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It's half past ten, and Aziraphale and Crowley are squabbling.
"We're going to lose our table," Aziraphale says again, as they venture down the street in front of the new, exclusive place they've been wanting to try; the drinks are supposed to be nearly divine or, as Crowley prefers, sinfully good.
"Since when do we lose tables?" Crowley says.
"I've had to arrange this delicately," Aziraphale tells him, "and I need you to find a parking space."
"I can't just park like an asshole when everyone's parked like an asshole," Crowley says. "I can only do so much."
"Then let me out so I can save the table," Aziraphale says.
"Alright, alright, out you get, then," Crowley says, the door of the Bentley popping open so Aziraphale can step onto the street.
Aziraphale is not dressed correctly for the club, but Aziraphale really thinks everyone else is not dressed correctly for him. He talks his way to their booth, which stands empty, near the bar but far back enough that they can hear each other talk.
"Thank you ever so much," Aziraphale tells the hostess, and he sits; he contemplates ordering a drink, but it seems unfair to do it without Crowley.
"Here alone?" a man who's just stepped away from the bar says.
"Oh, just for the moment," Aziraphale says, smiling politely.
"Buy you a drink?" the man asks.
"I haven't even had time to look at the menu," Aziraphale says, picking it up and perusing it.
"I'm having one of these," the man says, reaching over to indicate an entry on the list, and now Aziraphale wonders if he works here; he's wearing all black, so it's possible.
"How is it?" Aziraphale asks. "I worry that it could be a little syrupy."
"No complaints at all," the man says, giving him a smile, and Aziraphale sees now that Crowley is standing behind him. There's something off about Crowley's manner, but Aziraphale expects it's just being annoyed about the parking situation.
Crowley puts a hand on the man's shoulder. "Move along, mate," Crowley says flatly. "This one's mine."
"Sure about that?" the man says, cocking an eyebrow, and everything suddenly clicks for Aziraphale, in a way he wishes it didn't.
"Dead certain," Crowley says. "Isn't that right, angel?"
"I'm afraid I am quite thoroughly taken," Aziraphale says, in what he hopes is a pleasant but firm tone. "I apologize if you got the wrong impression. I'm dreadfully sorry to have misled you."
The man looks like he's about to fight back, but then he just shrugs. "My fault. Have a good night."
Crowley slides into the booth as the man walks away, and Aziraphale is already fretting heavily. Crowley doesn't look at him, just picks up the drink menu.
"I'm so sorry, Crowley," Aziraphale says. "I just wasn't thinking-"
"He'll have this thing here with gin and egg whites," Crowley says, as the waitress comes past. "The pear and whisky one for me."
"I've ruined the whole evening," Aziraphale says dejectedly.
"Not if you play your cards right," Crowley says, and Aziraphale perks up a bit. Crowley leans over, speaking into Aziraphale's ear. "You're going to make sure no one else in this entire bar forgets who you belong to for a single second."
"How?" Aziraphale asks, puzzled.
"You're the clever one," Crowley says. "Figure it out."
Aziraphale is really not at all sure how to go about this. It's backwards; that's a thing that Crowley does to him, staking his territory incontrovertibly. It doesn't work in the other direction, Aziraphale thinks, but that's exactly what's being asked of him.
Aziraphale puzzles on it for a little while longer, but there are places to start. Aziraphale takes Crowley's arm, and Crowley lets him lift it and put it over Aziraphale's shoulders. He tucks himself tight into Crowley's side, arranging them so that Crowley looks casual and in control, as Crowley likes to think he is; he and Aziraphale are tacitly maintaining that fiction as it suits them.
Aziraphale considers going so far as to sit in his lap, but it would just come off as odd, and not the way they usually come off as odd. Instead he puts a hand on Crowley's chin, tilting it towards himself so that he can kiss Crowley's cheek. Crowley is doing nothing to help any of this, leaving Aziraphale to fend for himself, but it's not as hard as Aziraphale expected. It's not like it's onerous to do what Crowley would be doing to him anyway.
Their drinks arrive, and Aziraphale makes a point of picking up Crowley's first. "For you, darling," he says, offering it to Crowley, who takes a sip. "Is it good, dearest? Because I can get you another one if it's not to your liking."
"It's just fine," Crowley says, and Aziraphale's chest unlocks at the faint amusement in his tone. Aziraphale knows he's being a little ridiculous and probably quite a bit over the top, but in all honesty he's sort of enjoying it. He's scrambling to please, but Crowley hasn't pushed him away even once. Crowley's just letting it happen and enjoying it.
Aziraphale sips his cocktail, which is, naturally, delicious, the taste unexpected and sparkling on his tongue. He lets himself relax for a moment, leaning into Crowley's side. Crowley is all angles, a bag of bones, but he's nice to cuddle up next to anyway.
Aziraphale leans up, speaking into his ear. "I don't want anything but you, Crowley," he says, both because he's still trying to get out of trouble and because it's how he genuinely feels. "I've never wanted someone as much as I want you. I am so happy to belong to you."
"That's a bit more like it," Crowley says, taking another sip of his drink.
Once they're finishing their second drink, Aziraphale has very nearly forgotten that he's in trouble. It feels like it always does, Crowley rolling over him, taking it for granted that Aziraphale is his, but in a good way. Crowley is less talkative than usual, but the place is loud and Aziraphale sort of forgets to think about it.
Crowley strokes along the shell of Aziraphale's ear, which somehow feels astounding for such a small touch, making Aziraphale shiver. "I've had enough of this place, angel. I'm taking you home."
"I'd be beyond pleased," Aziraphale says.
Crowley is a bit quiet on the drive back to his flat, but Aziraphale doesn't think anything of it, happily relaxed from the alcohol and Crowley hanging all over him. Crowley still doesn't say anything as they make their way up, but then the door closes behind them.
"We have unfinished business," Crowley says, in a flat, dangerous tone.
"Do we?" Aziraphale says, like an idiot. "Oh," he adds, when he gets it. "Oh, yes, there was that unfortunate little-"
"Do you think that made me happy, angel?" Crowley says, stalking towards him. "Do you think someone else trying to take my things was enjoyable for me?"
"I didn't like it either," Aziraphale says, which isn't true; he didn't even know there was anything to like or dislike. "Honestly, Crowley, I didn't know what I was doing."
"Don't make this hole any deeper, angel," Crowley says. He grabs Aziraphale by the hips, spinning him around and pulling him sharply to him in a way that takes Aziraphale's breath away. "I'm going to do what I want to you, and you're going to take it. Do you know why, angel?"
"Because I'm yours," Aziraphale says.
"At least you remember something," Crowley says. He snaps, and both of them are naked. He doesn't even do Aziraphale the courtesy of taking him to bed. Instead, he pushes Aziraphale over his desk, which suddenly seems to be the perfect height.
Aziraphale is expecting Crowley to just shove in, the way you can with these sorts of bodies, but Aziraphale feels slick fingers instead, two of them. They push into him slowly, rocking back and forth in a way that doesn't feel like a punishment at all. Crowley doesn't stop, adding one more, stretching Aziraphale open the slow way. His other hand reaches around to stroke Aziraphale's cock in firm, slow passes, and Aziraphale is panting into the unrelenting surface of the desk. He still has no idea what Crowley wants to prove, but it seems increasingly unimportant.
Aziraphale gasps as Crowley finally sinks into him, taking up his rightful place. The feeling is perfection, and it's even better when Crowley starts to fuck him, hard and fast right from the beginning, his hips snapping into Aziraphale's and driving him towards the surface of the desk.
"This is mine," Crowley says, putting a hand on the small of Aziraphale's back. "Nobody gets you but me, do you understand me?"
"Yes," Aziraphale moans, though there's something creeping up behind it, entering Aziraphale's mind slowly and then all at once, rushing into him.
Aziraphale can feel the purest, most unadulterated love, a surge of it that permeates his being. It is a love that is so strong that it is blasphemous, separated from Her wholly in its focus on the beloved. Aziraphale finds himself weeping onto the surface of the desk, unable to handle it another way. He transgressed against that love, but its strength is such that even that feels subsumed, forgiven almost as an afterthought, tossed away.
"Who do you belong to?" Crowley asks, in a firm, uncompromising tone.
"You," Aziraphale gasps. "Oh, my love, it's only ever been you."
"And will you ever let that happen again?" Crowley says.
"Never," Aziraphale says. "There's only you, I'm yours."
"Then come, angel," Crowley says, moving his hand faster, and Aziraphale makes a mess of the desk and Crowley's hand. He can't concentrate on it, because Crowley is moving faster in him, so close, until he shouts, filling Aziraphale.
Aziraphale comes back to himself, head buzzing. He finally turns around, watching as Crowley licks the come off his hand; he says Aziraphale's tastes sweet, which Aziraphale questions, considering how deeply unpleasant Crowley's is.
"Are you still mad at me?" Aziraphale asks tentatively.
"Oh, I got my point across," Crowley says, which is the understatement of the year. Something about his tone sounds brittle, and Aziraphale realizes it must have taken an enormous amount out of him.
"So you don't want to hurt me?" Aziraphale asks unsteadily. They're still finding the edges of this, and he's not sure yet what applies and doesn't.
"Do you need me to?" Crowley asks, a casual tone that doesn't fool Aziraphale.
"I'd much rather have what we just did," Aziraphale says. "I do feel both contrite and taken."
"Glad we're on the same page," Crowley says. "I don't want you thinking I don't want all of you."
"You've proven that comprehensively," Aziraphale says. Crowley is swaying on his feet. "Here, come with me, dear, you need to lie down."
"Do you do that all the time?" Crowley asks, sounding punch-drunk.
"Tax myself to the limit to prove a point?" Aziraphale says, arranging Crowley on the bed, propping him up on the pillows. He stops. "Well, not as much as you do."
"Mmm," Crowley says. Aziraphale lays down next to him, running his hand over Crowley's chest in firm circles.
"To tell the truth, I didn't even know you could do that," Aziraphale says.
"Guess I just had to be the right combination of in love and pissed off," Crowley says.
"I love you too," Aziraphale says, not letting him get away with hiding a confession like that in a flippant comment.
"I feel like I just got hit by a truck," Crowley says. "Is loving people always like this?"
"Like getting hit by a truck?" Aziraphale says. "I wouldn't know. I'm a being of love, and I've never been hit by a truck."
"I'm not even sure who I would ask," Crowley says.
"Better you don't, I imagine," Aziraphale says.
Crowley shuts his eyes. "Let's keep it between us."
Aziraphale kisses his temple. "Whatever you want, dearest," he says, and Crowley sighs.
"Just as long as you keep saying that, we'll get along fine," Crowley says.
"I mean what I say," Aziraphale says, running a hand through Crowley's hair, and Crowley relaxes into the bed, Aziraphale curling around him.
But Aziraphale is much more cautious in bars after that. It's only fair.