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Booty Call

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Crowley turned onto Baker Street and groaned at the sight before him. “Why the fuck is there this much traffic in the middle of the afternoon?”

Ah… right. This was his fault, now that he thought about it. Back in the 1990s, he’d done some work to insure a substantial number of central London intersections had incredibly poorly timed traffic lights. Including the one directly ahead of him, as he now recalled.

“Fucking buggering heaven rimming Satan himself.” He pounded his fist on the steering wheel. The Bentley gave an offended shudder.

“Sorry, love.” He stroked the wheel apologetically. “It’s not your fault, is it?”

He let his head drop back against the headrest and sighed.

His mobile buzzed on the seat next to him: Aziraphale was calling. He tapped the screen.

“Angel, how’s it hanging?”

There was no response.


Still nothing. Crowley frowned and stared at the display. The call had been going for nearly 15 seconds now. Weird. He tapped END. The cars ahead of him moved forward, temporarily distracting him.

The light let approximately two cars through before turning red again, to his frustration and dismay. He swore creatively, then picked up the mobile again.

Aziraphale had just got his very first mobile phone, after refusing to do so for decades. (Crowley’d first got one back in the 1980s, when they were huge and needed to be kept plugged into one’s car.) Aziraphale was still figuring out how to use it, so perhaps he’d accidentally muted himself.

He opened his contacts and tapped on AZIRAPHALE. It rang three times.

“Hello? Crowley?”

“You called me just now.”

“I did? Oh! Oh dear. I think that was a booty call.”

Crowley winced. “Butt dial, Angel. It’s called a butt dial.”

“Ah, right. Is a booty call something else?”

Crowley snickered. “Yeah. You should google it.”

“I will. Did you need something?”

“Nah, just checking if you’d really called or if you—”

“Butt dialed, right. Sorry.” He sounded embarrassed.

Crowley grinned. “Later, Angel.”

The light changed, and he crept forward just enough to make it to the edge of the intersection before it went red again.

“Bloody shitting cumguzzling piece of fucking—”


Crowley twirled the spritzer around his finger. “All right, show me what you’ve got.”

The plants shivered in terror all around him. He smiled. Oh, he needed his today.

His mobile buzzed in his pocket. He considered ignoring it; nine times out of ten it was some sort of telemarketer anyway. Those were fun to torment, though, especially when you could call them by their childhood nickname and ask about their pets, drop in a mention of their mother’s hobbies. His record for being hung up on was 3 seconds. The plants would be here, but this was an opportunity for entertainment.

He pulled the mobile from his pocket and frowned. It was Aziraphale. Huh.


“Crowley! I was hoping to catch you.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“So, I followed your suggestion and looked up ‘booty call’ the other day.”

Crowley’s smirk widened. “And?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I thought I’d ring you up and offer properly.”

The smirk was wiped from Crowley’s face in a moment. “Sorry, what?”

“This is a booty call. Are you interested?”


Was Crowley interested? Of course he was fucking interested; he’d been pining after Aziraphale for thousands of years. Lust was one of his favorite sins, and he’d jerked it to thoughts of the angel and his creamy pale thighs more times than he could count. He’d never thought Aziraphale would straight up offer, though.

“Are you serious? This isn’t a joke?”

“Of course not.” Aziraphale sounded mildly offended. “Why would I joke about something like that? You know I’m fond of you, dear boy.”

Crowley was many things, but a fool was not among them. “Right. Okay. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Perfect. I’ll open a bottle of wine for us. Ta!”

Crowley clutched the mobile to his chest and closed his eyes. He could hardly believe it. Aziraphale wanted him, after all this time. Sure, it was rather abrupt, and likely falling under the patchy umbrella of friends with benefits, but Crowley was used to taking what he could get.

Well then: what did one wear to a hookup with the being of one’s deepest desire?


Crowley hesitated in front of the door of the bookshop. Should he knock? He didn’t usually, but this time felt different. He raised his fist, then dropped it again. He leaned in to peek through the window.

“It’s closed, as usual,” said a young woman walking past. Crowley turned to look at her. “I don’t even know how the place stays in business to be honest.”

Crowley scowled at her, and she frowned and hurried off. Right. No point in knocking, really. He touched the handle and the door shivered in welcome.

“Angel?” he called, locking the door behind him.

“Back here!”

There was a spike of nervousness in Crowley’s belly. He swallowed hard to shove it right back down again.

Aziraphale smiled widely at Crowley and put a glass of red wine in his hand, then led them to the sofa.

“Shall we get down to it, then?”

Crowley had, unfortunately, just taken a large sip of wine.

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, patting his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Crowley croaked. “Just… yeah.”

Aziraphale sat back and pointed the remote at the television. “I believe this one is fairly popular. Do you know it?”

On the screen, the first episode of Stranger Things began to play.

Crowley coughed, grateful to have a moment to recover.

They were halfway through the episode and well into their second bottle of wine before Crowley began to wonder when the real action was going to start. Aziraphale seemed caught up in the show at the moment. He’d settled next to Crowley, their shoulders pressing together. Crowley took a slow, deep breath.

Damn, Aziraphale smelled good.

He was probably giving Crowley a bit of space after that awkward choking-on-wine incident. It wasn’t the sexiest Crowley had ever been, that was for certain. He should give Aziraphale a hint that he was ready to move things along.

He stretched, arms raised over his head, then settled one around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Aziraphale turned to smile at him, then looked back to the television. Score.

The episode rambled on. Crowley drained his glass.

“Should I open another bottle?” Aziraphale turned toward Crowley, eyebrows raised. He looked like he was waiting for something.

Was he waiting for Crowley to make the first move? Had Crowley given him the impression he was hesitant, nervous somehow? Shit, had Crowley given him the wrong idea entirely? He probably had.

“My dear, are you all right?”

He was fucking it up royally, this very moment. Aziraphale had been DTF when he’d walked in the door, and now he thought Crowley was freaking out. Shit. Shit.

He should make the first move, right? Just go for it, kiss him, get this whole booty call on the road.

“Another bottle,” Aziraphale said, squeezing Crowley’s shoulder. He stood. “I’ve got something special, actually.”

He disappeared into the shop’s small kitchen.

Crowley took a moment to collect himself. Aziraphale was being patient, but Crowley needed to show him he was ready to get things started.

Aziraphale returned with a freshly opened bottle and two flute glasses. “It’s a cava,” he explained, pouring it out. “Semi-dry, reminiscent of the best champagnes, but with a bit of Spanish flair.” He handed Crowley a glass.

“Muy romántico.” Crowley held up his glass.

Aziraphale flushed slightly, but he clinked his glass against Crowley’s. “I suppose it is.”

He looked pleased when he settled next to Crowley. He snuggled in closer than before, then picked up the remote and started the show again.

Crowley didn’t bother looking at the screen. He kept his gaze on Aziraphale.

Aziraphale began to fidget, clearly aware of Crowley’s eyes on him. He glanced sideways at Crowley once, twice, then turned his head.


Crowley leaned in and kissed him.

He could feel surprise in the shape of Aziraphale’s lips. He clearly hadn’t expected Crowley to make the first move. He soon melted into it, though, his lips moving softly against Crowley’s in return. They kissed for several minutes like that, gently exploring, before Aziraphale pulled back and stared up at Crowley, wide-eyed.

“Was that okay?” Crowley asked, cupping his fingers against Aziraphale’s cheek. “I didn’t ask first.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s lips parted slightly. They were wet and pink and Crowley found himself staring at them. He forced himself to look up at Aziraphale’s eyes again. “Yes,” Aziraphale said, a little breathless now.

Crowley pulled him against his chest, almost on top of him, already relishing the feel of the weight of a body on him. Of Aziraphale’s body on him, something he’d thought about so many times, for so long. Aziraphale sighed against him and deepened the kiss. Crowley shifted beneath him, his trousers already growing tight. Aziraphale pushed him down into the sofa with a soft moan. Crowley spread his thighs like the whore he was, and Aziraphale settled between them.



“Is this all right?”

“Er… yes?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to presume.”

Crowley blinked up at him. “You said it was a booty call. Presumption was implied.”

Aziraphale frowned at him. “Sorry?”

“You.…” Crowley felt his stomach sink. Oh, no. No no no. “Angel… what do you think a booty call is, exactly?”

“I googled it. The first thing I saw said something about ‘Netflix and chill,’ so I thought…” His expression shifted into confusion. “Did I get it wrong?”

Crowley groaned and pressed his hands over his face. “You didn’t think to look at what that meant, did you?”

Aziraphale sat up, his hands twisting together in his lap now. “Oh dear, I’ve really messed this up, haven’t I?”

Crowley whimpered. How was this his life? How?

Aziraphale sighed and was quiet for a long moment. Crowley dropped his hands to see Aziraphale staring at the screen of his mobile with wide eyes. He looked up at Crowley. “You thought I was asking you here to have sex?”

Crowley stared up at the ceiling. “Honestly? Yes.”

“And you…you came.” Aziraphale’s voice had a note of wonder to it.

“Of course I came, you daft angel. You invite me over for sex and you think I’d say no?” He gestured vaguely at Aziraphale’s… everything. “Have you seen you?”

Aziraphale made a small sound, almost like a gasp. “You’d want to do that? To have sex, with me?”

Crowley heaved a sigh. In for a penny, as they said. “I wouldn’t have come over otherwise.”


They were both quiet for a moment. Disappointment rose, burning, in Crowley’s throat. He’d thought for half a blessed hour that Aziraphale felt the same way he did, and it had been glorious. But now, he felt like a right idiot.

He sat up, carefully not looking at Aziraphale. “Sorry about that. I suppose I… Well. I should probably go.”

He moved to stand, but Aziraphale caught his sleeve and yanked it so hard Crowley tumbled back down to the sofa. Crowley turned to look at him in surprise. Aziraphale stared back with a wild expression, then leaned in and kissed Crowley again.

This wasn’t a kiss full of romance or finesse; it was a kiss of absolute desperation, with way too much tongue and an abundance of saliva, involving teeth clacking together in ways that would make a dentist wince. It didn’t matter, though, because it was the best kiss of Crowley’s existence.

“Yeah?” he asked, already pushing his hands up under Aziraphale’s waistcoat.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied, his fingers working at the buttons of Crowley’s shirt. “Yes, yes, oh my goodness, yes, Crowley…”

They haphazardly tossed items of clothing this way and that until finally they were both without trousers. Aziraphale still wore a shirt, though it was unbuttoned, and Crowley had a single sock on.

Crowley reached down between Aziraphale’s thighs and— ah. Right.

He pulled out of the kiss. “So how exactly would you like to do this?”

“Oh, goodness! Hmmm.” Aziraphale looked thoughtful for a full second, then something very warm and hard and rather larger than he’d expected bumped up against the back of Crowley’s hand.

Crowley looked down between them. “What the heaven? Angel, that’s huge.”

“Is it? Oh dear. I can—”

“Don’t you dare.” Crowley took it in his hand —his fingers barely wrapped around the girth of it— and gave it a stroke.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Oh good lord.”

Crowley grinned. “You are gonna stay right there and let me do all the work, all right?”

He moved back on the sofa so that he could lean over Aziraphale’s lap and get that massive cock in his mouth. Well, not all of it, but he did his very best. Being a snake at his core did have its advantages.

“Crowley, my dear, you— that—” Aziraphale quickly became a whimpering mess, punctuated by the occasional semi-swear and groan. He wasn’t shy about tangling his fingers in Crowley’s hair and guiding his movements, which sent all sorts of lovely tingles to Crowley’s balls.

“I want this” —he gave the head of Aziraphale’s cock a sumptuous lick— “inside me.”

Aziraphale glanced down at Crowley’s erection. “Wouldn’t it be easier if—”

“I don’t want it easy, Angel. Have you ever had a massively thick cock up your arse?”

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open, and he blinked a few times before responding. “Well, no, I can’t say that I have.”

“You’ll have to try it sometime. But right now, this is all mine.” He slid one hand up the shaft, coating it in slick as he did.

Aziraphale gasped. “You spent a miracle on that? I’ve got a perfectly good bottle of lube upstairs!”

Crowley had to pause to process that. Not now. Another time. “This is quicker.” He positioned himself over Aziraphale’s lap and lined up his cock exactly where he wanted it.

Aziraphale’s expression was one of concern. “Are you’re sure you’re ready for—”

Crowley sank down, taking in the head. “Come on, Angel. You know as well as I do how malleable these bodies are. We aren’t human. We don’t have to go slow.” He pressed his hips down into Aziraphale’s lap until he could go no farther. “You’ve experience in this area, then?”

Aziraphale’s face was a beautiful shade of pink, and his eyes were wide and dark. “Yes, though it’s been a while.”

Crowley rose and sank again, tilting his hips as he did. “Mmmm. I want you to tell me about it. Later, though. Right now, I want you to fuck me.”

Aziraphale hissed through his teeth. His hands found Crowley’s hips, and he pumped up into Crowley. “Like that?”

“Like that, yeah… fuck, Angel, you—”

Crowley had intended to ride him into the sofa, but before he knew what had happened, Aziraphale took over. He slammed his hips up into Crowley, ramming that huge cock onto him over and over. Crowley gave in to it, letting Aziraphale control the pace. His cock was glorious, thick and hard, filling him like nothing he’d felt before.

He shifted his hips until the angle was just right. “Fuck, yeah, Angel, come on, right there, nail me, yeah—”

“Good?” Aziraphale panted under him. “You like it like that?” He wrapped his fingers around Crowley’s cock and squeezed.

The pace was brutal, perfect. Crowley grabbed the back of the sofa with one hand, trying to keep himself from flailing about. Aziraphale didn’t let up, drove into him with one hand on Crowley’s hips and the other on his cock.

“You,” Aziraphale began, then choked off a moan. “Touch yourself.”

“Yeah, got it.” Crowley took his own cock in hand and stroked, and Aziraphale’s other hand went back to Crowley’s hip. He felt like a rag doll in Aziraphale’s grip, and he fucking loved it.

“My dear, are you—” Aziraphale’s head fell back against the sofa, his mouth open in a gasp.

“Yeah, I, yeah,” Crowley said, panting. “Just a bit more, right there, right—”

He slumped forward over Aziraphale as he came, his vision going fuzzy and gray behind his eyelids. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him and kept pumping into him for another half a minute before he pushed all the way in and cried out, going still.

They stayed like that for minutes, maybe hours, warm stickiness between them, intimately connected.

Crowley finally raised up enough to grin down at Aziraphale. “Now that was a damn good booty call.”

Aziraphale burst into embarrassed laughter, so much that his cock slipped out of Crowley’s arse. They both made a face at that.

“This is the messy bit.” Crowley concentrated for a moment, then all was set right again. “For humans, anyway.”

Aziraphale snickered. “Poor things.”

Crowley kissed Aziraphale softly, lingering as long as he dared before sitting up again. “I’m starting to suspect that wasn’t your first time, Angel.”

“Honestly, my dear.” Aziraphale shivered, then was fully dressed once more. “I’ve been on this Earth as long as you have.”

Crowley frowned at him. “We’re doing it just the once, are we?”

“I was cold.”

“I could keep you warm.” He leaned in closer, pressed his bare chest against Aziraphale’s side.

Aziraphale smiled. “Or we could watch the rest of this and then go to bed.”

“You have a bed, really?”

Aziraphale tilted his head, looking up at the ceiling. “I do now.”

Crowley grinned and settled against his side, still gloriously naked. “You are absolutely the wickedest angel I’ve ever met.”

“I assume that was meant to be a compliment.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s temple. ”I’m rather fond of you too, my dear.”

They never made it past the first episode of Stranger Things.