Crowley shifted in his seat, hoping the waitstaff didn’t notice anything. Well, he could miracle it so they didn’t, but what would be the fun in that? The little vibrator hummed away inside him, and Aziraphale smiled at him with a twinkle in his eyes as he licked some gravy off his fork. It was bordering on obscene, really, the way the angel’s pink tongue slid along the tines of the fork, chasing the last drops of flavor. He was surely doing it on purpose. Crowley’s jacket was folded on top of his crossed legs, concealing the erection tenting his trousers. Aziraphale sat back in his chair, smiling mildly at him as he toyed with the remote control, which was disguised as a ring. Crowley swallowed, curling his fingers on the tablecloth as the vibrations ramped up, then reduced in intensity. Their waiter came back and picked up their empty plates.
“Was everything to your satisfaction?”
“Oh yes, we’re very satisfied, thank you,” said Aziraphale, smiling. Crowley ground his teeth together as the vibrations increased once more. He was definitely doing this on purpose, the bastard.
“And would you like a dessert menu?”
“I would love a dessert menu,” said Aziraphale, smiling sweetly, folding his hands in his lap, and subtly turning the vibrator up even higher. Crowley tensed in his seat, very nearly squeaking, but managing to turn it into a cough. The waiter looked at him for a moment, then looked back to Aziraphale.
“I’ll be right back, then,” they said, disappearing. Aziraphale fiddled with the ring, and the vibrator pulsed. Crowley ground the heel of his hand against his crotch, shifting his hips slightly.
“Angel, this is torture,” he hissed under his breath. Aziraphale smiled wider.
“Would you like me to turn it off, my dear?” he said casually, as though he wasn’t currently driving him mad with desire. Crowley squirmed. Did he want Aziraphale to turn it off? Yes, no. Not yet, anyway.
“Angellll,” he drawled, doing his best to imitate the pout that Aziraphale had mastered back in the 1600s. Hopefully they would soon be back in flat above the bookshop, which was getting rather crowded with plants these days.
“You can wait a little longer, can’t you? For me?” said Aziraphale, blinking innocently at him. “We haven’t even had dessert yet.” Crowley tilted his head and sighed melodramatically.
“Anything for you, angel,” he said, as the waiter returned and handed them dessert menus. Crowley uncrossed his legs as Aziraphale perused the menu, then crossed his legs again, squeezing the little toy buzzing away, nudging against his prostate. It sounded loud inside his head, but surely no one else could hear it. Right? He was startled out of his reverie as Aziraphale piped up.
“I’ll have the chocolate petite gateau. Crowley?” he said. Crowley looked up.
“Oh, I’ll just,” said Crowley, waving a hand noncommittally.
“And two forks, please,” Aziraphale smiled, handing the menu back. The waiter nodded and disappeared once more. Crowley pulled out his phone, opened some stupid time-waster of a game and poked at the screen idly for a few minutes. The vibrations of the toy increased suddenly, startling him, and his character died in a splat of red. A window popped up to ask him if he wanted to use a continue, five of which could be purchased for ninety-nine pence. Had Crowley been responsible for those things? Microtransactions? He couldn’t remember. In any case, he looked up from his phone and fixed Aziraphale with an accusatory eyebrow raise. Aziraphale looked at him mildly, feigning confusion. “Yes, alright,” he said, turning his phone off.
The waiter reappeared and set a plate on the table along with two forks, then politely departed. Aziraphale rubbed his hands together in anticipatory delight. The petite gateau was comprised of several layers of chocolate desert items, a cake, a fudge, a wafer and so on, and topped with whipped cream. Aziraphale took a careful forkful of it and let it slide onto his tongue, closing his eyes to better appreciate the tastes and textures. He shivered and sighed, letting his tongue flick out of his mouth to catch some whipped cream on his upper lip. Crowley felt his cock throb, and he blushed. Aziraphale noticed, because of course he did, the bastard, and gave a self-satisfied wiggle before taking another bite. He moaned, staring hard at Crowley and smiling deviously, his eyes alight.
“The things you do to me, angel,” Crowley muttered.
“And you take them all so well, my darling,” Aziraphale said sweetly, but with a husky undercurrent. “Always indulging me so patiently.”
“Well, what can I say?” said Crowley, aiming for unaffected and missing rather badly. “You know, sometimes I wonder if you were made to experience pleasure.”
“I don’t know about that, but I am enjoying myself immensely, darling. Watching you watch me...” he said, eyes wandering up and down Crowley’s angular form, who was flushed and trying not to squirm. “Would you care for a bite?” Crowley nodded. He didn’t even reach for his own fork however. Aziraphale scooped up another bite, careful to include every part of the dessert and held it out. Crowley leaned forward and closed his mouth around Aziraphale’s fork. He let his tongue become forked and flicked it out of his mouth to tickle his fingers before drawing back and tasting the cake. It was rich and decadent, with floral notes curling through the chocolate.
“Ssssinfully deliciousss,” he hissed, and Aziraphale shifted slightly, licking his lips. It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one affected by the events of the evening.
In a few more hedonistically enjoyed bites, the dessert was finished. Aziraphale payed the bill and helped Crowley to his feet. He bit his lip as the vibrating toy shifted inside him.
“Perhaps while we walk,” he started breathlessly.
“Of course, my dear boy,” said Aziraphale. He snapped his fingers, and the toy was gone. Crowley breathed out in relief. He was still rock hard, however, and he carefully held his jacket in front of him as they left the restaurant.
The streetlamps had come on while they were inside, and a few of the brightest stars could be seen through the haze of the London lights. They linked arms as they walked, Aziraphale leading the way back toward Soho. They passed a gay bar, and two young men, one nearly shirtless, staggered out of the door, laughing, draped across each other as they navigated the treacherous landscape of the cracked sidewalk. One of them recognized Aziraphale and waved, wiggling his fingers and smiling. Aziraphale smiled back.
“Go safely, Jamal,” he called as the two pairs headed off in different directions. One of them, presumably Jamal, could be faintly heard explaining to his companion that this was the Mr. Fell who had been so nice to him.
“You’ve always like them, haven’t you? The uh...” Crowley trailed off, gesturing to the gay bar. “The... y’know.”
“Yes, I suppose I have.”
“Perhaps I sympathize with being told that my love is wrong or dirty, when in fact it is no such thing,” said Aziraphale carefully. “And they’re so often abandoned by their families, you know. I’ve taken to comforting and assisting some of the people of this neighborhood. Besides, we certainly appear to be a gay couple, Crowley. You’re mostly man-shaped these days, after all, and I always am.”
“Yeah. I like ’em too,” said Crowley. They lapsed into comfortable silence, and the breeze picked up slightly. Crowley shivered slightly, and Aziraphale wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer as they walked.