The first time it happened was in Greece.
Aziraphale had just been modeling for an artist friend of his-- an artist who, through somewhat of a miracle, convinced him that the statue would turn out better if he were wearing a great deal less clothing.
And Aziraphale liked to please his friends. So, mustering up all the courage that he had (and suppressing his self-consciousness), he had stripped all the way down to his skivvies. The sculptor-- who’s name has now been lost to time and Aziraphale’s clumsy tendency to misremember-- was sculpting as though Aziraphale were standing nude. That is to say, the statue was… anatomically correct.
Ironically enough, he had asked Aziraphale to model as an angel.
Marble chipped away, the sound of it falling to the floor reverberating back towards him. Aziraphale, after hours of standing still and slowly letting the monotony of the act consume him, had become significantly less self-conscious.
Maybe he should get used to this human body a little bit more. Couldn't hurt to have the dangly bits out once in awhile, surely.
He was comfortable. And then, suddenly, he felt another pair of eyes. He turned, spotting flaming red hair and a sinfully tight tunic. Crowley's yellow snake-eyes were roaming across his skin. Aziraphale could feel it like a physical touch.
“What in Good Heavens-?!” He started, immediately feeling naked. And, he was. (Or at least nearly).
“More like good hell, but I’ll let that one slide.” Crowley grinned, sauntering into the room with that… ineffable smirk of his. “Didn’t take you to be much of a model, Angel. Then again,” He spared a glance towards the statue, “Looks like you might be more of a porn star. Tell me, does heaven know that you’re debauching yourself like this?”
Aziraphale let Crowley’s words wash over him, the seductive curl of his taunting caressing his skin.
Aziraphale had been having some feelings lately.
Mostly, they were easy to ignore.
“Hey, Greg?” Aziraphale asked the artist. Of course, he didn’t actually say Greg way back when. At least, he didn’t think he did. It was a placeholder for the name that he’d forgotten over the millennia.
Then again, he supposed it could have been Greg.
“Yes?” Greg asked, looking up.
“You don’t suppose we could be done for the day, do you?” He questioned. But he didn’t really listen for an answer, because he was already picking up the thin white cloth he had come in. It slipped over his head in one swoop, settling down into place. He’d been lucky; he hadn’t worn an overly complicated piece of clothing.
“Oh, c’mon, don’t be bashful.” Crowley teased, walking closer. Now that he was comfortably in his daytime attire, Aziraphael took a few steps towards him, too, until they met in the middle. Upon this convergence, Crowley turned on his heel, so that he was walking with Aziraphale.
“Do tell me why you felt the need to interrupt?” Aziraphale questioned. He could still hear the banging of Greg’s chisel even as they walked out of the room. He must have gotten most of what he needed from Aziraphale that day.
“Had a little temptation that I needed to perform and felt some odd energy emanating from around this area. I thought it might have been you what with your painful awkwardness and all, and lo and behold.”
Aziraphale had come up with a retort for this, and was quite proud of it.
“You’d better low and be- hold your tongue .” He quipped back. Crowley looked mildly shocked, and Aziraphale beamed.
“You really have learned a thing or two from humans.” Crowley said. As he spoke, he removed a coin from his pocket. Aziraphale knew what that meant, and he sagged. Ah. So this was a business call.
“I have to tempt a prophetess to antagonize political upheaval by prophesying some adultery.” Crowley raised his eyebrow at Aziraphale. “And clearly you’re doing important works in the arts community here. By the way, I am definitely going to take credit for that. That statue of you will certainly inspire some less-than-Godly thoughts.”
Aziraphale felt a deep blush color his cheeks.
“Alright, alright. Flip your damn coin, demon. I’ll call it in the air.” Aziraphale sighed. Crowley grinned and poised his hand, flipping the coin into the air and watching it spin round and round. “Tails.”
Crowley caught the coin and turned it over before grinning.
“Heads.” He said. Aziraphale sighed deeply.
“Alrighty then, best be off.” He responded. “I’m sure you’ve got other people whose day you’re intending to make worse.”
“Best be off.” Crowley repeated. But he didn’t walk any faster, or change directions. Instead, he…. Hesitated. Aziraphale stopped in his tracks.
“Unless.... There’s something else you want?”
Aziraphale secretly very much hoped that it was lunch.
“You know that your sculptor boy is in love with you, right?” Crowley asked. “Because the way he looks at you is really obvious. It’s not like he’s making art. It’s like he’s worshipping it.”
Aziraphale froze, eyes widening. Oh, bother. He didn’t know that, no. But now that someone else had pointed it out, he could see where that could very well be the case. He wasn’t used to human mating rituals, and a lot of the wining and dining that Greg had been doing for him over the past couple of months hadn’t quite clicked as wining and dining until that moment.
“I… Thank you for bringing that to my attention.” He responded, shaking off his surprise.
“Well, I wouldn’t want you to end up breaking the bastard’s heart. A friendship can be blown off course by something like that if it comes out of nowhere, especially if that relationship is with a human. People just don’t know how to love selflessly. How to be… Happy, just because the other one is happy. I don’t want you to have to deal with that nonsense.”
That was by far the most emotion that Aziraphale had ever seen from Crowley. There was something vulnerable in his voice, and he could tell that showing that he cared about Aziraphale by making sure he knew what was going on had taken a lot out of him.
And Aziraphale was all for the school of positive reinforcement.
Soft feelings swirled in his chest as he looked at Crowley.
“You know, that was exceptionally nice .” Aziraphale said, warmly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there was still a spark of good in you. You hardly seem like a demon at all right now.”
Crowley’s reaction was immediate, and fierce. Had Aziraphale not been used to picking up on the subtleties of his body language, he might have missed the rapid shifting of minute facial features from ‘pleased’ to ‘displeased’.
He might have missed that, but he could not have missed Crowley grabbing hold of his robe and pushing him forward, until his back was firmly against the wall and Crowley’s body had pushed closely up against his. Suddenly, there was an overwhelming scent of delicious amber smoke and ...mint? No, not mint. The smell of the grass after a good hard rainfall during an already wet year.
“Now you listen here and you listen close,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale almost laughed as his head spun suddenly with their proximity, because how could he possibly focus on anything else, “I am a demon . I am not nice , nor will I ever be. Keep your mouth shut.”
Crowley’s breath ghosted across Aziraphale’s lips, and suddenly, all of the feelings he had been repressing were storming down the gate. He wanted nothing more than to keep his mouth shut. But he would have rather preferred it if Crowley were to do it for him.
Heat flashed across Aziraphale’s skin, and he felt desire swell up inside of him. He felt so fragile, so close to breaking and giving into something he had never known he wanted to give into until this moment. He was overwhelmed by all of the things he wanted Crowley to do to him, all of the things he wanted to do to Crowley , my God . Crowley’s lips were close, so close, and Aziraphale’s own lips were buzzing in anticipation. He couldn’t take the goddamned anticipation . He was weak in the knees, weak in his heart, weak in his willpower. He wanted so badly to lean forward, to crush Crowley’s lips to his, to let his demon claim whatever he wanted .
By some miracle, Crowley chose the exact moment when Aziraphale’s self control began to falter to pull away.
“I trust you won’t be making that mistake again?” Crowley asked. But his voice was more playful than anything else; he couldn’t really pull off the menace with Aziraphale. They both knew that he was more than strong enough to take Crowley on. The manhandling was just meant to indicate that he was serious about it.
“Of course not.” Aziraphale lied.
Aziraphale had to play it cool. He couldn’t antagonize his demon too much. For one thing, he would be mortified if Crowley caught on to the fact that he was intentionally provoking him in order to be touched. Secondly, every time it happened Aziraphale had to spend the next few months taking cold baths to subdue the absolutely filthy thoughts that followed.
At least, that’s what he did at first.
He had already instigated Crowley in this manner a few times. More than three, but less than ten, but anyways who was counting?
So when Aziraphale felt that old itch, that… skin hunger , as it were, he knew that he had to get his fix of it soon. His memories of the last time were already too blurry, too abstract. He needed the real thing.
Currently, he was assisting the scientist Hypatia in her physics research in Greece. The year was approximately 400 AD, and he knew that her rise to the top and innovations in her field would surely make men acknowledge the academic prowess of the women among them. Aziraphale was certain that sexism itself would very soon be coming to an end.
(He was wrong).
One night, after a lonely dinner and a glass of wine he definitely hadn't needed, he picked up a candle and a piece of paper. He felt… needy. Yes, that was the word.
Definitely not horny.
Him and Crowley had been keeping up by occasional miracled message for the last few hundred years or so. Just casually chatting about their missions and what those wily humans got up to really. Nothing too awfully intimate.
Dearest Crowley, Aziraphale wrote, his quill scratching against the paper.
I do believe I have something going on here at the University that you may be interested in taking credit for. One of the doctors here has begun experimenting with cocaine prescriptions for so much as a cough, and I do believe it’s begun to catch on, against my best efforts. If hell takes credit for it, I do believe it might cause heaven to pay some attention and avert the crisis that over prescribing highly addictive drugs would undoubtedly cause. Best wishes, Aziraphale.
Oh, he knew heaven wasn’t going to do anything to stop it. He’d already tried to get them to, multiple times. It was entirely ignored in favor of "bigger problems".
So Crowley might as well take credit for it, right?
It wasn’t ten minutes after he miracled the letter away that Crowley knocked on the door to his personal chambers. Aziraphale got up excitedly, straightening his shirt and quickly walking over to open the door for his friend.
“I didn’t expect you to be so hasty,” He said, by way of apology.
“It’s been a little bit since I’ve taken any credit for anything truly despicable.” Crowley said, shrugging. “I’m just here to collect the details.”
But Crowley didn’t look like he was there to “collect the details”, as it were. He sauntered inside, inviting himself into Aziraphale’s bedroom, and the door shut by itself behind him. In the dim candlelight, Aziraphale watched as Crowley surveyed the place. He took in the stone walls, the floor draped in furs, and his fairly sizeable bed (by far the most extravagant thing in the room; Aziraphale liked the ambiance that having a large bed provided). Crowley’s eyes even wandered towards the messy desk where he was currently at work dissecting some Plato.
Crowley plopped himself down into Aziraphale’s chair, leaving Aziraphale nowhere to sit but the bed. He awkwardly did so, and Crowley miracled himself a quill and some paperwork. He looked up expectantly at Aziraphale, the candlelight throwing flashes of orange across his yellowed eyes.
“Now, I’ve got a report to fill out.” Crowley said, “So please do tell me everything.”
Aziraphale gave Crowley everything he needed to fill out the proper paperwork, spelling the names of each of the “doctors” twice, making sure that Crowley had them down. Crowley mumbled to himself the whole way through filling out his paperwork, hand scribbling furiously as Aziraphale gave him details about the doctors, patients, funding, and where, exactly, the cocaine was being kept.
(Aziraphale had a sneaking suspicion that that last one was for Crowley's own personal enjoyment).
After what felt like hours of talking through the details, Crowley’s quill disappeared from his hand. In a flash of fire, the paperwork followed. Aziraphale would have been correct in assuming that it had been filed.
“Thanks much for the assistance.” Crowley said. “I’m always happy to… to take some of these problems off of your hands, you know.”
Crowley stood as he was saying this, and Aziraphale stood, too. There was some sneaking suspicion that he had that Crowley knew what was coming, and had intentionally left him the opening.
“Of course you are,” Aziraphale gushed, “I must say, old friend, how often you do favors for me is simply un-hellish. Your kindness, it-”
And then, Crowley was on him.
This wasn’t like the other times. For one, all of the others had been in some kind of relatively public location. Hallways, porches, the side of a pub. But now, Aziraphale’s door was shut, and they were all alone in the flickering candlelight.
There was also the very simple matter of the fact that there was no wall behind him.
Aziraphale had been standing in front of his bed. When Crowley pushed him backwards, his knees buckled and he fell onto the sheets, a kind of delicious panic rising in him as Crowley fell forward too, his hands landing to either side of Aziraphale’s head. His eyes shone bright, and there was a hint of a seductive hiss in his voice when he spoke.
“I am a demon, a creature of the night, a tool of hell, and you will address me as such.” He demanded.
Aziraphale was painfully aware that instead of both of Crowley’s legs falling to either side of his, one of them was between them. Dangerously close to his pesky human anatomy.
Aziraphale felt heat rush across his body as his mind was flooded with things he wanted Crowley to do to him. Hold him down, run his hands across his body, kiss his lips and his jaw and his neck, stopping momentarily to glance up before moving his way down…
Aziraphale had felt aroused before, but never had it been this powerful, this… all-consuming. He wanted to beg Crowley to fuck him right then and there, to seduce him, to make him squirm and writhe and moan, but instead…
“Oh, I’m sure you’re hell’s biggest tool.” He snarked, not knowing what else to say. His head was swimming, this was becoming too intense for him to handle. He had to break the tension somehow, before he started rubbing against Crowley’s leg, pushing their lips together, maybe even running his fingers through the demon’s long, messy hair.
Crowley laughed, putting his head down to rest against Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale barely contained himself from shuddering, biting his lip and rolling his eyes up into the back of his head instead.
He was entirely convinced that he had never experienced true want until that moment.
After what felt like an eternity of his heart melting and heat swirling in the bottom of his belly, Aziraphale felt his demon shift above him, backing off.
“I really should be going now.” He said. There was something suspiciously like disappointment in his voice, but Aziraphale chose to ignore it.
“Yes, yes, all in good time.” Aziraphale said, absentmindedly. He sat up, stiffly. He tried not to focus on the erection currently tenting his pants in the hopes that if he didn’t acknowledge it, Crowley would miraculously miss its existence. “Always a pleasure to have you, Crowley.”
“Well,” Crowley said, softly, “You know you can have me any time, Angel.”
And something about his tone of voice let Aziraphale know that he was serious.
He was there one moment, Aziraphale blinked, and then he was gone. And he was alone. He finally snapped into action.
He grabbed his towel, stumbling towards the bowl where he normally kept his washing water. Just one dunk in the cold and surely he’d be able to forget that this ever happened, surely he’d be able to sleep this delicious feeling off.
He found it dreadfully empty.
He glanced at the bucket beside it, and grabbed it before slipping silently out of his room. Under cover of night, he had little to worry about in terms of human interaction. But, as he came across the nearest water spicket, he was anguished to find that it wasn’t working. And he’d already just done a miracle earlier that night, and, and…
Aziraphale slunk back upstairs, throwing the bucket on the floor in frustration as he hopped into his bed. He closed his eyes, determined to put his body’s nonsense in the back of his mind as he decided to play it like a human and “sleep this one off”.
The room was so quiet that his thoughts echoed around inside his own head.
His thoughts, which mostly consisted of the creative ways Crowley could find to make him feel as much pleasure as physically possible. And Crowley letting him do the same in return. God, his thoughts were absolutely filthy , and his cock was straining against the confines of his underwear, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Crowley had laughed… How soft he had gotten at Aziraphale’s playful insult.
How Aziraphale wanted Crowley to fuck his throat until he’d had his fill and then edge him slowly, bringing him closer and closer and closer as he squirmed and panted. Crowley would make him beg for more, he just knew it. Aziraphale would have to practically be in tears before he’d let him-- before he’d let him--...
“Oh, fuck ,” Aziraphale breathed, sitting up slightly. His cheeks burned with embarrassment at the thought of what he was about to do to himself.
Aziraphale had only ever tried masturbation once, and had found himself too ashamed and awkward to actually have any luck with it. That had, however, been very early on in his existence. Now, he had hundreds of years of pent-up desire just waiting to be unleashed.
And boy, did it unleash.
As soon as Aziraphale’s hand wrapped around his member, he let out a little whine. It took exactly three and a half pumps before he came so hard his vision whited out, biting his cheek hard to keep himself from crying out Crowley’s name.
It was eight hundred years before Aziraphale trusted himself to try it again. And even then, it was honestly because he was so hungry for Crowley’s touch that he didn’t really care whether or not he came right then and there.
From that point on, he let himself instigate the demon every two or three hundred years. The last time before this incident that he had done it was in 1875, and he had ended up locking himself in his room for a week straight afterwards. I’m sure that you can guess how he chose to pass the time.
Even when he had broken four-hundred years prior and decided to take an occasional lover to help stave off the need, he had still found that it did little to quell the fire in his loins unless he was entirely focused on Crowley.
But, what the hell, the apocalypse was on. And the sudden realization that he might not be able to play these games with his demon anymore had shaken him to his very core.
So, when the paintball opportunity arrived, he had taken it without a second thought.
“You know, Crowley. I've always said that, deep down, you really are quite a ni-”
The word wasn’t even out of his mouth before Crowley was crowding him up against the wall, their noses pressing together as he vaguely gave some mildly menacing threat that Aziraphale didn’t actually hear. Their bodies were closer than usual, and Crowley was trembling slightly as he pulled the two of them closer.
Aziraphale could feel the heady arousal swimming in the air, but he could also feel something else. An undercurrent to it. A kind of emotional urgency that he would do anything to be able to satiate. Both of them knew that this might be their last time this close.
And Aziraphale wasn’t sure exactly what he would have done if that woman hadn’t interrupted them.
But she had. And Crowley had backed away.
And it left Aziraphale feeling hollow afterwards.
It had been ten months since the apocalypse.
Aziraphale had been living with Crowley for almost all of them. It started out as a matter of convenience. It was better to be together, in case heaven or hell decided to show up and try to smite one of them again. They could switch places more fluidly that way. Less risk involved in the whole “celestial outlaws” business.
Over time, it had turned into comfortable cohabitation. Aziraphale liked to have someone to make fun of the morning news with, and Crowley liked to make him coffee in the mornings and complain about all the jerks he had dealt with the previous day. Every once in awhile, when he had a particularly bad day, Aziraphale had even offered him a massage.
Crowley had the tendency to get flighty when Aziraphale brought this up, very quickly retreating to his bedroom and locking the door for several hours at a time. Aziraphale had taken this to mean that he wasn’t a big fan of touch from people that lived with him, and had adjusted his behaviors accordingly.
Only problem with that was that now, Aziraphale had this stupid pining happening. Every time Crowley laughed, or smiled, or sat a little too close to him on the couch while they watched a movie.
Aziraphale longed to touch . He wanted to hold Crowley’s hand, touch his face, kiss him senseless until they were both dizzy. But he couldn’t be sure. Even after all these thousands of years, he couldn’t be sure that Crowley liked him.
And he didn’t want to risk what they had. They had a good friendship. Aziraphale was… Happy.
Really, really happy.
Crowley walked into the kitchen lazily, his hair sticking up in every direction as he moved towards the coffee pot. His socks slid along the floor, the especially fuzzy ones that Aziraphale had given him a few months ago. He pretended that he was wearing them for Aziraphale’s sake, but he knew better. Crowley had practically cried when he gave them to him.
“Mornin’.” Crowley grumped, walking over to the coffee pot. Aziraphale looked up from the plate of danishes that he was currently picking at, raising his eyebrows.
“Slept well, I trust?” He mused, taking in the demon’s rumpled appearance.
“Slept like a baby.” He admitted, yawning despite himself.
Crowley picked two mugs out of the cabinet and set them side by side. He slid over to the fridge, grabbed the milk, and slid back. He poured a little bit in one cup, pausing to add three heaping spoonfuls of sugar before pouring in the hot coffee. He put the milk back in the fridge before grabbing the cups and sliding the lighter one across the table to Aziraphale.
“Thank you.” Aziraphale replied, grabbing the cup and sipping it immediately.
“Did I make it right?” Crowley questioned.
“You always do.” Aziraphale responded, humming in delight as he took a bigger drink. He gazed adoringly at Crowley from over the mug, and added, “What do we have planned for today?”
“Well, I have some new tart recipes I’d like to try out.” Crowley said. Aziraphale’s heart felt too big for his chest. “And yesterday, I came across some stupid orchestra tickets, and figured I could let you drag me to it.” Aziraphale felt like his heart was ready to explode, “And afterwards, there’s this history channel documentary about the library of Alexandria that I DVRed for you, if you feel up to it.”
Aziraphale had never felt love this powerful. It was positively radiating from him, from his every pore, every cell, every molecule of his being. He needed to touch Crowley, to be touched in return. He needed the physical affection that they had freely given before-- the occasional brush of hand against hand, the drunken clinginess that Crowley had exhibited on more than one occasion. But more than that, he needed Crowley’s body pressed up against his. He needed, he needed, he needed-
“You’re absolutely positively the least demonic thing on the face of the planet,” Aziraphale blurted, too fast to even consider what he was doing. “Honestly you’re almost angelic, Crowley.”
“Don’t YOU-” Crowley started. He came round the counter, and Aziraphale could almost see the smoke coming from his ears. He stood, helpfully, and did half of the work for Crowley. He backed himself up against the wall just in time for Crowley to get there, hands grabbing tightly to Aziraphale’s shirt and pushing him back as he brought their faces close together.
“Don’t I what? Lavish you with the heavenly praise that you deserve?” Aziraphale questioned. It was the wrong thing to say.
Crowley’s entire body was suddenly up against his, closer than they had ever gotten before. He felt the heat radiating off of his demon, sinking into his skin. Suddenly, he physically couldn’t repress the shiver that passed along his spine, and his panic spiked considerably as he realized that Crowley must have been able to feel it.
Crowley leaned forward, his breath hot against Aziraphale’s ear as he spoke into it.
“Don’t make me make you regret saying that, Angel.”
Images of Crowley making him regret it flashed through his mind. Crowley shoving him roughly onto the bed, spreading him open, fucking him senseless until Aziraphale was nothing more than a puddle of goo.
He knew that Crowley could feel the lust radiating off of him.
Aziraphale knew when they started this game that this would be the eventual outcome. Thousands of years ago, in Greece, he had known. The very first time.
Aziraphale was no longer able to hold it in as he felt Crowley's lip brush against his ear, almost experimentally. He let out a small, helpless moan, cutting himself off halfway through it by biting his lip considerably harder than was strictly necessary. But he knew it was in vain. His mouth was right next to Crowley’s ear, too.
Oh, and he was getting an erection. A massive one. That was currently pressing into Crowley’s own crotch as Aziraphale got harder by the second.
Crowley had completely frozen, gone rigid as he processed what he saw and heard.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, he finally let Aziraphale know what he had been thinking.
“Then again,” Crowley tested, “Maybe that’s what you want? Maybe you… want me to teach you a bit of a lesson?”
“I-I-I-I-” Aziraphale stuttered out, but his brain was short circuiting as the blood that typically powered it was all sent to his throbbing cock. Crowley shifted just a bit, adding some delicious friction to the mix.
“Bloody hell ,” Crowley said, realization coming into his voice as what was happening fully hit him. “You do ! You… want me!”
Crowley pulled back, looking him deeply in his (frankly terrified) eyes.
This was it. There was no going back from this moment. Aziraphale had passed the point of no return and it wasn't when he rebelled against heaven. It was here, in this kitchen on a sunny Tuesday morning. He was frightened. How would this change Crowley's perspective of him? What if he found the idea of being with Aziraphale repulsive?
Aziraphale played it all back in his mind. Every time they'd casually touched, every time Crowley had slammed him up against the wall. Every conversation they'd had, the lunches they shared, the longing stares sent each other's ways. They'd both rebelled against their respective sides for each other. Maybe… Maybe it was okay for Aziraphale to take that risk?
Now that the truth was out and Aziraphale’s knees felt like they were going to give out, he could only think of one word. He closed his eyes, giving himself over to the temptation that had been consuming him for so, so many centuries.
“Please,” He whispered.
Crowley closed the distance between their lips quicker than Aziraphale could blink. As soon as the warmth of his Demon’s lips on his soaked into him, he felt his heart swell and knees wobble beneath him. He let out a long, languid moan, unable to stop his hands from wrapping around Crowley’s shoulders for support.
He was soaring, he was flying, this was better than anything he ever could have imagined. And he’d imagined it quite a few different times over the hundreds of years he’d been lusting after him.
Crowley ended their kiss, and Aziraphale gave a low whine of disappointment. Crowley started to pull away, but stopped at a couple of inches distance between their bodies. Aziraphale mourned the loss for precisely point four seconds until Crowley’s hand slid between them in replacement, sliding down Aziraphale's body until he was cupping at his erection.
He threw his head back, hips bucking forward of their own accord. Suddenly, Crowley’s lips were at his ear again and his voice was low and seductive.
“How long, Angel?” He demanded, aggressively rubbing at Aziraphale’s erection through his clothing. “How long have you wanted me like this?”
“Since,” Aziraphale put pointed effort into thinking anything beyond fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck , “Since the year five-hundred twenty-seven B.C.”
“Since the painter? ” Crowley asked, freezing. “Since Greg? ”
Oh, so that was his name.
“Since the first time you… Pushed me up against the wall. I wanted you to kiss me right then.”
Crowley seemed to have short-circuited for a moment, but made a fairly smooth recovery. His second hand was suddenly also involved in what he was doing to Aziraphale’s body, as its assistance was required to pull open the band of the sweatpants that Aziraphale had stolen from Crowley. He’d never been happier for flexible sleepware.
“You’re telling me that you want this?” Crowley asked, just to be sure. Aziraphale was certain someone would have to scrape him up off the floor if Crowley kept talking in that silky-smooth voice of his.
“I do, I do, I do. I have for so long now, Crowley. Please,” Aziraphale begged again.
“Now now now,” Crowley purred, his hand wrapping slowly around Aziraphale’s cock. Aziraphale made a loud, obscene noise, bucking his hips upwards. It did no good. Crowley stayed perfectly still. “You’ve waited for this for more than two-thousand years, I think that you can wait a little longer, can’t you?”
Aziraphale gave a goodness-to-gracious whine . He couldn’t handle the heat coursing through his body. And yet, he craved it more than he’d ever craved anything before.
“‘Zira?” Crowley asked. He peppered some hot, wet kisses against Aziraphale’s neck, and Aziraphale silently urged him to leave a mark. “Have you been getting me to manhandle you ever since Greece, so you could… gratify yourself afterwards?”
Aziraphale felt shame flush through him, but he decided to tell the truth. Mostly because he didn't have enough blood flow to his brain at the moment to lie.
“Only since the University,” He explained. And that was really all that the question warranted, but he decided to prattle on anyways, “I couldn’t take it anymore, that night when you pinned me to the bed. We were out of cold water and I couldn’t think about anything else until I had… satisfied the urge.”
“Hmmm,” Crowley hummed, and began pumping Aziraphale’s dick with long, languid motions. Aziraphale felt like he was coming undone at the celestial seams. “And have you done this with anyone else?”
“Yes,” Aziraphale panted, “A few. But I-I-I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“I’m pleased to hear that.” Crowley said, and Aziraphale could hear the smirk in his voice. “And you like the whole being pushed around bit? Like being told what to do?”
“Very much so!” He exclaimed as Crowley began to speed up, his hand adding a frivolous twist to the mix every now and again.
“Alright, Angel,” Crowley growled, a low, pleased sound like a jungle cat spotting its prey, “Then you’re going to tell me when you get close to cumming, alright?”
“Whatever you want,” He agreed. “Anything! Just please don’t stop.”
Crowley kept pumping at this consistent speed, his body up against Aziraphale’s as he slowly began to heat up, pleasure pooling in his stomach and his dick until he felt like he was going to positively explode. He was shaking, moaning, begging whenever Crowley didn’t make it his personal mission to shut him up with his tongue.
And for all the practice that Aziraphale had put into this, fantasizing about Crowley as he brought himself to completion over and over again, he could tell that it was still going to be over all too quickly.
“I’m--” Aziraphale gasped as a particularly good stroke got the better of him, “I’m going to cum, Crowley, Crowley, Crowley I’m going to- ”
“No you’re not.” Crowley responded, his hand suddenly stopping at the base of Aziraphale’s cock. He froze, unable to process what Crowley had just said. And yet… The proof was right in front of him. His orgasm had been stopped in its tracks, the waves of pleasure giving way to waves of hot white want.
“Are you going to make me beg?” Aziraphale questioned. He would be quite embarrassed to admit it, but he was ready to drop to his knees right that moment.
“No,” Crowley said, “Begging won’t do any good. I’m going to make you wait. ”
“Until what?” Aziraphale whined, but he couldn’t ignore the flush of arousal that went through him at the thought of Crowley making him wait , completely in control of when and if he came.
Crowley thought for a moment, as if he hadn’t yet considered the thought.
“How would you feel about blowing me?” He asked, releasing Aziraphale’s cock. “Letting me fuck your throat until I’ve had my fill?”
Aziraphale's mouth began to water involuntarily, and he dropped to his knees without even making a conscious decision.
“What a good little slut,” Crowley commented. Aziraphale felt the praise go straight to his cock as he reached up with eager hands, grabbing at Crowley’s waistband before pulling it down fast, revealing a thick, pretty cock underneath.
“Please tell me if I go too far,” Crowley said, in warning. His hands knotted in Aziraphale’s hair, and Aziraphale's mouth fell open as his eyes glazed over. He knew from his somewhat limited experience that this was something he thoroughly enjoyed.
The tip of Crowley’s dick brushed against his lips, and Aziraphale tried to hold himself back, he really did. But he couldn’t help but slide forward, eagerly accepting inch after inch until nearly the whole thing was in his mouth.
Crowley stayed still for a moment, and Aziraphale savored the feeling of warming his lover’s cock before the first small, shallow thrust.
Crowley’s thrusts slowly became more languid, more lazy. Aziraphale peered up through his own lust-hooded eyes to see Crowley bite his lip, giving a soft sigh as he fucked the hot wetness of Aziraphale’s mouth.
“ Satan , I could go like this all day.” Crowley revered, “You’re such a pretty cockslut, aren’t you? I can’t say I’m surprised. You have the perfect cocksucking lips.”
Aziraphale moaned at the praise, his body and mind relaxing and elevating into some kind of higher state. Euphoria washed over him as his own neglected cock throbbed between his legs.
“Do you want me to go deeper?” Crowley questioned, thrusting a little bit faster, “Want me to fuck your throat till I cum down it?”
God, he could have sworn that his cock was receiving signals through his whole body. Every movement caused him to throb with need, his every cell crying out for release as he gave himself over to Crowley for use .
Aziraphale moaned his enthusiastic consent, relaxing his throat as Crowley began to push back further, slowly at first. As Aziraphale adjusted, Crowley’s thrusts began picking up in speed and intensity. Aziraphale felt the arousal pulsing through his body as Crowley thrust faster and harder, really using Aziraphale now.
Crowley’s thrusts became a little bit erratic, a little bit faster. Aziraphale could tell that he was getting ready to cum, and increased the length and volume of his moans. He couldn’t wait to be Crowley’s fuck toy, to swallow all of his cum, to make him feel as good as he made Aziraphale feel every time he so much as looked in his direction.
With a sudden cry that sounded suspiciously like his name, Crowley was cumming, and Aziraphale was swallowing every single drop he could.
Crowley pulled out, overstimulated. He untangled his fingers from Aziraphale’s hair, drifting them lower as he gripped Aziraphale’s shirt, using it to help pull him up. He pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s with a bruising force, making him moan into the kiss.
If he had any more melting to do, he would have done it then.
“I suppose you still need some taking care of?” Crowley questioned, gazing at Aziraphale’s neglected cock, still locked in the confines of the pants.
“I would enjoy that,” Aziraphale responded, the only thing he could think of to say.
He was expecting Crowley’s hands again. That was not what he got.
Crowley was suddenly leaning between his knees, pulling the pants down and enveloping Aziraphale’s cock in the tight, wet heat of his mouth.
Crowley moved up and down, bobbing his head a few times as Aziraphale trembled like… Well, like one of the houseplants.
The fire in his stomach had become a dull background roar in the onslaught of sensations now, his cock the main focus. Crowley gave a pause at the very tip, pulling off briefly to circle his tongue around it in an incredibly languid fashion. Crowley’s hand pumped at his base while he looked up at his angel, tenderness shining in his eyes.
“You did such a good job.” Crowley said, softly. “You earned it. Cum for me. Let me see how you taste, Angel.”
And then Crowley took him back in his mouth, dragging along Aziraphale’s substantial cock with a gentleness that was made the request more powerful than any other.
Aziraphale hadn’t realized that he’d been waiting for permission until it had been given. It only took a few more of Crowley’s delicate swipes to bring him to a crescendo, crying out Crowley’s name as he came, his toes curling and back arching and body burning up with all-consuming pleasure .
And when he was finished, he more or less went limp .
Crowley swallowed loudly before picking him up in his arms. Aziraphale savored the feeling of his demon holding him tightly, secure.
“You know,” Aziraphale mumbled, wrapping his own arms around Crowley’s neck for better support, “I may have been lusting after you for a couple thousand years, but I’ve loved you since the garden.”
What could he say? He was feeling brave and stupid.
Crowley froze then, and a look not unlike that of a drowning man just tossed a life raft crossed his face.
He lead them to the couch and sat, setting Aziraphale down in his lap, holding him close.
“I’ve loved you since the garden, too.” He said, softly. Aziraphale turned his head up, and their eyes met. They were both looking at each other with a burning admiration.
Aziraphale wasn’t sure who initiated it, but suddenly, they were kissing again. It had a different kind of passion than the ones that they had shared only moments before; this was an “I’ve literally loved you since the beginning of time and I’ve waited as long as I possibly could have stood it” kind of kiss.
They pulled away, and Aziraphale buried his head in his hands, sighing as he felt the heavy weight of a blanket being draped over them. He looked up at Crowley testily.
“Oh, c’mon,” Crowley argued, “One little miracle can’t hurt.”
Aziraphale smiled a bit.
Oh , he thought, but the last six thousand years have been a miracle.
He turned on his side, his mind beginning to race with new possibilities now that the fog of endorphins was being lifted.
“I’d quite like to try “manhandling” you sometime, if that’s something that you’d be interested in.” He informed Crowley. “Just so you know. I’m not exclusively drawn to either side of the submission and dominance spectrum.”
“I... think I’d quite like that.” Crowley admitted, and they fell back into a comfortable silence.
The exhaustion in his body started to get to him after a little while, and Aziraphale shut his eyes. As he drifted off, his head swam with the possibilities this new development had opened up for them. Crowley’s fingers running softly through his hair relaxed him into his daydreams.
They had genuinely pined after one another for six thousand years.
And, if he had any say in the matter, they would have at least another six thousand to make up for it.