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sweet just like frustration

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Crowley never longed for Upstairs. In his more melancholy moments he missed the unending, all-encompassing Love; he missed the surety of it all - that it was all Right and Good. In some ways he missed having such undying faith in Them. That They were infallible; that he was safe. But he never missed the cold, emptiness of Heaven nor the company he used to keep. And now, right now - kept and held and cosseted here, with and by Aziraphale: this was his very own Paradise. The way the humans imagined it, all gold light and soft clouds and love, love, love in every single atom in every single unneeded breath. Not the harsh reality they had long since escaped.

Aziraphale. Beautiful, perfect Aziraphale. His angel, glowing and sure and solid everywhere Crowley was not. Splayed above him, all glorious softness against their silken sheets. He was flushed head to toe, with rosy pink cheeks and a reddened chest. Crowley wanted to spend eternity watching him almost as much as he wanted to devour him whole in one bite. He had watched and gazed and waited for so long. Now he could touch, though. Now it was allowed, and that was far too exciting and terrifying in equal measure to not take up the opportunity. The fact that Crowley was trusted with so much and Aziraphale was so confident in him and that his… faith, in Crowley, was so strong was something he still struggled to understand, let alone believe.

Crowley was held between Aziraphale’s canted thighs, equally naked, enraptured at his love. He ran one bony hand up the arches of Aziraphale’s side and stopped at the place where humans kept their hearts. Aziraphale shivered at the touch, knowing his sheltered in the very essence of Crowley. 

“Sweetheart,” Aziraphale murmured, an adoring look on his face aimed at Crowley. “Aren’t you just the loveliest thing?” Crowley buried his blushing face in the pillow of Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale ran his fingers through the red hair that was now the beautiful length it had been eons ago. Crowley learnt quickly that protesting too much to Aziraphale’s endearments made him sad and that in turn made Crowley much sadder, so he held his forked tongue on the matter. Even if the words made him feel like he was about to discorporate into stardust at any instant.

Aziraphale hummed, his fingers tangled deeper in Crowley’s locks. Once close the roots he tugged slightly and Crowley’s eyes fluttered shut with a groan. The angel smiled to himself and pulled harder. The sound Crowley made, he would claim, was an eloquent curse... but it came out much like wordless nonsense. His hips unconsciously ground into the mattress as he sought out relief but found none.

Aziraphale’s thighs pressed closer against his sides, trapping him so sweetly. Between their constriction and the sharp sensation at his scalp Crowley was in ecstasy. They were free and they were timeless and Crowley thought this, please. This, and only this, forever and ever, would suit me just fine. Leave me here and the world can continue to turn outside of this room and none of it matters. Only this

Crowley danced on the line between self-serving and selfless when it came to Aziraphale. He would do anything, anything for the angel. Anything he asked, anything he suggested, anything he needed but didn’t say aloud. But Crowley was also a terribly, desperately greedy thing. And oh, how he wanted. Wanted Aziraphale with every damned fibre of his infernal being. Wanted to be good for him; so, so good that he would never want to leave. Crowley wanted to be the best, his only, his everything. As much as he wished to lie there in exquisite rapture - he was nothing if not lazy - he needed to at least attempt to communicate all that he felt. To make Aziraphale feel even a quarter of what he experienced. He had to try.

“Angel,” Crowley muttered into Aziraphale’s chest where his head still rested. Aziraphale’s hands ceased their movements and he untangled his fingers to reach around and cup Crowley’s face. He gently, oh so gently, encouraged him to look up and meet his eyes. Those wondrous hands that had healed and helped so many throughout the years. Crowley was in awe that he got to be touched by them. The smile Aziraphale gave him was nothing short of angelic.

“Let me?” Crowley had intended the statement to come out much more like a demand, rather than the begging question that left his lips in a whine. It was excruciating, to be this, this, vulnerable, to care so much. He closed his eyes, overcome with it all, wavering as he waited for Aziraphale’s response.

The angel ran a thumb across Crowley’s red lips and his mouth opened to accommodate it. He could do this, at least, and his world narrowed down to the feel of Aziraphale against his tongue.

“Of course, my dear. Whatever you like.” Aziraphale meant it, too, and that nearly tore Crowley’s heart to pieces. He shook himself as best he could to focus on the moment, rather than the all too close and horrifying ordeal of Aziraphale knowing his every desperate thought and feeling. He slithered down Aziraphale’s body and stopped to press open-mouthed kisses to his stomach. Heaven, Crowley loved him.

He paused and rested his forehead against the belly for a moment, then took in a breath. Crowley’s hands came down, running along the downy tops of Aziraphale’s thighs. Almighty Someone Crowley wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve this. He had denied himself everything for so long but that didn’t mean he didn’t know, that he somehow forgot every single part of the angel that he had coveted from afar.

Aziraphale’s hands, thick and perfect and slightly rough, surprisingly, from years of handling pages and pages of text. His hands, reaching for Crowley, running through his hair, held in his own when that was more of the done thing. Offering him a morsel of something he simply had to try, pointing out a passage or line in a book, passing him a glass or bottle. The other things his fingers could do, that Crowley only let himself imagine in the middle of the night, alone and lonely. Now he knew, of course, just how divine they felt like against him, in him. His fantasies had been nowhere near close.

His blessed cheeks, so round and lovely, when they were pushed up in a smile even more so. Always slightly pink and flushed like the clouds of the prettiest sunset. Darker still when the angel was intoxicated, which made the fine dusting of his pale peach-fuzz stand out more.

The angel’s eyes, of course. Blue and wide and sparkling and brilliant. His own were the main reason Crowley kept the sunglasses on, but they also filtered the beauty that was Aziraphale’s eyes to something more manageable. Crowley sometimes caught himself staring at the sky, not longing for his former home, but because the shade was so remarkably similar that he couldn’t help but look up in absolute wonder.

But of course, Aziraphale’s thighs were a different matter. Crowley didn’t remember anything from before his Fall. Aziraphale said he doesn’t think that they met, that he would have remembered Crowley no matter if he hadn’t known him yet. Thus for their first few millennia of acquaintanceship Crowley hadn’t seen the angel in anything other than a long, flowing tunic of some kind. Trousers began to be more common in Europe and as agents of Earth they adopted the custom in suit. But the first time Crowley witnessed Aziraphale in fabric that clung to his lower half, he feared he would require something much stronger than smelling salts to resuscitate him. 

And his backside. Crowley wasn’t much for poetry but he privately thought that this was a topic worthy of at least a dozen sonnets. It was a glorious thing. Full and lush and round, all of the angel’s perfect, thick flesh. Crowley never vocalised it, of course, but he thought it was simply indecent how absolutely sinful Aziraphale looked, and in public no less. Many of his fantasies had originated at a time when it was popular to wear breeches and history had only condemned him further since. Crowley wanted to touch the trousers, feel them, be in between them in all senses of the word. It made his hands itch, sometimes, with wanting.

Even worse than the general sin of lust, Crowley all too often considered what kind of Effort Aziraphale would make. When it was the done thing they both manifested the appropriate equipment as suitable for beings that were perceived as male, but now there were so many options and it kept Crowley up at night. Literally and figuratively.

Now, though, they were here. Survivors of a failed Armageddon, together and in love and together. Crowley worshiping at the alter of Aziraphale and Aziraphale, beatific, saying he was worthy. 

Aziraphale was glistening. The skin so pink and soft and wet, just for Crowley, framed by golden curls which matched the angel's own halo of hair. Only for him. When they first got together and discussed the more...physical side of their relationship, the angel had confessed that although he had indulged in earthly delights throughout the years, he rarely felt drawn to make the Effort for himself alone. It was exhilarating to see him like this, touch him like this. Crowley drew one carefully manicured finger against the slit of him, drawing out a contented sigh. He did it again, pressing in further and separating the lips from one another. Despite his desire to, Crowley knew that doing this all day would unreasonably frustrate the angel and lead to him without any relief at all. He pushed his hair onto his shoulders and pressed his face closer.

His tongue, mostly human at the moment, followed the path that his finger had just traced. Shallow movements at first, he teased as long as he could before Aziraphale’s hands tugged again at his hair. Crowley grinned to himself, and used his fingers to hold the angel open enough to get at his clit properly.

He tongued under the hood and Crowley began to suck in earnest, all the while Aziraphale made delectable sounds above him. He tried to make it last as he knew soon the angel would become mindless in his pleasure and chase release with no presence of mind. Crowley rubbed the pad of his index finger against the sensitive entrance. Aziraphale keened and his thighs tightened slightly around Crowley. Crowley moaned too, the press of soft flesh against his face and the angel in his mouth was a heady combination. 

He continued to curl his tongue in and into Aziraphale, alternating with broad, flat strokes, then finally granted some relief by entering him with one finger. 

“Sweetheart, please,” the angel begged.

Crowley complied, in the moment too in love and soft to be defiant, and moved forward to the spot that made Aziraphale positively quiver around him. Crowley only indulged because it brought Aziraphale pleasure, only loved one creature in all of existence, only wanted to be here and now forever and always. The soft, impossibly, ethereally soft skin now wrapped around his face. He sighed to himself.

Crowley’s finger thrust in and out as the angel murmured something which could have been poetry or scripture or wordless nonsense. Demonic hearing was better than human, sure, but Aziraphale’s thighs provided ample soundproofing, and Crowley was more than a little distracted.

He used his single finger to rub again and again in him before he withdrew completely as he eased up on Aziraphale’s clit. The angel whined - a desperate, needy sound which transformed into a satisfied groan as Crowley not too gently inserted two fingers this time and blew on his clit. Aziraphale’s thighs tensed around him, momentarily suffocating him so all he knew was the taste and smell and feel of holy flesh. Crowley’s grip tightened on Aziraphale’s gorgeously plush arse and drew one leg over his shoulder, wanting nothing more than to exist only within the space of the soft wet heat.

It was at that moment that Crowley realised he had manifested a cock. He didn’t particularly have a favourite configuration, but this was awfully convenient as both he and Aziraphale were otherwise occupied. His hips continued to thrust on the bed, now with more purpose, as he pushed further into Aziraphale.

His fingers still moved achingly slow, clearly too slow for Aziraphale who muttered a frustrated “Crowley, honestly” before he gripped more firmly onto Crowley’s hair and pulled him tight against him. If Crowley had had any room for it he would have let out a moan, but all he could do was desperately rub himself against the sheets. He was leaking, now. He could feel it coating him, smoothing his way. In that moment he was glad they had compromised on the bedding because Aziraphale’s neuroses about stains would have been at an all time high after this.

Crowley latched onto Aziraphale’s clit and sucked harder and his fingers thrust more roughly, just how the angel liked it, crooked into him just so.

“Oh, Crowley, yes. Oh, you’re so good, aren’t you? So good for me, so good at this, oh my dear, yes, there, please,” Aziraphale gasped out.

The praise only intensified his actions, both for Aziraphale and himself. The angel scratched his fingers against Crowley’s scalp and the sharp pain contrasted so deliciously with the other sensations. His hip movements became frenzied, his mouth and fingers less coordinated but still dedicated, and with one final pull on his hair Aziraphale took him, completely. He used him solely for his own pleasure, and Crowley came.

In the peak of orgasm Crowley lost slight control on his mortal form and his teeth grew pointier, and the hint of sharpness against Aziraphale sent him over the edge. Crowley didn’t let up - he continued to rub at Aziraphale until his head was tugged away again by his hair. He pillowed his face into a soft thigh, nipped at it gently, and traced the inside of the other with his fingers.

Aziraphale panted for a few moments before he regained the control of his fine motor skills. This time he gently carded through Crowley’s hair with his fingers. All these years later still utterly transfixed by his beauty.

“Oh, ah, my dear I fear that I got a little carried away in my enjoyment. I’m terribly sorry.” Aziraphale turned Crowley’s face up towards him and pulled slightly to encourage him to slither up his body and kiss him.

They kissed for a long while. Aziraphale’s tongue entered Crowley’s mouth like it belonged there. Crowley thought it did. Aziraphale belonged in him and on him and with him, always. He knew the angel sometimes got a little uncomfortable with thoughts of ownership and possession, but Crowley had been trying to ease him into it. Crowley belonged to him completely, body and soul. Whatever shape his soul was in now it was Aziraphale's to own.

They separated, barely. Close enough to share breaths and heat but far enough apart to look one another in the eye.

Crowley gave a self-conscious shrug. “‘S good, actually. Was nice.”

“Really?” Aziraphale asked with a sort of hopeful thoughtfulness. Crowley shimmied down his body slightly to press his lips to the side of his neck.

“Mmm,” Crowley agreed, then sucked on the skin in earnest.

“Oh! Crowley, that’s, ah, wonderful.”

Crowley sucked harder, the praise sending sparks of arousal through his body. Once a lovely bruise began to bruise there (their bodies rarely injured but he was convinced it would happen and made it so) he sat up, hips astride Aziraphale’s lap.

“You’re inssssssatiable, angel, hmm? Ssssstill wet for me, would you look at that.” Crowley brought up the finger that had been tracing Aziraphale’s heat to lick it clean, more for show than anything else. 

Aziraphale blushed deeper, eyes transfixed on Crowley’s forked tongue.

“I know it’s terribly selfish of me, dear, but I really do desire another release, as it were.”

Crowley’s finger went back to teasing Aziraphale at an awfully slow pace. “It’s not selfish, angel, I was only jesting. You know I want you happy and satisfied, right? And it’s well established that you’re a sssssensualist.”

Crowley’s finger dipped in to barely brush Aziraphale’s clit, and his gorgeous thighs tensed ever so slightly to keep still. Crowley smirked. “D’you have a preference, then?”

Aziraphale gave him a small smile then averted his eyes. “Would it be alright with you if I were to, uh, rideyourface,” he breathed out all at once.

Crowley brought his face closer, his hands came down on either side of the angel’s head to balance himself. Aziraphale was trapped. “What was that, angel? You’ll have to speak up.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the dramatics then cleared his throat. “I wish to ride your face, as it were. Please.” He braced himself for another round of teasing.

“I thought you would never asked,” Crowley responded as he kissed around Aziraphale’s face.

“Ussse me, Aziraphale,” he whispered into the angel’s ear before he dragged his forked tongue down to suck at the earlobe.

Crowley suddenly pushed himself up from where he lay on Aziraphale and flopped over onto his back. Aziraphale blinked up at the loss. “Oh!” he realised, and shuffled over so Crowley could be more central on the bed. 

Crowley wriggled into place. His head was about a foot away from the headboard and he vanished the remaining pillows with a snap. They would only get in the way. In the meanwhile Aziraphale had sat up to watch him, all curves and soft edges of pale deliciousness stacked on top of each other.

Crowley sat up enough to pull his hair up and away from his neck. It resulted in him looking like his head rested on an auburn fan. Aziraphale giggled, so full of love and joy and wonder for the creature in front of him.

“What’re you laughing about now, Aziraphale?”

“Oh, my dear, you’re just very sweet, and I love you so very much.”

Crowley flopped back down and rolled his eyes. His blush betrayed him.

“Come here already.”

“Yes, yes of course.”

Aziraphale was a little embarrassed, to scale Crowley’s body like a tree, but the demon only encouraged him with tender touches and reassuring words. Soon Aziraphale sat kneeling over Crowley’s chest.

He paused. “What if you want me to stop, dear-heart?”

Crowley nearly rolled his eyes. “I can assure you, angel, that I won’t want that.”

Aziraphale's arousal pulsed hot in his stomach at the notion. He knew, logically, that Crowley was attracted to him but to hear declarations of such subservience was a different matter entirely. He pressed on.

“But what if you do, Crowley? It would really reassure me if you had some signal or, or way of stopping me.”

Crowley didn’t vocalise that they were supernatural beings and that he could miracle himself out of most situations. That wouldn’t comfort the angel at all. Not because he was an incredibly strong, powerful being once trusted with a most sacred duty. Nor because he had been a member of the holy army. But because Aziraphale fretted about truly hurting Crowley. The fact was difficult to swallow, sometimes.

Instead, Crowley simply snapped the fingers of his left hand and a small silver bell appeared. He rang it for emphasis.

A pleased look crossed Aziraphale’s face.

“Oh good. That will do quite nicely, I think.”

“Then come on, angel.”

Aziraphale finally listened to his spouse, lifted up on his knees and shuffled the few centimetres forward to hover above Crowley’s mouth. Crowley’s impatience got the better of him so he grabbed two handfuls of arse and pulled. Aziraphale’s hands flew out in front of him to steady himself on the headboard, and Crowley swore he could here a murmured “good lord” from up above him. It took a few moments of shifting but the couple soon aligned the relative parts.

Crowley licked at Aziraphale’s opening before his reptilian tongue emerged properly. It was forked at the end, unnaturally long, but was still thick enough to truly pierce the angel. There was no other word for it other than Crowley fucked Aziraphale with his tongue. Aziraphale released a shuddering sigh and reflexively rocked into the motion. He then stopped himself, self-conscious, but Crowley was not up for playing games. He used his grip on Aziraphale’s arse to encourage him to continue and he took the hint. Once he got used to the motion Aziraphale eased himself back. His hands planted out behind him and he thrust forward to meet Crowley again and again.

Crowley was in ecstasy, plain and simple. He had the love of his life atop him, using him to chase his pleasure, and was practically trapped between his heavenly thighs. Crowley had never been one for feasting in the way Aziraphale was but this, this - Aziraphale was the most delicious thing Crowley had ever tasted. They hadn’t done much in the way of pleasures of the flesh yet. It had all been soft caresses and gentle kisses and tender embraces. That was lovely, of course. But Someone what Crowley wouldn’t give to spend his eternity in this never-ending bliss. He really had to get around to suggesting it to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale gave a loud moan, his eyes closed in rapture and his face toward the ceiling. He then bit his lip, hard, as Crowley’s tongue reached that spot within him and he became overwhelmed with the compulsion to pour his heart out.

Crowley couldn’t see his face, nor hear him properly, but he knew Aziraphale. He knew that he was vocal, that he loved language, that he showered Crowley with affection. Particularly in the throes of passion. He rang the bell.

Aziraphale dismounted and came to rest again across Crowley’s chest. He began to stammer out an apology but Crowley shushed him.

“Assssiraphale,” he hissed out, frustrated. “Stop ressssstricting yourself. I want to hear you, I want to feel you,” he squeezed Aziraphale’s thighs for emphasis. "Use me.”

It was a benediction, it was a plea.

Above all, it was a command.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but run a finger over Crowley’s parted lips. They were slick, covered in a mix of saliva and his own juices. He realised how silly he was being. Crowley loved all of him, after all.

He nodded and wordlessly returned to his former position. It only took a moment for the pair to establish a rhythm. Aziraphale stabilised himself on one arm and used the other to roam across his chest and pull at one nipple.

“Oh,” he sighed and repeated the motion. He tugged until it was stiff before he moved on to the other one.

“Oh, my love, you’re good, you’re perfect. Crowley, sweetheart, dearest, my heart, yes, yes! There! Oh, there, please, goodness, sweet thing.”

Aziraphale’s hand had trailed down his chest, over his stomach and down to scratch softly at his thigh. His nails dug in more forcefully as he felt Crowley’s tongue thicken.

Crowley’s face was soaked. The angel was dripping above him and he drank him up like a parched creature. The thighs had pressed flush against him and around him, nearly crushing him but Crowley didn’t care. Everything was soft and wet and delightful. Crowley felt himself drift into that wonderful headspace in which he floated and the only worry he had was making Aziraphale feel good.

Aziraphale couldn’t deny himself any longer and his fingers wandered the short distance over to his Effort. He traced the seam once before he slipped in between the pink folds, gathering up his slick with his thick fingers. He teased his clit lightly which caused him to grind down on Crowley’s face harder. Small, barely there circles, over and over again, an unending loop of pleasure. It could have been hours, so lost was he in sensation. Aziraphale soon became desperate, again, and rocked back and forth on Crowley’s tongue as he rubbed at his clit more firmly. His thighs began to tighten around Crowley’s head and he threw his own back to vocalise.

Crowley, oh Lord, my love, yes, yes! So good, Crowley, you’re so good, good for me, ah!”

Aziraphale’s body shuddered in release, his thighs spasming around Crowley who didn’t let up his ministrations. Aziraphale removed his fingers and let them fall to the side as he panted. He was loose and elastic, now, and so sensitive. But the continual stroking of his walls meant he quickly returned to touching himself.

Crowley clutched onto the angel’s plush arse to pull him impossibly closer. He was thankful that he didn’t need to breathe and that he never got sore. It was an intense feedback loop of pleasure at serving Aziraphale and ecstasy in the praise. He could vaguely feel that his own effort had changed during his neglect. He was so empty he positively ached but he couldn’t focus on that now.

Crowley returned his tongue to its more human form, rounded tip and thick muscle, and kept the unnatural length. He pressed closer to the spot deep within Aziraphale’s opening that made his thighs shake. He hummed, vibrations ringing throughout the very core of him.

Aziraphale’s movements became uncoordinated and his utterances dissolved into wordless moans as he came weakly around Crowley. He lifted his hips just enough to take himself off Crowley’s face and sit on his chest, arms thrown out in front of him to keep him upright. He panted, eyes closed, forehead slick with sweat.

Crowley licked his lips. There was something so delightful about to heavy weight of Aziraphale on top of him. His arms were now trapped, straight out in front of him, under the angel’s legs. Aziraphale's hands were somewhere above his head and all he could see was the angel, above him. All he could do was lie there until he decided different. And if Aziraphale didn’t want him to move, he wouldn’t.

After a few moments Aziraphale recovered a bit. He opened his eyes and smiled sweetly down at his spouse.

“Oh, Crowley,” he murmured in utter adoration. Crowley’s pupils were blown wide, his face flushed, his mouth and chin shiny. Aziraphale used his thumb to trace over his red, swollen lips.

“Just look at you, dear heart. Absolutely beautiful, aren’t you?” Crowley keened, his mind reduced to nothing but wanting to please Aziraphale.

“My love, my heart, tell me how I can satisfy you, yes? You did so well, you must be throbbing by now,” he looked over his shoulder to glance at Crowley’s Effort. “Oh dear, you must have been hurting for quite a while to switch so. Let me help.”


Aziraphale climbed off Crowley and used both of his hands to bodily move the demon to lean against him, in his lap, where he sat against the headboard. Crowley buried his face in the angel’s neck and Aziraphale ran a free hand through the red hair that spilled over his shoulders and bare back.

“Take all the time you need, Crowley.” Aziraphale continued to caress him as he slowly came back to himself. Eventually feeling returned to Crowley's limbs, and he began to consciously respond to Aziraphale’s touches. He became more aware of his form. The heat he felt, the drying liquid on his face, and again the ache inside him.

“Assssiraphale,” Crowley whispered.

“How are you doing, my dear?”

“‘m good.”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale brought a hand up to cradle Crowley’s chin, and gently tilted his head up to face him. “Oh, good.”

“Please?” Crowley whined.

“Of course. How would you like it?”

Crowley gave a cheeky smile. “Fingersss, please.” He was still far gone enough that most of his usual shame and embarrassment had dissipated, replaced with a giddy politeness. He pressed his face closer to Aziraphale’s, kissed his cheek, then rubbed his own against it quite like a cat.

Aziraphale moved his dominant hand down Crowley’s back, around his slight waist, and down over his stomach to touch him. Even though his view was mostly obstructed by Crowley’s shoulder, he could still find him, unseeing, in the dark, anywhere.

He stroked down and entered him slowly with one finger. Aziraphale found him slick and wide open, and quickly added another finger to fill the void and crooked them just so. Crowley sighed, and wrapped his teeth around Aziraphale’s shoulder.

It didn’t take much. Crowley was already so far gone in love and lust and the joy of pleasing Aziraphale. Aziraphale added a third finger and pressed deeper and his thumb came up to rub at Crowley’s clit. Crowley’s hips rocked back and forth in small, tight circles, chasing pleasure but not wanting to be too far from Aziraphale. He moaned, face now against Aziraphale’s collarbone.

Crowley pressed closer against him so they truly embraced one another and his hole clenched greedily around Aziraphale’s fingers. He wanted to be close enough that there was no place where they weren’t touching. Wanted to meld into one being of love and satisfaction, so all that he knew and could feel was Aziraphale. Crowley moaned freely, lost in pleasure, and came, shivering.

Aziraphale removed his thumb but gave a few more thrusts of his fingers before Crowley gave a displeased noise and removed them too. Aziraphale pushed his hips back enough to extricate his arm and wrap it around Crowley's back.

Crowley moved his face up slightly and gave Aziraphale a wet kiss, missing most of his mouth and hitting some of his cheek. He fell forward into the embrace and used the angel’s hold on him to keep himself mostly upright. Aziraphale petted his hair as he discreetly miracled away the mess they had made. Crowley sighed into him.

“Beautiful, Crowley. You’re so beautiful.” Crowley moaned quietly, and clung tighter to Aziraphale’s shoulders. Aziraphale continued to play with his hair and praise him until Crowley came back to himself a little.

“Bath, angel.”

“Hmm? Oh,” once Aziraphale paid attention he heard the water running in the other room. “Thank you, sweetheart. Are you ready to move?”


“Alright, here we go.” Aziraphale miracled himself the short distance to the edge of the bed. He placed one arm under Crowley’s knees and turned him sideways to be against his chest. He then stood up.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley exclaimed, shocked at the motion.

“Dear, I wasn’t going to miracle you all the way to the bath. That would have been overkill.” Aziraphale walked them both into the adjoining en-suite.

“Overkill,” Crowley repeated, incredulous.

“Besides, I do enjoy holding you so,” Aziraphale cuddled him closer for emphasis. He then lowered Crowley to the bench, which brought him closer to his ear. “And I know you like it too.”

Crowley turned his face in time to catch Aziraphale in a kiss. Once he pulled back his face was flushed, not only from the steam. Aziraphale sat back down next to him and encouraged Crowley face away. He picked up a hair tie from the side table and swept Crowley’s long hair to fall over his back.

He braided the hair simply, carefully. Three strands of red curls, over and over and over again. Aziraphale loved doing this for Crowley, but rarely did he have the patience to sit down and let him. In the days of old and now that he had regrown it he much preferred to miracle it into whatever fashion he fancied. For now he was love-drunk and gorgeously pliant in his hands, and the trust Crowley showed in him left Aziraphale quite breathless. 

Aziraphale rolled the braid up into a loose bun, enough that it would be held above the water. Crowley was much like a cat in that he revolted if his hair got wet without his explicit intention. The exposed skin of his neck and shoulders begged to be kissed, all flawless and incredibly pale. Aziraphale bent his head down and brushed his lips slowly over Crowley, who broke out in goosebumps at the contact. Aziraphale had the presence of mind to realise that although the room was perfectly temperature controlled and the bathwater was miracled to remain warm, Crowley as he was - naked, coming down from a high - would get cold. 

“Alright my dear, would you like to get in?”

“You first.” Crowley sluggishly swiveled around and held out his arm to assist Aziraphale to sink into the bathtub.

The angel gave a pleased wiggled at the chivalry and used Crowley to stabilise himself as he walked down the short steps into the sunken bathtub. He breathed in the steam and his eyes closed in bliss. After a moment he opened them to find Crowley staring at him in wonder, an impossibly soft look on his face.

He slipped down, snakelike, from the bench onto the floor and into the bath. Crowley waded through the bubbles to get to Aziraphale, a sort of awkward half-crawl that he managed to pass off as charming. When he reached the angel he paused, kneeling and wet and deferential, still waiting for instruction and Aziraphale’s will. His brain wasn’t quite mush but it was filled with a rare quiet, the only thought being AziraphaleAziraphaleAziraphale on a loop.

Aziraphale extended a hand and sighed. “Beautiful.” Crowley’s pupils were blown wide and only a thin slit of yellow remind, and he was faintly flush all over. 

Crowley grabbed on but didn’t move any further. He just stared at Aziraphale’s hand, stroking it with his thumb again and again, absolutely transfixed. Aziraphale tugged slightly, and sat up enough to wrap his arms around him. Crowley went willingly, lax and malleable.

They ended up with Aziraphale reclining against the slope of the tub with his arms around Crowley, who curled against his chest in his lap.

It could have been mere moments, or hours. They remained there in silence, the water always warm, the couple forever in love.

Crowley was sated and sleepy but cognizant, and he still wanted so desperately to please Aziraphale.

“Angel,” he drawled out, which caused Aziraphale to still his hand where it had been petting Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Yes, dear?”

Crowley wet his lips, only now realising how dry his mouth had gotten. Aziraphale noticed and a glass of water with a straw in it appeared in his hand. He offered it to Crowley. The demon accepted it gladly, and drunk his fill. Aziraphale then set the glass to the side.

“Thank you,” Crowley said as he nosed as the angel’s neck.

“I’m glad you appreciated it, love, but there isn’t any need to thank me for it. It’s certainly my privilege to get to see you so, so…”

“Fucked out?”

“I was going to say vulnerable, but I suppose the phrase is also apt. I love you, Crowley, so very much. It’s an honour to take care of you.” 

Aziraphale,” he whined.


Crowley huffed. “....Love you.” Aziraphale squeezed him just a little bit tighter.

Crowley grabbed a washcloth from the shelf nearby. They didn’t need to clean themselves as such, only if the world somehow made them particularly dirty. And of course, they could miracle it away if it ever happened. That made Crowley’s own elaborate bathing routine all the more sinful, and his washing of Aziraphale filled with worship.

Crowley sat up to face his spouse, his legs over his lap. He slid the cloth over Aziraphale’s damp skin, running it in slow, firm circles along his shoulders and chest. The angel sighed deeply, and relaxed further into the tub.

“That’s lovely, dear. You’re lovely. Such a good boy, hmm?”

Crowley ducked his head to hide his smile and continued his actions. He thoroughly cleaned all the skin he could reach without dislodging himself. Aziraphale’s skin was just so perfect, much like the rest of him. His smooth shoulders and thick neck. Crowley was entranced.

He left Aziraphale’s face as the fabric was far too rough for that. Crowley wrung out the cloth as he finished one final sweep of his solid collarbones. He put it to the side and gripped onto Aziraphale’s hips to slide himself forward.

“Thank you, Crowley. You’ve done so well this evening.”

“I’m not finished, angel,” Crowley murmured.

“Oh?” Aziraphale asked, eyes fixed on Crowley’s lips.


Crowley moved forward ever so slightly and at the last second ducked to miss Aziraphale’s lips. He pressed a feather light kiss to his cheek, another a bit higher, and another higher still. Crowley covered Aziraphale’s face in kisses, centimetre by centimetre. Aziraphale wiggled happily at the attention.

Once the lower half of his face had been covered, Crowley brought up a hand to cup Aziraphale’s cheek and steady his face. His eyelids fluttered close at the touch, which allowed Crowley to bestow barely-there kisses on top of them. The angel made a soft sound at that, and Crowley repeated the motion on the other side. He moved on to the smooth planes of Aziraphale’s forehead, kissing once on either side and then one, two, three kisses in the middle. Crowley ducked down and kissed the tip of Aziraphale’s nose which caused the angel to smile. Crowley then kissed that sweet smile, too, as he finally met Aziraphale’s lips with his own.

“I love you, Aziraphale,” Crowley offered, looking for once at the angel’s blue eyes.

“I love you, my sweetheart,” he returned. Crowley clutched more tightly onto his spouse at the hint of possession.

“You are my sweetheart, aren’t you, hmm? My dearest love, my good boy.”

Crowley let out a noise that was a cross between a sigh of relief and a low moan. Aziraphale rubbed a comforting circle into his back.

“We really must get out of here, Crowley. I won’t have you falling asleep in the tub again.”

The statement caused Crowley to pout. He could be incredibly lazy at times and once content in one place it was difficult to get him to move.

“You won’t change my mind, dear. Come on now,” with a flick of Aziraphale’s hand the bathwater began to drain.

Crowley scooted back just enough to make room for Aziraphale to get up. Crowley remained on his knees, only looking up when Aziraphale proffered a hand. He took it a bit reluctantly and held on as they exited the bath.

They both expected a bathmat to be there so there was, a plush thing in a light cream colour. Crowley miracled a large towel to appear in his hands just as Aziraphale was about to miracle them both dry.

“Crowley, really dear that isn’t nece-” Crowley’s knees hit the floor, “-ssary. Oh goodness.”

He knelt on the mat, head down, hands twisted in the fabric of the towel.

“Sweetheart, could you look at me please?” Crowley instinctively obeyed the command, his head snapping up to look at his spouse. “Are you alright? Could you give me a colour perhaps?”

Crowley licked his lips. “Emerald, angel. I just, I jussst,” he hissed out, tongue tied and frustrated. “Want things to be good for you. Want… to be good, for you.”

“You are, Crowley. You are wonderfully good. You’ve already done so much but if you truly wish to, well.”

Crowley simply nodded, and proceeded to slowly and thoroughly dry Aziraphale. The flats of his feet, the round knobs of his ankles, the gentle curves of his calves. He pressed himself closer to get to the back of his knees and up along his beautiful thighs. Crowley sighed to himself at the privilege to be between them. He rose up slowly, to get at Aziraphale’s soft belly and chest. He rubbed the towel in small circles, taking his time to be so very tender with his angel.

“Turn, please.”

Crowley traced his path in reverse, moving down Aziraphale’s back, arse, and legs to end up once kneeling once more. The towel disappeared from his hands, replaced by a pair of folded silken pyjamas from their dresser.

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder to see why Crowley had stilled and turned again to face him.

Crowley put aside the top half of the set and held up the bottoms, his eyebrows raised in an unspoken question. If it were possible for an angel to be discorporated from the sheer amount of love they felt, Aziraphale thought he would be long gone. He nodded, and placed one hand on Crowley’s bare shoulder as he pulled up one trouser leg.

Aziraphale shifted his weight and repeated the action for the other side. He had been dressed before, when that was the done thing. But the action never felt so… charged. So reverent. Crowley had that affect on him. Before Crowley stood up to continue dressing Aziraphale he bent down, low enough to brush a kiss on the top of his left foot. Aziraphale’s breath was knocked out of him. It was a miracle he remained upright.

Crowley slithered up to standing in one fluid motion. He was still damp as he hadn’t made any effort to dry himself off, and his hair was falling out of his braid. He looked deliciously disheveled and happy, most importantly. How Aziraphale loved him.

Crowley moved behind Aziraphale, this time, and held out the shirt for him to slide into. He guided his arms gently into the sleeves before he returned and began to button it. He took care with each and every button, slipping them into their holes and pressing them flat, knowing how important it was to Aziraphale. Despite his rare patience with the task Crowley was soon done and smoothed down the shirt fabric then removed his hands completely.

Aziraphale smiled. “Thank you, my dear. Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”

Aziraphale waved a hand and Crowley was dry, but still naked. He preferred it a lot of the time, especially when Aziraphale himself was clothed. Something about it reaffirmed their dynamic in a way he enjoyed.

They returned to their bedroom. Somewhere along the line Aziraphale had miracled the sheets back to their neat and tidy state. Crowley slipped between them looking somehow small, naked in a sea of navy. Aziraphale joined him and remained sitting up as he fussed with the books and things on his bedside table.

“Do you need anything, Crowley dear? Some water, perhaps, or, or something to eat? You seemed to come down gently enough but mayhap I wasn’t as attentive as I should have been. Anything, anything at all just let me know and I’ll have it for you, lickety-split,” he promised.

Crowley rolled over to face him, a smile on his face.

“I only need you, Aziraphale. Just you.”

Aziraphale stopped his fussing to meet Crowley’s eyes. He smiled back and sunk down into the bed to wrap his arms around Crowley. He pressed their foreheads together.

“You have me.”