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On the bus from Tadfield to Oxford, Aziraphale held Crowley's hand. Neither said much; the things they wanted to say were to heavy to discuss in the presence of a bus driver and their fellow passengers. But they sat side by side and their hands rested together on Crowley's knee. Their legs gently touching. It was the longest that they had ever stayed in physical contact with each other.

A second bus took them from Oxford to London, and a third finally brought them to Crowley's flat. Aziraphale had initially wished to inspect the damage to the bookshop immediately, but... It could wait. It could wait. There was something more important that he needed to do. Needed to say.

For all that Crowley had come by the bookshop hundreds of times over the last two centuries, Aziraphale had never actually set foot in his demonic companion's latest residence. Or any previous one, for that matter. Never been inside any space Crowley had made his own. They'd always met up somewhere else, and if they went anywhere after it was his shop. The angel stood on the pavement staring up at the high-rise building, while Crowley worked some electronic panel with little glowing buttons, to make the building's front door unlock and open.

Neither said anything. Aziraphale was deep in thought. So much so that he almost didn't notice Crowley's sudden lip-biting nervousness. The door swung open and he held it, turning to his angel with a mix of suspense and excitement and disbelief in his eyes, very nearly hidden from view by his dark sunglasses. Aziraphale wanted to take Crowley's face in his hands and reassure him. Tell him Yes, I'm here, it's real. But he was nervous too.

They silently rode the lift up to Crowley's floor, passed the doorbell with the metal snake coiled around it. Aziraphale smiled at that little decoration. It reminded him he was not entering a strange, cold, alien place, but rather the home of his... his best friend. Was it alright for him to allow himself to think of Crowley like that? Did it even matter anymore, what was right and proper? What other people thought?

No, he decided. It didn't. Crowley was his best friend. And that was what mattered.

Crowley opened the door to the flat itself, and again held it, allowing Aziraphale to enter first. There was a closet with mirrored sliding doors just inside, where Crowley hung both their jackets. It was full of dark stylish outerwear, which came as no surprise to Aziraphale. All very modern, fashionable, and very much Crowley's aesthetic. Again, Aziraphale found this reassuring. Not a foreign place; a Crowley place.

Shoes were removed and left on a mat. A door led to a room that was empty but for a massive gilded desk and matching chair, and a flat-screen television on one wall. Beyond, Aziraphale's eyes were drawn to something green. He moved forward to investigate.

"Oh, Crowley, this is lovely," he said, admiring the verdant leaves and luscious flowers of the plants. "Like an indoor garden..."

Crowley may have blushed slightly, but only for a moment. "Don't let them hear you say that," he muttered. "They'll get complacent."

Aziraphale tilted his head to the side, his attention leaving the plants to linger on the demon. He was fairly certain complacency was normal for plants, but there was something fiercely protective and proud in Crowley's tone when his botanical skill was complimented. Aziraphale considered that a small triumph, having done something to please his dearest friend.

Crowley seemed to grow self-conscious at the scrutiny. He moved past Aziraphale and gestured to the flat's remaining rooms. "Kitchen, laundry, bathroom, bedroom," he said. "You can watch telly if you want, or have the bed if you'd like to sleep. I'll stay out of the way. If you want to listen to music, that's in the bedroom, though I'm not sure how much I have that you'll like. I also... only really have one book. And there isn't much in the kitchen, I'm af--"

"Crowley," Aziraphale cut him off. "Crowley, it's alright. Thank you for the tour. Do you... Is there wine? I rather think I'd fancy a glass right now."

"Sure, angel. Wine, tea, cocoa, whatever you like." He led the way into the sparse kitchen.

There was no proper table in the kitchen, just a tall island with two barstools. At least there were two. Aziraphale had begun to worry that the grandiose throne-like chair at the desk was the only place to sit in the whole apartment.

He took a seat on one the sleek modern-looking stools. They weren't terribly comfortable, but they would do. Crowley found an old bottle of red wine in a small closet that must be the flat's pantry. He poured two glasses, and set one down in front of Aziraphale, but did not sit.

"I've been thinking," the angel said after a few sips. "About what you said about sides. And Agnes's prophecy. I may have the beginning of a plan."

Crowley said something that sounded like "Ngk," and slowly paced the length of the small kitchen. The pacing made Aziraphale a little anxious.

"Won't you sit down?" Aziraphale asked. Crowley considered that. After a moment he did as requested, slouching forward over the counter. He took his sunglasses off and folded them away into a pocket.

"Crowley, I think... I really should say..." Aziraphale rested a hand on Crowley's elbow. The demon made a nearly imperceptible movement that may have been a flinch or a shudder or a tiny sigh, but it was so subtle, Aziraphale couldn't tell for certain. "That is to say, perhaps you're right. Heaven and hell will surely be displeased with us. We aren't properly on either of those sides any more. And perhaps we never really were."

"Angel..." Crowley began, but Aziraphale cut him off again.

"Let me finish, dear boy." He was rambling and he knew it. "This is important. They will be displeased and they could come for us at any moment. This - tonight - may be the only time the two of us have to be... properly... on our own side. Just us. We may not even truly have all of tonight, but if we do, I feel that it is, rather, well..."

"Rather what, angel?" Crowley interrupted impatiently.

"I was getting to that," Aziraphale said rather testily. Then he noticed his own tone and soothed his disposition a little. This was the most important thing he was ever going to say, and he'd been rehearsing it in his head all the way home. He hoped he'd get it right.

"It's rather important that - that is to say - if this is our last night on earth... I'm glad we can spend it together, because... Because... oh I don't even know if demons really do this sort of thing, and I know you don't much care for four-letter words, but... I really must say it. Because I do quite love you, Crowley."


Crowley's mouth was agape, and he tried to respond but his vocal cords simply wouldn't move. He reached for his wine glass and took a rather undignified gulp. Then he drained what was left. He was still at a loss for words. Of all the things his angel might have said just now, of all the ways he might have said it...

When you dream of someone saying a particular thing to you for a long time, say, six thousand years, give or take... He blinked. Slowly, deliberately.

"Say something," Aziraphale begged. The hand he had rested on Crowley's elbow moved to the demon's forearm and gave a gentle squeeze.

"I, ah, angel..." Crowley began. He took a breath and tried to stay calm, but was feeling so many emotions at once that he couldn't help but sound a bit exasperated when he said "What did you think I was saying all the times I said we should forget heaven and hell and just be on our own side? What did you think I was saying when I asked you to run away with me?"

"Oh," Aziraphale said, wide-eyed. It was his turn to be at a loss for words. "Oh."

"Angel." Crowley started, a little choked up. "I have-- I have loved you since-- since the day we stood on the garden wall and you told me you gave the flaming sword to the humans. Admitting to that single, silly, selfless act showed me that you weren't a stuffy, haughty, stick-up-the-arse bastard like the rest of the guys upstairs, and I have... have always..."

"Oh Crowley." Aziraphale's face filled with guilt, and grave concern. His grip on Crowley's forearm tightened. "Oh my dearest. I had no idea. Oh, what a fool I've been. To think took me until 1941 to realize how I felt about you. And until now to dare to say it. I am so very sorry to have kept you waiting for so long, my dear."

Crowley's other hand moved to rest atop where Aziraphale gripped his arm. "S'alright," he mumbled. The demon gently brushed his fingers over Aziraphale's, feather-light.

“I was afraid,” Aziraphale admitted. “Of what they would do to us, to you, if we were found out. I could never live in a world without you. I won't.”

"S'okay angel." Crowley's voice cracked. "If I--" He might be on the verge of tears. "If I kiss you, right now, will you tell me I'm going too fast?"

Aziraphale's eyes were fixed on the fingers that gently brushed his own, but they moved. First to Crowley's warm golden eyes, then falling to rest and linger on the demon's lips. It wasn't the first time he'd done that. Let his eyes linger in that fashion. Though in the past, Crowley had always wondered if he was just imagining it. "No," the angel said with conviction. "No, I won't say that. Not tonight. Perhaps not ever again."

Crowley needed no more encouragement. He leaned forward until their lips pressed softly together. Their mouths remained closed, and the kiss was soft and chaste, but also tender and lingering. Aziraphale's eyes fluttered shut but Crowley's remained wide. His poor, weak, corporeal body had no restraint. Heart-rate and body temperature soared at the contact. Warmth surged in his belly and between his legs. Part of him couldn't believe it was really happening. He felt a little dizzy.

Aziraphale let go of Crowley's forearm and both of his arms came up to rest on his beloved demon's shoulders. He clasped his hands behind Crowley's neck and sighed into the kiss. Crowley wrapped his arms around the angel's waist.

Lips opened and tongues met. Explored, tasted.

Wrapped around each other, they might have been content to just kiss each other for hours.

When they finally parted, it was not because their lungs needed air, but rather because Aziraphale pulled back a little to study Crowley's face again. Crowley stared at him, unblinking. Both of their faces were flushed.

"Oh that was lovely." Aziraphale was beaming. His warmest and fondest smile. For six thousand years, Crowley had been sustained by smiles like that. He had thought that if he could never truly have Aziraphale to himself, that just seeing him smile like that, every once in a while, would be enough. And if he could be the reason for one of those smiles...

"Crowley, my dearest," the angel went on, "I have been remiss. I feel as if I should do something to make up for all the years I took to realize my true feelings. All those centuries you spent... pining."

"S'fine," Crowley mumbled. "Don't worry about it, angel."

"No, please," Aziraphale entreated, "This is important to me. I would very much like to spend a goodly portion of tonight spoiling you. Pampering you. Showering you with affection. In whatever form you desire."

Crowley's restraint broke and the tears fell. "I just want to be with you," he said, suppressing a sob. "I just want to be... Whatever you desire, angel." He didn't know how to handle such a pure outpouring of genuine affection.

"You are, my dearest." Aziraphale's voice was soft and endearing. "You are. Everything I desire and more. I am sorry I took so long to become aware of that."

A choking sob escaped and Crowley buried his head in Aziraphale's shoulder, tears soaking fabric. The angel placed a hand on the demon's back, and rubbed gently and reassuringly. "There there, my love," he whispered. "I'm here. I've got you."

Crowley kissed him again, fiercely, hungrily. The sentiment was returned tenfold. Again, they lost themselves in it. Neither had any idea what time it was, or what was going on in the world beyond the two of them, and neither cared. Their corporeal forms came apart both gasping for breath.

"I'm afraid," Aziraphale said with a hint of mischief, "that I'm going to call you another four-letter word, though I think, I hope you might approve of this one."

Crowley said nothing, but tilted his head to one side, curious, catching his breath. Aziraphale blushed furiously and leaned in to whisper, soft as possible, into his beloved's ear.


Crowley's breath hitched in his throat again and his grip around the angel's midsection tightened. His body was reacting on all sorts of ways he seemed to have very little control of. "Angel!"

"Say my name," Aziraphale whispered, his lips delicately brushing the little snake tattoo by Crowley's ear.

"A-Aziraphale," part of Crowley was ashamed of himself for how swift he was to obey, but the rest of him revelled in it. He tried to pull their bodies closer together, which wasn't easy when balanced atop tall narrow stools. "My Aziraphale."

"My Crowley," Aziraphale agreed with another beaming smile, placing a kiss at the top of his demon's jawline and then pulling back to examine his face. He traced a finger down where his lips had just been. "I would very much like to take you to bed now, my Crowley. May I?"

Crowley nodded the tiniest of nods, and loosened his hold enough that they could get to their feet. Hand in hand, they made their way to the bedroom. Aziraphale somehow managed to grab the wine bottle and both empty glasses in his other hand.

Crowley's bed dominated the room. The frame was deep dark mahogany, and the sheets and blankets were soft and black. Aziraphale nodded approvingly. "Lie down, please," he said.

Crowley did as directed. There was something terribly exciting about following instructions from someone he trusted so completely. Aziraphale refilled one of the wine glasses and handed it to him, looking thoughtful and making no move to join him on the bed just yet, though Crowley could tell that the angel had put some effort into manifesting genitalia, which was quite visibly starting to strain against his trousers.

The demon took another several fortifying swallows of wine, emptying the glass again and reaching for the bottle. Aziraphale stopped him by gently interposing his hand. "That's enough for now," he said. "'It provokes the desire but takes away the performance.'"

Crowley let a brief laugh escape. "Are you really quoting Shakespeare at me right now? Billy the Bard? William bloody Shakespeare, who wrote the funny plays and the miserable ones? Who plagiarized me? Whose stupid Hamlet was only successful because of my miracle."

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, seeming to realize something.


“You were talking about me when you said that.”

“Said what?”

'Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety...'” He quoted it as Crowley had said it, not the adulterated version Shakespeare had used.

Crowley blushed, and nodded. “I said it, and of course I was talking about you, and he stole it and used it as a line. Stupid Antony and Cleopatra.”

“I'm afraid I'm going to have to quote him one more time, Crowley. My mind cannot separate thoughts of you from thoughts of sonnets...” He stood beside the bed, looking adoringly down at Crowley. "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day--" he began.

"I really wish you wouldn't," Crowley muttered.

"Please. Please let me."

"Fine," Crowley conceded. "One sonnet. Just one."

Aziraphale smiled a sunny smile and began again;

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Not shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe and eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee."

Crowley blushed and brought a hand to his mouth, nervously biting a knuckle. Of course the bastard would just recite bloody Sonnet Eighteen from memory.

Aziraphale finally sat at the foot of the bed, and hooked a finger into the cuff of one of Crowleys socks. “May I remove these?” he asked. Crowley nodded and the angel carefully pulled the socks off.

"Are you ticklish, my dear?"

"A little," was the mumbled response.

"Just tell me if you want me to stop."

Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale began massaging his feet, strong thumbs stroking away pain and tension that Crowley's corporeal body had been tuning out, careful not to tickle. It was so good. He made himself relax into his angel's ministrations.

After a while, Aziraphale crawled up toward the headboard to sit beside Crowley, and gently put a hand to his shirt. "May I take this off you?" he asked.

Crowley replied with another tiny nervous nod. But Aziraphale didn't move. "Only if you're certain, love. Anything less than enthusiastic consent doesn't count."

Crowley nodded more emphatically this time. "Please, angel. Please take it off. I want you to see me. I want you to touch me."

Aziraphale smiled and lifted Crowley's shirt up, over his shoulders, arms, and head. There was still a black undershirt covering his abdomen and chest, but Aziraphale seemed in no hurry to remove this just yet. He took time to appreciate the sight of Crowley's bared arms and shoulders, still wearing an adoring smile.

"You're so beautiful," he said, gently rubbing Crowley's shoulders.

"Ngh, angel..."

"Hush, love. Please. Let me tell you how beautiful you are. How gorgeous, how breathtaking, how tempting."

Crowley's cheeks were flushed and burning. He bit down harder in his finger. Aziraphale gently pulled the hand from Crowley's mouth, and softly kissed the bitten knuckle. "Are you nervous, my darling? This doesn't have to go any further than you want it to. You must tell me if I make you even the slightest bit uncomfortable."

"Anxious," Crowley admitted. "A little. It's... been a while. Since I was this close to anyone. But I want this. I want you. I want you so very much, angel. Haven't wanted anyone but you in so long..."

"Do you trust me, Crowley?"

"Ngh. Of course."

"Then let me take care of you."

Crowley nodded again, trying to relax. Aziraphale moved a hand down Crowley's stomach, and prepared to untuck the undershirt from his waistband.

"May I?" he asked.

"Are you gonna ask that for every piece of clothing I have on?"

"For everything I wish to remove, yes."

"You don't have to."

"But I'm going to."

Crowley nodded yet again, sat up and lifted his arms to facilitate Aziraphale's removal of the undershirt. Again the angel paused, examining the newly exposed skin. Gentle hands explored Crowley's stomach and chest. Luxuriated in the feeling of soft auburn fuzz. One of his fingers hovered over a nipple and he looked Crowley in the eyes and again said “May I?”

Crowley nodded once more. Aziraphale gently squeezed his nipples, briefly suckled on each, placed kisses here and there. Crowley made some tiny appreciative moans.

"Yes. Lovely," Aziraphale praised. "Make all the noise you like, dear. I do so love to know when I'm pleasing you.”

"Unnh, angel. Aziraphale." Crowley's tension leaked into his voice.

"What's wrong, dearest?"

"Dunno - just - impatient, I guess."

"Good things come to those who wait." The angel said, leaning down to kiss Crowley's stomach, just above the navel. "And I know that you've been waiting for so, so long. But I promise I will do everything I can to make it worth your while."

"I want you," Crowley groaned.

"Yes, dear. You'll have me, I promise."

After a few more moments of exploring Crowley's abdomen with curious hands, Aziraphale tapped the belt buckle with a single finger. "May I?"

"Yes. Please, angel. How do you want me?"

Aziraphale replied with a reassuring smile. "You may take whatever shape and form you desire, my dearest. I will do my best to please you regardless."

Crowley swallowed, and concentrated, and immediately felt blood rushing to the member that was now straining at the tightness of his jeans. Aziraphale's expression suddenly showed almost as much lust as love, his eyes half-lidded and his breath speeding up. He slowly, agonizingly, undid the belt and removed it loop by loop. Crowley seized the angel's hands and pressed them to the button at the top of the fly, meeting his eyes and trying to wordlessly communicate his need.

Aziraphale tut-tutted and said "Patience," then carefully rolled to sit astride Crowley, and leaned down to kiss him softly. Crowley bit the angel's lower lip and growled, bucking his hips.

"No more patience," he declared. "I'm all out."

Aziraphale sat up and smiled again. His whole face was flushed, and the bitten lip just a tiny bit swollen. Crowley wondered, not for the first time, if the angel enjoyed denying him. Tempting. Teasing. Making him wait.

"Very well," Aziraphale said. He undid the button and then the zipper, hooked his fingers in the waistband of both the trousers and underwear, and asked once more, "May I?"

"Now," was Crowley's insistent reply.

Aziraphale tugged, and shimmied down the bed, freeing Crowley's hips of clothing, then his thighs, and eventually all of him. No longer constrained, his erection stood briefly at attention, before the weight of it made it flop up onto his stomach. Aziraphale stared hungrily.

"Never have I beheld a more beautiful sight. Not on Earth, not in Heaven, neither land nor sea nor sky. Not even the stars are as lovely as you."

It was sweet. Unbearably sweet. So Crowley said "Ugh, angel, shut up and fuck me."

Aziraphale laughed joyfully. "As you wish," he whispered, leaning down and kissing Crowley's right thigh, then the left. Crawling up, his head moved closer and a hand reaching out. "May I?" he asked.


So Aziraphale firmly took hold of Crowley's engorged length. His mouth was so close Crowley could feel his breath. "May I?" He asked one more time, a glint in his eyes.

"Fuuuuck!" Crowley shouted, grinding his hips into Aziraphale's hand.

"I think I'm going to take that as a yes," he replied, before taking the head into his mouth.

Crowley hadn't known it was possible to want something this much. Sex was human stuff. It was silly. It was playing around. But this was different - just the thought that Aziraphale wanted him was so very exciting. It was all he could do to resist the urge to just thrust again and again into Aziraphale's hand and mouth to bring himself to completion as quickly as he could. Instead, he somehow managed to force the rest of his body still, and just rest his hands in the angel's soft hair.

Aziraphale licked and sucked and stroked with expertise, making a satisfied little "Mmm" every time Crowley moaned with pleasure, and a drawn out "Hmmmmmm" when the demon shouted "Fuck fuck fuck!"

Crowley lost control at the vibration from the humming. Aziraphale knew it was coming and suddenly took him in all the way to the back of his throat. Crowley came hard, the angel's mouth around him humming and sucking appreciatively.

When the aftershocks of his climax had passed and he'd gone soft again, Aziraphale removed his mouth, swallowing everything. And then the bastard pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and dabbed at his lips daintily as if he'd just finished a particularly scrumptious dessert.

Crowley laughed at the sight, feeling all the tension fleeing his body. "Oh fuck I love you," he declared. He felt no more need to be self-conscious about his feelings. He was free.

"So terribly glad to hear it, my dear boy," Aziraphale said delightedly. It was such a very Aziraphale thing to say that Crowley laughed again. The angel, still fully clothed, collapsed next to him on the bed and they both laughed, the feeling of freedom from any need to hold back around each other overtaking them.

Spent and sated and satisfied, Crowley rolled onto his side so he could kiss his angel languidly. His own taste faintly lingered on Aziraphale's tongue, and it fed even further into Crowley's state of complete relaxation.

"Your turn," he whispered against Aziraphale's lips.

"Oh, that's quite alright, my darling," came the reply. "We can see to my needs another time."

"Angel remember what you said. Tonight might be all the time we have."

Aziraphale didn't move, except to gently run a thumb along Crowley's jawline, looking into his eyes and smiling.

"Angel, please. I... I want you inside me."

Aziraphale's expression changed. Something about those words seemed to have lit a fire in him. Crowley was secretly delighted that he could make his angel want him so.

"Well," Aziraphale admitted, propping himself up on an elbow, "If that is what you desire, if that is what will please you... I suppose I am somewhat overdressed, then." He rose to his knees and began to fumble eagerly at the buttons of his waistcoat. Excitement made his fingers clumsy. Crowley sat up and helped.

Together they made all the angel's clothing join the pile of discarded garments on the floor. Yes, Aziraphale's body was clearly about as aroused as it could be. For the second time that night, Crowley asked "How do you want me, angel?"

Aziraphale looked at him with an expression he'd often worn when examining a particularly tasty-looking slice of cake. Pondering. Deciding what to eat first; the icing, or perhaps the juicy strawberry on top... "On your hands and knees, if you don't mind." Crowley was quick to comply. "Yes, just like that," Aziraphale said appreciatively. "There's a love."

He positioned himself behind Crowley, and he must have miracled up some manner of lubricant, because Crowley could feel slick fingers gently probing at his backside, oiling up the area around his hole.

A finger paused at the entrance. "May I?" Came Aziraphale's voice gently.

"Yes," Crowley was swift to reply. And then "Oh!" When the finger slipped inside. It had been so long. So long since anyone had touched him like that. And that had just been humans. People he was playing around with. Temptations. Work. That hadn't meant anything. But this... this was Aziraphale. This was his angel. His angel who loved him. Who wanted him. Crowley wasn't surprised to find himself growing hard again, given the circumstances.

The careful finger probed around gently, tantalizingly, exploring. Oh yes, Aziraphale knew what he was doing. He expertly found just the right spot, stroking and circling teasingly, his probing finger strong and confident. Crowley couldn't help but writhe a little. He lowered his face into the pillows so one of his hands could reach back and grab himself. Oh yes, he was completely hard again. The corporeal bodies that they made for themselves had supernatural strength and stamina.


Aziraphale, meanwhile, was aching with need. His own erection had been untouched, unattended, the whole time. He'd been willing to just let the burn fade away until Crowley has insisted so very emphatically. He slipped another finger inside, stretching his tight hole to prepare the way, delighting in all the happy noises the demon was making. "Oh love," he whispered. "Oh I want you. I need you."

"I'm yours," Crowley's strained reply was somewhat muffled by the pillow. "Take me."

Aziraphale hesitated a moment, but when Crowley started moving his hips in slow circles, so hot and so wet, and fucking his own hand, the angel could hold back no more. He withdrew his fingers and positioned himself right where he needed to be. For the final time that night, he asked "May I?"

"You blasted bloody well may," Crowley groaned in response, grinding up against where Aziraphale's member rested.

Final permission granted, the angel did as bidden, entering slowly, letting out a satisfied sigh when just the tip of him had breached Crowley's entrance. Crowley shuddered and made a happy little "Mmmph" into the pillow.

It took restraint, but Aziraphale had plenty of that. He gently but firmly took hold of Crowley's hips, and slowly eased himself farther in. Crowley was writhing again, very snake-like, very enticing, and it was difficult resisting the urge to just fuck him as hard and fast as he could.

But Aziraphale managed. He had to be gentle. Crowley deserved that. Needed that.

“You are temptation personified," he said in a strained whisper. "I have no idea how I resisted you for so long." He had pushed all the way in by then, and paused to take a few steadying breaths before withdrawing most of the way. "If we die tomorrow, my only regret will be that I can't do this again," he gently thrust back in, "and again," he pulled out a bit, "and again." All the way in, just a tad more forcefully than he'd intended.

“More,” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale gave.

"Faster," Crowley begged, and Aziraphale complied.

"Harder," Crowley pleaded, and Aziraphale indulged him.

"Deeper!" Crowley demanded, and Aziraphale strained to obey.

He could feel himself slipping, straining, pushing. His breaths came raggedly. Crowley seemed to have bitten down on the pillow so his cries of pleasure wouldn't draw unwanted attention from his neighbours. Aziraphale found the noises Crowley made so very tantalizing.

"F-fill me!" Crowley gasped, and Aziraphale came undone. He could feel himself spilling, spilling. A few final slow thrusts and he was spent. He placed a kiss in the middle of Crowley's back. With his last ounces of strength, he reached around to help the demon stroke himself to completion.

Then they collapsed side by side. Their breathing and heartbeats eventually slowed to something closer to normal, and Aziraphale miracled the sticky mess away. He drank in the sight of his friend, his beloved, lying there all pleased and relaxed. So beautiful.


"Yes, my dearest?"

"Can I have more wine now?"

Aziraphale laughed again. Crowley was such a delight. He snagged the bottle from the nightstand and took a swig before handing it over. "Of course, lover. Anything you desire."

Crowley's golden eyes looked to be growing moist at that particular term of endearment. The way he was looking at Aziraphale made the angel want to weep for joy as well. And so he did, a little. They both did, crying and laughing and each brushing the other's tears away. There was another gentle lingering kiss, and then they passed the wine bottle back and forth until it was empty, reverting to companionable silence.

Aziraphale didn't sleep often, but just now, satisfied and full of good wine, drifting into blissful unconsciousness with Crowley in his arms seemed like the perfect thing to do. He shifted around until he was comfortable, and brushed both his hands through Crowley's hair.

"'Ziraphale?" Crowley asked sleepily, face nuzzling his angel's chest.

"Yes, Crowley?"

"You said you had a plan that might protect us tomorrow? What is it?"

"I'll tell you in the morning, my love. Rest now."

And so they rested. Morning came too soon.

- fin -