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lounge around in my lingerie

Chapter Text

The bracing autumn breeze nearly blew the hat clean off Crowley’s head as he walked up the cobblestone street. People drew their long coats tighter around their bodies as it passed them by. The throng of bodies automatically parted for him as he rounded the corner, searching. He’d been forced to travel to America, of all places, away from the war to bring some of the current European chaos overseas. Hastur had commandeered his radio mid-song earlier in the week and gone on a very, very long winded brief about the Irish mob. He hadn’t really tried to pay attention frankly, but Crowley had his suspicions this was more of a personal vendetta than anything.

A seduction. He rolled his eyes. Seductions weren’t even fun anymore. Not that he’d ever found the humans attractive to begin with. Sure, they looked similar enough to his corporation, and he enjoyed them as a whole, but their terribly short life spans kept him from getting personally attached to them.

Faint buzzing in his ears distracted him from the train of thought. He furrowed his brow and inhaled deeply. Vanilla, parchment, and…tea leaves? The corners of his lips rose. It was a familiar, inviting scent. He turned his head left on instinct and let out a hearty laugh. The sign above his head read Union Oyster House. He pushed the doors open and went inside.

-

Aziraphale basked in the spread before him. Basque style mussels steamed with garlic and white wine, crab cakes drizzled with lemon aioli, a steaming cup of onion soup gratineé on the side. He spread the cloth napkin in his lap, happily shifting side to side in his seat. His spoon had nearly reached his mouth when he felt an intense gaze on him.

“Never could resist an enticing meal, could you, angel?” Aziraphale turned in his seat.

“Crowley! Oh, what a pleasant surprise. Do sit down,” he said as he motioned to the chair opposite of him. Crowley circled around and slunk into it. He leaned forward, snatched the sole wine glass, and raised it to his lips with a smirk. Aziraphale’s mouth fell open and he let out a sound of protest as the wine drained from the glass.

“We’ll take two more glasses,” Crowley said to the waiter, who had miraculously been nearby. The appalled scoff Aziraphale let out only served to widen the demon’s grin. It didn’t take long for the angel to recover and dive into an elaborate explanation of his whereabouts in the past year or so. Crowley leaned back into his seat, slanted, with an arm slung lazily over the back. Aziraphale alternated between genuine excitement in telling his stories, and pure delight as he ate his impressive spread of food. A warm sensation settled in Crowley’s stomach that couldn’t solely be explained by the wine. He sipped his drink contentedly as Aziraphale recounted accidentally inspiring an author to publish a book satirizing temptation, of all things. It brought the true purpose of his trip back into focus. He finished his wine.

“I have a proposition for you.” Aziraphale paused, mid bite, and quirked an eyebrow at him.

“A favour,” he amended. “I’ve been asked to tempt the son of a local mob boss, but I’ve run into...a twist of sorts.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale regarded him with a suspicious expression. He knew he had to choose his next words carefully.

“The son, he has,” he said. Crowley stopped to pick imaginary lint from his suit jacket. “Well, he has a certain type, I’ve been told.” He watched as the last of the seafood disappeared into a plush mouth. The demon shifted in his seat.

“Type? Type of what?” Crowley suppressed a groan. This was going to be exceedingly difficult. Aziraphale was done with his meal and looking at him, face scrunched in confusion.

“A type, angel, a type! Y’know, a set of physical characteristics you personally happen to enjoy very, very much?” This, this was torture. God was up there somewhere, laughing at him as he painstakingly explained a facet of attraction to the object of his own.

“I see. Pray tell, how does all the concern me?” Crowley clenched his fists, his painted nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms.

“Becauseyoufitthebillperfectly,” he spat out. Suddenly the tablecloth in front of him had become enormously fascinating. He focused his gaze on it.

“Come again?” Crowley didn’t dare lift his line of sight. There was a patient silence as he took a deep breath.

“I’ve been told in detail the type of man this heir is attracted to, and, well...you’d play the role perfectly.” He looked up to lock eyes with the angel. The silence between them felt as if it lasted for hours. Crowley was thankful his glasses partly obscured his expression as he awaited the reply. Finally it came.

“Absolutely not! How ever could you ask such a thing?” Aziraphale’s face was red with indignation. His hand had flown up to his collar, fussing incessantly with it.

“Me, a Holy being, performing a seduction? It’s preposterous!” Sinkholes often form unexpectedly, in the oddest of places, at the oddest of times. Crowley had been rather proud of this invention. He felt failed by his own creation when one simply refused to swallow him whole on the spot.

“Right, of course,” he murmured. “Should have known better. An angel would never purposefully inspire feelings of lust. Not even sure you could if you wanted to.”

Aziraphale bristled at that. He drew his brows together and scrunched up his nose angrily. He was an angel of God, blessed with nearly infinite power. He could tempt all of bloody Parliament if he wanted to. Which he didn’t, of course.

“Now see here, my dear boy, I could certainly do it with ease!” It took a fair amount of effort to not stomp his foot into the ground.

Well. This was...this was something, wasn’t it? Crowley leaned forward in his chair and tilted his head down, his glasses slipping down his nose enough to reveal his serpentine eyes. Aziraphale swallowed.

“Oh,” Crowley said, softly. “Could you now?” He drew out each word like it was the last gasp of air in a drowning man’s lungs. Aziraphale felt a vague warmth bloom on his cheeks. It spread rapidly to his ears.

“Of-of course I could! Easily! But I would never!” Crowley threw himself back into the chair, legs spread obscenely.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “Not sure you could, really.”

That stung, just a little. He was aware that the specific shape his corporation took was quite out of style at the moment. Long, lanky figures with limbs that stretched and stretched were the current fixation. He looked Crowley up and down. Lucky devil always seemed to be en vogue.

“I’ll have you know I had a very scandalous tryst with Whitman barely nine decades ago! Who is to say I didn’t purposefully,” he paused, at a loss for words.

“Enchant him with my wiles!” Crowley snorted.

“Angel, you let him take you out to dinner once because you were too modest to realize it was meant to be a date. You told me yourself!”

“Yes, but he did write a few very nice poems about me,” Aziraphale countered.

“I’m aware,” Crowley said through tight lips. “Leaves of Grass. A bit long winded for my tastes.” He crossed his arms. “Anyway, I only offered because I’d thought up a way for us to both win for once.”

Chapter Text

Aziraphale took his wine and drank deeply from it. He was not about to do this fully sober. Crowley had his arm raised to alert the waiter before the empty cup hit the table. Aziraphale wasn’t particularly shocked. Crowley had always seemed to anticipate his needs, often before he’d identified them himself. When he truly thought about it, it had been decades since he’d had to order his second or third portion of food and drink. They just seemed to appear.

“I can’t imagine how that’s even possible. We’re on opposite sides.”

“I know,” Crowley said. “But I figured it out. I’ve been tasked with tempting this heir, but nobody said what to tempt him to do! I figure I get to decide for myself, as long as he ends up properly seduced. And since I need your help with this, I thought we could tempt him into doing good.”

“Seduce somebody into doing something good? Doesn’t the whole thing sound a little paradoxical to you?” Aziraphale flashed a polite smile to the waiter as he refilled the glass.

“No! See, far as I can tell, I’m only being told to do this so Hastur can embarrass the man’s father. If we were to influence his heir to legitimize the business instead of continuing with crime, it’ll make Hastur happy and get you a win for your side all at the same time!”

“But does it have to be a seduction, specifically? I’ve done dozens of normal temptations for you at this point, I’m sure I could bypass the whole seduction aspect of it!” Crowley snorted.

“Coming from the angel that was so desperate to prove his seduction chops to me, what, not five minutes ago?” He let his voice fall into the singsong lilt he always used to tease his friend. Aziraphale felt another spike of irritation at it.

“You implied I was homely, or unbecoming! I had to defend myself somehow.” The angel tried to stomp out the little voice in his head that agreed with the implications. Crowley’s knuckles went white and his posture grew stiff. He leaned forward.

“Angel,” he said slowly. “I would never imply that. I’d never lie to you.”

“Oh please, I know what I look like. I just felt it in poor taste for you to broadcast it to the world. I do have some pride, you know.” He broke their eye contact to stare at the wall and tried to ignore the flush of shame that crept over him. For a moment, the world seemed to go a little fuzzy and he struggled to pay attention to the situation at hand.

A sound drew him out of his stupor. It was a sound he couldn’t put into words no matter how hard he tried, and as such, instantly knew it had to have come from Crowley’s mouth. He turned to look at him. Crowley had his jaw clenched tight and the whites of his knuckles were still visible. The air between them was heavy, oppressive even. Aziraphale hated it.

“Please,” he said, quieter than he’d intended. “Can we please change the subject? Back to your convoluted plan. I beg you.”

“Aziraphale, I-“

“Please. Please.” Crowley let out a long sigh and Aziraphale realized he’d won this squabble. At least for now. He brushed a stray curl from his forehead and pushed on.

“You mentioned there’d be some good to come out of all this?” He waited patiently as Crowley unclenched his jaw and slipped on a mask of indifference.

“Yeah. Yeah, I thought you could get him to cut out the crime. Spin him some nonsense about long term benefits, safety and what not.” His tone was flat and removed. Something heavy settled in the pit of Aziraphale’s stomach. If he concentrated, he could still hear the sizzling as it echoed throughout the church, Crowley hopping his way towards him. Protecting him, like he’d done time and time again.

Aziraphale was soft. He’d been created strong, fought in a celestial war, posted to guard the Garden and all. Still, he liked softness. Felt a pleasant rush at acts of kindness that swinging his igneous sword had never brought him. Crowley had always gone out of his way to let him be the soft one. Encouraged it even. Who was he to deny his dearest friend a simple favor?

“Alright. When?”

“Yeah, yeah, angel, I knew it was a slim chance. Anyway-“ Crowley effectively cut himself off by choking on his wine. He shot Aziraphale an incredulous look as he wiped his mouth roughly with a napkin. “You’re actually agreeing?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted, my dear boy?”

“Well, yeah,” Crowley said. He raised and hand and scratched at his hair. “Never imagined you would actually say yes. Mostly wanted to see the look on your face.” Aziraphale huffed and crossed his arms.

“If you won’t take this seriously,” he said as he waved the waiter down. Crowley pressed a stack of bills into the man’s hand. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I really could use your help, though,” he said. “If you’re willing.” Aziraphale tugged his long coat on.

“I am. What time, and where?” Crowley beamed across the table at him.

——

Crowley arrived at the club early, having enjoyed the abundance of goldenrod and burgundy leaves that dotted the trees on his walk over. He leaned against the bricked facade of the club and watched the smoke lazily curl off the end of his cigarette. The lively music thumped behind him, barely muffled by the walls. He dropped his cigarette and another person put it out. The offending foot was clad in a black velvet shoe with a low heel. Crowley stared at it, and then followed the soft, curved lines of the body it was attached to. The person had a long, cream colored jacket on and their lips and cheeks were lightly stained red with rouge. He drew his eyes further and further up until he met their eyes and oh-!

“Not late, am I,” Aziraphale asked. Crowley blinked more than he had in the past week in response.

“No, no not at all!” That had come out louder than intended. He cleared his throat and leaned back on the wall. “You really went all out, huh?” Aziraphale dipped his chin downwards.

“You don’t like it?”

“Never said that, angel.” A flush crossed Aziraphale’s face and Crowley took the moment to feel very self satisfied. “What’ve you got on under that?” A stiff autumnal breeze exposed another few inches of Aziraphale’s alabaster calves.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale shifted his weight from foot to foot, nervous as a mouse. The wind tousled his short curls to cover an ear. Crowley leaned forward, tucked them back into place, and tried to ignore the breath caught in his throat. He brought his hands to the top of the coat and let his long fingers splayed across it. Aziraphale tilted his head up and locked their eyes.

“Can I?” A gentle nod was his response. He held his breath and fumbled at the top button. It pulled loose from the slit and the coat slid open a few inches. He felt the heat of Aziraphale’s gaze on him like a hot iron. The second button slid from its home easily, so he paused and pulled the third button free. Carefully, he dipped two fingers under the coat and drew it away from Aziraphale’s skin. Their height difference made it easy for him to peer underneath it. The breath he’d been holding tore from him as a groan.

The angel was wearing lingerie. Actual, real life lingerie. Crowley was going to discorporate where he stood. He’d done his fair share of unsavory, demonic work, but to get an angel of the Lord in sultry, revealing lingerie? There’d be a gilded throne in Hell with his name on it if they ever got wind of it. He shook himself from his thoughts and refocused on the situation at hand. Two twin straps sat on Aziraphale’s shoulders, leading down to a fitted bra that cupped the soft flesh there.

The coat was still buttoned enough to hide the bottom, but Crowley could see a few exposed inches of ample stomach. His fingers twitched. Reluctantly, he let go of the coat and rocked back on his heels. Men and women passed them on the sidewalk and he paid them no attention. Even the sharp wind escaped his notice. The only thing he saw was the anxious, knitted expression on Aziraphale’s face. He stared at the ground, hands fussing at his sides.

“Angel? You okay?” Aziraphale continued to avoid his gaze. A hand came up to the back of his neck to scratch at the white blonde hair there.

“Is it, I mean,” he started. “Is it quite alright? The outfit?” Crowley nearly did a double take, choosing last minute to take a deep breath instead. Alright? It was downright obscene.

“S good,” he said. The angel’s brows tilted up at the inner corners and his bottom lip jutted out just a little more than usual. Crowley sighed.

“It’s perfect, you picked just the right one. Never really pinned you for the salacious type, but look it you, turning over a new leaf!” The glare he received in response only served to paste a wide grin on his own face. “Ready?” He offered Aziraphale his arm. The angel took it and looked up at him.

“As I’ll ever be.” The cityscape around them is almost painfully different in appearance from the soot covered, dingy industrial areas that surround and supply it. Here the building stood tall and thin, each of their hundreds of windows containing a snapshot of resident’s lives. Sleek cars zipped raucously down the streets while music and chatter floated in from every corner. Aziraphale stopped next to him when they approached the entrance.

“Is this a joke,” he hissed as he buttoned his coat back up. Crowley looked at the inconspicuous shop front and a realization dawned on him.

“No, no! It only looks like a barbershop,” he corrected. “Oh, well. It is a barbershop, gotta keep up appearances and all, but it’s much more than that. Trust me. Once we get inside you’ll see, it’s even better than Calais.” Aziraphale shot him an inscrutable look.

“Was that the one with-”

“The fountains filled with traminer? Great wine, traminer. Whole place smelled of roses and passion fruit!”

“To be quite honest, I was thinking of those creamy lese freyes and delectable roasted quail drizzled in gamelyne sauce and all of the other wonderful food. Why, we must have been there a full week!”

“Two weeks, angel. This will be better.” Aziraphale’s earlier irritation had melted away and he gifted the demon with a curt nod. Crowley opened the door for him and they slipped inside.

Given the late hour, only one customer was in the shop. They paid him no attention as they proceeded across the room towards a cabinet. The sole worker met them and put a hand on it.

“Mr. Crowley,” he said and pulled the cabinet sharply to the left. Crowley grinned at the small gasp Aziraphale let out as he started forward and pushed open the door behind it. It swung open to reveal a dimly lit hallway that they walked into. Aziraphale started as the cabinet pulled shut behind them. He gripped Crowley’s arm again.

“Don’t be nervous,” Crowley muttered into his ear as they walked. “You’ll do great and it’ll be over in no time.” He drew his arm closer into his body, forcing Aziraphale to brush against his chest. The knowledge that it was bare under the coat was stirring something in his stomach, and he tried to shake it off as the room began to open in front of them.

Circular tables lined with thick, cream colored tablecloths adorned with glittering lamps were spread across the room. Steam rose from silver serving platters overflowing with buttered seafood from the nearby sea. Rationing was a laughable concept to a man with a deep enough pocket, especially on the coast. There was a stage at the opposite wall, complete with a full brass band playing with frenzied energy. Women, and a few men, were slinking around adorned in gargantuan jewels and elegant lingerie. Their high heels clacked against the floor and added to the already bustling atmosphere.

The fabric of his jacket scratched at his skin as Aziraphale tightened his grip. Crowley turned towards him.

“Well,” he asked, drawing the vowel into a long diphthong. He watched as Aziraphale’s eyes flitted from place to place as he took it all in. A coy smile spread across his face.

“Actually, it’s quite lovely, isn’t it? A bit ...extravagant, maybe, but it all looks terribly fun!” Crowley leaned back on his heels and arched his eyebrows.

“Honestly, angel, I’d expected more nerves from you. Not that I want you uncomfortable,” he paused and dug his fingers into his hair. “Just that you’re, y’know, modest? Shy? Agh, y’know what I mean!” The carpet beneath them was suddenly extremely interesting to him and oh, was that a stain? Nevermind, absolutely not, shifting gaze anywhere but the floor! He looked up to see Aziraphale wearing a gleeful expression, his nose tilted into the air. Holiness aside, he really was every inch the bastard that he so vehemently claimed not to be.

“My dear boy, have I forgotten to tell you?” Crowley was busy deciding between rolling his eyes and spreading his lips in a fond smile. “I was by far the best dancer at my gentlemen’s club. Many of the other men invited me to dance privately with them, but I always declined. It’s much more fun with a group!”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot upwards. He searched the angel’s face for insincerity and fought a groan when he found none.

“You don’t say? Very impressive.” Aziraphale brightened and the quickening of Crowley’s pulse was fully unrelated, thank you very much. “But that was, what, the gavotte? This is a little, er...looser. Less structure, more figure,” he paused to make a wiggly gesture with his fingers. Aziraphale had begun to further unbutton his coat and Crowley continued to ignore the rapid beat of his heart as it echoed in his ears.

“My dear, I might choose to be old fashioned, but I do know a thing or two.” The loose coat began to slip from his shoulders. Creamy skin was contrasted by the deep black of the thin straps. “Besides, I’m an exceptionally fast learner.” He shrugged his way out of the coat, folded it neatly and held it out for Crowley to take. There was a moment of silence between the two, highlighted by the raucous environment around them.

“Crowley? Are you quite alright?” The demon in question was rigid and unmoving. Behind his glasses, Crowley couldn’t choose which part of Aziraphale to focus on. As lovely as the top had been, and really, it had been terribly attractive, it paled in comparison to the bottoms of the ensemble. His hips were clad in a thin, see-through fabric with an awfully small patch of thicker fabric nestled between the thighs to cover, well. Whatever the angel had down there, if anything. A garter belt was nestled on top, panels of daintily decorated fabric slightly straining over the lush stomach. There was even a small bow on top, right above where the angel’s belly button must have been.

He drew his gaze downward and bit his lip. Aziraphale’s shapely alabaster thighs were delicious filling out a pair of tights that left less and less to the imagination as they approached his knees. Truly, it was a simple enough outfit, but Crowley found himself drinking in every aspect of it like he was stranded in a desert. The significant curves and rolls of Aziraphale’s body filled out the outfit in an enticing, ravishing manner and he clenched his fists tight, lest he reach out for him like a fool.

It was a quiet whine that drew him from his stupor. He looked up from the lingerie and found Aziraphale’s face. It was flushed a light pink, and he’d brought a well-manicured hand up to rest on a cheek.

“It’s terrible isn’t it?” Crowley felt his heart drop into his stomach, making vicious waves of guilt gnaw at him. He opened his mouth to speak and was cut off rather abruptly.

“I knew, I knew that this entire idea was ridiculous, and I went ahead with it anyway! Now here I am, bared for all these people to see me, my body, my commodious, capacious body, in this absurd outfit, looking like an absolute fool,” he babbled. He’d removed his hand from his face and had begun to nervously wringing them together. Crowley stepped forward and caught a wrist in a gentle grasp.

“Hey,” he said. Aziraphale quieted and looked up at him, the beginnings of nervous tears pooling in his eyes. He leaned closed unthinkingly and wiped the corner of an eye. “You look fine. More than fine, really. And you’re not...capacious or whatever it was you said. You’re soft, and ample, and that’s fine. I’d tell you if you looked ridiculous.” He paused for a moment and thought. “Actually, scratch that, since I’d have to say that every time I saw you in tartan, which is literally always.” That drew a soft laugh from Aziraphale.

“You’re just being kind.”

“Angel, you know how I feel about that word. Also, no, no I’m not. Take a look behind you, to your left, all subtle like.” Aziraphale turned his entire body to stare in that direction and Crowley groaned loudly. “I said be subtle,” he hissed into Aziraphale’s ear. He took a step back and looked down to see the rounded, considerable curve of a lingerie clad ass and let out another groan. Aziraphale turned back to him.

“That man is staring at me!”

“Sort of the point, innit?”

“Obviously, but I can’t tell if it’s in horror or something, something else!”

“Look again, but actually subtly this time, I beg you.” Aziraphale glared at him and turned his head to peer over his shoulder. “See the smile on his face, his casual body language, the way his eyes are half lidded? It’s attraction, angel. Trust me, I know all about what that looks like.” Aziraphale had turned to him again and was fixing him with an intense look. He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes. Suddenly, his postured relaxed completely. The tension drained from his shoulders and he cocked his hips to the side, letting a hand rest on the curve of his waist.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll go to the son, carry out the seduction,” said Aziraphale, whose face had twisted at the final word like he’d eaten a lemon. “You have to hold up your end, though! Convince the father to pass the business down to the son, and I’ll use my...newfound influence to put lovely, legal ideas for the business into the boy’s head.” Crowley nodded. Aziraphale tilted his head up again, turned around, and sauntered across the room. The long lines of his thick thighs and the sway of his hips had cemented Crowley to the spot. Where on Earth had the angel picked those moves up? He shook his head and stalked over to the center table.

The man in question was tipping a glass of dark liquid into his moustached mouth, his legs spread wide as he leaned heavily into his chair. Good, thought Crowley. Tempting was always easier when they were already drunk. He dropped into the chair next to the well dressed men, sitting on it sideways and sliding his arm across the back.

“Mr. Crowley,” the man greeted. Crowley leaned forward and offered his hand, which the man grasped and shook firmly.

“Mr. O’Brien. I’ve got a proposition for you.” He waved a waiter over and ordered a glass of wine as he talked. When he was halfway through it, he glanced to a table halfway across the room. Aziraphale was perched in a chair, his posture erect in order to show off as much skin as possible. The boy, though he could hardly be called that with the strands of grey around his temples, was leaning out of his towards the angel. Crowley bit back a smirk. Aziraphale had him hook, line, and sinker. A little pride bloomed in his chest. He drew his attention back to the mobster and continued tempting,

After he’d downed his third glass of wine, he could feel his irritation growing. O’Brien was surprisingly hard to tempt, contrary to everything Hastur had told him. He scowled and took another sip. Crowley shifted his gaze back across the room and choked on the wine.

Aziraphale was sitting in the boy’s lap.

What?

He crushed the glass between his fingers. When O’Brien let out a surprised gasp, he absentmindedly snapped to clean the mess, and again to wipe the man’s memory. Aziraphale was poised, situated on the boy’s thighs with a hand rested on his neck. He whispered into his ear, and the boy picked his hand up and squeezed Aziraphale’s ass. Hard.

Crowley leapt from his seat and crossed the considerable distance in two strides. He wrapped his arm around Aziraphale’s arm and tugged him off the boy, as gently as he could manage.

“Sorry,” he said, not sorry in the slightest bit. “Emergency. We’ve got to go.” The boy shot a disappointed look up at Aziraphale. It put a bad taste in Crowley’s mouth.

“Come on,” he said as he led Aziraphale across the room and toward the hallway.

“Crowley,” he protested. “What the hell are you doing? What are you playing at? I was this close to-”

“Oh, I saw how close you two were, angel,” he spat out. “I’ll explain when we’re alone.” He snapped his fingers to open the hidden exit and they rushed through the now empty barber shop. The lock didn’t even think of hindering them. Crowley led them down the street until he saw an alley. They ducked into it.

Aziraphale was huffing, face red and eyes bright with indignation.

“What on Earth was that about, Crowley? I was doing you a favor, and you storm over in the middle of it and drag me away before I can make any real progress! This whole ordeal means nothing now, because of you!”

“He groped your arse, Aziraphale!”

“I am aware, of course! I did feel it and everything! Wasn’t it quite literally the point of the entire endeavor for him to be seduced? He seemed well on his way there!”

Crowley scoffed.

“On his way there,” he shouted, incredulous. “He looked ready to rip your lingerie and bend you over the table right there!”

“Again, that was the point! I really don’t see your issue, Crowley! I was doing exactly what you wanted, and it was working, and, oh…” He trailed off and all the anger seemed to leech out of his body. His face softened and he brought a hand to play idly with the strap on his shoulder.

“You weren’t…jealous, were you?” Crowley whipped his head to look directly at him, face stricken. He held up a hand in protest but Aziraphale continued.

“Oh, you were, weren’t you? Oh. Oh, my dear boy,” he said. His voice was terribly soft and he’d laid a hand on his chest to cover his heart.

“Shut it,” Crowley bit out. “Wasn’t jealous. Just concerned.”

“That must have been terrible for you to watch! I’m so sorry, if I had known-”

“It’s not about me, Aziraphale! It’s about you, being touched by a stranger when you didn’t want to be!”

“Oh, Crowley,” he said, continuing on with that soft, soft tone. “You’re really quite sweet, aren’t you? Don’t get huffy, it’s just a word! I certainly wasn’t uncomfortable. That’s not to say I was enjoying it, but I didn’t mind. A means to an end, if you will. We both know I’ve more than enough power to take care of myself.”

A silence stretched between the two of them. Aziraphale fiddled with the edge of the coat, which he’d shrugged on and buttoned on the short walk to the alley. After a moment, Crowley deflated and leaned against the brick wall.

“Yeah. S’pose I was jealous, a little,” he muttered. Aziraphale took a step closer and Crowley looked into his eyes. Centuries and centuries of hidden emotion were coloring them the most stunning robin’s egg blue. Carefully, Aziraphale took hold of the hem of Crowley’s jacket.

“May I make it up to you, then?” The demon’s heart, which didn’t strictly need to beat, was thundering in his chest. The beat of it was like cacophonous music ringing in his head, but the feeling of Aziraphale’s hand on him was a balm, sweet and gentle.

“Alright, angel. Make it up to me,” he whispered. Aziraphale placed a soft, warm hand on his cheek. Crowley lifted his to cover it and stroked the back of it with his thumb. The angel rose to his tip toes and moved closer.

Aziraphale pressed their lips together, locking them into a tender embrace. No movement, just a press of mouth on mouth, hand over hand, chest to chest.

He pulled back after a second, his hands still pressed onto Crowley.

“Well,” he breathed. “That was even better than I’d imagined it.”

“You’ve imagined this before,” Crowley choked out. Aziraphale nodded and a warm smile bloomed across his face. The wind gusted down the alley, drawing the jacket away from Aziraphale’s legs for a moment. He shivered.

“Angel,” Crowley said. Every word was a battle, his mind a million places at once. “It’s cold. You’re cold.” He put a hand to Aziraphale’s chilled neck and felt him shiver.

“Can we take this back to your place?”

Chapter Text

The walk back to Aziraphale’s hotel felt as if it stretched all night. Crowley scowled at the city’s long, winding roads that seemed to meander in and out of neighborhoods with little to no reason. He dared the blasted roads to delay them even a single moment.

Aziraphale kept close as they went. The night air had only gotten colder, and Crowley could feel the occasional shiver that passed through him. How human they were, these bodies they inhabited. They’d been created from aether and ichor, knit together by Her love and altogether filled with it. It had been the worst part of Falling, that. Feeling Her love rip from his being and leave a dreadful hole behind had left him breathless, boneless. Splintered.

He lifted his arm up and laid it across Aziraphale’s shoulders. Lingerie and a coat were hardly weather appropriate attire, after all. The angel fixed him with a grateful gaze and drew closer. Tingling bloomed where they pressed together, even through the layers, and Crowley felt a wave of hunger envelop him.

He’d once gone almost two hundred years without eating a thing, as easily as he drew breath into his lungs. In some minute way, he supposed food interested him. Back in Eden he’d plucked a pear from the emerald grass and inspected it closely. It had been consumed nearly to the core, and it took considerable effort to wrench another mouthful from it. He chewed slowly, and spat it out less than a minute later. What about it had been so appealing to the white haired angel, to the point of devouring it almost fully?

No, food wasn’t generally prevalent in his mind. Unlike Aziraphale, he rarely found reason to indulge in it. Wine and spirits were highly preferable. Being immortal meant that he could ignore that sort of thing, of course. Neither of them technically needed food, or drink, or sleep. A bullet to the heart, a blade to the throat: these were the kind of human things they had to fear. Even extreme temperatures weren’t a cause for concern, to a certain extent.

As long as they paid attention, of course. Sheer belief and imagination were where a majority of their power lied. If Crowley truly didn’t want to feel the cold, he had only to believe that he didn’t, and if that failed, a snap of his fingers usually did the trick. Yet, he could still feel a tremor from the figure at his side as they continued along.

Aziraphale was distracted. This wasn’t unusual. During their casual strolls through the park or museum visits, Crowley often looked to his side and saw nothing, only to turn around and see Aziraphale having stopped a few feet back, happily peering at a flower or a painting or an elderly couple with clasped hands. This was different. Aziraphale was distracted by him. His trousers fit him uncomfortably in the moment.

The furtive little glances the angel kept sending his way weren’t helping. Knowing that what had passed between them, what was most likely about to happen, what it meant for the future - that this knowledge should be enough to distract Aziraphale from his celestial abilities sent Crowley’s head spinning.

“This is it.” Aziraphale pulled away from him and held the door open.

“How kind,” Crowley said. “Are you trying to woo me, angel?” The light slap to his shoulder drew a laugh from him. They scurried across the lobby. The inquisitive stare from the receptionist sent them into a fit of wine-drunk giggles that lasted until they slid the door to Aziraphale’s room shut behind them.

Crowley had intended to remark on the underwhelming quality of the room to distract himself from nervousness. Instead, he let out a gasp of surprise as his back hit the door. Aziraphale had a fist in his jacket again, and the angel had pressed their mouths together firmly. He felt a tongue press up against his lips and parted them accordingly.

Aziraphale responded immediately, licking into Crowley’s mouth with abandon. Crowley groaned as Aziraphale ran his tongue across the back of his teeth and began to explore further.

“Angel, hold on,” he whispered, placing a soft hand on Aziraphale’s collar.

Aziraphale leaned back and broke their kiss, cheeks flushed and lips shining. A flicker of hurt crossed his face. Crowley caressed his cheek, smoothing the expression on his face.

“Just have to check,” he elaborated. “Do you really want this? Or is it the wine making you bold?”

Aziraphale fixed him with a fond expression. He snapped his well manicured fingers and the slight glassy sheen to his eyes dissipated.

“My dear boy,” he said as he leaned in to press a chaste kiss to Crowley’s cheek. “You really do care, don’t you? You’re terrible endearing, you know.”

“Consent’s not endearing, angel, it’s necessary.” Aziraphale ran the pad of him thumb back and forth gently over the tattoo beneath Crowley’s ear before pressing another kiss to it.

“I know, I know. I’m just very, very happy, my dear. You’re so good to me,” he said as he tugged Crowley’s suit jacket from his shoulders. A hand came up to stroke his curls and he relished in the feeling while he pulled open button after button. He pressed open mouthed kisses to Crowley’s collarbone that drew low gasps from the demon.

He let out a gasp of his own when Crowley wrapped his hands around the backs of his lower thighs, tugging them up and around his waist. A hand came up to support his weight more fully and he wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck. They kissed languidly as he was carried toward the bed and then lowered onto it.

Crowley pushed his legs apart and came to kneel between them, leaning low towards the mattress as he chased Aziraphale’s lips. He snapped his fingers and shivered as his newly bare skin rubbed against the fine material of Aziraphale’s lingerie.

“Really, Crowley, I liked that coat.” He kissed the pout from Aziraphale’s mouth.

“It’sss in the closet, Aziraphale. No need to get testy.” He didn’t need to see the angel’s face to know he was rolling his eyes.

“Crowley, I should like to, er, try something out if you’re up to it?”

“Anything you like,” he said as he pressed kisses further and further down his neck. “What did you have in mind?”

“Frankly, I’d quite like to get my mouth on you, if you’ll have me.” Crowley pushed himself up to look down at him, eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Are you sure?” His answer took the form of Aziraphale sliding out from under him and sinking to his knees at the edge of the bed. He drank in the sight as he turned himself around and let his legs fall around soft shoulders.

Aziraphale rubbed his hand from Crowley’s knee to his upper thigh, digging his fingers into the sore and tender muscles there and drawing the tension from them. He pressed a kiss to a thin leg and let his plump cheek rest on it.

“May I?” His hot breath ran across the length of Crowley’s semi hard cock. The thighs under his hands shuddered.

“Angel,” Crowley said. “You’ll be the death of me. Yes, yes, of course, of course.” He drew a shuddering breath as he felt the gentle pressure of Aziraphale’s fist closing over the base of his cock.

“Is this good?” The soft hand dragged up and down his shaft a few times before the thumb dipped into his slit and spread the wetness there as far as it would go. Soft lips pressed down on it and he pressed his head back into the pillow. Waves of pleasure emanating from his core rolled over his body and he caught a lip between his teeth.

He struggled to keep his eyes open and made strained eye contact with Aziraphale. The angel licked a long stripe up him and wrapped the top few inches up in the pleasant warmth of his mouth. Crowley surged upwards. He fisted his hand in Aziraphale’s curls and gently pulled him to stand. They kissed messily and he took both of them in his hand, tugging lazily as well as he could manage.

“Won’t last long if you keep on that,” Crowley explained as he eyed Aziraphale up like a banquet of fineries, spread wide for his enjoyment.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said. He gasped as Crowley ran a thumb back and forth across his nipple until it hardened under his ministrations.

“I need,” he said as he stared down at his chest. A nail lightly scratched at the erect bud and he shuddered. “I need…”

“Too fast? Need to stop?” Crowley pulled his hand away and dropped the other from their cocks. Aziraphale grasped them from his sides and pressed chaste kisses to them both, across the knuckles.

“Rather the opposite. I was wondering if I could…that is, if I may have you?”

“You already do,” he chuckled as he leaned close to press a kiss to the alabaster curls. “You have for an awful long time now.” Aziraphale brought a hand up to cup his cheek and wrinkles around his eyes deepened.

“That’s sweet, dear, and I do appreciate it, but it’s not what I meant. I had my mind on the more physical aspect of it.”

“Oh,” Crowley said. “You want me to fuck you? How sinful,” he said as he nipped at an earlobe. Aziraphale felt himself flush.

“No, I want you to make love to me, Crowley. It’s different!” The hot breath on his ear came out in puffing laughter.

“Alright, alright. We’ll call it whatever you like. Point remains the same.” He pressed biting kisses to Aziraphale’s neck in between sentences.

“Have you ever, ah, done this? Before?”

“Course not, angel. There’s only ever been you.” The bluntness of the statement went straight to his cock and he tightened his grip on Crowley’s forearms.

“Show me.” He let himself be pulled up and on the bed, spreading his legs to straddle the bony lap he’d been deposited in. Aziraphale stroked the sharp collarbone that rose from this chest like a mountain’s peak. Crowley spared another miracle, and his hands were slick where they gripped him between the legs, and pressed gently against his backside.

Aziraphale groaned at the duel sensations of Crowley stroking his cock and sinking a finger into him. He pushed himself down on it after a moment, and delighted when another pressed at his entrance.

“Please, I’m ready,” he said as soon as the pleasant burn ebbed away. “I’m ready if you are.” He snapped his fingers and felt himself open up a bit more, all of the friction from Crowley’s fingers disappearing with a rush of slick fluid.

“That’s cheating,” Crowley said as he smiled into Aziraphale’s hair. “But yes, I’m ready. Can’t wait, actually.”

He lined his red, weeping cock up with Aziraphale and prodded gently, relishing the tremble that ran through the body above him. A hand cupped his face again and oh, he was really beginning to adore that sensation. They locked eyes and he dug his fingers into the roll of fat at Aziraphale’s hips before pressing in slowly. He bit back a groan at the searing heat of it.

Crowley pressed their foreheads together and revelled in the feeling of their shared breath passing from mouth to mouth. Carefully, when he felt Aziraphale begin to rock down to match his thrusts, he picked up the pace. The room was silent save for the sound of skin on skin and the cacophony of their panting and choked back moans.

Six thousand years, give or take. Six millennia of swallowed confessions, aborted gestures, fleeting glances; all of it had lead up to, culminated in, fell aside for this moment. Crowley’s eyes prickled and Aziraphale pressed a kiss to one before a tear could fall.

“Are those happy tears, dear?” A nod was all he needed, and he continued to press kisses across his lover’s cheeks, nose, forehead, anywhere he could reach in their current position. He shifted to be able to reach more creamy skin.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley started, cut off by the clench of muscles around him as the angle changed slightly.

“Oh, there,” Aziraphale breathed. “Right there, love, please.” He wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck and pressed himself down as far as he could. A groan vibrated between them and he wasn’t sure who it had come from.

Crowley dug his nails into Aziraphale’s skin harder, drawing a low gasp out of him. “I’m so close, angel.”

“Together, then. With me,” Aziraphale implored. Crowley bottomed out once, twice, and came inside him with a cry. He felt hot spurts of cum coat his heaving abdomen, and he blinked slowly as the haze of arousal left him.

Aziraphale let his head fall on Crowley’s chest. The simple motion brought them tumbling down, and he chuckled as they flopped onto the lumpy mattress. Fingers came up to gently card through his hair and scratch at his scalp. He sighed contentedly and let the tension drain from his muscles.

When he raised his head and met Crowley’s gaze, the adoration there nearly overwhelmed him. He huffed and looked away.

“Really? My cock is still in you and it’s direct eye contact that embarrasses you? That’s adorable.” He nudged Aziraphale’s head back to his chest and continued threading his slender fingers through the angel’s hair.

“Crowley?”

“Yes?”

“I’m very happy that this happened, finally. Even if the lead up was…untraditional.” A bead of sweat tickled Crowley’s cheek as it fell from his hairline.

“Oh angel, since when have we ever been traditional?” The sly smile that Aziraphale gifted him caused a warm happiness to pool in his stomach. He drew a blanket over them and settled further into the bed.

“Me too. I’m happy, I mean. Let’s talk in the morning, when we’re more awake and less fucked out.” He felt a soft laugh shake his chest, and it was the very last thing he remembered before sleep claimed him for the night.

In the corner of the room, on the thus far unseen work desk, a single rose in a vase sprouted an extra petal that glowed, just a hair, brighter than all the others.