“Alright, that’s enough!”
The command came from a few feet away, where Aziraphale had been reading a battered copy of The War of the Worlds. Crowley stopped what he was doing to look at him and flinched as the angel snapped his book shut and stood up with an irritated huff.
“What?” Crowley asked innocently, withdrawing his hand from the back of his shirt, where he had been making a show of rubbing his neck for the past half hour.
“You know perfectly well ‘what’,” Aziraphale said sternly, coming to stand above Crowley’s prone form on the sofa. “You’ve been by every day this week complaining about your back, and it’s starting to get ridiculous. I’ve barely managed to read a single chapter since you got here. Now, I know you don’t see the benefit of massage, but if you won’t let me try at least once I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.“
Crowley screwed up his face in protest.
“That’s not fair!”
“Life’s not fair,” Aziraphale quipped testily, placing his hands on his hips. “Or isn’t that what you always say?”
“Yes, but it’s not meant to apply to me.”
“Well, that may be the case, but I’m telling you - roll over now or I'll be forced to show you the door.”
Crowley took in the look of determination on the angel’s face and decided there was no point arguing any further. After all, he had only just arrived and didn’t intend on leaving any time soon. With a dramatic sigh Crowley flung his sunglasses off and did as instructed, shuffling so that his front was pressed into the worn leather sofa cushions. He pillowed his face on his arms and spoke into them.
“Are you sure you even know what you’re doing?”
“More or less,” said the angel primly, settling into a newly miracled chair beside the couch. A soft rustling of fabric reached Crowley’s ears, as though he had just rolled up his sleeves.
“And how exactly would you know? Have you ever actually gotten one before?”
“I’m six thousand years old,” Aziraphale answered incredulously. “Yes, I’ve seen a masseur before. Now, where does it hurt?”
Crowley fumbled an arm out from under himself and reached around, gesturing toward his shoulder blade.
“It started here,” he explained. “But it’s pretty much spread everywhere by now. Neck, shoulders, all of it.”
Aziraphale clucked his tongue disapprovingly. Crowley registered a very light touch against his back near where he’d indicated.
He grunted affirmatively.
The touch deepened, the fingers of one of Aziraphale’s immaculately manicured hands probing into the sore muscle. Crowley barely managed not to hiss. It was a strange sort of sensation, uncomfortable and yet welcome at the same time.
A few minutes elapsed, during which the angel experimented with location and type of touch, massaging Crowley through the thin material of his t-shirt. Crowley gradually sunk into it and allowed a bit of tension to dissipate from his corporation.
“When was the last time you stretched your wings?” Aziraphale asked, his fingers skimming the outer edges of Crowley’s left wing joint. It was a sensitive place. Crowley flinched away from the contact before gradually resettling.
“Dunno. Ages, I expect.”
“No wonder you’re so sore,” Aziraphale admonished, massaging around the area but not directly on it, broad thumb strokes up and down the center of his back. A few moments passed before he spoke again, his tone nonchalant. “You could take them out now, if you like.”
“Mm. In a bit,” Crowley mumbled, enjoying himself despite his initial hesitation. “This is good enough for now.”
Aziraphale’s hands traveled further down, rubbing circles into the dip of Crowley’s lower back while his fingers wrapped around his hip bones. Crowley sighed contentedly through his nose and relaxed a bit more. At length he was alerted by a soft tugging of material near the bottom of his shirt as the angel made to lift it.
“Is - Is that necessary?” Crowley asked, cursing inwardly as his dick gave an interested twitch in his pants.
“I believe it would allow me to get deeper into the tissue,” Aziraphale said, making no move to lift the garment without permission. “Perhaps I might just slide my hands under? There would be no need to remove your shirt completely.”
“Oh.” Crowley swallowed as he considered the logic of the explanation. “Well, I suppose that’s alright then.”
With that settled, the fabric of his shirt was lifted a few inches higher. Crowley shivered as a sudden chill struck his skin, quickly smothered by the warmth of both of Aziraphale’s hands running up the length of his back. A satisfied moan buzzed deep in his throat, quickly strangled off into nothing.
“How does it feel?” Aziraphale asked, as his fingers crested Crowley’s shoulders and worked smooth circles into the back of his neck.
“Mm. Fine,” Crowley mumbled into his arms. Aziraphale had been right; without the barrier between them, his fingers were able to dig much deeper into the sore muscles of Crowley’s back, working out all the little knots and kinks with firm pressure. Unfortunately, the skin to skin contact also had other, less welcome effects, as Crowley found himself growing increasingly and embarrassingly aroused.
After several minutes of concentrated deep breathing, he had it under control. The massage continued, and Aziraphale’s attention remained focused on Crowley’s left side, his range of motion limited by the seated position he had assumed beside the couch. Eventually the angel’s hands paused without warning, and Crowley made a noise of complaint in the back of his throat.
“Would you mind terribly if I sat behind you?” Aziraphale asked. “I think it would provide a better angle. I worry I’m not doing much good stuck like this.”
“Okay,” Crowley managed. In all honesty, Aziraphale had done about as much as he could on Crowley’s left side, and it was his right that really needed the attention in the first place.
Aziraphale’s hands disappeared, and Crowley shivered momentarily at their loss. He listened intently as Aziraphale stood from the chair, lying very still so as not to disrupt the progress of relaxation Aziraphale had begun. His efforts were soon for not, as a heavy warmth settled snug against his backside. The angel had sat down directly on top of him, his warm, full thighs on either side of Crowley’s legs, holding him down.
“Angel?” Crowley squeaked, attempting to crane his neck and get a look at him.
Aziraphale shifted slightly, his voice tinged with concern. “Is this uncomfortable for you?”
“N-No,” Crowley lied, if only because the source of his discomfort was so humiliating. Despite his earlier efforts, he was fully erect now, his cock pressed at a slightly awkward angle between the sofa and the bulk of Aziraphale’s weight. Discreetly, he tried to reposition and barely managed not to moan as the friction sent a bolt of pleasure straight to his loins.
“Then just relax,” Aziraphale instructed soothingly, oblivious to Crowley’s situation. With that, his hands slid back under Crowley’s shirt and up towards his shoulders. In doing so he leaned forward, and his weight forced Crowley’s hips to grind down into the cushion.
“Mnf,” Crowley moaned into his arms, unable to stop himself. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Good?” Aziraphale asked, obviously encouraged. He repeated the same movement, and Crowley squirmed beneath him.
“It’s - you’re - “ Crowley bit his tongue. You’re too heavy, he wanted to say, but this was a lie. Aziraphale was just heavy enough, so that every time he reached his hands up the demon’s back the momentum of his body shoved Crowley’s hard dick against the front of his too-tight trousers. Unable to voice this aloud, he merely grit his teeth and smothered his burning face further into his forearms.
“That’s it,” Aziraphale hummed, dragging pressure from the back of Crowley’s neck out along his shoulders. Crowley tried to focus on that particular sensation, hoping beyond hope that if he simply ignored the other, unintentional effects of Aziraphale’s hands on his body the problem would go away on its own.
It was a fool’s hope. The prolonged contact with the angel's skin combined with the weight on top of him soon had Crowley's cock twitching and leaking between his legs. As the intensity picked up he was exceedingly grateful that any noises that managed to escape his bitten lips could be disguised as innocent enjoyment in the massage itself and not anything more lustful.
“See? What did I tell you. I knew you’d enjoy this,” said Aziraphale, digging the pads of his thumbs into the space just above Crowley’s wing joint. The sudden pressure caused Crowley's hips to jerk of their own accord.
“Angel, wait,” Crowley gasped, turning his face to the side and speaking out of his arms for the first time.
“Just bare with me,” Aziraphale insisted, dragging his thumbs against the space again. Stars popped in front of Crowley’s eyes. “I think I’ve found the source of all of this. Almost got it worked out.”
“Aziraphale. Aziraphale, pleassse,” he whimpered, toes curling pathetically. Crowley attempted to squirm away, out from under him, and only succeeded in stimulating himself even further against the couch. Molten heat pooled low in his gut, a horrifyingly familiar coiling of muscle that had him gasping for breath. Oh no. No no no no no.
“Almost there.” The determination was clear in the angel’s voice, his words clipped in concentration. He was giving it his all now, really leaning into the task, thrusting his weight down with every dig of his thumbs into the sensitive juncture where Crowley’s noncorporeal wing met his body. As the pleasure crested Crowley shoved his face into his arms and cried out hoarsely one last time.
Pinned between the angel’s weight and the leather sofa, Crowley shivered and twitched, his lower half performing an automatic, rhythmic grind against the couch cushion. Come pulsed from the tip of his cock, dampening his pants and trousers. Aziraphale sat motionless on top of him, hands still on his back, where he could undoubtedly feel every minute shudder. At great length Crowley lay still, the breath rasping out of him in short, steady pants.
Crowley didn’t respond. His body, gone limp, failed to react when Aziraphale hesitantly squeezed his shoulder.
“Crowley? Please say something. Oh, goodness, what have I done?”
Aziraphale’s weight disappeared. Gentle hands slowly turned Crowley’s body over, a gaggle of loose limbs in a tangle. His legs fell open, and Crowley felt cool air strike the damp patch on the front of his trousers, his shame laid bare for the angel to see. At that moment, he was extremely grateful for his long hair, which curtained the majority of his beet-red face.
“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, his voice heartbroken. “Oh, Crowley.”
“M’sorry,” Crowley said hoarsely, mortified beyond belief. “M’sorry. I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t stop it. It-It just happened.”
“Shhh,” Aziraphale whispered. “Please, there’s no need to apologize. I’m the one who should be sorry. I wasn’t listening. You were trying to tell me.” A deep, shaky exhale sounded somewhere above Crowley’s ear before Aziraphale spoke again. “May I - May I clean you up?”
Crowley shook his head miserably. With a thought, his body was clean, his clothes miraculously dry. Slowly he sat up, until the soles of his feet rested against the floor. His torso remained hunched forward, arms wrapped tight around his rib cage as though he might fall apart at any second. An awkward minute passed.
“Do you want to leave?” Aziraphale asked at last, sounding almost as unhappy as Crowley felt.
“Do you want me to?” Crowley countered.
“No!” Aziraphale exclaimed quickly. He dropped to his knees beside the sofa. “No, Crowley, I - That’s the last thing I want right now. Please, stay. If it’s what you want, then I want you to stay.”
Unable to speak, Crowley merely nodded, curling his arms tighter around himself. The angel breathed a sigh of relief and reached out, his hand pausing a few inches from Crowley’s face.
“Can I touch you?”
After a moment's hesitation Crowley jerked his chin affirmatively. Plump fingers smoothed the hair back from his eyes, a gentle, reverent touch that quelled a bit of the anxiety that still lingered within him.
“It’s okay, you know,” Aziraphale was saying, his voice a soothing murmur. “These human bodies can have such unexpected reactions to physical stimulation. Please don't feel embarrassed. What happened was only natural.”
"It - Can we - Not talk about it?" Crowley asked weakly, leaning into the hand that continued to pet his hair.
"Of course," Aziraphale agreed, lapsing into silence. A scratchy tartan blanket blinked into existence and draped over Crowley's seated figure. Crowley clutched it close and released a small sigh. This moment - the gentle contact, Aziraphale's unfailing kindness and understanding - was enough for now. There would be time to talk about it later, after the dust had settled, but for now, Crowley wanted to ignore and forget.
“Shall I make us some cocoa?” Aziraphale offered at length, withdrawing his hand and making to stand up.
Crowley’s eyes flew open. “No,” he croaked, reaching out to grasp the angel's wrist. “I mean - Don’t leave. Please.”
Aziraphale’s startled gaze softened and he shook his head. “No, of course not,” he murmured, kneeling back down beside Crowley and touching his cheek. “I promise, Crowley. I’m not going anywhere.”