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(i'd rather be) in the palm of your hand

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 Aziraphale had never thought he would find himself in a staring contest with a laptop computer, but now that he was in the situation, nothing seemed more natural. The blessed thing was outright mocking him with its…its sleekness, and its accoutrements, and all those bells and whistles he knew were lurking in there. But the Dowlings had insisted, and while Aziraphale was certainly impertinent enough to refuse a gift from such employers, Brother Francis was decidedly not.

“I shan’t break, you know,” he informed the laptop. “The fact that someone has been foolish enough to spend their money on me doesn’t mean I’ll make use of you.” Thaddeus Dowling, he’d been able to tell right away, was the sort of man who thought that throwing enough dollars and cents at a problem would make it go away, and that passing out expensive computers to the help made him magnanimous. Aziraphale had seen much more malignant examples of that sort of attitude over the centuries, but it never chafed any less, even though Dowling wasn’t at all a bad sort.

The laptop said nothing. Aziraphale laced his hands together behind his back and began to pace. “Technology,” he said. “My goodness, what a terrible idea computers were. Expecting others to be at your beck and call at all hours – why, it’s unconscionable.” He wagged a finger at the computer. “I didn’t have to do this, you know. I could have left you in your box. My old modem is perfectly capable of doing all that’s necessary. I will not use you for my taxes, and you’d best get that into your, er, cybernetic head.”

He let out an irritated huff, wishing that he could hiss like Crowley, or that Crowley were there to help him terrorize the computer. But Crowley apparently had a standing date to read bedtime stories to Warlock and sing him terrifying songs, which Aziraphale did have to admit was what they had agreed upon.

“I’m watching you,” he said instead, although he intended to do no such thing. No, this computer could gather dust in a corner of the back room the rest of its days, for all he cared. He had his books, he had his perfectly sufficient and reliable old computer, and he had a very important job that he needed to carry out for some years yet. This bit of newfangled frippery could go hang.


The computer had had six months to sit and molder when a particularly belligerent customer decided to throw Aziraphale a surprise. “Wanker,” she snapped, letting go of the book he’d insisted on taking back. “I can get this cheaper online.”

“I don’t think there’s any need to say such – wait, what did you say?”

The girl glared at him. “I said I can get this fuckin’ book cheaper online. Bet they’ve got it on eBay. Got lots of stuff there that’s better than this place.” She made an extremely rude face at him and left in a whirl of over-shampooed brown hair.

“Well,” he told the empty shop, “that was indecorous of her.” No one had any manners anymore, but then, they’d never really had manners. It was part of what he liked about living on Earth, that honesty. He never felt like he could really say what he was thinking. “What’s an ee bay?”

The shop had no answers, which should have been comforting.[1] But it just so happened that Aziraphale had been in a bit of a dry spell when it came to acquiring more books, and he could feel a blessed weak spot forming. Books, books, books – there were so many more books in the world to explore. Gabriel might scoff, and he would be right to deride him for his love of the mundane, but there was so much more of everything to explore. And if this online thing could help, then maybe…just maybe…

“What’s an ee bay?” he asked Crowley the next day when they met up for their weekly rendezvous behind the Dowling house.

Crowley stared at him. “You, angel,” he said slowly, “have got to be kidding,” and then he burst into howling, hissing laughter that startled a flock of birds out of the nearest tree. Then, and only then, did he explain.

Come evening, Aziraphale found himself sitting at the desk in his back room, gloves on his hands, spectacles on his nose. The accoutrements would have spelled out an enjoyable night if the object in front of him were made of honest paper and ink instead of plastic and laziness. “Don’t think this means I’m in any way forgiving you,” he told the computer, and flipped it open with his fingertips. “I do loathe modern technology,” he said, and pressed the power button. “I am not a computer addict,” he finished, and set his fingers on the keyboard.

Six hours later, he had figured out how to siphon[2] WiFi from Intimate Books next door, and had spent four hours secure in the knowledge that an ee bay was in fact a website where one could bid for one’s favorite things. Approximately an hour after he found the books section, he spared a thought to how puzzled the Heavenly Reimbursements department must be; his credit card, about which he’d capitulated around the turn of the millennium, had never seen this much traffic. Well, this was for the good of his business, and that was what he would say if Gabriel asked.

Thanks to another set of little miracles, ten packages of books arrived at his front door the next day. That was the day eBay became one of his habits.

Soon after, his favorite seller’s profile led him to Alibris.

Alibris led him to the modern concept of a forum, which was surprisingly similar to its Greco-Roman namesake in the amounts of yelling and foul language. These necessitated something called a “ban hammer” and an admonishment to take it to the NSFW section.

One night in December, Aziraphale decided to satisfy his nagging curiosity and go there himself.

“Oh, goodness,” he said, staring at the screen. Heat flooded his face, neck, and ears until he thought he might actually set on fire if he wasn’t careful. The titles on the topics – “Good lord!” He was no innocent; he had seen Adam and Eve in the Garden, the orgies in Rome, and endless debauchery during the free-love period. This, though…it was so blatant.

The linked pornographic videos were…oh, dear God. “It looks like a sausage,” he said, horrified. “A sausage sliding in and out of a plastic sleeve!” Did humans think this was erotic? He clicked out, now absolutely certain he was aflame, and avoided the computer for a week. Those sorts of groans didn’t occur in nature. And why was everything shaven? Good heavens. He couldn’t remember the last time he had thought in so many blasphemous terms. But he couldn’t help it – this was an insult to the act of love.

“She didn’t look as though she was at all comfortable with that in her bum,” he said between restorative sips of whiskey-laced tea a few nights later. Oh, this would have been so much more informative (albeit awkward) if he could discuss it with Crowley. “Why not use the other passage?”

Now, as for him…he wiggled his bum in the chair and blushed anew. His fantasies were, ah, rather more positive with regards to that area.

It must have been weakness, the sin of greed, that made him return to the NSFW section after that turbulent week. But the subforum had a sticky thread that advertised erotic book recommendations, and his personal collection wasn’t quite what it had been a few centuries ago – if he paid literature the homage it deserved, who could blame him? And who would even find out?

The erotic books thread proved most educational, and he was relieved to find some semblance of solid ground again. But as he left the thread, preparing to click out of the forum and get himself something to nosh on, a new thread caught his eye. Or – no, it wasn’t new, was it? It had just been, as the phrase went, ‘bumped.’ From A to C – porn that’s not actually porn, hot redheaded guy.

Aziraphale cursed himself for a weak fool as he clicked. He’d been fantasizing altogether too much about red hair. Either this thread would be vulgar and shocking enough to cure him of his fantasies altogether, or he would find a new target to, well, fixate on.


guys, pls tell me I’m not the only one who’s watched this guy. here’s the [link] so you can all share the magic. i swear 2 flying spaghetti monster From A to C added two decades onto my life with THAT ACCENT.

reply from: books_on_snape

i’ll be in my bunk. asshole. you just filled up my evening.

reply from: shallicomparetheetoasummersmosquitobite

holy shit this is like ASMR porn

reply from: denny5

I’m a sucker for natural red hair, you can tell this is natural

reply from: to-kill-a-lockingbird

wow omg, that’s so horny of you

Aziraphale had to agree.

reply from: denny5

Lol whatever, it’s the nsfw subforum!

reply from: shallicomparetheetoasummersmosquitobite

can I reiterate that ASMR thing? I swear he did it on purpose, like it’s those really nice soft slippery noises and condom wrappers crinkling when he uses them. you get the weird impression he’s doing this just for you. and he does ACTUAL SCENARIOS even tho I don’t think he’s ever heard of ASMR. if this weren’t total porn, I’d tell him to put this on youtube.

reply from: i-like-to-read-in-the-dark

Seconding books_on_snape about being in my bunk, even though I hate your username!

reply from: books_on_snape

[post deleted by mod edit]

reply from: i-like-to-read-in-the-dark

[post deleted by mod edit]

reply from: books_on_snape

[post deleted by mod edit]

reply from its-a-me-mario [MODERATOR]

Guys, we’re not getting into another one of these character discussions on the NSFW forum. Take it to Rowling, Rowling, Rowling. Don’t make me temp-ban you.

Aziraphale took a moment to appreciate the irony of the moderator’s edict, then scrolled through the rest of the comments. The majority extolled the virtues of this ‘From A to C’ person, with most of them lingering on sights and sounds. Apparently, he acted out bits of things, too. It was…intriguing, Aziraphale had to admit. “Curiosity killed the cat,” he told himself sternly. But then, satisfaction brought it back – wasn’t that the rest of the saying? However it went, he could already tell that he would be fretting the night away if he didn’t give in to temptation.

Guiltily, he clicked the link.

The site that it brought him to was discreet, thank goodness, nothing like the lurid background of his previous foray into pornography. “From A to C,” he read aloud, “’touching myself mid-afternoon.’ Oh. Oh, my.” He ignored the rising flush in his cheeks and looked at the video still. Nothing but a blank wall. Yes, he could do this, if the rest of the video was as tasteful. He fanned his face to dissipate the heat and settled in to watch.

The video opened not with a blank wall, but with a frontal view of a person who straddled the line between slender and skinny. Not unattractive, though, certainly not. His thin chest – yes, his, the thread had mentioned that this was a man – was dusted with freckles. A faint patch of reddish hair spread between his flat, dark-pink nipples, the sight of which had Aziraphale shifting a little in his seat. Oh, he did like red hair.

“Just some afternoon delight,” said a voice, pitched just above a whisper. Ah, he was Scottish. That explained the thread participants’ love for ‘that accent.’ “Here y’go.”

His rolled ‘r’s sent shivers down Aziraphale’s spine. “Ahf-tairnoon d’light,” he echoed, and immediately shook his head at how silly he sounded. He chewed on the pad of his thumb as he watched the man trace a finger lightly around one nipple. It rose beautifully, deepening in color from pink to brown, and the man brought his other hand to his mouth with a tiny gasp.

Aziraphale wasn’t ignorant of the pleasures of masturbation, but never had he so fully understood the phrase that one of the commenters had used. I’ll be in my bunk. He wished he were there now. His breathing deepened, and he clenched his free hand into a fist. The man was teasing both nipples now, raking the nails of one long-fingered hand down each of them in turn. Then he pinched one until he keened, and tapped his fingers down the concave expanse of his belly – and laughed.

“Oh, you’re beautiful,” Aziraphale breathed before he could stop himself. He felt rather like a fountain of melted chocolate, warm and liquid and utterly useless. This wasn’t like the professional pornography; that had no soul. This man’s soul shone bright and happy, and Aziraphale could almost taste it. That laugh…he was weak.

The man swiped his tongue across his right thumb and forefinger, then returned to his left nipple. This time, he moaned, a noise interrupted by another little laugh. “Tickles,” he said, and wiggled his fingers in front of the camera before running them across his belly again in a motion that reminded Aziraphale of a piano glissando. But this wasn’t as smooth. The man’s visible panting disturbed his hand and made it tremble. If only I were that hand, Aziraphale thought, and sharply smacked his thigh as a reminder to behave. The video’s subject hadn’t filmed himself so that Aziraphale would think strange thoughts about him.

Then he wriggled backwards, obscuring his chin, but revealing the uncharted territory below his waist. Aziraphale shoved his fist into his mouth and stifled an embarrassing noise. The man’s penis – his member – oh, blast it, his cock was hard, and rose rapidly as he drew his forefinger up its length with a shudder. “Ah,” he said. “I need…” He turned partway to the side, re-revealing the sharp line of his chin as it dipped down, and came back with a tube that he showed to the camera. Lubricant, of course. Aziraphale breathed hard through his nose and shoved down a sudden wish for a tube of his own.

He strained his ears and was rewarded with the sound, as well as the sight, of the man slicking his hand with lube. “Mm,” he said, and closed his fingers around his length. “Oh!” He rocked in place with a shudder that looked bone-deep, then used the tip of his thumb to tease the foreskin away from his cockhead and began to stroke himself – slowly at first, but not for long. It was perfect: not too slow, and certainly not too fast.

Aziraphale let his eyes slide half-closed, limning the man in a haze as he worked his cock with smooth motions of his hand, and wiggled harder in the chair. The only ASMR he’d watched in his time on the computer was a delightful set of bookbinding videos, but now he understood why the forum had called this ASMR porn. The slippery noises of the man’s hand on his cock, punctuated by little whispers of oh and ah and feels good, threatened to overwhelm him with sensation. It was a beautiful, blessed almost-silence, but Aziraphale might have been right there in the room with this mystery man for how close he felt.

Huh,” the man grunted, and sped up the motions of his hand. “Oh…oh God…” He squeaked, his hips stilled, and a cry squeezed out of his mouth as he came across his fingers and – oh, sweet Heaven, his belly. The sigh he let out a few seconds later was nothing short of relieved, prolonged, and utterly sinful. But there was something else there, too, not just sin. The tenderness, the obvious desire to share all that he could of himself, throbbed out of the screen and nearly hit Aziraphale in the face. Sinful and –

The video cut to a blank screen. Aziraphale blinked and shook his head, feeling rather as though he’d just come out of the dreams he’d never experienced. “Wha…?” He shifted and found that he was grinding down into the chair. Not only that, but he was rock-hard, and a touch to his forehead told him that he was radiating heat.

“Good lord,” he said, and took out his handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his face. Something so private – what in the world had he been doing, gawking at that video like a libertine? But then, the man who made that video had clearly intended for it to be viewed. The hair – red, he’s a redhead, just like – Aziraphale shook his head furiously. He didn’t need…that man didn’t need those sorts of thoughts. He’d put himself out there to be appreciated for himself.

Aziraphale rested his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair, and put his elbows down on either side of the laptop to support the weight. There was more. There had to be more, and God forgive him, he needed more. No one ever has to know.

He clicked on the man’s profile and didn’t even try to reel in his jaw when it dropped. From A to C had over fifty videos, and from the look of it, they were all different. Scenarios, indeed! This man was certainly imaginative. It appeared that the linked video had only been the first of many. Some of the titles threatened to make him blush as hot as Hellfire was rumored to be, so he clicked on the second one, which thankfully looked innocuous enough: touching myself for you.  

This video started the same as the first one, with the subject sitting against a blank wall. Only one difference leaped out at him: the man’s hair was down, or maybe he had on a wig. Aziraphale could see the wispy ends of the auburn waves trailing down past the man’s jaw. Looks like – “No!” he said, and gave his thigh another sharp, painful slap. “Don’t compare!” If he kept up with likening this poor man to a certain friend, then he’d have to click out of the video, and it would serve him right.

“This one’s for you,” said the man in that same soft tone. His accent added a twist of guttural beauty to his consonants. “I’m right there in front of you.” He lowered his hand beyond the camera’s visual field, but Aziraphale could guess that he was cupping his cock. His own was threatening to burst the confines of his trousers. “Gotta wait for it this time.”

Aziraphale was happy to wait, more than happy to watch the man stroke himself through half-lidded eyes. He went slowly, working himself up to a frenzy of tiny, wanting noises again, but this time he focused more on his apparently-sensitive flanks and neck. And this time, he was talking. A lot more, at least. Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure if this qualified as dirty talk, because really, it was…well, intimate talk.

“This is turning me on,” the man said. His tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip. “H-how…how about you?” His breath stuttered as he pinched his left nipple. “You should touch yourself.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and opened his trousers with a helpless moan. He’d asked so politely – he couldn’t resist, he just couldn’t. This wasn’t a temptation. It was just…reciprocation. Yes, that was it. This man was kind enough to bare his most vulnerable parts on screen. It was Aziraphale’s duty to do as he suggested. 

“Mm,” he huffed, finding his cock warm and hard and the front of his pants damp with a spot of clear fluid. “Oh…” There went the camera, tilting to show the man’s flushed, eager erection. If only he were here, peeking at Aziraphale and biting his lip just like that.

“That’s it,” said the man. “You want to, don’t you? That’s all right.” He squeezed his cock in his fist and pumped it up and down. Aziraphale dug his teeth into his own bottom lip. The man’s accent was turning his ‘r’s into guttural rolls of thunder. “Just listen to my voice.” Aziraphale frowned. Listen to – why was that familiar? It had to be some daytime television show from the Dowlings’, something he occasionally caught snippets of. The rest of the staff did like their soap operas.

He licked his palm, too frenzied to miracle himself any lubricant, and stroked himself hard in time with the man’s touches. That red hair swung with every movement of the man’s head and long, sinuous body, so frantically was he stroking his cock. “That’s…right,” the man said. His voice cracked as he ran a finger hard and fast around the head. “Anyone t-tells you to stop, don’t listen to them. Listen – listen to me.”

Don’t listen to them. Listen to me. Red hair. That build. That accent, that horribly familiar, enchanting accent. It couldn’t be – but it had to be, and Aziraphale couldn’t think, he was so close. Oh, God, oh, God…it was him. It was.

Crowley,” he breathed, and came.


He’d been avoiding the computer for weeks, but he couldn’t avoid Crowley. Never mind that Aziraphale’s entire body went hot whenever he saw him, even in that ridiculous nanny getup; never mind that he couldn’t stop hearing that voice moaning feels good, that feels so good while he stroked his fingertips up and down his beautiful body. Not even just the Effort he made – he was beautiful.

Good God, Aziraphale thought in embarrassed horror one day as he watched Crowley’s bum from behind, I’ve seen all of him. Those videos weren’t meant for him – he’d committed a gross violation of Crowley’s privacy and personal autonomy. All bets might have been off if Crowley had done real pornography, but this was erotica. It was tender and real, and he’d blundered in like a stumbling elephant.

But he couldn’t avoid him. That was the issue. They’d been meeting for regular rendezvous behind the farthest greenhouse since Warlock was still in nappies, and Aziraphale hadn’t skipped a meeting yet. He couldn’t stay away, and he couldn’t avoid the blasted questions that popped out of his traitor mouth as if prompted by Satan himself.

“Crowley,” he said during one meeting, after Crowley had gleefully recounted how he enticed Warlock to steal four biscuits from the kitchen and then blame it on a new maid, “how do you like to, er, relax? Take down your hair, so to speak?” Oh, no, no, bad question. Crowley had had his hair down in that second video. “Do you ever, ah, go on the…the Internets?”

Crowley choked on nothing and pitched forward in hacking spasms of laughter. “Bloody heaven, angel, warn me before you say something ridiculous like that,” he said, wiping his cheeks. “Everyone’s on the…right, not you, fucking Luddite.”

Aziraphale, who had known Ned Ludd and didn’t particularly appreciate the comparison, concentrated very hard to avoid visibly bristling. “Perhaps I should have known,” he said. “Do you like making selfies?”

Taking selfies, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “’Course I do. I invented them.”

Aziraphale let that line of conversation drop, but he found that much like a human addict, he had to talk about his new fixation or he would surely burst. “Crowley,” he said at their next meeting, after reporting that Warlock had brought a flower to every little girl in his class, “are you familiar with…well, these videos? The, ah.” He looked down at his mud-caked shoes. “The ones humans take of themselves, I mean. I’m afraid they’re quite…indecent.”

Crowley blinked at him. Aziraphale would have shrunk from the force of his curious eyes if millennia of experience hadn’t taught him how very perceptive Crowley was. “Angel,” he said, “are you asking me if I’m familiar with porn?

“Er…yes?” Aziraphale thought of a delicately-freckled chest, hands that shook when their owner lost himself in pleasure. “Did you know, th-they’re making erotic novels into films now?” It was scarcely steadier ground, but he’d learned that particular bit of information from – of all people – Sandalphon.

“Bugger me for a lark, yes,” Crowley groaned. “God bless it, porn. Didn’t invent it. Watching other people have sex is one thing, but that stuff, it just – it got outta control, Aziraphale.” A hint of Nanny Ashtoreth leaked into his voice, as though the wrong valve had been twisted. Aziraphale was suddenly, dizzyingly, hard. Heaven help him.

“Jolly good,” he said in a voice that wasn’t his own. “Yes, out of control. I quite agree.”

He threw himself into his reading after that. Real books, not snippets online. Nothing online. Never anything online ever again. That way led madness, and things he never should have gone looking for in the first place.

But good gracious, he wanted to see Crowley undone. He wanted so badly that it hurt with the sharp ache of a new wound, puffy and inflamed. And he was the fool who couldn’t stop poking it.

He lasted seven weeks to the day before he logged onto the book forum again and tried a tentative question to ease the mortification in his head.

reply from: Fell_From_Heaven

Good evening, everyone. I have a question that I hope isn’t too salacious or forward. I have reason to believe that the man who makes these videos is a close friend of mine. Naturally, I have no wish to invade his privacy, but I doubt that he has any idea I have seen his…shall I say production?

You’ve likely divined my ethical dilemma by now, but I’ll elaborate: ought I go by the principle of ‘what one doesn’t know can’t hurt one’, or should I adhere to a stricter code of honour?

Blushing furiously, he slammed the computer shut and went three days without so much as setting foot in his back room. When he finally got back online, he half-expected to have been banned from the forum for such improper conduct, but much to his shock, he had replies instead.

reply from: denny5

dude. spank it. it’s a free internet.

reply from: to-kill-a-lockingbird

wow, now I feel guilty for posting this! LOL. Okay, I see your issue. the way I see it, he wouldn’t have uploaded this stuff if he didn’t want it to be seen. I don’t think you have to tell him unless he brings it up. he would’ve known the possibility was there. You’re a good friend tho.

Aziraphale thought of Crowley calling him a Luddite, and shifted guiltily in his seat.

reply from: treeofknowledge

YOU KNOW HIM? Buddy. Buddy. Tap that.

The Almighty had it in for him. That was the only explanation he could think of wherein that username and that temptation could logically combine. Aziraphale cleared his tight throat and tried very hard not to think about the suggestion, scrolling down the page. No one else seemed to think that this was much of an ethical dilemma, at least not nearly as much as he did.

reply from: Fell_From_Heaven

Thank you very much. I appreciate your thoughtful replies. You were all very kind to think of me.

He took a deep breath, held it as long as he could before he thought he would burst, and exhaled loudly as he clicked back over to Crowley’s site. In for a penny, in for a pound[3]. Chronological order made as much sense as anything else, so he clicked over to the third video. The title read i want you to come and see stars with me, and for a moment, he felt his shoulders slump in relief. Perhaps he’d moved on to astronomy.

Crowley – and yes, it had to be Crowley, because this apparently dated from when he’d begun to regularly paint his fingernails black – wasn’t sitting in his usual upright position in this video, but reclining to show the slender length of him. He wore dark blue pajamas, speckled with white sparkles. “D’you like the stars?” he asked. “I’ll show you what’s under them.”

Aziraphale covered his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh, Lord…” So it wasn’t astronomy. He’d gotten his hopes up, or perhaps tamped them down, for nothing.

“I want you to touch yourself,” Crowley whispered. Aziraphale could almost feel that voice in his ear, close and husky. “Make yourself feel good. I know I will. G’on, put your hand in your pants.”

Aziraphale whimpered and covered his crotch with his free hand. He was already hard, shamefully so, and that was just from the sound. If he peeked, would he see Crowley sliding his hand under those silky pajamas, or would he tease? “I want to,” he said. “Please.”

“I’m touching myself,” Crowley said. “Got my hand under here, but you’ll have to imagine it. I’m imagining you.”

Aziraphale bit down so hard on his fist that he was sure he tasted blood. He opened his trousers and rubbed himself through the tented cotton of his pants, unable to wait even long enough to get his hand under them. Whoever Crowley was imagining was a very lucky person indeed. “C-Cr –“ He bit off the syllables before he could loose the desire from its cage in his head. Instead, he sucked the marks he’d left on his fist and, with his eyes still closed, rode his other hand until Crowley let out that tiny, stuttering gasp – and then he really did see stars.

Panting, he opened his eyes in time to see Crowley pull his hand slowly out of his own trousers. “I’ve got my hand all messy,” he said, voice ragged. He brought his spread fingers to his mouth and flicked at his spend. “I’m being impolite. Would you like some?” He extended his smeared hand towards the camera, and Aziraphale’s eyes outright crossed. This was it. This was how he would discorporate. This was how an angel died: not with a bang, but with a whimper and a renewed erection to explain to Heaven.

There were forty-seven videos to go, and he had another raging stiffy. This situation couldn’t stand. Surely no one, Upstairs or otherwise, would begrudge him a chance to get rid of his issue. He clicked over to the next video, which had the intriguing title of scenario: i’m doing it in the dark, and resolved to be better.


It didn’t happen every day. Aziraphale wasn’t that sort of person, or that sort of angel. Self-control was part of his angelic makeup. But seeing Crowley with Warlock every day did things to him, and all the little quirks he now realized he’d noticed and shoved down over the years now came roaring to the surface. How had he never contemplated how Crowley gesticulated when he spoke? How had he never marveled at Crowley’s walk, not a lope and not quite a saunter? He defied language. He defied definition.

And every week or two, Aziraphale found himself looking at him naked.

scenario: i tie myself up

He didn’t know how, but Crowley had gotten himself into a set of manacles and tied himself into a chair. The camera focused on his straining hips and erection as he said the dirtiest things about how he wished he could take himself in hand. “I’m dripping all over myself,” he said, arching his hips and thrusting at nothing. “Wish I could just come like this.”

And then, fifty seconds before the video ended, the corners of his mouth twitched into a cheeky smirk as he produced a key – miraculously, some people in the comments claimed – and asked “Wanna undo me?” Then, sweet Heavenly Host, he hoisted his arms over his head, undid the shackles with the key in his teeth, and stroked himself off hard, fast, and brutal.

By the time Aziraphale was finished abusing his efforts, his cock was chafed and his bum sore from thrusting his fingers inside.

hidden in the plants

Crowley was an intuitive master of the art of film, or maybe he’d earned a degree in it without telling Aziraphale. Those were the only explanations of how he could pull off such beautiful flashes of his body in his plant room, speckled skin peeking from between deep green leaves in the morning light, and still never once show any part of his face that he didn’t want to show. He was invisible when he came, but the sounds echoed so beautifully.

That weekend, Crowley invited him to his flat for an extra reconnaissance session to discuss Warlock’s tantrum after he’d been disciplined for copying a classmate’s alphabet worksheet. And when he took a break to mist and threaten his plants, he insisted on Aziraphale coming with him so that they wouldn’t have to stop conversing. God, it was like he knew.[4] “Kid’s evil is coming through, I knew it from the first,” said Crowley, shaking a menacing finger at his biggest potted snake plant. “Did you already talk to him about it?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, unable to keep from imagining Crowley’s hand clenching and releasing behind the cover of those dark leaves. “I mean, no. I mean – I haven’t gotten a chance to do it yet. Er. I plan to lecture him roundly on Monday, see if I don’t.”

Crowley cocked his head suspiciously at him. “You sound weird, angel.”

“Fine!” Aziraphale nearly shouted. His face went hot. “Sorry, I mean I’m fine. I’m only a bit concerned with this whole, ah, Antichrist business. You know how it is. Got to keep that balance at all times. And now that he’s spending less time outside, I worry that your influence will dominate.”

Crowley smirked. “Well, it’s a legitimate worry, I will admit,” he said. “Right, I think these guys have had enough fear of Crowley put in them. You want tea?”

Aziraphale most assuredly did want tea.

scenario: hide your head in my chest, i’ve got you

At this close of a vantage point, Crowley’s voice outright rumbled through the screen and into Aziraphale’s waiting ears. He must have found some way to hug the camera, because although the screen was nearly dark, Aziraphale could discern the long line of Crowley’s arched neck and the columns of his tendons. “You like this?” Crowley purred. “Been waitin’ ages to do it with you.”

Aziraphale licked his dry lips. “Crowley,” he said. “Crowley.” Every tiny noise that he’d had to strain to hear in the other videos was magnified a thousandfold in this one: the sound of Crowley’s breathing, the damp pop every time he parted his lips, and the more distant, wet sound of his hand on his cock. His own had been steadily dripping on his hand for the past two minutes.

“You feel so good on me,” Crowley murmured. “Just like that. Never stop.”

He never wanted to stop, not even for the glorious climax that he could feel building. Crowley’s chest would be warm, perhaps too thin to comfortably lie on, but Aziraphale knew he wouldn’t mind. They were only a few inches shy of being of a height. If he had his head buried in Crowley’s chest, would they be able to rub their cocks together? “Ah,” he said, shivering as his orgasm barreled closer. Would he be too heavy for Crowley? Crowley would never say so, the stubborn thing. He would hold Aziraphale close and rut against him for all he was worth, and Aziraphale would –

“Gonna come for me?” Crowley said. “Feels good – let me, oh, Sa – ohfuck –“

Aziraphale came to the filthy image of his come dripping down the insides of Crowley’s thin thighs, to the sound of Crowley shaking and swearing his way through his own orgasm. His legs spasmed and he kicked the chair leg hard enough to feel the reverberations all the way up his calf. He didn’t care. This was good, this was better than good. “Crowley…”

He cleaned himself up with a wordless miracle and looked through the comments. It seemed everyone else felt much the same as he did about Crowley’s prowess with the camera. Everyone wanted, as one foul-minded commenter put it, “a piece of that.” It brought him back down to Earth, if only a little.

scenario: i read to you out loud

When Aziraphale clicked on this one, he found himself looking not at Crowley, but at his desk. Books lay stacked just at the edges of the camera’s field. That was strange – Crowley rarely read for pleasure, although he did have a rather nicer collection of books than most humans.

Crowley solved the mystery when he flipped open a Shakespeare anthology and began to read a sonnet in the low, purring voice that Aziraphale by now knew heralded something utterly erotic.

“Eighteenth sonnet. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”

Aziraphale stiffened, and not only in his trousers. Shakespeare, read or recited well, was one of his weaknesses, and Crowley’s voice was perfect for it. “Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,” Crowley continued, “and summer’s lease hath all too short a date – oh, that’s nice.” Aziraphale blinked at the digression. “I know you want me to read,” Crowley said in a soft murmur. “I’ll try. But you’re so lovely, I’ve got to rub off.”

Between one blink and the next, Aziraphale had his hand down his trousers, suddenly so hard it hurt. Crowley’s quiet, even voice should have by all rights lulled him into a drowsy state, but the little moans set him afire instead. “B-but thy eternal…eternal summer shall not fade,” Crowley said, “nor lose possession of ohgod that fair thou ow’st. Nor shall death brag th-thou wander’st in his shade, when in eternal…ffff – lines to time thou grow’st.”

Where had this voice been all these years? How had Crowley been able to keep this from him? A voice like this, whatever the accent, needed to spend eternity reciting. Aziraphale used a miracle to wet his palm, uncaring of whether he dirtied his trousers. He’d come in them enough over the past six months. “Crowley, you minx,” he groaned. He would see Crowley on the stage if it was the last thing he did.

He was right on the edge when Crowley finished the sonnet, and he wanted to scream with frustration. But then Crowley spoke again. “Did you like that?” he asked, voice breathy. “I’ll do another. This is…this is ‘To His Mistress Going to Bed,’ by John Donne.”

“Good lord,” said Aziraphale in a voice that cracked to a whimper. Erotic poetry. He was, as the young people said these days, a goner.

Halfway through the poem, he came loudly and explosively, and only spared a passing thought for what the people on the other side of the shared walls might be hearing. He only felt a bit guilty about that as he pushed himself past oversensitivity into another orgasm before Crowley finished the poem and gasped out his climax, too.


“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, taking a sip from his water glass, “do you like Shakespeare?”

Crowley glanced at him. His eyes were invisible behind his glasses, but Aziraphale could tell that he was rolling them. “Do I like Shakespeare? I knew the guy, angel.”

“Yes. Yes, I know, but…it’s only…” Aziraphale cast about for an explanation. “Well, since we’ve left Warlock, I’m afraid his education has suffered. Did you ever read him Shakespeare? Perhaps some of the gorier ones?”

Crowley snorted. “What do you mean, gory? Exit, pursued by a bear? Or did you mean the battle scenes? I love a good Mercutio getting stabbed as much as the next demon, but when it comes to blood and guts, medical television beats old Will for details every time.”

“Oh, any.” It was truly incredible. Crowley could spend hours on these videos, or at least he had spent them, and he didn’t give a hint of it in his everyday life. ‘Old Will’, when he’d recited Sonnet 18 skillfully enough to bring any seasoned actor to tears! “I’m glad you didn’t neglect the, er, evil aspects of his education. Very well-rounded. Well done, dear boy.” The server arrived with his tea and angel cake, and he took them gratefully.

It wasn’t that he’d been a particularly good gardener, he mused later in his back room. That wasn’t why he found himself at loose ends after they terminated their employment with the Dowlings two years past. Strange, really – the bookshop should have provided all the entertainment and stimulation he needed. The Internet, too, especially the acquaintances he’d made on the various book forums and hobby aficionado sites.

“Oh, blast,” he muttered to himself. He needed to admit it already. It was Crowley he missed, Crowley whose silhouette he no longer saw out on the grounds every day, Crowley who had started to spread out their regular meetings at longer and longer intervals. And Aziraphale, for his part, limited his video watching to once a month now. They were a treat, a way for him to see Crowley at his most vulnerable when he was at his loneliest.

“I miss you,” he said, found a bottle of red wine, and took a few good swigs to fortify himself before he explored Crowley’s latest video. Oh, this one was strange – sad wank, it said. Aziraphale miracled up a wineglass and clicked.

This one started out in a dark room. Not terribly unusual for one of Crowley’s videos, although he typically kept the lights on unless he was doing one of his scenarios. The strange element became clear as soon as Crowley spoke. “I felt a bit off,” he said. “Decided to do this. Hope you enjoy.” He sniffled, and Aziraphale squinted at the computer. What was he playing at?

He regretted the thought as the video progressed, because not even the low light could hide the lack of salacious words or the tears dripping down his jaw and chin. Crowley’s hands shook as he pleasured himself, and his breathing was far heavier than usual. “Crowley?” said Aziraphale, although he knew there was no way Crowley could hear him. Must have been the nearly-empty bottle of wine. “Are you…?”

“Do you want to hold me?” said Crowley. His voice was a husky, barely-there whisper, thick with evidence of his emotions. “I want you to.” He lifted a hand, and Aziraphale could guess even without seeing the rest of his face that he was rubbing his eyes. “I can almost feel your hands.”

Aziraphale put down his glass of wine, which sloshed against the sides, and pressed his palms against the edges of the computer screen. “Oh, Crowley,” he said, feeling his own eyes prickle. “Of course I want to hold you.” Whoever was in Crowley’s thoughts didn’t know what in the bloody hell they were missing, neglecting him like this. He took another gulp of wine to stop his throat from thickening in sympathy, and although his cock was far from hard, he kept watching.

Crowley came almost silently a few minutes later, with barely even a moan passing his lips. In fact, he looked as though he were about to shake apart. Aziraphale’s heart felt so full that he would swear it sloshed with all the excess feelings. He squeezed his eyes shut to keep from letting any tears fall. Onscreen, Crowley looked upset enough for the both of them, breath ragged and coming in quiet hitches before the screen went mercifully dark.

Aziraphale fetched another bottle of wine. “Well,” he said, “I didn’t expect that.” Even after six thousand years, some parts of Crowley still mystified him. This was a healthier method of catharsis than some others he’d mentioned.

The screen blurred before his eyes as he scrolled down to see the comments. Maybe he’d gone a bit overboard with the wine. poor bby, the first one read, you made ME cry. “Poor…bee-bee?” Aziraphale sounded out. “No, that’s not…bee-bee-y? Oh, ‘baby’! They meant ‘baby’!” He giggled and felt the room tilt. “Ooh. No more wine.” He put down the bottle and scrolled down a little farther with clumsy fingers. “’I want to make you cry with my’ – oh, that’s uncalled for!”

The rest of the upvoted comments were no better. Oh yeah, I would hit that, don’t care if you cry. Didn’t they see he was upset? Show us your ass. Crowley showed his bum in plenty of other videos; that was just greedy. wonder if youd cry like that when u took my cock. “That does it!” Aziraphale shouted. These poor excuses for people deserved a lesson, and no mistake.

He brought up the reply box with wine-clumsy fingers. Nickname – oh, he couldn’t think with all the fuzziness in his head. Better use his book forum name. Waste not, want not. How dare you! This man is pouring out the deepest depths of his soul and all you want to know is whether you could molest him. He’s clearly upset. This has nothing to do with your penises.

Five minutes later, someone answered with dude chill, it’s like 8 years old. jesus. Aziraphale wouldn’t dignify that with a response. He’d made that mistake on the book forum and been temp-banned for forty-eight hours when someone decided his treatise on a fellow user’s misinterpretation of Mesopotamian literature somehow ‘crossed a line.’ He closed the laptop instead and went upstairs to sober up the old-fashioned way.

scenario: you stroke my hair

This one was new – well, newish, having apparently been recorded and posted some six years into their time at the Dowlings’, after Warlock grew into some semblance of personhood but before the laptops had been distributed. The camera was focused on Crowley’s beautiful hair, illuminated in bright lamplight. “Not sure if I want to touch myself tonight,” Crowley said. “I’m sort of tired. Want to touch my hair?” He paused. “Oh, you do. Mm, that’ll get me right to sleep.”

Crowley’s sleepy voice wasn’t just alluring; it was downright arousing. For the first time since he’d started down the rabbit hole of watching these blessed videos, Aziraphale found himself masturbating when Crowley wasn’t. He might have been ashamed, had it not been for Crowley’s gentle voice saying “You want to wank? Go ahead if you like. I’m not, but I don’t mind if you do.”

“I want to,” Aziraphale said, slowly rubbing himself. “I am, Crowley.”

There was something about Crowley’s quiet, sleepy noises that almost made Aziraphale harder than usual. He’d seen Crowley tired before, hiding yawns and blinking those long-lashed eyes; maybe that was it. Now he couldn’t stop thinking of Crowley’s head in his lap, his hand in Crowley’s hair, Crowley ignoring how tired he was to turn his head to the side and take Aziraphale in his mouth, licking, sucking, talking… “Crowley,” he sighed, “Crowley, oh, there.”

He felt wanton, surreptitious, taking so much of what Crowley freely gave. Here he was, an angel, and he couldn’t even find the self-control to keep his hands off himself when even a demon of Hell could do it – no, that wasn’t fair. Aziraphale shook his head even as he felt himself tightening towards orgasm. This wasn’t any ordinary demon. Flaws and all, warts and all, this was Crowley.

That was the name he called, over and over and over, when he finished.

i’m not feeling well

Crowley had sporadically added videos at the rate of one or two a year since Aziraphale began watching, but only a few still remained to be played. Aziraphale would have preferred to draw them out further, but the Antichrist’s birthday was approaching within the fortnight and he had an appointment to meet with Crowley in a week, and nothing else he’d tried[5] had been able to calm his jangling nerves. If the world was ending anyway, why not go all in?

In this one, Crowley lay on his sofa, covered in a thick blanket, his face so pink that it practically glowed. Aziraphale glanced at the timestamp – four years ago, just after they left the Dowlings’ service. “I’m not feeling all that great,” Crowley rasped, drawing the blanket closer with a shiver. “Did you want to see me earlier?”

“Wait,” said Aziraphale, and checked the posted date again. He remembered that day. Crowley had begged off lunch at a lovely little place with striped parasols over the outdoor tables, citing a prior obligation. “Oh, you wily serpent, I thought that was suspicious!” Why hadn’t he told Aziraphale he was under the weather? Was he that opposed to being seen in an undignified state, after Aziraphale had witnessed his many fashion mishaps over the millennia? That was rather rich of him.

Crowley wriggled onscreen, adjusting his position under the blanket. “I promise I’ll make it up to you,” he said. He looked terribly small and pathetic, dwarfed by his enormous couch. “Why don’t I start now?”

Aziraphale would have rolled his eyes if Crowley weren’t so vulnerable and sweet, the movement of his hand under the covers making it clear that he was touching himself. Even though he punctuated his movements not with moans but with coughs and sniffles, Aziraphale still wished he had been there.

“Crowley,” he said when they met at their agreed-upon park bench, also known as the second rendezvous point, “you do know that you can tell me if you’re not…all right, don’t you?”

“If I’m not all right?” Crowley’s lip curled. “What do you – angel, is this about the holy water again?” He sighed and sat down heavily. “We’re supposed to be keeping a lookout for Warlock, not discussing my psychological well-being.’

Or lack thereof, Aziraphale thought more darkly than he was comfortable with. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Your psychological well-being isn’t a planned topic of discussion today. I only meant to say that, well…if you’re ever unwell, or you’re not feeling yourself, you…” He cleared his throat. “You can tell me. We’re – ah, we’ve known each other a long time, haven’t we?”

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Sure,” he said. “Oi, look. Here he comes. Looks sulky, doesn’t he?”

Aziraphale accepted the distraction, albeit not without some disgruntlement. Sure. Such an inadequate word to accept all that they had, all that they’d done. All that they’d experienced together. But if Crowley had brought up the holy water, perhaps he was thinking of 1967, and that fateful night when Aziraphale said – oh. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling it grow hot. “He does.”


Aziraphale had already worked his way through two bottles of wine, and was starting on a third, when he opened the last video Crowley had made two years ago. Tomorrow, the Antichrist would turn eleven. Tomorrow, he would perform his magic act and, with any luck, be there to see the hellhound find Warlock. Tomorrow, everything would turn upside down, and no matter what happened, his life as he knew it would likely come to a screeching halt.

Christ Himself would probably have gone for a drunken night with a hand down his pants in the same situation, so Aziraphale felt rather justified in doing the same thing himself.

“’I want to see you,’” he read. “That’s apropos.”

When the video began, though, he had no more words. Crowley had to have set the camera across the room for this one, because save for the blindfold over his eyes, he was completely exposed. His hair, falling in waves to his chin, stood out beautifully against the deep red upholstery of his thronelike chair. “Hey,” he said. His voice carried, almost echoed. “You’re here, aren’t you? I can hear you, but I can’t see you. Wish I could.”

I see you, Aziraphale thought, reaching down and lightly palming himself through his trousers. This was a night to savor the experience, not reach in and start slapping at himself like he had no self-control. The wine made everything delightfully slow and fuzzy around the edges, anyway.

Crowley made a loose fist around his cock and dragged it down the length with a slippery sound that made Aziraphale realize, with strange delight, that he had miracled lube this time. “I can’t see what you’re doing,” he said. “Gotta listen. So…mmm, make some noise for me.”

“Gonna kill me,” Aziraphale slurred as he opened his trousers. “You don’t even…don’t even know how much.” Crowley deserved to have something happen to him for being such a – what was he being? Not a tease. An…angel tease? Oh, he was drunk enough that he couldn’t think thoughts. But Crowley was a bad, bad demon, and Aziraphale was going to keep quiet so that…so that he wouldn’t know. Yes, that was it.

He broke that resolution when he came twice in the fifteen minutes the video took to end. “Guh,” he said, slumping in his chair, as Crowley gave the camera a salacious grin. “Oh, you.”

“Good,” said Crowley. “That was so good. Glad you enjoyed yourself.” And the screen went black, leaving Aziraphale an overheated mess with, he was sure, wine fumes wafting off him. This was – what was the phrase? Pantsless o’clock. He adjusted his jacket and got ready to look through the comments. The books would know if he went over to them all freshly-wanked, with no cooldown time.

reply from: thedude


reply from: lovecamguys

come on this one was boring

“I never,” said Aziraphale muzzily.

reply from: graham69

i want 2 see ur eyes when u suck me

reply from: marissa

he’s really cute

reply from: allday-erryday

you need to gain like…20 lbs? also do something about the hair, it looks like a bad wig. and if you really want to be taken seriously, you should bring someone else in. all these videos are just you masturbating, which is super repetitive and boring.

Aziraphale spat out his mouthful of wine, which thankfully landed on the floor.

reply from: im in love with my car

everyone who says this guy is a washed-up old shit is totally right. Idk why I watched this.

“A washed-up – !” Aziraphale’s field of vision narrowed to the computer screen as he lifted his arms and flexed his fingers. These…these humans didn’t know a blessed thing. They didn’t know what they were missing. They didn’t know the wrath of an angel who – he knew from experience – was just drunk enough not to care, but not drunk enough that he couldn’t be coherent until he typed something and sobered up.

reply from: fellfromheaven

I see the level of intellect necessary to make a cogent comment on a video such as this has increased markedly since the last time I left one here. From A to C is not boring, and he certainly does not looked washed-up. I suggest you all “get your fix” elsewhere, if you are so hell-bent on insulting someone who went out of his way to make you happy. Bless all your hearts.

He wiggled in delight over the last bit, which a disgruntled American customer had once thrown at him, and shut the computer.


With…well, everything that had happened, Aziraphale didn’t even think of getting back on his laptop until October. To be honest, he hadn’t been sure that it would even still exist, since presumably Adam wasn’t aware that he had one. But no, a quick check of his back room had confirmed that both computers were still there, and then they had slipped his mind in favor of inventory, inventory, and more inventory. By the time he sat back down to see what he’d missed in the hubbub, every neighboring shop but his had been decorated for Halloween, including the cardboard covers on the windows of Intimate Books.

He wasn’t expecting the book forum’s From A to C thread to have twenty new posts, or for him to have been – what was the term? – pinged in about half of them.

reply from: to-kill-a-lockingbird

GUYS GUYS GUYS From A to C updated for the first time in…3 yrs? it’s a hot video, like super hot. hotter than fire. 2 months ago, can’t believe I didn’t see this.

reply from: books_on_snape

whoa, august 27. he actually got stuff done? that whole month was fuuuuuucked, was mercury in retrograde or something? like, I just felt off.

reply from: shallicomparetheetoasummersmosquitobite

Jeezus Christ in a Cracker Barrel, am I tinhatting, or could this possibly refer to @Fell_From_Heaven?

reply from: books_on_snape

you might feel tinhatty, but so did the people who exposed Ms. Scribe, and look what happened there. god, I think you might be right.

reply from: denny5

gonna perform a public service and alert @Fell_From_Heaven

reply from: its-a-me-mario

Mod warning: don’t get creepy in PMs, guys.

reply from: treeofknowledge


reply from: beatrice_and_benedickhead

@Fell_From_Heaven come get ya boi

Aziraphale stared at the screen. What in the world was Crowley doing now? Clearly he needed some sort of content warning before he ventured into the unknown.

reply from: Fell_From_Heaven

Excuse me for my ignorance. While I appreciate the attempts to contact me, what makes you think From A to C is referring to me? (I haven’t watched this video.)

Five minutes later, he had his answer.

reply from: treeofknowledge

He did a scenario where he jacked off at a friend’s house.

Aziraphale very suddenly found himself choking on his own spit. “What,” he hiccupped, “what in heaven?”

With trepidation and shaking hands, he went to Crowley’s site and looked at the latest video – trying to keep quiet on my friends couch. “Dear God,” he said, unsure if his voice was trembling with fear or rage. Sometimes, when Crowley was involved, emotional distinctions blurred. He did a scenario where he jacked off at a friend’s house. But what friends did Crowley have – apart from him? Did he dare to hope?

“Crowley,” he said, “you’d best have a good explanation for this,” and clicked.

The first thing he noticed, as usual, was the camera angle. This time it was on the floor, with the viewfinder pointing up, almost like a Dutch angle in films. The second thing he noticed was that Crowley was lying, fully clothed, on a very near replica of the sofa in the very office he was sitting in.

He spun around, nearly overturning his chair, and looked at it. Yes, they were identical, or near enough as to make no difference. If not for the fact that Crowley’s couch was pushed up against a bookshelf and his wasn’t, he might have thought Crowley had sneaked in here to – to do –

“Oh, fuck,” Aziraphale said as the light brightened to reveal Crowley grinding down on the sofa pillow clamped between his legs, one hand over his face as he whimpered. “Merciful Heaven. Oh, Crowley.”

“Angel,” Crowley whimpered. His palm over his mouth muffled the sound, but its identity was unmistakable. “Angel…angel…” He said it in time with each shuddery movement of his hips, in time with the beating of Aziraphale’s heart.

Aziraphale clenched his hands into fists and rolled his own hips down into the seat, feeling it change underneath him to be just that bit firmer. He hadn’t miracled it intentionally – he thought he hadn’t. “Crowley, what are you doing to me?” His voice came out deep and rough, barely recognizable.

Crowley shuddered and jerked, halfway between curled up and sprawled out on the couch in that special way only he could manage. “Fuck, angel,” he said. “O-oh – ohgod’ziraphale – fuck, feels s-ssss-so good nnnnnnh…” The visible parts of his cheeks were cherry-red, stoplight-red, as red as the bleeding edge of the Eden sky just after the first storm.

Aziraphale’s breath whistled in and out of his open mouth. “Crow – ley –“ His eyes fell shut as he came, for the first time that he could remember, completely untouched – once, then again and again, wrung out and powerless with the force of it.

He opened his eyes when Crowley’s soft, stuttering noises turned incoherent, just in time to see Crowley clench all over. “Oh, my…” If that had been his sofa pillow, Crowley might have scented it to the point that it never smelled innocuous again, even through his trousers. “Crowley, I. I.” He couldn’t finish it, couldn’t spit out the l and y of the words that wanted so desperately to follow.

Crowley knew. He had to know.

reply from: fellfromheaven


reply from: gotitbad

           the fuck is a zebra fail?        

When he got on the book forum three and a half hours later, there was a message waiting for him from a username he’d never seen before, one that made his stomach drop nearly to his feet. Two sentences from ‘notmakingausernameforthisstupidsiteangel’: Click this link. I think you need to watch it.

Aziraphale took ten minutes to make sure that the black spots in his vision didn’t mean he was about to faint before he clicked the link.

angel, i know this is you

It was the simplest video opener he’d seen since the first, and the most jarring: Crowley cross-legged on his own sofa, thankfully not the miracled version of his own. He stared into the camera with his glasses off and no barrier between them, all the stranger for the fact that Aziraphale had seen his eyes in an entirely different fraught context not so long ago. “Aziraphale,” he said, “I know you’ve been watching my videos.” No affected accent this time, just the simple beauty of his own. “Wish you’d put the underscores in your porn comments so I could find you on the forum easier. That took trial and error, I tell you.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Would you get to the point, Crowley?”

“Anyway,” said Crowley, “I thought I’d give you a present.” He shifted on the sofa, bringing his hardening cock into prominence. The noise out of Aziraphale’s mouth was neither human nor angelic in nature. “Here…watch.” He winked, licked his palm, and applied it to himself. Aziraphale’s head spun as any blood remaining in his head abruptly left.

Exactly thirty seconds later, just when his erection had risen to full prominence, Crowley stopped. Aziraphale threw his head back in frustration and growled through his teeth. “This is for you,” Crowley said, “but if you want it, you have to come on and get it.”

The video ended. Aziraphale stared. “Crowley,” he said, “you – you –“ There were no words strong enough. “You dick!

Come on and get it. Crowley’s flirtatious tone echoed in his head. Come on and get it. Come on and get it. He knew and he wasn’t angry. He was outright saucy – and he’d left Aziraphale in the lurch. The bloody…oh, when he saw him, he’d tell him…what would he tell him? “I shouldn’t come over at all,” he said. “It would serve you right.” But damn him, he was already standing up and going for his coat.

The weather was nice enough, so Aziraphale walked the kilometer-and-a-half distance to Crowley’s flat. All the while, he reminded himself how utterly grateful he was that he’d not ordered his trousers too tight. The cool temperature did very little to soften his erection, and there were children out here. The poor mites didn’t deserve to be exposed to that.

Crowley’s front door was closed, of course, when Aziraphale reached it. “Crowley!” He rapped his knuckles against it. “I saw your message, Crowley. We ought to – to talk, or something, er.” He felt his cock twitch. “Crowley?” He sighed and pushed on the door. It swung open easily, and Aziraphale jumped back. “Oh! If that’s how it is, I’m coming in.”

The flat was dark, mostly. Aziraphale followed the single light he saw until it ended as a lit lamp in the living room. It illuminated the sofa, and the naked demon sprawled on it, in a pool of unmerciful light.

Crowley’s head snapped around, swift as a snake, when Aziraphale walked in. “Angel,” he said. Almost sobbed, much to Aziraphale’s confusion. “Oh, Satan, finally. You’re finally here.”

Aziraphale looked him up and down, taking in Crowley’s trembling limbs and red, quivering cock. “Oh, Crowley,” he said, “have you been here all this time?”

“Two hours,” Crowley said hoarsely. “Tried to get myself off about an hour in, couldn’t.” He wrapped a hand around himself and whined, and Aziraphale’s mouth went dry. “Can’t do it without you. Want you so badly.”

“Two hours?” Aziraphale repeated. Heaven’s harps, two hours in such a tumescent state? “Oh, dear. I – come here –“ He sat down and Crowley poured himself into his arms, fever-hot and serpent-sleek. It was no trouble to support his weight. “Are you all right?”

Crowley nodded. “Just…just…” He ground down on Aziraphale’s thigh with a whimper that went right to Aziraphale’s heart as well as his cock. “So glad you found my stuff. I wanted – wanted to do that one in your bookshop, but I didn’t have the guts.” His breath was hot on Aziraphale’s neck. “Your privacy.”

“I invaded yours,” said Aziraphale, feeling a stab of guilt. “You might have been within your rights.” He stroked a hand down Crowley’s smooth bare back.

Crowley pressed kiss after frantic kiss to Aziraphale’s neck, his mouth open and so hot that Aziraphale had to shift for some relief from the pressure in his pants. “Angel, it hurts.”

“Well, don’t – why –“ Aziraphale sputtered. “Why are you doing that when I could be kissing…here, over here, yes, like that.” He pulled Crowley away from his neck and looked him full in the face. “Kiss me. Please.”

Crowley wasted no time in obeying. Aziraphale eagerly kissed back, giving as good as he got with every sloppy, frenzied press of lips to lips. He had had more skilled, sedate kisses, and undoubtedly so had Crowley, but none had ever made him so hot. Crowley, rutting on his thigh hard enough to wet Aziraphale’s trouser leg, no doubt had similar feelings. “Aziraphale,” Crowley groaned, voice slurred as though with drink. “Gonna…gonna’mbarrass myself ‘f you don’t stop.”

Aziraphale pulled back, and Crowley outright wailed, his beautiful mouth falling open. His lips were swollen and sure to bruise from their kissing. A surge of pride rose in Aziraphale; he had made Crowley that way. He had done this to the demon – his demon. Heavens, he needed Crowley to be his. “Let me touch you,” he said, and put his hand in his lap. “My hand. Please, Crowley. Just to take the edge off.”

Crowley made an indescribable noise and thrust his hips forward, straddling his lap and sliding his cock into Aziraphale’s waiting hand. Aziraphale squeezed it gently, then began to stroke, careful of its sensitivity, and thought of its weight on his tongue. Later, he thought. His erection certainly liked the idea, as much as Crowley – going by his wriggling in Aziraphale’s lap – liked his touch. “Yes,” he said, and hid his face in Crowley’s shoulder. “L-like…like that. Let me touch you. I want to so much.”

“Oh, oh, oh,” and Crowley pushed, pushed, shook all over, and spurted across Aziraphale’s hand and wrist, collapsing on him with enough force to shove Aziraphale back into the cushions. “Angel,” he said, his voice muffled but still ringing with disbelief, awe, and love. Love. “Angel.”

If he hadn’t had firsthand experience with the phenomenon, Aziraphale thought he probably would have taken the pounding of his heart as a sign of pending discorporation. “My dear,” he said, the words wholly inadequate to express the contents of his overflowing heart. Still, they were the best he had. “Crowley, it’s been so long.”

Crowley drew Aziraphale’s earlobe into his mouth and bit down just hard enough to send shivers down Aziraphale’s spine. “Too long. God, angel. You’ve been – you’ve been wanking off to my – and you didn’t say anything to me? I found that post you made about how I was your friend. Whether it was invading my privacy.”

“Oh. That post,” Aziraphale said, and went hot. “I’m so terribly sorry, Crowley. I can’t even tell you how much. “

Don’t be,” said Crowley, and claimed Aziraphale’s mouth in another hard kiss. Aziraphale opened his mouth and eagerly let him continue. The ache between his legs rose to a crescendo of pain, but he didn’t mind it. He didn’t care. He had Crowley in his lap, warm and alive, not cold on the other side of a computer screen. “Only thing you oughta be sorry about,” Crowley said, pulling back so that their lips separated with an obscene noise, “is getting me off and not you.” He licked away a stray thread of saliva. “You’ve got a diamond-cutter there. I want to see it.”

“You do?”

Crowley tugged at Aziraphale’s trousers. “Yeah. Wanted to for ages. Can’t remember how long I’ve wanted you.” He took Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kissed him again, sinking his teeth lightly into Aziraphale’s lower lip. Aziraphale cried out as his hands flew to Crowley’s waist, keeping him there, needing him there. “Can I get you naked, angel?” Crowley asked against his mouth. “Please?”

Aziraphale’s breath came high and strange in his throat. He raised a hand and shakily snapped out a miracle, then opened his eyes in surprise at the sensation of cool air on his…well, all of him. “Dear me,” he said, scowling. “Stop giggling. I took them all off!”

“Yeah, angel,” said Crowley, “you did.” He rested his forehead on Aziraphale’s and stared at him with bright, snaky eyes. “God, you look…”

“Fat,” Aziraphale sighed. “I know.”

“What? No. I mean, yes, but you’re so, nnnnh.” Crowley wiggled his hips closer, still straddling him. His cock touched Aziraphale’s bare thigh, and Aziraphale startled, unable to help it. “Hot,” Crowley finished. “I’ve dreamed about this.” Their breath mingled in warm puffs between them. “Can I? Please? I want to get you off. So much.”

Aziraphale let out his breath hard and reached down to grasp them both in his hand. “Like in your videos,” he whispered, making a fist as best he could. His arousal and Crowley’s together barely fit in his hand. “Oh, here, just – yes.” He made his hand slippery with a thought and stroked again, the lube making the motion even more incredible. “C-Crowley, my…my dear…move with me?”

Crowley’s hand was bonier than his, but it was bigger, and it felt divine as he covered Aziraphale’s hand with it, helping to pull them off together. “Angel,” he breathed, sliding his thumb to the base of where their cocks met. “Wanted to…so long. Gonna fuck our hands.”

Someone had once told Aziraphale that the brain was the most powerful sex organ. He hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but oh, how he believed it now. “Crowley, your mouth,” he said. “Keep talking.” He rested his free hand on the back of Crowley’s neck, supporting his weight with tensed thighs as he kept up with the pace of their rub. “Please.” He was pouring sweat and couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Crowley kissed him until their teeth clacked. “Ow – sssorry – you want me to talk?” He wiped his mouth on his shoulder and looked at Aziraphale with those bright, beseeching eyes. “You liked it in the…fuck, in the videos? When I talked? The a-accent, or me?”

“You,” said Aziraphale. He squeezed their cocks and felt Crowley echo his movement. It felt divine. “I’m close, I’m – talk, please, talk.”

“Mm-hm.” Crowley planted kisses up Aziraphale’s neck and increased their pace. “I want you ssso much, angel.” The hiss only warmed Aziraphale more. This was Crowley, all of him, the serpent who was softer and kinder than he would ever admit. “You should come – I’m gonna – !” He cut himself off with a tiny squeak and a series of whimpers, “oh, oh, fuck,” as he clenched his teeth and came again.

Aziraphale was helpless against the swelling wave of his own orgasm as it washed over him. He cried out Crowley’s name, fucking forward into both their grip, and let his mind fragment into near-blankness punctuated by a bright feeling of love, love, love.

Crowley held on to him after they were finished, shaky and panting. “Aziraphale?” he said.

“Yes, my dear?”

“You won’t – won’t go?”

Aziraphale moved his hand from his neck to cup his chin and tilt it towards him. “Of course not.” He kissed Crowley again, gentle and slow. “Not after all that. I’m here.”


He wasn’t sure whose miracle had cleaned them up and whose had made the tea, but both miracles were pleasant all the same. Aziraphale coaxed Crowley off him with gentle touches and lay half-supine on the couch, his demon curled against him. Their steaming mugs rested on the table before them. “Sweet boy,” Aziraphale said, smiling at how the words made Crowley squirm, “however did you get into…that? The videos?”

“It was Hell, at first,” said Crowley. “They wanted me to make some people lust. Y2K was getting them frisky, and they wanted more.”

“So you went the extra mile?” said Aziraphale, and stroked Crowley’s flank. “Are you always this, er, cuddly after you’ve had sexual relations?”

Crowley nodded. “Don’t say ‘sexual relations’, angel, that’s just weird. Answer’s yes. I try not to show it, but…” He shrugged. “With you, I don’t need to hide it.”

“You needn’t hide anything from me.” Aziraphale reached for his cup and took a sip. Whoever made it had miracled in just the right amount of honey, and he sighed happily. “Why did you put on your nanny accent?”

“Didn’t want people finding me,” Crowley said. “Same reason I didn’t show my whole face. It’s common practice, not showing the whole face. Didn’t you ever see that in other videos?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks heated. “I never watched anyone else’s,” he admitted. “Only yours.”

“Only – God, Aziraphale.” Crowley shook his head with a low chuckle. “You never got curious? Any favorite videos of mine?”

“I never watched any of them more than once,” said Aziraphale. “I treated them as rather a treat, and…well, the invasion of privacy issue. I would have felt terrible, watching them more than once.” Now Crowley outright chortled, winding his way up Aziraphale’s body as if he were in his snake form. “Don’t spill my tea!” Aziraphale protested.

“Hello, demon?” said Crowley. “Genius-level hand-eye coordination here.” He dipped his head and lapped playfully at Aziraphale’s tea with the tip of his tongue. “You know what I did?”

Aziraphale resisted swatting at him. “What did you do?”

Crowley took the cup from him and set it back down. “I imagined you,” he said. “Every time, pretty much. I imagined you in front of me, wanking. Or on top of me. Or – or making a video with you.” He looked at Aziraphale from under his eyelashes. “I mean, I’d never ask, it was just a fantasy.”

“You – you – you thought of me in all of them?” Aziraphale said. Bless it, why couldn’t he keep from sputtering when Crowley surprised him? “How can I…do you have…er, I believe you, but…”

Crowley smiled. “You ever hear of a blooper reel, angel?”

Aziraphale frowned. “Something they do in films, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Crowley sat up and pulled something out from under the coffee table. “This is my laptop. It’s got all my mistakes on it.”


“From the videos.” Crowley turned it on with a touch of his finger and pulled up a file. “Made this one day when I was hating myself. All the times I couldn’t keep from saying your name in the fuckin’ porn. Or ‘angel.’ I didn’t want anyone getting ideas.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Ideas?” And then Crowley pressed play.

He wasn’t lying. ‘Angel’ after ‘angel’ after ‘Aziraphale’ after ‘angel’ came tumbling out of Crowley’s mouth onscreen, as all the while the real Crowley sat beside him and covered his face with a hand. “Oh,” Aziraphale said softly. Different outfits, different backgrounds, but all unmistakably Crowley. “You really did want me.”

“Yeah,” said Crowley. “Do you believe me now?”

Aziraphale nodded. Crowley’s ears were nearly as red as his hair. “I believe you, my dear,” he said. Not my dear boy, not anymore. He needed no more qualifications for Crowley. “Come here,” he said. “If you want to.”

Crowley put his arms around him, his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I’ll always want to.”

There were words left unsaid between them, Aziraphale knew. But he also knew that the definition of what was too fast had changed, and someday, he would hear them.  

He believed that with all that he was, and even without words, he knew Crowley did, too.


[1] He had asked the shop in 1985 what a Super 8 was after one customer told another he needed one to take videos of his dog, and remained happily ignorant until well past the device’s obsolescence.

[2] Not steal – never steal. An angel was above stealing wireless Internet. But if the Internet was there, and not password-protected, and therefore free to anyone with the intelligence to find it, then it could be considered a public resource by Heavenly definitions. Especially if the network had the temerity to be named ‘KissMyRouter.’

[3] Given his reticence, possibly in for a shilling.

[4] He didn’t, but Aziraphale occasionally had trouble grasping the concept of coincidences as they applied to him.

[5] A bath, milk, a hot milk bath (lovely for the skin), books, something called a Cronut…