It was the 28th of October and, in true form to only himself, a certain very-smitten (secretly painfully romantic) demon was readying to visit his angel.
While the rest of the western world was preparing for Halloween and the various harvest festivals, or readying the bonfire for the Fifth, Crowley was consumed by one single concern: it was their anniversary. The one of them meeting, the only one that seemed to be of major import after so, so long. Seven days after the Earth had been created, they'd met on a wall, and Crowley had fallen for a second time as an angel told him-- silly, nothing, nobody, him-- the truth and then turned around and lied directly to God.
Crowley sucked his teeth against a wide, too wide grin. Nothing was going to fuck up this day. He simply wouldnt stand for it.
He'd even smiled at the cashier clerk when he'd swiped his black card for the flowers! A nice smile!
Bristling just a wee bit at himself, Crowley tucked a box of Belgian handcrafted chocolate truffles under his arm, sauntered out, and climbed back into the Bentley with his prizes. Another gift sat in the passenger seat, carefully wrapped and stowed in a hard carry case. It was an original handpainted edition of the Kama Sutra; something Aziraphale would enjoy but would never have bought for himself, let alone stored among his shelves. If a billionaire collector Across the Pond was suddenly missing it among his (largely-stolen) collection, well. No one could be all that sympathetic.
Crowley tapped the brand over his heart and smiled warmly, humming to himself as the Bentley started itself and aimed for home.
Two beige angels watched him from across the street, frowning. They went unnoticed as Crowley drove away toward Soho.
Across town, Aziraphale was carefully applying fibrous glue to the mangled binding of a massive tome. It was one of his favorite things to do, as a matter of fact. Preservation was par for the course when you dealt in ancient things that had been handled my many many human hands.
It was a favorite activity of his aside from, of course, dining with his dear Crowley. He checked the clock, frowned, and went back to repairing his book. Usually he'd gotten one of those little notes on his mobile telephone by now.
A text, Crowley called it.
Rubbish. He had a text in front of him, surrounding him. Books were texts, not letters on a lit up piece of metal and silicone.
Pish-posh. He frowns and focuses his grace, pushes it out through their Bond and feels the faint flicker of Crowley's grace not too far away. Must be headed home, he thinks.
A hand raised, brush dripping, ready to apply the next streak of glue and--
A searing pain struck straight through Aziraphale's breastbone, electrifying his lungs and stealing his breath. He dropped the brush and the book slid to the floor as he doubled over in shock and acute pain, more confused than anything. He is standing and braced for attack before the ache properly ebbed.
He was alone! Who the hell could attack like this? Unseen?
What the-- suddenly, his chest ached under the Bond mark there, a desperate sensation through the haze of pain from the burning attack and his entire soul lit up and screamed: Crowley!
He had no idea what to do, where to go! Crowley had always come to him in times of danger, always able to track the angel even well before they'd Bonded! Anxiety clenched up his spine like a vise, the pain dissipating as nerves locked down his limbs, refusing to let him make a move. He fought against the overwhelming instinct to let his grace run on autopilot. His brain told him to think and then act, his soul told him to let the Bond carry him to Crowley.
Something dangerously righteous and profound, something he hadn't felt in eons sang across his nerves, lighting every single one up as he stood, closed his eyes, and snapped his fingers.
Suddenly, he found himself in an empty storefront not far from his own shop, blinking through a deep scowl. He was at the edge of a wide demon trap. A sharp crackle of lightening shot through the din, and Aziraphale's chest seized up again. He held a hand to it, breathing through the pain, and advanced on two young angels. One was standing around the edge of the hastily-made trap, observing as the other leaned in and harassed a body laying limp on the cement floor, atop the sigils. They had yet to notice a fourth angel in their midst.
"What did you want with him, serpent?" One growled, shaking a dark, lank form on the ground, pulling him up by his lapels until they knocked him back down with a fist connecting to bone. The crack of it echoed in the alley, as did the pained gasp that followed it.
It was Crowley. They were hurting his Crowley.
Aziraphale had never felt fury like what was rising in him now, angelic Wrath boiling over. His fists glowed with it, eyes crackling with tiny lines of blue lightening. The whole place went deathly still and silent; all three of the other empathic creatures picked up on the danger instantly.
The two angels turned, stunned by a show of raw Holy Power. They straightened themselves side by side like toy soldiers, chins up and shoulders back.
Crowley picked his head up a fraction, coughing a spout of blood onto the concrete. He scooted to the edge of the trap, back curving against the outer arch as far away from Aziraphale and the two angels as possible. He still managed to look in complete awe at Aziraphale, who he'd never seen in this light. His usually finicky, sassy angel was on the extreme defensive, striking proper fear into the two brash young fools who'd clearly never met them, or been told to leave the two alone. The ground vibrated underneath them.
Perhaps they'd been sent on a suicide mission from Heaven, to see if these two were still on their toes.
It seemed like at least Aziraphale was.
"What, precisely, are you doing here?" Aziraphale menaced, stepping closer to the two young angels. He forced the feeling in his veins down, reigning in the power he hadn't unleashed since before this planet existed. His voice was measured, deathly calm. The two lower angels glanced at one another and then back. "And I want you to explain to me exactly why I shouldn't burn you where you stand for invading my territory and harming one of its occupants."
"We are here for a performance report. Do you...do you have anything to report, Principality Aziraphale?" One said, standing straight.
"If I were reporting to anyone at all- aside from the Almighty- any longer, the report would only state that two absolute ingrates came down, unannounced, and senselessly attacked a being under my jurisdiction, and were subsequently disposed of." He growled back, standing alarmingly close to them, now. Crowley hadn't moved from his collapse against the invisible wall of the demon trap, but he was watching cautiously through the blood dripping in his eyes.
Aziraphale spared him a concerned glance that did not at all detract from his frightening countenance. His usually-slippery Crowley had certainly been ganged-up-on, caught unawares. His face was cut in several places, hair curling wild and loose from his now customary messy bun, lips split and bleeding. One arm was at an odd angle, and perhaps a leg, it was too dark to tell yet. Aziraphale pressed his molars together and breathed deeply.
"You two. What are your names?" He barked, making them (and poor Crowley) jump. Crowley groaned weakly at the pain it caused and slumped back to the concrete. A faint glow warbled from his hand as he slowly healed the internal bleeding himself. Aziraphale tried to brush off how the low hiss Crowley let out that made his heart jump up into his throat. his own chest still ached from the lightening blow they'd hit his partner with; there was no telling how much pain Crowley was still in. Aziraphale's eyebrows knit together and his frown could have cut glass when he snapped his gaze back to the interlopers.
"Gadreel," they replied at once, visibly shrinking.
"When you arrive back in Heaven, you will tell-- whoever sent you here for this ridiculous report-- that the Principality Aziraphale still commands the realm of Earth, particularly Britain, particularly London, and will not concede so much as an inch of it, period. That includes, and is not limited to, anything and anyone currently residing on this realm. Period. Heaven and Hell can have the souls when the good humans here cough them up, and I will not tolerate another invasion on my grounds." He's talking through clenched teeth now, properly seething. "You carried out unauthorized, physical capital punishment on a common demon who has been residing here, under my jurisdiction and therefore under my protection for the entirety of the time I have been stationed here. His sanctuary has been in effect longer than you have even been in existence."
"We're-- but sir, it's just a demo--"
"I advise you, very thoroughly, to not finish that sentence, soldier." Aziraphale spoke low and dangerous. His eyes crackled to life again as he thrust the one speaking-- Samandriel-- into the brick wall with a resounding crack. The young angel nodded furiously and both found themselves rather unable to make eye contact with the Principality. "Heaven and Hell both agreed that we were best left to our own devices after they failed to murder us at our staged trials. That warning extends to new angels and demons as well. You will leave us alone, or I will continue to kill you. Any of you who dare to come too close. Understood?"
Crowley coughed on the concrete behind them, the area around his body stained dark with blood and growing in circumference. He'd discorporate soon if Aziraphale didn't help get the bleeding stopped. Crowley could bring things back to life easily enough, but repairing himself when he was mortally injured was a slow practice, especially inside a trap which would suppress his powers.
The full ache of his bondmate in substantial pain throbbed against the angel's own chest. Aziraphale ground his teeth and squared his shoulders. Every single fiber of his being wanted to burn these two out and take Crowley home immediately.
He would have never gotten away with actually killing two angels, it would make him beacon for retaliation, and they were trying to live under the radar now.
But discorporation was another matter, and would send the message all the same.
Re: Do Not Fuck With Us.
They-- he-- would not tolerate any funny business, not any longer. Aziraphale had finally gotten the peaceful life with Crowley he'd desperately wanted for countless years, and no one, save God Themself was going to take it from him. This was their side, their life, and their neighborhood.
"I trust the message will be well received," He seethed, hands clenching again as the glow came back, a fresh wave of fury taking hold as Crowley struggled to roll to his side and get up on all fours. He didn't quite make it, remaining on one hip and one forearm with the hand half submerged in his own blood as the demon vomited out another spout of it, the other arm wrapped tight around his cracked ribs. His stressed, full-yellow eyes were watching, wide with wonder, rapt through the pain he was clearly in.
Belatedly, Aziraphale noted that his dark glasses were shattered on the ground beside him, the little cupped sides twisted. They'd obviously been torn off and stomped under a bootheel.
That little, seemingly infinitesimal gesture that showcased, for lack of a better phrase, their inhumanity is what tipped Aziraphale's Wrath over the edge.
They'd disrespected his partner, and a clear message had to be sent.
Samandriel and Gadreel jolted as Aziraphale's mouth twisted in a furious grimace and he waved sharply. They both went rigid and then collapsed to the ground, their necks broken and bodies dead, their grace leaking out as it shot skyward. He didn't spare their escape a single glance as he went quickly to his dearest friend.
"Crowley." Aziraphale's glow dissipated immediately and he surged forward and scraped his shoe over the paint of the trap, breaking it. His hands worked furiously to heal the worst of the injuries, to lessen the pain at least. Crowley did his best to lay there while his angel stopped the internal bleeding, healing his lungs and forcing his faltering heart back into a proper rhythm (though it was mostly out of order now for how turned on he was, the poor devil).
"Angel," Crowley croaked with a sardonic smile, allowing himself to be scooped up and held close to Aziraphale's chest. "Ngk. Not exactly how I expected to spend tonight in your arms, ha," he scoffed, wincing when the angel clutched him tighter and teleported them back to the bookshop. Crowley squirmed once they were in a safe space.
"Look, I need you to toss me over the nearest flat surface and fuck me. Immediately," he grit out, bloodied hands fisted in one of the angel's lapels, legs kicking out to be put down and achieve this goal. Aziraphale shot him a filthy glare and cinched him tighter, stomping up the stairs to their little apartment above the bookshop. The front doors locked themselves behind them with a dead echo in the silence.
"'M serious, I've never seen you like that, angel. I'm fine, I mean it. Good enough, anyway. C'mon," he tugged, long legs curling around Aziraphale's waist when he set him on the counter in the loo. "I'm helplessly hard, I'm dying here, angel, y'-- y'gotta see that."
"Stay still, you idiot," Aziraphale murmured, pressing Crowley's hips against the countertop as the demon squirmed. His face was mottled and bloody, and the cuts from harsh knuckles were oozing sluggishly as Aziraphale swept his hands over at least one splintered rib and a cracked pelvis. "What on earth were you doing to get their attention?"
"Nothing, angel, I swear. I went shopping, I even paid like a gentleman, and was headed home with-- oh noooo," he groaned, face falling in abject horror.
"The flowers and chocolates have gotta be ruined. Ssssshit."
Aziraphale frowned, wondering briefly why his partner had gone shopping at all, and then-- "Oh, dearest. It's our anniversary!"
"Everything's in the Bentley," Crowley nodded miserably as he let himself be stripped of his bloodied clothes. Aziraphale put the sticky pile in the bin and started running a hot bath.
"I still mean it. I want you to pin me down and gimme a good rogering. Pound me into submission, hard as you can manage. I'm all healed up, angel, c'mon." Crowley purred, clinging to Aziraphale like a particularly aroused limpet when he returned to help Crolwey into the tub.
Aziraphale sighed and looked down at his darling demon. He leaned in and gave him a soft, chaste kiss, avoiding as much blood as possible as he fisted one hand carefully in Crowley's blood-crusted hair and tugged his head to the side, being painfully gentle.
Crowley hissed and tried to wriggle closer, tried to force the angel's hands to be rougher. All that succeeded in was Aziraphale's fingers in his hair tightening a fraction. He changed tactics and pulled the hair tie out, letting down a cascade of burnished red around Crowley's bare shoulders.
"Sweetheart?" He murmured against the soft side of Crowley's neck, licking a tiny stripe there.
"Why do you think you need to be filthy for me to put you in your proper place? Under me?" Crowley froze, his breath shuddering as his pupils blew wide with open want. He groaned again, helplessly caged in Aziraphale's arms, against the counter. His ass slid into the sink when Aziraphale crowded him again, speaking low and deathly calm. "I am going to wash you. Wipe away every trace of what they did. And when you're pristine, my love, clean and healed and honestly, entirely gagging for it, I am going to take you to bed. I will kiss you," he presses their mouths together again, too quick for Crowley to lick into. "I will put my mouth on you, where I know you like," his thumbs slide up and flick gently over Crowley's pert, pierced nipples, tug just enough at the tiny black bars there. The demon whines. "I will take you into my mouth and you will come on my tongue. And while you're still shaking from it, I will turn you over and put my mouth on you again. And when you're wet and open and soft, and begging, my dearest, most darling boy. Then... I will fuck you until you are so far gone on my cock all you can do is take it."
Crowley had gone stock still at the beginning of the monologue, eyes wide and fully yellow and pupils dilating with every passing sentence. His breath was coming in short bursts, and he was fairly certain he had never been this hard, this painfully aroused in his entire existence. A spliced tongue flickered out and wet his lips anxiously.
Aziraphale knew exactly what it was doing to his dearest friend, and pushed every single button (he'd long since figured out every sequence that got Crowley exactly where he wanted him) until Crowley was an eager, quaking mess for him. He picked the naked demon up with barely any effort and slid him into the tub, kneeling beside it as he took up a cloth and washed away the drying blood. Crowley lay against the back of the basin, submissive and watchful, trying to anticipate as Aziraphale reached for each limb and held out out to wipe over it. He allowed Aziraphale to drunk him back and wet his hair to be washed, and then again to rinse after. Scrapes and cuts healed beneath his hand, and too soon (perhaps) the only mark left on his dearest friend's skin was their Bond mark, branded over his heart. Aziraphale swiped at it with the soft cloth, smiling a tiny, contented smile, scrubbing caked blood out of the raised enochian runes, and let his eyes drift up to meet Crowley's.
The poor demon looked completely wrecked already and started trembling as soon as their eyes met.
"Please," he whined, reaching for Aziraphale. The angel smiled dotingly and lifted him out of the tub, patting Crowley down with a plush towel as the basin drained.
"Go to the bed, dearest. I'll be right there." Aziraphale pecked a chaste kiss to the side of Crowley's mouth and watched him toddle off with a slight frown. He was intentionally withholding what he knew the demon wanted because the angel was still thrumming beneath the surface with that unshed wrath and frankly, he was afraid he'd hurt Crowley again in this state. He needed to calm down, and quickly. Crowley wanted him to be dominant and pushy and firm, not to brutalize him. Aziraphale could barely stand the passing thought.
He could never hurt his Crowley.
Well. Crowley'd get what he wanted soon enough.
Aziraphale, still practically vibrating with that unspent rage at the very audacity Heaven had shown tonight in overstepping his boundaries, spent the next two minutes studiously cleaning up the mess they'd made in the en suite. Scraps of fabric and bloodied gauze were swirled away into a bin, the tub was rinsed clean, and the towels hung to dry before the angel patted his pockets aimlessly and glanced toward the doorway to his darkened bedroom.
Crowley had been uncharacteristically quiet for those two minutes.
Mildly alarmed, he went to the bedroom, leaving the light on to give the adjacent room a soft glow.
Crowley was on the bed on his knees, fingers twitching in his lap with raw desire and anticipation. He had a bound coil of red silk rope at his knee. Aziraphale came to a stop in front of the demon and gave him the barest smirk. "As I understand it, you were aroused by my show of protectiveness with those angels that harmed you, and you want me to show you that strength here, correct?"
As he spoke, the angel removed his jacket and waistcoat, toed off his loafers, and began rolling white sleeves up to his elbows. Crowley swallowed slowly and wrenched his eyes away from those forearms with tremendous effort. One pale hand came forward and slid through his hair, spreading warmth and ecstasy. Crowley's eyes may have rolled back in his head a bit.
"Yes," he breathed.
"Hmm. Grow this a bit more, please," Aziraphale said, tugging lightly at the ends around his shoulders. Crowley focused and his hair promptly grew a few inches til the ends tickled his nipples and shoulder blades. Aziraphale hummed again, a pleased smile on his face, the kind he only made at Crowley, with a trace of heat in it. It made Crowley smile back, infinitely happy to have made his angel wear a look like that. "So beautiful. What a good lad, so perfect, for me." Aziraphale murmured as he came closer, tugging Crowley's head back to have better access to plunder his mouth.
Crowley nipped at the angel's lower lip, trying to get him to hurry up, be rougher, but Aziraphale only snorted and pulled away.
"You are being pushy," Aziraphale said, straightening. "Isnt that my job?" He pondered for a moment, seemingly deciding what to do next. He had an inkling. Reaching out, the angel gripped Crowley's hair at the scalp, tugging firmly toward himself and then down, forcing the demon to crawl forward and lay on his belly and then follow that hand until he rolled over to his back.
Crowley blinked up at Aziraphale, his head hanging off the mattress. "Wha--"
"Hush. You'll do as your told, if you want to be good for me," Aziraphale clipped. Crowley swallowed, his thighs clenching with a desperate roll of muscle as those words sank deep into his groin.
"Oh, fuck. Yes." Yellow eyes sprang open as a thick thumb wedged behind his lower teeth, dragging his attention back to the angel's face. Aziraphale leaned down, unbuttoning his trousers with one hand, drawing himself out as he kept Crowley's mouth open and face still with the other.
"My dear. Do shut up and use that mouth for better endeavors while I play with the rest of you." He nudged the tip of his fat, flushed cock at the demon's upside-down mouth, forcing his spliced tongue down as he sank in deeper and deeper.
Crowley groaned at the intrusion, opening his snake-throat to take in the full length of it. Aziraphale's hands cupped his chin, smearing spit down as his fingers dried aoing the length of Crowley's chest. He pinched at the black bars in his lover's nipples, tugging gently and smiling at the high pitched noise Crowley made in his throat. It vibrated around Aziraphale's cock, giving the angel pause before he withdrew.
Crowley whined as he pulled back, chasing the tip of his cock with a wriggling tongue as he strained toward the treat he wanted. Aziraphale chuckled and tugged at the bars again.
"Naughty boy. Be good for me, now." Crowley's cock throbbed at the gentle command.
"Ngk. I want it back," he said plaintively, arching his chest up against Aziraphale's hands. Said hands smoothed down against the hard planes of Crowley's chest and belly, narrowing until he wrapped a hand around the dark flush of Crowley's erection and tugged.
"Open up, sweetheart," Aziraphale teased in a saccharine tone. Crowley growled a bit but his jaw dropped open, neck straining to suck Aziraphale's cock back into his throat. He sucked and lapped at it like an ice lolly, savoring every leak of savory-sweet precome that dribbled onto his tongue as he worked his throat ardently.
Aziraphale let Crowley enjoy himself on his cock for a moment, his own eyes sliding closed as his hips rocked. He snapped and a bottle of lube appeared in his hand, the other still tugging lightly at Crowley's thin foreskin. He dribbled a line over the dark arch of that beautiful, slim cock and down to let several fat drops slide down the plums of his bollocks. Crowley groaned at the wet sensation, thighs falling flat open on the mattress as he writhed.
"Be still, dear thing," the angel admonished, pinning Crowley's hip with one hand and dropping the lube to rub in the slick with the other. His feverish hand smoothed over the length of the demon, down to tug over his heavy bollocks and then further, spreading between his narrow cheeks and painting over the tight, furled hole there. Crowley bucked up and practically begged. He pulled off Aziraphale's cock and whined:
"G-gaaahhh, 'zir--'ziraphale, please, please, angel. Fuck, I need you to fuck me. C'mon, love, roll me over, I don't need that, just--" he gasped, hands grasping at the angel's lush hips to drag him close. He tried to pull Aziraphale onto the bed over him, desperate and needy for as much contact as possible. He wanted to sink into the mattress under the heavy weight of his best friend more than anything right then.
Aziraphale clicked his tongue and stepped back until Crowley's hands collapsed on his own chest with a mighty pout. "Need you," he whined.
"I know you do, sweet boy. But I want you to be good for me and yet you're being very bossy for someone who wants to be tossed around and--what was it? Pounded into submission?"
Crowley flushed scarlet and hid his face in the crook of one elbow tossed dramatically over his face. "Angel," he hissed.
"None of that, dear. You'll not hide from me. Now. Roll over, on your knees, nice and wide, and take what I give you. Whatever I want to give you," he growled. A sudden change in the atmosphere sucked the warm air out of the room in an instant. Crowley choked on it, gasping with whitehot need as he scrambled to his front and held there, breathing heavily. He glanced over one shoulder as his angel came close and Aziraphale caught his eye.
"I didnt say watch," Aziraphale grit out, one hand smoothing up a serpentine spine, bumping over far too many ribs, to curl around the nape of Crowley's neck. He shoved the demon down face first into the pillows, his body curving over Crowley's back side.
"Yeeesssss," Crowley hissed. He arched his bum against the hot line of Aziraphale's cock until it slid between his narrow cheeks. The heft of Aziraphale's belly lay on his lower back like a promise. The angel let him rut them together for a moment, at a loss from the heady sensation until he remember he was supposed to be being forceful.
He clapped a hand over one bony hip and halted Crowley's movements, still pinning him at his neck too. "Be still, serpent, or I will spend on your back and go take a shower, leave you like this. Do you need to be tied?"
Crowley shuddered hard, his hands fisting in the sheets. "Oh, ffff... yes!" And with a snap, golden skinned arms were bound with red silk rope in a box form on his spine. Crowley's back arched sinuously at the feeling, rutting his arse against Aziraphale anew.
"That's better. I don't think I'm patient enough to open you slowly tonight, demon. I'll take my treat now, if you don't mind." With another snap (lost in the loudness of Crowley's groan of enthusiasm) the demon was wet and loose, ready for a particular fat prick to slide in and still be a snug fit.
They both exhaled with extreme relief as Aziraphale slid his cock inside slowly, working forward and back until the whole thing was swallowed by Crowley's tight hole. He peered down at their connection briefly, savoring the sight of the last centimeter of him framed by the tiny globes of Crowley's pert arse.
Aziraphale bit his lip and withdrew, and then snapped all the way back inside with brutal accuracy.
Crowley screamed. He was already nearly undone, the hand at the back of his neck now wound in his hair, too. The sharp sizzle of pain across his scalp combined with being pinned, bound, and fucked mercilessly by his strong, protective angel was just shy of too much.
Aziraphale had one hand clasped over a hip and the other twisted in red coils at Crowley's nape. Sweat was already starting to drip as he fucked into Crowley's pliant body over and over with increasing speed and force. The demon seemed to relish every strike against his surely-abused prostate. He let out little yelps with every drive back in, and Aziraphale ate them up. They were more delicious than any five-star dinner.
"P-please, 'zira, need a hand," Crowley gasped between thrusts, his wrists tugging at the rope as he tried to reach forward to palm himself.
"You get a hand if and when I give you one, Crowley, and not a second before," the angel grit out, laying his weight across Crowley's back so he could grind in deep. The angle pinned Crowley fully as his legs slid out into a split, making his eyes roll with pleasure. He'd never known he needed this level of touch, but now he was absorbing every single sensation he possibly could. Who knew the next time Aziraphale would get furious enough to do this?
The new position was weighty and hot and sweaty, but it allowed Aziraphale's thick cock to grind against Crowley's swollen prostate without stopping. The demon cried out and turned his arse up against the onslaught, overwhelmed and yet still desperate for each and every thrust. Grinding down into the duvet, he came harder than he had ever done.
The duvet under him was soaked in a pile of thick come which Aziraphale promptly shoved his hips down into as he straddled Crowley's thighs and quickened his pace and took his own pleasure before Crowley got too oversensitive.
Crowley groaned with distant pleasure; he was limp as a ragdoll allowing himself to he maneuvered wherever the angel wanted, still riding his own wave of lazy, hazy bliss when he felt a hot wetness filling him up from inside. Aziraphale paused, still buried deep for a moment, catching his breath and still pinning the demon by his nape and lower back. He felt the lack of tension against his hands and smiled as he caught his breath.
"Fight gone out of you, dear boy?" Aziraphale started to pull out, to clean up and loosen the rope, but Crowley harrumphed at him when he tried.
"No, sssstay angel."
"I'm not going anywhere," Aziraphale replied, covering Crowley again with his weight to speak gently in his ear.
"Ssstay inside. Can do the ropesss, though." Crowley was loose as he could be; not quite in subspace, which he'd only managed once and under the right attention from the angel. He was rather just exhausted and soft with immutable trust.
Aziraphale smiled dopily again and complied, whisking away the ropes and bringing Crowley's arms forward. He turned them onto their sides and wrapped the slight demon in his embrace, thumbs soothing away red marks and soreness.
"Love you," Crowley mumbled, barely coherent.
Aziraphale hummed and buried his nose in the back of Crowley's neck, nosing over the familiar and singularly unique scent of campfire of his skin mingling with the sage and bergamot of his cologne. "I love you, you old sop." Suddenly, he tensed. Crowley was slower to react but his head popped up and he glanced back curiously.
"Where are my presents?!"
Crowley collapsed back to the bed with a snort, covering his eyes with a hand. "In the car, angel. I'll get them."