crowley looks so beautiful, but he wants to watch the other come apart beneath him as much as he wants to feel it, so instead he steadies himself with a hand next to Crowley’s head and slowly pulls out of the demon, just far enough to thrust back into him shallowly, drawing a moan from both their mouths.
The friction is barely there, but it’s still enough to make Aziraphale’s head swim with pleasure, his stomach twisting with the effort not to just let go, and against his stomach, although it should be impossible, Aziraphale can feel Crowley’s cock twitch with renewed interest.
Again, he pulls out, hissing at the feeling, before he pushes into Crowley’s warmth, his slick tightness. He feels divine, bucks up into Aziraphale as if he can’t help himself, even if the angel knows that the stimulation must be bordering on being too much. And there is something so impossibly arousing about Crowley moving with his thrusts, trying to get more, something that Aziraphale knows will be the death of him.
Aziraphale does his best to set a rhythm with his thrusts, slow, because he doesn’t think he could take anything else, deep, because the more he feels of Crowley, the more enamoured he becomes, the less he can pull away again, and Crowley matches his pace, uses the leg around Aziraphale’s waist to pull him in and add some extra force to each thrust. It’s almost a dance between them, the changing of the tide, and Aziraphale cannot tear his eyes away from Crowley’s face, from his eyes, for even a moment.
The demon is trying so hard to keep them open and yet they continue to flutter shut, as if adding sight as another kind of sensation was finally too much for Crowley to take. And Aziraphale understands the feeling; he could come within seconds if he allowed himself, because Crowley feels like nothing he has ever experienced before, like the other half of him Aziraphale always knew the demon was.
And yet, he doesn’t want this to end, and yet, he made a promise.
“Touch yourself, darling”, he tells Crowley, his voice hoarse with pleasure, watches the demon’s eyes open once more, surprise shining brightly in them.
Still, even before Aziraphale has the chance to pull out of him once more, Crowley is sliding a hand from Aziraphale’s shoulders between their bodies, knuckles brushing against the angel’s stomach as Crowley wraps long, slender fingers around his own cock. The sensation makes him hiss, his muscles contracting around Aziraphale’s shaft in the sweetest way, causing the angel’s hips to stutter, before thrusting his cock deep inside of Crowley’s body.
Pulling out again is difficult, because Aziraphale wants to stay buried inside of Crowley forever, but his whole body is aching for friction, begging for release, so he allows it, even speeds up his thrusts a little when he realises that doing so doesn’t only make his own skin burn with desire, but makes Crowley’s breath hitch in his throat.
Every single time he fucks back into Crowley, the fire in his lower stomach, the lust he has been stoking for so long, grows hotter, harder to ignore, and Aziraphale feels himself get swept away by it. Again, he moves, uses the hand not supporting his weight to pick up Crowley’s leg, then pulls out and thrusts back into the demon’s tempting warmth.
This time, the angle is right, Aziraphale knows it the second he thrusts back in, because Crowley jolts, his whole body shuddering, arching off the mattress and into the angel’s touch, a cry escaping his lips that is pure pleasure, pure need.
“Angel”, he gasps out, and Aziraphale can feel Crowley’s hand speed up, wrapped around his own cock. “More, please, I need – “
There is nothing Aziraphale can do but give Crowley what he wants; he thrusts back into the demon, sets a pace that is slightly faster, but still as deep, and realises just a few moments afterwards that he won’t be able to keep this up for much longer. It feels too good, too right, and Crowley is choking on each breath, his inner walls clenching, massaging Aziraphale’s cock and making every thrust feel even more overwhelming than the last.
Beneath him, Crowley can’t keep his eyes open any longer, his hand moving in time with Aziraphale’s thrusts, and he’s the most delicious sight in all of eternity, the mere look on him making it difficult for Aziraphale to keep it together.
The arm Crowley still has around Aziraphale’s shoulders drags him down, so Crowley can kiss him sloppily, no strength for finesse left in either of them, just the need to feel the other as close as possible. Crowley’s teeth scrape across Aziraphale’s bottom lip, a sudden spark of pleasure that makes him gasp into Crowley’s mouth.
They break apart, just for a moment, and Aziraphale wants to say something, but Crowley beats him to it.
“Love you”, the demon breathes out and Aziraphale can feel the words against his lips, feels them set his immortal, his eternal soul aflame.
“I love you, too”, he answers, his voice but a whisper, and Crowley groans, jerks beneath him, as Aziraphale drives his cock back into the demon’s waiting body, the head rubbing harshly against Crowley’s prostate. “More than anything.”
And it seems that this is what finally makes it too much for Crowley to take, because Aziraphale pulls out and thrusts back into him, and Crowley comes, body spasming underneath the angel as he spills between them, all over his own hand and their stomachs. His inner walls are contracting, sucking Aziraphale in deeper, and the angel finally lets go, allows the pleasure he feels to spill over and drown him under its weight.
It starts in the pit of his stomach and spreads through his limbs, the rest of his body, makes his skin tingle and his heart pound in his chest until Aziraphale almost expects it to give out; the whole world seems to shrink down to them, to Crowley pressed against him, convulsing and jerking, moaning Aziraphale’s name like it’s the only word he can still remember.
He can’t think anymore, for the first time in eternity, his mind white-hot with pleasure, with love, and Crowley takes everything Aziraphale gives him, lets the angel ride out his orgasm inside his body, fill Crowley with his seed, holds him close until Aziraphale can see again, can feel the kisses Crowley is pressing against his temple, the crown of his head.
And yet, Aziraphale doesn’t move, doesn’t know how to, just stays pressed against Crowley’s chest, their bodies still connected in the best, the most intimate way. Their breath mingles, and Aziraphale feels like is floating, his heart light and filled until he almost thinks it is about to burst.
Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, and might be just that, Aziraphale turns his head enough to look up at Crowley, who has started to comb his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair, playing with the soft strands.
There is a smile on his lips, and Aziraphale loves him, it’s as simple as that.
“Will you move in with me?”, he asks before he knows it, his speech still slurred, his voice raspy.
Still, it makes Crowley chuckle, the sweetest sound; the demon turns his head as well, and his voice is soft, loving, beautiful.
“What brought this on?”, he asks, and while it’s no real answer, his tone of voice tells Aziraphale everything he needs to know.
“Nothing”, he answers, moves just enough to brush their lips together for a precious moment. “I just can’t take the thought of not being with you ever again.”
A pause, just a few seconds of breathless silence, then Crowley smiles, and Aziraphale cannot be certain, but his amber eyes seem to shine a little bit brighter, a little bit more fiercely.
“Yes”, Crowley answers, and Aziraphale realises that before this moment, he never truly knew what it felt like to come home. “I will.”