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“Are you not going to have any?” Crowley asked, indicating the brown card-paper box he'd brought with him. Coming to dinner with a gift of fine chocolates was hardly new, but seeing the box still unopened well into the evening was. Aziraphale would usually open it up right away, to take in their earthy fragrance if not to pluck one from its cradle and slip it between his lips, much to Crowley's visceral delight.

But this time, something was off. He'd presented the gift as they'd taken their seats at the restaurant, the opulent 30s architecture of Brasserie Zédel like a bubble in time, an indulgence in memory. They had eaten, made small talk and occupied the table far longer than the waitstaff would have usually allowed... And the box had simply been left on the table between them, virginal and awaiting.

Crowley noticed, as he always did, when Aziraphale's behaviour shifted.

“Ah, I have been thinking. You've brought me this kind before, so I already know how good they are, and I thought it would be nice to savor them in a different way.” The angel had a half glass of Château Mouton Rothschild and let a small sip of it saturate his tongue, “Because I do plan to eat them. Every single one.”

“Every one?” Crowley would have liked a few, they were very good chocolates, some of his favorites. But if he got to watch Aziraphale eat them, with that sinful tongue and those lascivious sounds, he supposed he could go without.

“Yes. And I'm certain you'll enjoy it when I do. In fact, I guarantee you will.” The angel gave his companion a knowing look, “I'll explain when we get ho – well, to the shop. You'll come back with me, won't you?”

A surge of heat washed up Crowley's throat, recognizing the slip. How Aziraphale had incorporated Crowley into his own home, his own life, as a permanent resident rather than a visitor. He nodded, pinched the stem of his own delicate wineglass – Malbec, Château du Cèdre – and tipped it back to catch the last mouthful. “Of course, angel.”

-***-

It wasn't far – nothing in London was ever far, that was the miracle of it, a cosmos of life and culture easily commuted – but Crowley's ever-burning curiosity could make the ten minutes between the restaurant and the bookshop feel like the slow death of a dwarf star.

Crowley nearly skipped up to the door, it unlocked as he touched the latch, and he held it open. “And here we are. Lovely. Come on, in we go!” All smiles under the mask of disaffection he liked to wear, but Aziraphale knew his demon, recognized Crowley's gleeful excitement at being given a mystery to puzzle over. They'd been alive for so very long, seen so much, the idea of anything novel was a gift beyond measure.

Aziraphale passed through the stacks, taking his coat off and hanging it on the rack near the bottom of the spiral stairs, bidding Crowley to do the same with his jacket, before taking the demon's hand and gesturing upward with the box of chocolates, “All shall be revealed, my dear.”

The angel's apartment was no less cluttered than the downstairs, but it was certainly less dusty, the heaviness of old paper and mildew replaced by a cleaner scent of tea and washed linens and something itchingly familiar to Crowley, something sweet and floral he could never quite recall. At his insistence, there were fewer books in the bedroom (which still meant quite a few,) and the windows were open, keeping the air fresh – not that Soho's air was particularly fresh, and yet the breeze that stirred the curtains here brought none of the usual stink of petrol fumes and garbage. This was Aziraphale's bedroom, not theirs, but Crowley was beginning to think of it as perhaps... a place for himself as well.

Setting the chocolates on the bedspread, Aziraphale began to undo the buttons on his waistcoat, “Here is the bargain I wish to make with you, demon,” The title was rarely used, and only ever to effect, “I am going to get undressed, and I am going to lay on this bed and eat the wonderful, delicious gift you've given to me. Every piece, one at a time. I will do nothing else, and you are going to make me come before I finish the box.”

Crowley exhaled, well, wasn't that interesting? He removed his sunglasses and left them on the side table, atop a cloth-bound copy of A Passage To India. “What are the terms?”

With a thought, the problem of shoelaces resolved itself, and Aziraphale stepped out his brogues. “You are not to climax until I give you permission. If you win, you get to come. And you can have whatever is left in the box.”

“Generous. And if you win?”

The angel smiled, all innocence and light, one might never guess what sort of things the mind behind such a face could dream of, “Then I take the box, and I go finish it, and myself, in the bath.” That Crowley would not be given permission to do the same was implicit.

Glancing at the box, Crowley tried to guess how much time it'd take for Aziraphale to consume its contents. There were fifteen pieces, and he could expect at least a minute from each. Not a generous deadline, but he was a demon of considerable skill.

“You have a bet.”

“Excellent.” Aziraphale beamed. He stood in front of the bed, continuing to undress. Having already taken off the vest and tie, he was now shrugging off his shirt, which was, for some certainly innocent reason, resisting removal. The angel glanced over his shoulder imploringly as he tugged at the sleeves, “Be a dear?”

Of course, always. Crowley helped Aziraphale with the shirt, and then wound his hands around the angel's waist to undo the buttons of his trousers. The easy slide of gabardine leaving Crowley with hands full of lacy spillage.

“These are new.”

“They're not. I don't wear them often.”

Fingering the ruffles, Crowley smiled, “You wore them for me?”

“Every time.” Aziraphale turned to lightly kiss Crowley's cheek: a quick daub of the lips, a trace of moisture left behind. “I think I'll leave these on for now.”

“You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

The angel laughed, his eyes puckish, both dark and bright. “Of course not. Remember, my love, I am terribly greedy. I want everything. All of this, and you as well. And if I should get a lovely orgasm out of the deal, so much the better.”

“Naughty angel.”

“Wonderful demon.” Aziraphale countered, “You may dress however you like to achieve your goal.”

Crowley scoffed, then nodded, “Understood. After you.”

Piling up the softest pillows on the bed, Aziraphale stretched himself out atop them, belly down, with the brown paper box between his hands. From the moment he lifted the cardstock lid, Crowley may as well have been on a different continent. He focused entirely upon the aroma and the visual aesthetic of each sweet, the anticipation of their flavors. He acted as though it scarcely registered at all when another body weighed on the mattress next to him, or when, mysteriously, he was no longer wearing socks.

Crowley was kissing at the arch of a dainty angelic foot, knowing exactly where Aziraphale was ticklish, and nibbling there. He could feel the twitch of muscle rippling up his lover's thigh, and was amused to see no other response. A challenge then.

Aziraphale picked out a chocolate, a satiny sphere dusted with powdered gold, and it was merely a coincidence that he took a bite and purred in satisfaction at the same moment that Crowley began to mouth warmly at his toes.

The chocolate lasted for well over a minute, which gave Crowley hope, and if he could distract his angel enough, he might be able to stretch the box even further. He began by trailing his fingertips, light and teasing, up and down the inside of Aziraphale's thigh. He was pleased by how dedicated the angel was to the game, steadfastly ignoring him when he'd usually moan and squirm.

“I wonder what's under these.” Crowley slipped a fingertip under the frilled edge of Aziraphale's knickers, then further in, tracing the contour of a smooth neutral plane. “Oh, that's cheating!” He sat up, “Pause. I call time-out. You can't just- just not!”

Aziraphale licked his thumb, now attentive. “Oh, right, of course. I was going to ask what you preferred, before I got distracted.” He made a gesture at the candy.

Oh, sure, this was Crowley's fault. “Well, we all forget things. What say we flip for it?” He had a coin already in his hand, a ha'penny from 1901, Vickie and Britannia as bright and sharp as the day they were pressed; it was always on him, and was only sometimes loaded in his favor.

“Only the two options?”

“I'm in a traditional mood. Let's say – heads for inside set, and tails for the out?”

“Go ahead.”

Tossing and catching the coin, Crowley laid it on the back of his wrist and gave it an appraising look. “Tails. But then, if I win, I could always get you to switch it out and start over.”

There was no missing the shiver that passed through Aziraphale, “That's not part of the bargain.”

“Call it a bonus.”

Making a huffy little sound, the angel hovered his hand over the open chocolate box, “We'll see. If you win. Time in.” He selected another piece and nibbled at it, letting himself melt back into the scene in the same way that the confection turned sticky-soft between his lips.

Crowley smirked, tugging at the angel's panties again, this time gratified to find a delightfully pink, pristine hole between those lush buttocks, and the seam of the perineum below. Passing his hand between the angel's thighs, he could feel the weight of a newly-manifested scrotum and cock against the front of Aziraphale's knickers.

Quickly divesting himself of his shirt and vest, and tossing them carelessly aside (yet of course they'd land neatly over the back of a nearby chair), Crowley knelt behind the angel, straddling the backs of his legs, and pushed Aziraphale's round thighs apart as far as their positions would allow. Bending down, he began to press hungry kisses there, where the skin was warm and moist.

Those chocolates were undoubtedly exquisite, judging by the moans each little bite was inspiring. He'd only been nibbling at a decadent ice-wine truffle, wanting to make each morsel last – but Aziraphale found himself impelled to shove the rest into his mouth to keep from yelling when a hot, inhumanly-long tongue was dragged upward between his cheeks.

Crowley caught his angel in an iron grip as he licked and then delved in, twisting the tip against Aziraphale's lovely little ring until he breached it.

Aziraphale breathed slowly, unable to ignore the slick, insistent thrust of Crowley's tongue into him, but he didn't have to acknowledge it, either. “Oh, I think one of these was red peppercorn, that was just – mmm! Delectable.” The inside of the lid had a list of flavors, and he stared at the diagram for several seconds before admitting to himself that he was getting far too distracted to read it.

Taking the low, acquiescent moan as a little victory, Crowley stopped to pull Aziraphale's panties further down his thighs, nails snagging in the lace as he leant in to resume torturing the angel with his tongue. He loved the clean, pure taste of Aziraphale's entrance, every muscle and nerve made just for him.

He loved how his angel gave in and relaxed under him, angling his hips just so. And he loved how it sounded when he really got to the core of his lover, made him sing as he had been created to sing – ecstatic notes robbed from the heavenly choir. That last item still unchecked on Crowley's list, but he was damned well working on it.

And the noises Aziraphale was making were working very nearly as effectively on him, stifled little moans and sighs as he let each rich bite permeate his senses. Crowley palmed and squeezed himself through his jeans, just to ease the throbbing ache between his legs, and then reestablished his handhold on Aziraphale's thighs. He pressed deeper into that cleft and worked his tongue lower, painting the back of the angel's balls with spit and then suckling on them.

At this point, he had no idea how many chocolates were left in the box.

At this point, Aziraphale made the most deliciously obscene sound, slurping at his own chocolate-smeared fingers, all pretense of daintiness abandoned, and Crowley no longer cared about the fucking chocolates.

Tears were prickling at the edges of Aziraphale's eyes, it was getting very difficult to keep up his unaffected pretense, and he was looking down at seven pieces of candy, half the box gone, with his hands and lips smudged sugary brown. He felt saturated with the taste and scent, indelibly tying it to the delectable oral pleasure he was receiving. When it stopped, he couldn't help a desperate little squirm, followed by a flush of goosebumps when he felt the tickle of hair brushing against the backs of his thighs.

Crowley settled between the angel's knees, laying himself across a meaty shin. His talented mouth found Aziraphale's erect prick, earning a more emphatic gasp. The demon ran his fingers alongside his mouth to gather up spit before pressing them into Aziraphale's wanting hole, and the angel nearly wailed, pushing his face into the crook of his arm to quiet himself as he was skillfully fingered.

But, however satisfying to hear, that was not an orgasm.

Time to step things up. Crowley rolled over and pushed himself away from the angel's backside, kneeling to roughly shove his trousers down, kick his shoes off. The denim came away wet, and his cock bounced  eagerly as he got the impractical garment the rest of the way off, flinging it to the floor in triumph. “Fashion is an art, and all art must be suffered for.” He snarked, not that Aziraphale would give any indication of having heard him.

What Aziraphale did, however, was purr around his dirty, sticky fingers and wriggle in anticipatory joy, kicking his feet up and curling his toes, while still insisting on ignoring the demon's presence. On a whim, Crowley nabbed a bit of flesh just below one of the angel's rosy buttocks and pinched.

A shudder ran through Aziraphale's body, but he held his tongue, exhaling roughly. That was a close one, he thought, dratted clever demon! He'd need to bolster his resolve, and fast – he could feel the heat coming from the body behind him as Crowley spread his rumpcheeks and nudged at the angel with the head of his prick. Not pushing, not yet, just teasingly rubbing along that sensitive rim.

A minute exertion of will brought a small bottle to Crowley's hand, already blood-warm, and he uncapped it to drizzle a more than strictly necessary amount into the valley between the angel's buttocks. He took a slow breath, set the bottle aside, and stilled there a moment – needing to point out a little hitch.

“You haven't finished the box, have you? I haven't heard you take one in a few minutes.”

Aziraphale deliberated, and then replied, “No. There's still a few.”

“I expect you to keep eating.” Crowley punctuated the last word by rolling his hips forward, sliding easily into his angel's well-prepared hole. “No letting me win, now.”

“Of course n-ngh... not. I'd have to share!” But, my goodness, it was getting very difficult to think about eating when Crowley was thrusting into him so sweetly. He was already so thoroughly sated on chocolate, and really what he wanted to do was just relax and let the demon fuck him into a happy puddle. But a bargain is a bargain, and he picked out one of the four remaining confections.

This one had a creamy white chocolate and orange centre, and the burst of citric acid was a nice, refreshing tone after so much heavy cocoa. He took his time relishing it, huffing through his nose as Crowley took him hard and fast from behind. Eyeing the box, Aziraphale felt a touch of regret. He wouldn't enjoy the last three pieces nearly as much as he had the first, and it seemed a bit of a waste at this point.

Or... well, there was the other option. He could lose. The way Crowley's lovely prick moved inside him, rubbing perfectly against every spot that would make him see stars when he came... No, no, he'd know, the bastard. Crowley would definitely know. Aziraphale swallowed the orange cream and whined. It was taking all his willpower to remain quiet, to not thrust back into the lean thighs that were beating against his reddened bottom, mewling and begging for more.

A nimble hand curled around Aziraphale's leaking cock, stroking and then smearing wetness all down its length, and he nearly choked, hands trembling with an espresso fudge square gripped between his fingertips. Three left... so close...

Leaning close, Crowley nuzzled into the back of his angel's neck, breathing hot and hard against his mate's pale curls before flicking the tip of his tongue, forked and agile, up the curve of Aziraphale's jaw, along the edge of his ear, and then biting the soft shell of it just hard enough to suggest the idea of pain. The gorgeous, lurid sound that rewarded him shot straight to the demon's dick, and he had to slow to regain control of himself, hissing and shuddering as he calmed down.

“Fuck, fuck, angel. Almost had me.”

Aziraphale swallowed the rest of the coffee fudge and sighed, murmuring something that was certainly not an acknowledgment. He certainly wasn't going to mention how Crowley's easing off had pulled him back from that edge as well. Between his hands, resting on the now-grubby duvet, two chocolates remained in the box. The angel moaned at them – albeit with a completely different inflection.

As if able to read his partner's mind, Crowley commented, “There's a second layer, you know.”

Aziraphale's stomach twisted and he whined, “No there's not!” He lifted the box all the same, and was relieved by it's lightness. “You monster!”

Crowley cackled, pleased at having made the angel respond, and when Aziraphale relaxed again, he resumed a steady, deep roll of his hips, squeezing along the still very-hard cock in his hand. “Mmm. Yeah.”

“Ahh.” Somewhere between a remark and a pleasured cry, and Aziraphale's body jerked against his volition. He wanted to be angry, wanted to hold on to that moment of irritation to keep himself from coming, but - “Ah!”

“Oh?” Snapping his hips like a piston, Crowley sank his hard, deft fingers into his angel's soft flanks, “Yesss, yes... you're close.” Again, moist breath, a flick of tongue against Aziraphale's ear.

Two chocolates left. So close. Aziraphale took a bite, he did not savor it, barely tasted it as it dissolved into sea-salt and butterscotch on his tongue. He breathed, panted, each exhalation tasted of sugar and cream and cocoa. He swallowed, and the hardness moving in him struck just the right rhythm.

“Crowley!”

In a rough, rasping voice, “I'm here.” The whiplash crack of those slender hips did not slow, nor show any mercy, tattooing their angles into the angel's satin flesh. “I'm here.”

It was over, finally, blessedly, Aziraphale threw his head back against Crowley's shoulder and cried, shaking as he – utterly and gloriously – lost their bet. Held tight as his cock throbbed and twitched in the demon's sure grip, grinding back wantonly until he lashed the bedcovers with stripes of celestial essence.

Collapsing onto his belly, panting and shivering, Aziraphale barely noticed that Crowley had slipped out at the tail end of his climax. He did notice, however, and with great relief, when the somewhat tacky box with its single remaining chocolate was taken away and set aside elsewhere.

“I believe I've won.” Crowley commented, though not without a certain tremble to the words.

A pause, and then a weak chuckle, and Aziraphale replied, “Rather.”

“You know what I want, then.”

This time there was a longer pause, before the angel tucked his knees up under him, slid his knickers the rest of the way off, and then rolled over onto his back, letting his thighs fall open. “I do.”

Crowley smiled indulgently, admiring the pretty petals his angel had brought forth for him, all snug and dewy in their nest of honey curls. “Of course you do.”

It was lovely for Aziraphale to be able to react and vocalize again when Crowley knelt back down between his legs. He could freely clutch at Crowley's hair and moan at each press of lips, at the new insinuation of the demon's tongue. The angel warbled like a songbird when Crowley found the sensitive pearl at the top of his cleft and teased it with that wicked forked appendage.

Crowley hummed against his lover's mound, how he adored hearing that beautiful wail, repeating that teasing move between deeply tonguing the angel until he felt Aziraphale tense, and the husky “Fuck!” that came of it was a greater prize than he could have hoped for.

Through glazed and dark pupils, Aziraphale regarded the demon servicing him, “Enough, please, love. I have to insist.” And snagging his fingers into Crowley's sanguine curls, he tugged to indicate the direction he wanted to go.

The demon moved with every bit as much sinuous grace as he had in any form, hips and spine undulating as he crawled up his mate's body to share a taste of the angel's own flavor with him, the heady bittersweet of chocolate on the angel's palate. Crowley's erection had not flagged for a moment, and he sighed softly as he pressed himself against Aziraphale's warm, lush belly.

whimpering into the kiss, the angel pulled Crowley tighter, hooking an ankle against his counterpart's backside and grinding his pelvis up against the hard length held between them. It took only a few small adjustments of position, and that lovely, eager prick sank into him again. Aziraphale rocked himself upward, and made a throaty, contented sound, before urging Crowley into action with his heel.

Digging his nails into the cushions to either side of Aziraphale's head, Crowley bent down to find and reclaim the angel's mouth. The sugar sweet still clung around those divine lips, and he licked it away as he began to buck forward in earnest once again. Was it a by design or chance that his angel fit him so perfectly? That every thrust into that hot, velvety place felt like completion – he bottomed out without an inch to spare, and Aziraphale made this precious, squeaky 'oh!' sound each time, growing louder as the rhythm and angle of their coupling came together just so.

“Fuck, angel...” It felt as if his human form were fraying around the edges, as if he could feel the ripple of scales just under his skin, the squirm of a tail, the flex of wings, neither yet manifested in their reality.

“Y-yes, ah... a little more.” Aziraphale's fingers were gripping Crowley's shoulders with punishing strength, the blunt tips wearing bruises into the demon's flesh, into that fragile, incredible mortal body. He could feel his lover's hips stutter and shake, and he tugged a little harder, a little deeper, angling himself so that with each thrust Crowley was grinding against his clitoris as well as that specific spot inside that felt so good. “Just like that... oh, oh yes! Just like that!”

Breathless, aching, Crowley could see nothing but his prize – and there it was, Aziraphale sobbing and arching and coming around his cock, Aziraphale dragging his fingernails down Crowley's bruised arms, thighs clamped around his hips, body quaking... He had it now, everything.

All of it, and you as well.

Crowley came, mouth open, eyes closed, soundlessly howling his victory to the universe. Yes, yes, this is mine! Nobody else will ever have this, because it is mine!

They rode through the aftershocks, feeling the slick glide of Crowley's emission around his still-hard prick as he shifted inside his angel.

“Fuck,” Crowley reiterated,

The reply, inflected as agreement, was simply, “Mmh.”

Disentangling himself from Aziraphale, Crowley rolled onto his side, trailing his fingers down the length of his torso, enjoying the subtle lustre of sweat he'd attained.

“There's … um. Really quite a mess. Should I?” Holding his hand up as if to conveniently vanish the evidence of their game.

Aziraphale grinned, he looked absolutely scandalous, laying draped over the pillows, fingers stained and lips puffy, thighs still as far apart as they could get without filing for divorce. He slipped his hand down to part the folds of his vulva, letting their juices flow onto his fingers.

When his angel brought his filthy hand up and licked it, Crowley's cock made a valiant attempt to harden again. And it could, easily, if he wanted, but he willed his body to behave, and for the time being, it would.

Taking his fingers out of his mouth, Aziraphale smiled sweetly and told Crowley, “Leave it.”

“Fuck me sideways. You naughty angel.”

“Maybe later. I think you're forgetting something?”

Crowley tilted his head, “Ah?”

“There's still a chocolate. You won, so it's yours.”

“Ah!” The demon nearly laughed. He got up and approached the last, lonely little piece of candy in the box, gathering it ever so gently between his fingers, and popping it whole into his mouth.

Crowley chewed, then paused, and then made a face. “Eugh.”

“What? What 'eugh'? What is it?”

Rolling the morsel around in his mouth, Crowley considered, “Some kind of spice. Like... pepper.”

Aziraphale pouted, “Oh drat! I was looking for that one – I really wanted it.”

With what was surely the most dramatic, put-upon sigh in history, Crowley sank back down into Aziraphale's arms, kissed him thoroughly, and let his angel have the last piece of chocolate as well.