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Event Horizon

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Crowley flags down the bus and it screeches slowly to a halt in front of the bench they’re seated upon. The doors hiss open and Crowley springs lightly up the steps, followed closely by Aziraphale. Crowley dips into a window seat and what he does next surprises even himself. He knows Aziraphale is going to take the seat behind him or across the aisle and he...he just can’t take the distance. Not tonight, not when he can still smell burning books and see flames behind his eyelids.


So before he walks past, Crowley’s hand shoots out and grabs Aziraphale’s, giving him a gentle but insistent tug. The angel follows with no resistance and has the good sense not to say anything about it. Crowley is grateful for that. He eases up his grip on Aziraphale’s hand, giving him the opportunity to pull away. Instead, Aziraphale tightens his hold, lacing their fingers snugly together.


Crowley is frozen, eyes comically wide behind his shades. Aziraphale doesn’t seem to even notice that he’s done anything out of the ordinary. They’ve never sat this close on public transit before. Crowley’s heart trips along and he takes a long swig from the wine bottle still clutched in his death grip. He passes it back to the angel when he’s done and their fingers brush. Actually, it’s more like Aziraphale’s fingers linger over Crowley’s knuckles, sparking heat all the way up his arm, ricocheting down his spine.


He swallows hard and tries not to stare at the angel’s pretty pink mouth pursed against the lip of the bottle. The not-staring is very difficult and he only just manages to tear his gaze away before Aziraphale catches him looking. Crowley turns his face toward the countryside rolling by outside the window.


Unfortunately, the thing he can see clearest is his own reflection in the glass and Aziraphale’s profile behind it; every now and then the angel sneaks a furtive glance at him, probably debating whether or not this is a time for conversation or silence. Crowley hopes for the latter. He’s not sure he could string two words together without stumbling all over himself.


His train of thought runs headlong into a brick wall when Aziraphale pulls their hands onto his own warm thigh. Crowley doesn’t trust himself to speak or move. His skin is burning; it feels like he could melt the sunglasses right off his face with the heat of his blush.


Crowley chances a peek at the angel and finds him smiling wistfully down at their joined hands. Crowley’s long, slender fingers, naturally chilly, have quickly warmed to match Aziraphale’s skin. His grip is firm but his skin is soft; beautifully manicured--renaissance hands, Crowley thinks. He’s seen these very hands recreated in sculpture, in Da Vinci’s workshop, and on the ceiling of the Sistine chapel.


Aziraphale’s thumb gently strokes the back of Crowley’s hand and the demon has to set his jaw against the insane urge to cry. ‘Get a grip on yourself’. The fact is, no one has ever touched him this gently and it’s almost overwhelming. Crowley supposes he must seem pretty pathetic, to get worked up over something as innocent as hand holding, but when it comes to the angel, Crowley has always been weak.


Sure enough, the bus is taking them to London as Crowley said it would. More specifically, the bus is taking them to the stop a block away from Crowley’s flat in Mayfair. Aziraphale is taking him up on his offer to stay at his place. For the first time in six thousand years, Aziraphale will be in his home. Crowley’s pulse is hammering away and he hopes Aziraphale can’t feel it through their joined hands.

When the very confused driver finally pulls the bus to a halt at the aforementioned stop, Aziraphale stands first, giving his fingers one last squeeze before relinquishing his hand. Crowley stands and stumbles after the angel, his palm still tingling. He watches as Aziraphale slips the driver an extra hundred pound note on their way off of the bus and his heart clenches with a rush of affection he’s become all too accustomed to over centuries of pining after the angel.


Crowley naturally takes the lead on the walk to his building, Aziraphale falling into stride beside him, as always. Their swinging hands brush; Crowley mistakes it for an accident until it happens again, and the third time, Crowley catches Aziraphale’s hand and holds it. From the corner of his eye, he spots the pleased little grin the angel is trying to suppress. In the wash of street lights, he can just make out the slight flush creeping into Aziraphale’s cheeks. Crowley aches to kiss him, as always. And as always, he doesn’t.


It’s a quick walk to the apartment building and Crowley leads him into the elevator. Its mirrored interior reflects back to them the sight of two flustered men clinging to one another and refusing eye contact at any cost. It would be funny if it weren’t so damn scary.


The lift dings to a stop at the penthouse level and Crowley leads the angel up to the door of his flat. With slightly trembling fingers, Crowley fumbles his key out of his pocket and into the lock. Aziraphale makes a little sound of amusement and Crowley arches a brow at him.


“A snake,” Aziraphale says, gesturing to the unique door handle, “How very you, my dear.”


His smile is soft and genuine and Crowley clears his throat before making a few abortive attempts at speech. Luckily, he manages to get the door open before he embarrasses himself any further.


“Entrez-vous,” Crowley says, making a deep bowing gesture as he holds the door wide.


Aziraphale inclines his head graciously and ducks under Crowley’s arm, and then he’s there, inside Crowley’s house. The demon enters and closes the door behind him. It echoes loudly throughout the cavernous space.


“Make yourself at home,” he says, watching the angel take everything in.


Aziraphale hadn’t known what to expect when Crowley invited him up; he’d never been inside the lair of a demon before. It’s a stark contrast to the bookshop, certainly; the walls are barren and grey, sleek and modern. He wanders in a little further and Crowley warns him to watch his step. He looks down and finds the melted remains of heaven knows what; he’s afraid to ask. Carefully, he steps over it and finds himself in an office of sorts.


It’s empty save for a large, red marble table, an ornate golden throne with matching chairs, and a flat screen television. A globe has fallen to the floor and rolled into a corner. On the wall opposite is a large, framed sketch that Aziraphale knows is an original Da Vinci. There was a time that he and Crowley had both sat for the famous artist and if he remembered correctly, Crowley had a bit of a fling with Leonardo. Aziraphale doesn’t dwell on that thought long; never had been good at imagining Crowley with other people. One might could say he was blindingly jealous but he wouldn’t dare admit it.

“I’m going to find us some more alcohol,” Crowley announces and Aziraphale turns to see him sauntering away down a long corridor to what he assumes is a kitchen.


He immediately decides to follow but stops in his tracks the moment he enters the atrium. He gasps in delight at the verdant foliage surrounding him. All manner of gorgeous flora teeming with life, and all thanks to the devotion of a demon. Aziraphale melts a little more inside, love swelling painfully in his chest. He reaches out and strokes one glossy leaf of the nearest plant and coos compliments at it until Crowley reappears with a scandalized gasp.


“Crowley, I had no idea you had such a green thumb,” Aziraphale exclaims, beaming at him.


The demon sputters and flushes, hands fidgeting with the bottle of white Zinfandel he’s procured.
“I’ll thank you not to compliment my plants,” Crowley says with as much vinegar as he can muster, “It’s not conducive to my methods.”


“Your methods?”


Crowley shoos the angel aside and jabs an accusatory finger at the fern he’d just been touching.


“Stand up straight, for Satan’s sake,” Crowley growls, “We have company, you degenerate bastards!”


A tremor of fear rustles through the plants and Aziraphale looks at him, aghast.


“Now, there’s no reason for that kind of talk. You can achieve just the same results with kindness and gentility.”


“Oh, is that right?” Crowley sneers, abandoning the wine on a sideboard.


“It is, indeed.”


“Well how about you take one with you and we’ll just see who’s the better gardener.” The second the words leave his mouth, Crowley wishes he could suck them back in.


Aziraphale doesn’t have anywhere to take a plant back to. From the shadow over the angel’s previously soft expression, he’s reached the same painful realization.


“I’m sorry,” Crowley says and his voice sounds like broken glass.


Aziraphale schools the sadness out of his expression, not wanting to let on how much the loss of the bookshop devastates him. Crowley would do anything to give it back to him, to wipe that grief right out of existence because if anyone deserves happiness, it’s his angel.


“In the end, books are just objects,” Aziraphale says with a wan smile, “I still have you, after all, and that’s the most important thing, my dear.”


Crowley’s face scrunches in the way that means he’s trying very hard to keep control of his emotions. Aziraphale wants to hug him but he’s not sure what he’s allowed.


Crowley opens his mouth to say something clever, but the thing that comes out is, “I thought I lost you, you know.”


Aziraphale’s eyes widen, those expressive brows drawing in and down with concern. A thousand micro-expressions and Crowley adores every one of them in ways he hadn’t quite realized before. Not until he thought he’d lost them forever.


“When?” Aziraphale asks.


“The bookshop,” Crowley snaps in the same way one would say ‘duh’. “I went looking for you. That’s when I found the book, remember?”


“Oh,” Aziraphale says softly, remembering the look on Crowley’s face in the pub. The vulnerable shake of his lower lip when he said “I lost my best friend.” Aziraphale didn’t allow himself to consider what that really meant at the time.


“It was already in flames when I got there,” Crowley says, striding back over to the abandoned wine bottle and popping the cork with a wave of his hand. He takes a long, fortifying drink before passing it to the angel. Aziraphale takes it with numb fingers and Crowley continues to speak.


“I called and called for you,” he can still smell the smoke, “I didn’t know if it was just fire or if it was infernal or holy...but you weren’t there, angel,” his voice breaks, “I can always sense you, you know. I could always feel you here,” he gestures to the back of his skull, “I didn’t even realize that warm buzzing feeling was you until it was completely gone.”


Aziraphale stares at him, blinking against the sting of tears that threaten to form. “Oh, Crowley,” he whispers, voice thick with barely restrained emotion, “I didn’t realize….”


“Didn’t realize?” Crowley repeats with an incredulous huff. “Didn’t realize what, exactly? That I care if you live or die? Or did you somehow miss the fact that I’ve been in love with you since the beginning?”


Crowley is trembling, jaw tense and expression unreadable behind those damned glasses. His heart feels like it’s going to shake into pieces as he waits for Aziraphale to speak.


The angel has forgotten to breathe—not that he needs to breathe, mind you, but it’s a comfortable habit that his corporeal form has grown quite attached to. His heart, however, remembers to pound; he can hear the blood like a drumbeat in his ears. He flinches at a sudden crashing sound, realizing too late that he’s lost his grip on the bottle and it’s broken into shards at his feet. With a gesture of Crowley’s hand it goes back to being a fully intact bottle, its contents back inside instead of pooling on the floor.


“My darling boy,” Aziraphale chokes, seaglass eyes welling with tears, “Please, come here.”


Crowley obeys. He stands before Aziraphale and lets the angel remove his shades. The gold of his irises have nearly eclipsed the white, betraying his distress, his face pale as parchment as he waits with the expression of a condemned man.


“There you are,” Aziraphale says reverently. He cups the demon’s cheek, thumb sweeping under his eye to catch a tear that slips free. “You never need to wear them with me. I’ve always loved your beautiful eyes.”


Crowley averts his gaze, blushing adorably, face heating under Aziraphale’s palm. The angel is bursting with love for him; is sometimes afraid he’ll look at Crowley someday and actually start to glow. Love fills him, threatens to crack his chest wide open and spill everywhere.


“I love you,” Aziraphale whispers like a prayer. Crowley’s breath hitches deep in his chest and comes out as a sob. “Oh my dearest. I’ve loved you for so long.”


The angel opens his arms and Crowley practically falls into them, his own arms winding around him, clinging to the fabric of Aziraphale’s coat. The demon buries his face in his neck, breathes him in deep, and falls to pieces. Aziraphale can feel hot tears soaking his collar and he digs his fingers into Crowley’s shock of auburn hair, shushing him softly.


“I’ve been so cruel to you,” Aziraphale says, though Crowley quickly shakes his head in protest. “I have, my dear. I didn’t mean those awful things I said. I hated myself for saying it but I was scared. I was scared for such a long time. About what Hell would do to you; about what Heaven would do to me.”


“And now?” Crowley asks.


“Now,” Aziraphale tightens his hold on Crowley, nuzzling into his neck and feeling him shudder, “Now I don’t care about anything besides loving you the way you deserve to be loved.”


The choked off noise that Crowley smothers into his shoulder sounds like an equal mixture of joy and despair, punctuated with six thousand years of agonized longing. Aziraphale doesn’t want to make him wait a single second more.


He pulls back far enough to meet Crowley’s glistening eyes, his gaze then falling to the tempting curve of his lush lower lip. It’s impossible to determine who leans in first. Perhaps they just meet perfectly in the middle like they’ve always done. At the first gentle press of the angel’s mouth, Crowley jolts, every nerve in his body surging to life in a blaze of heat; driving a burning Bentley is nothing compared to this.


Aziraphale threads his fingers through the short hairs at Crowley’s nape and feels the demon quake against him, clinging tighter to Aziraphale’s jacket. When he pulls back, he nips Crowley’s lower lip, tugging it gently. A whine escapes Crowley and he surges forward to capture the angel’s mouth again, hands rising up to frame his face, stroking him with heartrending care, thumbs pressing into his jaw and encouraging his mouth to open to the first swipe of tongue. Pleasure ratchets through Aziraphale’s body and he rocks up against Crowley, who gasps and it becomes apparent that Crowley has made an Effort and that it’s straining the confines of his skin tight jeans.


Without making the conscious decision to become anatomically correct, Aziraphale finds himself in a similar state. It’s been quite a few years since someone kissed him like this—and it’s Crowley, for goodness sake; he could make Aziraphale hard just by walking in that infuriating, swishy way of his.
Crowley knows what Aziraphale meant before, when he said he could sense love. Being kissed by Aziraphale is like being bathed in sunlight that reaches into all the dark corners of his soul and chases out the shadows. Waves of love radiate through Aziraphale’s chest, where he’s pressing up against him, and through the liquid caress of his mouth and the hardness digging into Crowley’s thigh. It washes over him like a tidal wave, and for the first time since he fell, he feels divine.


Crowley doesn’t realize he’s moving until Aziraphale pushes him up against the wall, reminiscent of that day in Tadfield Manor. The angel’s body slots between his legs like he was made to fit there and who’s to say he wasn’t? It’s all ineffable, after all. Aziraphale kisses him breathless and Crowley can’t help the way his tongue splits into two, can scarcely even believe he’s not discorporated on the spot with how he’s feeling. He’s never kissed anyone like this before but he has a sneaking suspicion that Aziraphale is a bit too skilled for a first timer.


Aziraphale hums in surprised delight at the sensation of Crowley’s forked tongue lapping against his own. He’s often wondered the kind of sinful things that clever tongue is capable of. He feels his whole body flush with the myriad possibilities conjured up by that thought. Crowley’s mouth moves with such clumsy enthusiasm, belying the demon’s lack of kissing experience. Aziraphale will see to that as often as possible from now on, provided they survive the night.


He breaks the kiss, lips tingling with the electric heat of Crowley’s mouth. The demon pushes his forehead against Aziraphale’s, sucking in shaky breaths, hands fluttering everywhere, not sure where they want to settle and finally landing on the angel’s hips.


“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Aziraphale whispers into the charged air between them.


It’s a longing he wouldn’t allow himself to acknowledge until that night in 1941. He’d always loved Crowley on some level but when the demon came to his rescue and saved his books without a second thought, Aziraphale knew. He didn’t just love Crowley, he was in love with him. He followed Crowley to the Bentley, in a stupor, practically floating on air.


It occurred to him as he watched the night sky whiz past the car's windows; falling in love with Crowley was quite a lot like falling into a black hole. He'd spent years circling ever so slowly but inevitably inward until he suddenly toppled over the event horizon. There's no going back, no force strong enough for him to ever resurface.


In the present, Crowley’s dazed yellow eyes finally open and Aziraphale is floored by the honest, open vulnerability that Crowley is allowing him to see.


“Me too,” Crowley says, his voice hoarse and barely audible.


Aziraphale caresses the becoming flush on the demon’s face with the pad of his thumb. Blushing all the more furiously, Crowley turns and kisses the angel’s hand.


“Oh, my love,” Aziraphale croons, “You’re so very beautiful.”


“SShut up,” Crowley grouses, his hiss emerging in that endearing way that means he’s been caught off guard.


Aziraphale kisses him again, chastely, because he simply can’t help it.


“Crowley,” he begins, one hand sliding between them to stroke the demon’s chest, coaxing out a shiver and sigh.


“Yess, angel?”


“Seeing as tonight could be our last night,” Aziraphale continues, biting nervously at his lower lip, “I would...I would very much like to know you. In the biblical sense.”


Crowley feels like the air has been snatched from his lungs, from the entire room. He gapes at his angel, who has the nerve to keep meeting his gaze with those infinitely soft eyes. Crowley’s heart is galloping frantically and he makes several false starts before he manages to reply.


“You mean you-you…” he stutters, eloquently.


Aziraphale smiles, more like glows. Aziraphale glows at him radiantly and nods.


“I want to make love to you, Crowley.”


A loud cracking noise and a ‘fwump’ and suddenly Crowley’s wings have burst into being, knocking over several potted plants in the process. Aziraphale lets out a delighted laugh and Crowley looks absolutely mortified as he pulls his plumage back in toward his body.


“Sssorry,” he says, “I lossst control for ssecond.”


“Don’t apologize,” Aziraphale smiles, kissing Crowley’s crimson cheek. “They’re wonderful, just like the rest of you.”


Crowley unleashes a wounded sound, wings twitching and he buries his face in Aziraphale’s neck again. He sucks frantic kisses along the column of the angel’s throat.

 

“Pleassse, ‘Ziraphale,” Crowley slurs, fingers fumbling with the buttons of Aziraphale’s waistcoat.


“Is that a yes?”


Crowley growls and rolls his hips into the angel’s.
“Does this feel like a yes to you?”


“Gosh,” Aziraphale breathes, his own cock throbbing in response.


Crowley lets out a semi-delirious laugh, bubbling over with affection at Aziraphale’s reticence to blaspheme. And then Aziraphale is sucking on the side of his neck and that’s enough to take Crowley’s ability to think out back and shoot it dead. As such, it takes him a moment to realize that Aziraphale is speaking.


“Do you have a bedroom? Crowley?”


“Uhh,” he says, brain misfiring several times before he simply Miracles them both into the center of his bedroom.


Aziraphale giggles. “Eager, are we?”


“You’ve no idea,” Crowley says, voice dark enough to send a shiver down the angel’s spine.


Filled with a new sense of urgency, Aziraphale shrugs out of his waistcoat and starts in on the buttons of his shirt. Crowley watches him hungrily, his pupils almost round with how far they’ve dilated. When he’s got the shirt opened down the front, Crowley takes over, sliding his hands underneath the edges of the shirt, palms searing hot on Aziraphale’s chest, sliding over his shoulders as he eases the shirt off and onto the floor. Normally, Aziraphale would have something to say about not neatly folding his clothes but the sensation of Crowley’s hands caressing his clavicle, thumbs brushing over the newly sensitive peaks of his nipples—it’s enough to obliterate any thoughts that aren’t about Crowley and how badly Aziraphale wants him.


Crowley makes quick work of his own shirt and vest, leaving his lean torso on display. He flushes as Azirahale’s gaze rakes over him and then his hand reaches out and traces that same path, raising goosebumps in his wake. Crowley whimpers at the reverent way Aziraphale runs his palms up his sides, soft fingers fitting perfectly into the grooves between his ribs. He’s embarrassingly close to tears as he stares at his angel, glowing with a white aura of holy light. It emanates from his platinum curls and the smooth, unblemished skin of his chest, positively shines from his eyes and his smile.


“You’re the loveliest creature that ever lived,” Aziraphale whispers into the silent room. He closes the miniscule distance between them and presses his lips to Crowley’s sternum.


Crowley gasps, hands flying up to grab onto Aziraphale, moaning at the sensation of bare skin under his palms. He gropes every inch of the angel he can reach, positively salivating at the soft give of his waist and hips. He ventures one daring hand down the back of the angel’s trousers and Aziraphale shivers, his own hands roving over Crowley’s back, digging into the scapular feathers of his wings, which he knows are exquisitely sensitive.
Crowley’s eyes roll back on a moan and Aziraphale takes that moment to tip them both backwards.

Crowley flops onto the bed first and Aziraphale crawls right on top of him. It’s like something straight out of one of Crowley’s late night fantasies. He watches breathlessly and palms Aziraphale’s lovely thighs where they’re straining the fabric of his trousers. Crowley bucks up against him, unable to resist the warm weight settling against his hips.


Aziraphale rocks forward, grinding their cocks together through too many layers of fabric. He slides his hands up Crowley’s chest, dragging fingernails lightly over pebbled nipples just to hear the demon whine. Long fingers dig firmly into the meat of Aziraphale’s thighs, sliding upward to grab his arse.


“Too many clothes,” Crowley manages to say and with a gesture of his hand, makes said offending garments disappear.


They both yelp at the sudden contact of their most private areas, Crowley’s hands now roving over so much naked skin, like he’s memorizing the feel of him in case he never again gets the chance. The almost pained look of awe on the demon’s face is too much to endure so Aziraphale kisses him again, swallowing the desperate noise that keens into his mouth.


Crowley’s whole body is buzzing in a way it’s never done before. He wonders vaguely if all sex feels this way or if it has something specifically to do with Aziraphale. Not that he’d ever consider doing this with anyone else; not ever. Which is maybe a bit odd considering the nature of most demons.


Aziraphale kisses his way over to Crowley’s ear and says, “How do you want it? How can I make this perfect for you?”


“I...I don’t know. I’ve never…” it’s terribly embarrassing that an angel has more sexual prowess than him but he’s not about to lie.


Aziraphale sits back far enough to meet his gaze, his eyebrows approaching his hairline. Crowley fidgets under the weight of his stare. Part of him wants to turn into a snake and slither away somewhere dark to hide. But that would mean extricating himself from Aziraphale and that is simply unthinkable.


“You mean, never ever?” Aziraphale asks. He blinks down at this wonder of a demon beneath him, realizing that everything he’d ever assumed about the debauchery Crowley gets up to is dead wrong.


“I’ve kissed before,” Crowley says defensively, “And touched through clothing.”


“But, you’re a demon,” Aziraphale blurts, “Isn’t Lust a big deal downstairs?”


Crowley lifts one angular shoulder and avoids the angel’s eyes as he says, “I tempt people, angel. No one ever said I had to follow through. Besides…” he grabs Aziraphale’s hand and holds it to the center of his chest. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”


Aziraphale can feel the truth of his words just as surely as he can feel the pounding of Crowley’s heart under his palm. He’s stunned and moved beyond words at Crowley’s admission. He’d never figured the demon for a virgin. And then the enormity of the situation hits him and he’s floored at the thought of being Crowley’s first, that he would want him to be.


“Say sssomething, maybe?” Crowley interrupts his thoughts and Aziraphale can feel his insecurity creeping in at the edges.


Aziraphale brings Crowley’s hand to his lips and kisses every finger, then his palm, and the inside of his wrist until Crowley is flustered and squirming.


“Crowley, I’m…” he blinks, searching for any word in any language that would accurately describe the hugeness of the feeling inside him. Instead, he just leans in and kisses him again, pouring every ounce of devotion he can muster into the brush of his lips, the swipe of his tongue. Crowley whines softly and clings to him, hands trailing paths of fire over his naked back.


“You’re indescribably precious to me,” Aziraphale whispers between feather light kisses. He hears Crowley’s breath hitch and the demon screws his eyes shut like he’s in pain. “I want to give you everything, my darling.”


“I’m going to discorporate from sheer embarrassment if you keep on like this,” Crowley says, his voice strained, but Aziraphale can feel his unease beginning to lift despite his words.


“I’ll take the lead, as it were,” says Aziraphale, and the demon nods, eyes timid but trusting.


“I might have known you’d partake in carnal delights,” Crowley says with a wicked little grin that lights up Aziraphale’s insides. “You’re a bloody hedonist of an angel.”


“And you’re a sweetheart of a demon,” Aziraphale counters with a terribly fond smile.


“M’not sssweet,” Crowley grumbles but it’s a halfhearted protest and Aziraphale knows it.


“Yes, dear, you’re perfectly wicked.” He kisses the end of Crowley’s aquiline nose, taking delight in the demon’s surprise.


And his kisses start straying further, down Crowley’s throat, across his chest. Aziraphale scrapes his teeth over a nipple, giving it an apologetic lick when Crowley gasps and arches against him. The angel nearly swoons at the thought of torturing him for hours on end with nothing but teasing touches; but now is not the time. He mentally berates himself again for not being brave enough to pursue Crowley sooner. He puts the sadness away in a box to deal with later because all that matters at this current moment is the warm body writhing beneath him.

Leaving a trail of sucking kisses down Crowley’s toned belly, loving the pleasant tickle of hair against his lips as it thickens into an enticing line, leading to a neatly kept thatch of dark curls surrounding the proud arc of the demon’s cock, which is flushed and twitching with every labored breath.


Aziraphale’s eyes sweep hungrily all over him, palms skating over knife-blade hip bones and reaching under to grip the surprising fullness of Crowley’s arse. He smiles at the moan it elicits and chances a look up at Crowley’s face. He’s pink all the way to his ears, one hand fisted in his own hair and the other twisting the fine egyptian linen beneath him.


“Gorgeous,” Aziraphale praises, and then kisses the scorching tip of Crowley’s erection.


The demon strangles a whimper before it can escape, his hips jumping and pressing the damp head of his cock against Aziraphale’s sweetly parted lips. The sight of it is almost too much to bear and Crowley has to squeeze his eyes shut to focus on not coming immediately.


Aziraphale breathes humid air over him before trailing the soft heat of his open mouth down the shaft. Crowley’s blood is singing, and he’s vaguely aware of the desperate sounds he’s making as Aziraphale slowly, slowly takes him into his mouth.
Every inch of his body shudders and Crowley sucks in a sharp breath, the hand that was in the sheets now grasping the angel’s curls. Aziraphale hums his approval and that- oh, that feels, well, the way that Heaven is meant to feel. The wet heat is more than he could have imagined, the gentle suction drawing him in deeper makes his eyes roll back and his mouth fall open.


“Angel,” he says, voice coming out ragged and strained but he’s feeling too incredible to be embarrassed by his need.


Aziraphale’s hands grip his thighs and squeeze, a wordless reassurance as he takes Crowley the rest of the way down, conveniently doing away with his gag reflex when the head breaches his throat.
Crowley tosses his head back and shouts, feeling his balls draw up threateningly. He tugs frantically on the angel’s hair and Aziraphale pulls slowly off of him with an obscene pop.


“Problem?” he asks, and Crowley swears at the sight of his shiny swollen lips, cock giving a mighty throb.


“Won’t last long like that, I’m afraid,” Crowley admits, thumbing Aziraphale’s lower lip and swearing when the angel sucks it into his mouth.


Aziraphale finally decides to have mercy and releases his thumb. “Turn over, my love,” he commands softly.


Crowley is powerless to resist that voice, a shiver rolling over him as he turns obediently onto his front, heart thrumming wildly at the thought of what could be coming next. Whatever the angel wants to give him, he is more than happy to take.


What happens next eclipses all expectations Crowley had formed and he nearly shrieks when Aziraphale parts his cheeks and licks him. The sensation travels all the way up his spine, his wings trembling and fluffing up in arousal. They give a few frantic beats as Aziraphale’s tongue works slow, wet circles over the clenching furl of muscle that’s steadily yielding to the intrusion.


Crowley’s body is a livewire and he’s drooling pre-cum onto the bed as Aziraphale’s tongue slips inside him, teasing him with shallow flicks before he changes gears and starts sucking. And Crowley feels like his soul- if he indeed has one- is being forcibly ejected from his body, his toes curling and wings trembling as the angel proceeds to eat him out like he’s the most delicious dessert ever set before him.


Crowley has never been so hopelessly aroused and out of sorts; he finds himself pushing back, unconsciously begging for more. Aziraphale gives him everything he could ever want, moaning like he’s enjoying a particularly sweet and delicate crȇpe. Crowley feels like his bones have turned to liquid, along with his brain. He’s sobbing out encouragements, having thrown one arm out behind himself to tangle in Aziraphale’s hair. Before he has time to realize what’s happening, his body is clenching, hole fluttering under Aziraphale’s skilled tongue as his climax hits hard. He bucks forward, rutting his cock against the bed as he shouts and spurts messily onto his sheets, smearing over his belly and chest.


He drifts back down gradually, shivering, sweat gleaming in the dip of his back, little ripples of pleasure moving through his feathers. Aziraphale has pulled back and he’s speaking but Crowley can hardly make sense of it, the way he’s mouthing along Crowley’s cheeks, biting him gently at the crease of his thigh.


“So good, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, kissing up Crowley’s tailbone, sliding his thumbs into the attractive dimples that straddle his spine. How he’s longed to have his demon spread out beneath him, shaking with pleasure.


Crowley’s half-hard cock surges back to its full size at the reverently whispered praise. He can’t help the moan that slips past his lips and he casts a longing look over his shoulder.


Aziraphale is kneeling behind him, beautifully flushed and glowing with heavenly light, a mandorla surrounding his tousled curls. Crowley’s gaze slips down to the truly mouth-watering erection between the angel’s thighs and he’s suddenly very certain of what he wants.


“I want you to fuck me,” Crowley growls with more than a hint of desperation.


Aziraphale gasps and shoots a hand down to grip the base of his own cock, biting his lip as he rides out the aching wave of desire that threatened to tip him over the edge.


“Crowley,” he says, voice dark enough to surprise himself, “Are you quite sure?”


“What do you want, angel?” Crowley huffs, “An engraved invitation?”


Aziraphale chuckles and sweeps a hand down Crowley’s back, enjoying the way the demon’s breath hitches and then speeds up.


“Turn over then, my dear,” Aziraphale breathes over Crowley’s nape and watches him shiver, “I want to see your lovely face while I’m fucking you.”


Crowley lets out an inhuman sound, wild and needy as he flips over, baring himself to the angel’s devouring gaze. Aziraphale admires the white mess streaked over Crowley’s front, as well as the naked want burning in his fierce yellow eyes. Aziraphale leans down and kisses him hot and deep as he pushes Crowley’s thighs apart, sliding deftly between them. Crowley can feel the iron-hard line of Aziraphale’s cock burning against his own and he whines, hands skating down the angel’s back and pulling him impossibly closer.


Aziraphale works a hand between them, his fingers miracle-slick when they find Crowley’s entrance. Crowley is panting in his ear as the angel sinks one finger in to the first knuckle, then lets out a gasp as Crowley’s body stretches hungrily, pulling his finger in as deep as it can go.


Crowley groans and rolls his hips, the sweet drag of Aziraphale’s fingers—now two of them—against his inner walls is better than he ever imagined. And he’s imagined it plenty.


“My dear, you didn’t have to do that,” Aziraphale chides, secretly thrilled by Crowley’s eagerness to have him.


“If we live to see tomorrow, you can finger me to your heart’s content, angel. Right now, I just need you. Urgently.”


Aziraphale’s stomach swoops and fizzles with heat, his erection twitching out a fat bead of precum in anticipation. The angel pulls his fingers free and kneels up between Crowley’s decadently spread legs, running his hands appreciatively along the soft, trembling length of his thighs. Crowley whines low in his throat and twists his hips in a truly serpentine movement, rocking down against the hot tip of Aziraphale’s cock.


Aziraphale bites his lip to keep from swearing as he presses forward, slowly sheathing himself in Crowley’s incredible heat. They groan in unison, Crowley’s golden eyes blown wide with wonder as he takes every glorious inch inside his body. The angel bottoms out with a wavering sigh and Crowley can hardly breathe with how perfectly full he feels.


“Look at you,” Aziraphale whispers, leaning in to kiss the demon’s slack mouth. Crowley responds hungrily, sucking on his tongue and winding his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders.


As if triggered by Crowley’s fingernails digging into his shoulder blades, Aziraphale’s wings unfurl and those fingers are now sinking into the sensitive down--and oh, that’s exquisite. Crowley gasps and his eyes fly open to take in the sight above him. It should hurt to gaze upon Aziraphale, glowing with holy light, his wings a fluttering white canopy extended over their bodies; but all Crowley can feel is rapture.


“You’re so beautiful, my angel,” he breathes, feeling himself flare with heat at the candid words.


If possible, Aziraphale shines even brighter and the smile that breaks over his face is nothing short of, well, angelic. It shouldn’t be allowed, Crowley thinks, for someone to look angelic while they’re shagging you rotten, but neither of them have ever cared much about following the rules.


Crowley squeezes his legs around Aziraphale’s middle, loving the give of his body, how soft he is where Crowley is all angles. Aziraphale ducks down to kiss him again and again, his thrusts finding a steady, pounding rhythm that has Crowley’s toes curling.


“Love you,” Aziraphale says, words growled into Crowley’s mouth, “I love you, Crowley. You’re mine.”


“Yours,” Crowley sobs, nodding frantically and kissing him hard.


Using his wings for momentum to drive his thrusts, Aziraphale gets his hands under Crowley’s knees and pushes them up to his chest, knowing his lover is flexible enough to handle it. Crowley shouts when the change of angle brings the head of Aziraphale’s cock against his sweet spot. The angel grinds into him, as deep as he can possibly get and Crowley feels the pleasure pooling rapidly in the pit of his belly, his muscles starting to twitch and shiver, hard prick leaking between them.


“Please, A-Aziraphale, right there, oh fuck,” Crowley wails, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes as the angel pounds him with relentless strength.


Aziraphale rains kisses over Crowley’s face and neck, everywhere he can reach. The demon looks painfully lovely, the tight heat of his body greater than Aziraphale had dreamed. The reality of Crowley’s love washing over and through him, the high, sweet noises escaping his kiss-swollen mouth. It’s too much and Aziraphale knows he won’t last very long, not with the way Crowley reaches around and gropes his arse, unwilling to let Aziraphale out of his body for even a moment.


Without meaning to manifest them, rose petals begin to fall like snow over the bed, landing in blood-red spots over Crowley’s midnight wings and the dark sheets. Crowley laughs when he notices them and kisses Aziraphale fiercely and with just a hint of fangs. The angel moans, picking up the pace to match the building need in his gut, kisses becoming messy and full of breath as he approaches the edge.


“Crowley, my dear,” he gasps, dropping his forehead onto the demon’s, “I-I’m close.”


Crowley shudders at the sound of those words in that voice. He nods fervently with his own hoarse reply of “Me too.”


Aziraphale can feel Crowley trembling and tightening around him, pulling him in deep on every thrust, soft sounds escaping him, climbing in volume. His thighs quake in Aziraphale’s grasp and he shouts his name like a prayer as he starts to come.


Aziraphale’s hips grind to a halt and he cries out as Crowley’s orgasm pulls him straight into his own. It just seems to keep going, endless waves of excruciating pleasure until he’s not sure where he ends and Crowley begins. He spills wetly inside him, matching the liquid heat jetting from Crowley’s cock where it jerks between them.


And then something altogether inhuman happens. For just the slightest of seconds, his soul and Crowley’s are touching, merging in a burst of ecstatic light, before they retreat back into their own forms and the two of them are left panting, plastered together and shaking in the aftermath of something neither can put any words to.


They become distantly aware of a loud cracking sound somewhere high above them. It’s followed by a boom and the window to their right is filled with the glow of golden fireworks bursting against the night sky.


“Oh dear,” Aziraphale mumbles, where he’s resting on Crowley’s heaving chest. “Did I do that?”


He feels Crowley shake with laughter before saying, “Nah, I’m pretty sure that one was me.”


Aziraphale dissolves into delirious giggles of his own, so unbelievably giddy in this moment that everything else seems to fade away. They bask in each others warmth a little longer before Aziraphale carefully pulls free and cleans them both up with a wave of his hand. Crowley flails around for the blanket near the foot of his bed and he pulls it up over them both.


Aziraphale stretches back out beside him and Crowley wastes no time slithering into his space, twining around him like a boa. It’s so wretchedly endearing and Aziraphale wraps the demon up in his arms, cocooning them in the white shield of his wings. It’s so reminiscent of the day they met, Aziraphale protecting him, Crowley bending toward him like a flower reaches for the sun.


Lying quiet and contented in one another’s arms, Aziraphale feels like he could fall asleep for the first time in thousands of years. His blood is still singing with satisfaction, the core of his being rejoicing in the simple pleasure of holding Crowley in his arms at long last.


And then an idea drifts to the forefront of Aziraphale’s mind and he suddenly feels very much awake.


“Did you feel that?” he asks, “I mean when we...you know?”


“You’ll have to be more specific, angel. I felt everything quite a lot,” Crowley replies, grinning into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck.


Aziraphale’s heart swells and he squeezes Crowley a little tighter.


“I mean did you feel it when my soul touched yours?”
Crowley goes still and Aziraphale feels him swallow.


“You felt that too?”


Aziraphale’s skin erupts in goosebumps and he nods excitedly, a plan unfolding itself in his mind. He pulls back far enough to look at Crowley’s face, to take in his sex tumbled hair and curious eyes.


“What’s that look for?” Crowley asks, “You come up with something?”


“I, well, yes. I think I have.”


“Don’t leave me in suspense, here. Spill it.”


“Agnes said we had to choose our faces wisely, right?”


Crowley nods.


“What if I chose yours? And you mine?”


The demon looks at him as if he’s insane for all of two seconds before he gets it. His mouth falls open in a disbelieving smile.


“Aziraphale, you bloody genius.”


The angel chuckles, his cheeks warming at the genuine praise.


“I would have never figured it out if not for you, my dearest.”


Crowley grins, “Am I your muse, then?”


Aziraphale kisses the dimple that’s bloomed on Crowley’s cheek. “You have always been.”


The teasing goes out of Crowley’s expression and then he’s kissing Aziraphale in a way that would take his knees out if he weren’t already lying down. He combs his fingers through the crimson mess of Crowley’s hair, properly devouring his mouth and pulling the demon down on top of him.


Crowley moans, already more than halfway back to hard and he rocks against Aziraphale, who finds himself in a similar state.


“Sorry,” Crowley gasps when he manages to tear his mouth away, “Can’t help it when you say shit like that.”


“No need to apologize,” Aziraphale says and reaches down to pull Crowley’s leg over his hips so their growing arousals are flush together.


“Thank Somebody for celestial stamina,” Crowley purrs, rolling his hips in a sinful circle and Aziraphale grabs his thighs, not to guide but to hold on.


“My dear, you ruin me,” Aziraphale breathes as Crowley rolls over him like waves lapping the shore.


Crowley whines, pressing a fierce kiss to the angel’s mouth before rising up on his knees and reaching behind himself. Aziraphale watches him raptly, fingers tightening on the tensed muscles of Crowley’s thighs as the demon guides Aziraphale’s cock back into his hole. Crowley groans raggedly as he sinks down in one fluid motion and Aziraphale nearly discorporates. He shouts, white spots dancing before his eyes and his hands relocate to Crowley’s hips as he starts to bounce on Aziraphale’s lap.


Crowley tosses his head back on a moan, his long, elegant form undulating with effortless grace. His wings spread and flex behind him and he looks every ounce the tragically lovely fallen angel he is. Aziraphale’s eyes brim with tears at the look of pure bliss on his lover’s face, feeling humbled to be the one to put it there.


Crowley leans forward, bracing his hands on Aziraphale’s chest, taking the opportunity to squeeze and pinch and stroke every inch of him until Aziraphale is gasping and planting his feet so he can meet Crowley’s next downward thrust with one of his own.


Once they find a rhythm, they lose themselves to it. Aziraphale finds he very much enjoys being used for Crowley’s pleasure, letting the demon set the pace, pinning Aziraphale down and keeping him right where he wants him. Aziraphale’s hands rove over Crowley’s sweat-damp sides, feeling the muscles tremble under his touch, hears it rustle all the way out to his primary feathers.


The swivel of Crowley’s hips is transcendent, dragging Aziraphale’s cock around his inner walls, rocking insistently against that bundle of nerves that makes him whine in staccato bursts. Aziraphale is quickly coming undone, the searing hot vice of Crowley’s body pulling him closer and closer to the edge.


“Angel, angel,” Crowley breathes, quickening his pace, “You feel ssso fucking good.”


“You’re magnificent,” Aziraphale agrees, and wraps his hand around Crowley’s leaking prick where it slaps against his belly with every downward thrust.


Crowley doubles forward and groans low in his throat, a violent shudder rippling through his wings as he bucks into the angel’s grasp and comes. He howls as Aziraphale continues fucking him, arms wrapping around Crowley’s frame to keep him in place as he chases his own climax. Instinctively Crowley’s wings have come forward in a mantle, surrounding them possessively with black down. He barely notices this very primitive action, still jerking with waves of pleasure as Aziraphale traps him tight against his chest and growls, sinking his teeth into the side of Crowley’s neck, just over his thundering pulse.


He feels the hot release of Aziraphale spilling inside him; at the same time his bite triggers something within Crowley, a primal satisfaction at being marked, mated. He shakes through another orgasm, going limp on top of Aziraphale, whose hips are slowly coming to a stop.


Crowley is barely conscious of anything until he feels Aziraphale kissing the abused skin on his throat. He hums at the pleasant sting of it, letting his body keep the bruise to show he’s been claimed. Property of Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate.


“I’m sorry, darling,” Aziraphale says gently between kisses, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”


“Mmm, only a little but it was wonderful,” Crowley purrs, nuzzling languidly into the angel’s embrace.


“Oh,” Aziraphale says, and he sounds a little shy, of all things. “Well, in that case, I’m glad.”


“Me too, angel. More glad than I’ve ever been.”


Aziraphale hums happily and strokes through Crowley’s feathers where they’ve splayed out across the both of them. Crowley kisses the sweat-damp hollow of Aziraphale’s throat, breathing deep his familiar fragrance and the new headier scent they’ve created between them.


Aziraphale chuckles when he hears Crowley yawn and strokes a hand down the length of the demon’s back.


“Finally wear yourself out, love?”


“Absolutely knackered,” Crowley mumbles into his neck.


“There’s still a few hours yet until dawn,” Aziraphale says, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s wild tangle of hair, “Why don’t you get some sleep?”


“What will you do? You don’t sleep, do you?”


“You know, it’s been quite a long day. I think I’ll indulge, just this once.”


Crowley hums and nestles further into his angel’s embrace, wrapping his arms around his soft middle. He feels Aziraphale clean them up with a quick miracle and finds he can’t keep his eyes open any longer.


“I love you, angel,” he says, with another jaw-cracking yawn.


He’s already half-asleep and so he misses the radiant smile that dawns on Aziraphale’s face but he doesn’t miss his whispered response.


“I love you too, Crowley.”