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Green Really is Your Color

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Aziraphale was angry.

As a general rule, he considered himself to be even-keeled and cool-tempered. True, he experienced mild annoyance on a daily basis: customers coming into his bookshop, for example, mishandling priceless volumes, or worse, attempting to buy things. He’d been known to snap at someone being rude, and even occasionally to smite those who displayed outright cruelty. Of course, he tended to be subtle in his approach these days; no need for them know who’d actually been responsible for the state of their tyres or unexpected termination of employment. Better to let them draw their own conclusions about karma and cosmic justice.

Tonight, though — tonight he was very fucking angry.

Crowley leaned over the bar, long waves of auburn hair falling around his bare shoulders, and took the martini glass offered to him. The man next to him whispered in his ear while his hand slid down Crowley’s bare back, down over the green fabric of his dress and over the curve of his arse. There was quite a lot more arse there than usual, which probably meant Crowley’d made more than a minimal effort tonight. Crowley laughed, throwing his head back, exposing a pale line of throat. The man’s gaze trailed hungrily over Crowley’s skin, up to his full red lips.

Aziraphale took another sip of scotch and forced himself to focus. He possessed the literal patience of a saint, as difficult as it might be to muster at the moment. He could wait this one out, see what Crowley was up to before deciding what to do.

Crowley knew he was there, had turned to look at him when he first came in the door of the private club. Aziraphale had stopped in the middle of removing his overcoat, surprised, but genuinely pleased to see him. He’d smiled in greeting and raised a hand, but Crowley had smirked and turned away.

”Dinner tonight, Angel?”

“No, dear, I’ve that minor miracle to perform, remember? Won’t take long. Shall I ring you after?”

A pursing of lips, almost like a pout. “No. I think I’ll turn in early, get some sleep.”

“Lunch tomorrow, perhaps?”

A smile, curling up at the edges like flames licking at wood. “Of course.”

It wasn’t until Aziraphale had drawn closer to the bar that he’d realized who Crowley was talking to.

He took another sip of scotch and watched them from his corner table. The man took Crowley’s hand and raised it to his lips, kissing the inside of a delicate wrist. Crowley leaned in closer, saying something that made the man’s smile widen. He reached over to caress the man’s cheek, stroked his lower lip with a red-enameled thumb. The man’s eyes glazed over.

The glass in Aziraphale’s hand cracked. He set it down, grimacing as scotch spilled all over the table. He’d cut himself too, but it was the work of a moment to heal it.

When he looked up again, the man was standing. He extended a hand and Crowley took it, rising to his feet in a long graceful movement. The dress he wore was even shorter than Aziraphale had realized, the hem falling just a few inches below his very shapely bottom. The stiletto heels he wore accentuated the length of his bare legs; they were likely also responsible for the way Crowley’s hips swayed as the man led him from the room. Just before they disappeared together through a doorway, Crowley glanced over his shoulder. His gaze met Aziraphale’s for a brief moment with a flash of something like a challenge.

Aziraphale pressed his hands over his face and took a deep and unnecessary breath. Whatever game Crowley was playing at, he’d just upped the stakes. He wanted Aziraphale to follow, to get a good look at whatever it was he was doing.

Well, Aziraphale had more self-control than Crowley could ever dream of. He couldn’t be drawn in —tempted— so easily. He glared at the closed door and folded his arms over his chest.

One full minute ticked by, excruciatingly slowly.

He sighed and tapped his fingers on the table. It was his job, of course, to thwart the demon’s wiles. There were wiles afoot here tonight, most certainly. And in this case, the stakes were rather higher than usual. Aziraphale hardly had a choice.

No one watched him cross the room and slip through the same door; his actions were completely uninteresting to anyone who happened to glance his direction. He closed the door carefully behind him, so quietly that human ears would not detect it.

It was the sort of room used for private functions and important meetings. The walls were richly decorated with mahogany wood panels and copies of Renaissance oil paintings. A large table filled the center of the room, surrounded by a dozen leather-cushioned chairs. On the far wall stood an ornate bar with a large mirror behind. Crowley leaned against the bar now, talking softly with the man whose attention he’d garnered. The man had his hands on either side of Crowley, pinning him in place. Crowley’s arms went around his neck and he smiled coyly up at him. Aziraphale could see the man’s reflection in the mirror, saw the way he looked at Crowley as if he wanted to devour him.

Aziraphale stayed very still, didn’t breathe or even blink, but there was no way Crowley was unaware of his presence.

The man leaned in to press his lips against Crowley’s neck. Crowley’s eyes found Aziraphale’s a moment later. Aziraphale clenched his jaw and glared back at him.

Crowley raised his eyebrows in a familiar expression of Well?

Aziraphale shook his head very slightly, still glowering at him.

Crowley sighed, then snapped his fingers. The man froze. Crowley extricated himself from his embrace, then physically turned the man toward the door.

“Right, off you go. Remember what we talked about.” He gave the man a small push. The man walked forward with a blank expression, not seeing Aziraphale there at all. Aziraphale stepped aside as he opened the door and walked through.

The door closed again, and silence permeated the space between them.

Crowley took a moment to straighten his dress and run a hand through his hair before turning to look at Aziraphale. His smirk softened a bit in the face of Aziraphale’s stony expression.

“Angel. What a surprise.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Crowley?” Aziraphale took a step forward, out of the shadows at the edge of the room.

“You said you were too busy for dinner.”

“And you said you were going to sleep.”

Crowley shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

“No, you lied to me.” Aziraphale moved closer to him. “I told you I was coming here tonight, to perform a minor miracle, to encourage a Mr Johansen to support the construction of a hospital that will be vital to the local community.” He stepped forward again, backing Crowley against the table. “And I arrive to find you attempting to seduce Mr Johansen —who is happily married, I should add— and no doubt tempting him to do something completely inappropriate with his money instead.”

Crowley hopped up to sit on the table behind him, his smirk still firmly in place. “Is that what you think?”

“I’m not an idiot, Crowley.” Aziraphale shook his head. “And despite everything we’ve been through together, you are apparently still a foul demon at heart.”

“Such flattery.” Crowley leaned back on his hands and grinned at Aziraphale. “But Angel, you’ve got it all wrong.”

Anger swelled in Aziraphale’s chest, spilling out of his very skin in a righteous glow. He grasped Crowley’s chin and leaned in so close their noses nearly touched. “Stop lying to me.

Crowley went completely still, his mouth open and delicately lined eyes wide. “I’m— m’not lying.”

“Then tell me what you were doing here.” Aziraphale’s voice was soft and low, and he enunciated every single word.

Crowley’s expression was strange, unreadable. He didn’t seem to be afraid, but he was trembling. “I did the miracle for you.”

Aziraphale snorted. “I don’t believe you.”

Crowley exhaled with a soft sound. He closed his eyes. “I did. I owed you one, remember?”

Aziraphale considered this. “Why would you do that without telling me?”

“I knew I could do it quicker and you never like that. You wouldn’t approve of my methods either.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

Aziraphale released his jaw and stood back. Crowley’s words felt right and true, but he couldn’t make sense of his motives. Crowley opened his eyes again. His pupils were blown wide and his breathing audible, almost like—

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed at him. “You like this, me being angry.”

Crowley sat up a little, tilted his head one way and then another, his neck making a popping sound. He looked up at Aziraphale through dark eyelashes, his cheeks flushed and his breath still coming in short bursts.

“It’s delicious, heavenly rage,” he said at last, with a dreamy sort of tone. “I’d forgotten what it feels like to have that directed at me.”

“Is that so?” Aziraphale asked flatly.

“Yeah.” Crowley wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. “It gets me all worked up.”

Now that he looked, Crowley’s arousal was obvious: he was flushed and dewy, and exuding a cloud of pheromones. Aziraphale ought to be disgusted by it, to push him away and leave this room. He really ought to.

Crowley didn’t reply, just stared at Aziraphale’s mouth. When he met his gaze again, there was something desperate in his eyes. He wanted this, wanted Aziraphale angry and rough and…

Aziraphale surged forward. It was not a soft, sweet kiss, nor a tender, loving kiss. It was an angry, lustful kiss, the sort of kiss that Aziraphale had never given anyone. Crowley whimpered and grasped Aziraphale’s arms, and let Aziraphale take his mouth like he’d never wanted anything more.

If it was righteous anger Crowley wanted, Aziraphale could give it to him. He could give him a hell of a lot more than that too. He pulled out of the kiss and stared at Crowley, calculating.

“You did this on purpose. You wanted to make me angry.”

Crowley’s mouth looked violated now, a gash of smeared lipstick on pale skin. “I actually thought you’d figure it out.” He raised his eyebrows. “But no, you assume I’m here to do evil.”

“You are evil.”

Crowley’s lip curled into a snarl. “Oh, Angel. You say the sweetest things.”

Anger bubbled just beneath the surface of Aziraphale’s skin. He could feel it pushing up, into his throat, begging to be released. His hands found Crowley’s sides, slid down to his hips. He pulled Crowley forward.

Crowley spread his thighs wantonly, and Aziraphale was drawn in like a magnet to stand between them. Crowley smelled incredible now, heady and warm, and unmistakably like sex. Aziraphale knew the shudder that went through him at this was a human response, something innate to his corporeal form, but it affected him all the same. He leaned in close enough to kiss Crowley, but didn’t, keeping the tiniest of spaces between their mouths.

“Foul demon,” he whispered, and darted his tongue between Crowley’s lips just enough to tease. Crowley tried to press their lips together, but Aziraphale held firm that invisible boundary between them.

“Spiteful angel.” Crowley’s voice held a tinge of defiance, even as his nose brushed against Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale slid a hand into Crowley’s hair and made a fist, pulling Crowley’s head back sharply. Crowley gasped, and Aziraphale waited.

Crowley looked back at him a moment, then nodded very slightly.

Aziraphale pulled him in and roughly kissed him. He opened himself up, let go of everything until anger and frustration rose from his skin in waves. Crowley melted against him, his fingers digging into Aziraphale’s sleeves. He whimpered into Aziraphale’s mouth, overwhelmed by a rush of power Aziraphale could nearly see. Crowley wrapped his legs around Aziraphale’s body, trying to pull him even closer. Aziraphale’s hands clenched at his hips, then moved to his thighs, pushed up the silky fabric of his dress to find smooth skin underneath. His pressed his thumbs into the crease of Crowley’s groin, dipping them into the patch of hair there.

“Please,” Crowley breathed, his arms around Aziraphale’s neck now. “C’mon, Angel.”

Aziraphale slid one hand lower, lower until his fingers met slick warmth between Crowley’s thighs. He teased until Crowley whined, then pressed two fingers into him, his thumb against Crowley’s clit, and his tongue in Crowley’s mouth. The energy between them felt raw and fluid, pulsing over their skin in time with Aziraphale’s thrusts. He swallowed the sounds Crowley made, more desperate, more needy, his own arousal spiraling up to the edges of control. Crowley’s back arched, and his body began to flutter and clench around Aziraphale’s fingers. Aziraphale didn’t stop, kept his touch where Crowley needed it until his moans faded and his body went pliant in Aziraphale’s arms. They breathed in tandem, foreheads pressed together.

Aziraphale wasn’t angry anymore. He wasn’t sure what he felt.

He went to withdraw his fingers, but Crowley caught his wrist and held him there.

“No, don’t stop.” He ground against Aziraphale’s hand, wanton and desperate all over again.

Aziraphale crooked his fingers inside him, trying to keep up with the new rhythm Crowley had set. He was utterly lost to it, almost desperately grinding into Aziraphale’s hand, chasing his pleasure until he came again with a muffled cry against Aziraphale’s shoulder, pulsing around Aziraphale’s fingers for the second time in a minute. He seemed to be finished, so Aziraphale pulled his hand away gently, extracted his sopping fingers. Before he could consider what to do about that, Crowley pulled Aziraphale’s hand up and sucked them into his mouth. That wicked tongue wound around Aziraphale’s fingers, cleaning them thoroughly.

Aziraphale couldn’t move against the onslaught of sensation. He could barely breathe. The connection between them was flowing both directions now, his own shifting maelstrom of intensity being met by waves of Crowley’s lust and need.

“More,” Crowley said when he released Aziraphale’s fingers. He reached for the fastenings of Aziraphale’s trousers. “Please.”

Aziraphale hadn’t had a penis when he’d walked into the room, but there was now an erection straining against the front of his trousers. They both tore at the button and zip, neither of them capable of enough finesse to perform a miracle at the moment.

Aziraphale pushed Crowley’s searching fingers away once they finally got his trousers pushed down. He took his own unfamiliar cock in hand and looked down at it. It was bigger than what he’d usually manifest, and so hard it ached. He gave it an experimental stroke, and shivered. He’d forgotten what that felt like.

Crowley’s expression was one of sheer greed. “I want that inside me, right fucking now.”

Aziraphale had to close his eyes for a moment.

He’d done this quite a few times during his long his existence, out of curiosity in the early years, to give comfort here and there, and very occasionally because he’d fancied himself in love. He’d learned quickly that loving humans was a disappointing affair, and a few millennia in, he’d decided it was best to keep his distance. There had been an exception or two in the last thousand years, but otherwise he hadn’t given physical love much thought.

Crowley, though — Crowley was always an exception. He’d thought about doing all manner of sexual things with Crowley, more frequently than he’d be inclined to admit. It had all been fantasy, though. He’d never expected to have Crowley like this, wet and wanting, begging to be taken.

Aziraphale was an angel, but he wasn’t a fool.

He pushed Crowley’s thighs apart and moved forward enough to make contact, but not yet penetrate. He looked at Crowley’s face.

Crowley groaned. “Will you just— come on!” He wriggled his hips, trying to get himself onto Aziraphale’s cock.

Aziraphale chuckled, holding Crowley’s hips still. “Eager, are we?”

Crowley reached up and grabbed a handful of Aziraphale’s shirt. His expression was intense. “Fuck me. Now.”

Aziraphale pushed into him, and his mouth fell open. That, that — he wasn’t sure it had ever felt that way any of the other times. This was soft and warm and slick and perfect, pulling him in until he was pressed as close to Crowley as he could possibly be.

“Yes yes yes,” Crowley hissed. “Now move.”

“Ah… fuck.” Aziraphale was about a minute from coming already.

Crowley pulled him down into a kiss with that same handful of shirt, and it was enough to ground Aziraphale for the moment. The storm inside him was morphing into something else now, threatening to spill over. He pushed it all down again and began to move, pumping into Crowley slowly. Crowley shifted his hips against him, meeting him at every thrust.

Crowley was a vision, taking his own pleasure in a way Aziraphale found entrancing. He tilted his face up toward the ceiling, causing waves of long hair to fall over his shoulders. His makeup was a mess, his eyes surrounded by smudges of black, giving him an almost-haunted appearance.

They had never talked about this, hadn’t even discussed the possibility. Aziraphale had known for a long time that he loved Crowley, as difficult as he could be. He knew Crowley loved him too, in his own way. This, though—

“You did the miracle, really?” Aziraphale slowed his movements, slid his hands up under the dress, bunching it at his waist to get access to more skin.

“He was already thinking about it,” Crowley said, looking up at him. “I just tipped him over the edge.”

Aziraphale’s body flooded with warmth at the idea of Crowley sneaking down here this evening to perform the miracle before he had the chance. Just to be… well, helpful. Supportive. Nice. “Are you saying you tempted him into doing good?”

Crowley’s mouth opened. “Ahh, I… I suppose. Angel, what is that?”

Aziraphale stilled inside him. “Sorry, what?”

“It feels like—” He closed his eyes and didn’t continue. He arched his back and whined.

Oh. Aziraphale was radiating pure love now — his very skin crackled with it. He hadn’t meant to, but it had burst out of him, and Crowley looked nearly overwhelmed. He wouldn’t have felt anything like it since… well, not in a very long time.

Aziraphale leaned over him and kissed the bare skin below his clavicle. “Are you all right?”

Crowley nodded and tangled his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair.

Aziraphale suddenly wished they were somewhere else, anywhere else. The conference table couldn’t be comfortable. They should be in a bed, at the very least, the first time they made love. He pushed the hair back from Crowley’s face, traced his thumb over the sigil under his ear.

Crowley’s breathing quickened, and his thighs tightened against Aziraphale’s hips. “Angel, what the fuck—”


Crowley gasped, then hissed through his teeth. His vagina tightened around Aziraphale’s cock in pulsing waves that nearly sent him over the edge too.

It faded, and Crowley sighed and flopped back against the table. “Ahhhh yeah… that was unexpected.”

Aziraphale stared down at him. “Really, just from that? I wasn’t even trying.”

Crowley grinned lazily, his cheeks flushed. “You’ve no idea what it’s like to feel that kind of divine love after all this time.”

“It’s not divine, my dear. It’s just me.”

“Not much difference in how it feels.” Crowley shifted beneath him. “I could come again, though, if you just” —he wriggled against Aziraphale— “keep going, yeah?”

“I’m beginning to see why you made this particular effort.”

“Shut up. Move.”

Aziraphale pulled him up to sitting, then lifted him off the table. Crowley squawked in surprise.

“I’ve a miracle to spare tonight,” Aziraphale said, and then they were in Crowley’s flat, in Crowley’s bedroom.

Crowley gaped at him. “Your cock is still inside me.”

“I thought it would be rude to take it out.”

“It was rude not to warn me at all.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

“Also rude to keep me waiting.” Crowley squeezed, using muscles that Aziraphale hadn’t even known existed.

Aziraphale’s knees wobbled. “Oh, dear, I need—” He took a step toward the nearest wall and braced Crowley up against it.

“There is a perfectly good bed right over— nnnnngh!”

Aziraphale pushed up into him with a groan. Crowley’s head fell back against the wall.

“Ah, fuck, that’s good, right there, come on.”

Aziraphale had learned over time that some things seemed to be hard-wired into a human body. Hunger, for instance, cravings for sweet things, the lure of a warm fire on a cold night. This intense need to thrust up into the slick heat of Crowley’s cunt was definitely one of those things.

Crowley’s arms went around his shoulders and his thighs clenched Aziraphale’s hips tightly, trying to help support his weight against the wall. Aziraphale’s arms ached with the effort, his fingers digging into the meat of Crowley’s arse as he held him up and drove into him. The green dress was pushed up around Crowley’s waist and his hair stuck to his damp skin. Aziraphale’s trousers were around his ankles now, but he didn’t have the presence of mind to stop and kick them off.

He longed to kiss Crowley, to claim that luscious mouth, but he couldn’t reach it. He buried his face against Crowley’s shoulder instead, mouthing against his bare skin. Lust and desire were rolling off Crowley’s body, flowing over Aziraphale and seeping into him at every point they touched. It was delicious, wicked, and would have been worrying if he wasn’t also overflowing with love and adoration of his own. Where the two met, they wove together, twisting, winding, creating something new and exquisite.

Aziraphale had been worked up for what felt like hours, and now he was close, so close. He chased it, legs shaking, his entire body lit up from the inside. He and Crowley were intertwined so completely that he could sense how close Crowley was too, could shift a bit, change the angle of his thrust to where Crowley so desperately wanted it. Both of them were past words now, well into grunts and moans and aspirated breaths. All that mattered in the universe was this, the way they were tangled together, the energy they created where their bodies joined, spiraling up and up.

And suddenly, Aziraphale was there, could do nothing to hold himself back. He pushed into Crowley once more, deep and needy, and came, gasping against his throat. He’d forgotten what this part was like, how intense and overwhelming it felt. He wanted to hold onto it as long as possible, so he selfishly took what he needed until he slumped against Crowley, spent.

“Down.” Crowley pushed at Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“Yes, sorry.” Aziraphale pulled out gingerly, then lowered him back to the ground.

“No, down,” Crowley repeated, frustration in his tone. He pushed harder.

Aziraphale sank to his knees, confused.

Crowley lifted the bottom of the dress and spread his thighs. His expression was hungry, almost desperate.

“Put your tongue on my clit and keep it there.”

Aziraphale didn’t hesitate; he leaned right in. Crowley gasped above him and clenched his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair. He tasted incredible and smelled better, and Aziraphale was nearly overwhelmed.

“Lick, like — yeah, just like that, fuck.”

Aziraphale slid his thumbs up to hold his labia apart, and flicked the tip of his tongue against that swollen nub. Crowley made increasingly desperate sounds above him, one hand on the back of Aziraphale’s head, as if to keep him in place, and the other somewhere above — Aziraphale was too far gone to bother looking up.

“Suck me,” Crowley gasped.

Aziraphale did, gently at first, then harder when Crowley ground against his mouth, his gritted-out words a crescendo of “yes there more fuck YES.” Crowley tipped over the edge, moaning as if in ecstasy, giving himself over to Aziraphale’s lips and tongue. Aziraphale softened his mouth, laving gently until Crowley pushed his head away, finally oversensitive.

Crowley slid down the wall and collapsed on the floor, thighs splayed around Aziraphale’s knees. His vulva was slick and swollen. Aziraphale wanted to put his mouth there again as soon as possible.

“Holy shit,” Crowley said once he finally caught his breath.

Aziraphale chuckled and brushed hair out of Crowley’s sweaty face. “Did you enjoy yourself, my dear?”

Crowley whimpered. “I can’t feel my feet. I think you broke me.”

“Then let me give you a hand.” He kicked off his trousers at last, then lifted Crowley and carried him to the bed.

Crowley stared up at him, dazed. “This is some top level romance shit, Angel.”

“Good. Despite this rather unorthodox beginning, I do intend to court you properly from here on out.” He stretched out next to Crowley.

He expected Crowley to argue with this, but he just yawned. “Long as we keep fucking, you can court me all you want.”

Aziraphale kissed the tip of his nose. “I see no reason to deny ourselves something as beautiful as that.”

“When did you ever deny yourself anything?”

“Point taken.” Aziraphale slid his hand over Crowley’s stomach and tugged the dress down over his hips.

“Concerned for my modesty or just admiring the dress?”

“It is lovely.” The fabric slid through his fingers like water. ”I do hope we didn’t ruin it.”

“Nothing a miracle won’t fix. Next time you can wear it.”

Aziraphale giggled at the thought. They’d have to miracle it quite a few sizes larger. “If you like.”

“I fucking love you,” Crowley said, eyes closed now. Before Aziraphale could respond, he was asleep.

He watched Crowley for a bit, his head spinning. They needed to talk about this, to make sure they were on the same page, so to speak. They also had to decide how to handle it with their respective head offices. That was terrifying even to consider.

Aziraphale felt no guilt or remorse, though, only the soft contented glow that accompanied a particularly good miracle. And he felt love — that part was neither new nor a surprise.

Crowley made a soft sound and shifted closer. Aziraphale relaxed and closed his eyes. He didn’t usually go in for sleep, but right now, the idea of waking up next to Crowley in the morning was an irresistible temptation.

And besides, he’d read that morning sex was especially nice. He resolved to find out.