Crowley was squirming. It was not unusual in the slightest, as Crowley was more a creature of gestures than words – and that translated into whines and limbs sprawled all over furniture and Aziraphale's body because he had it drilled in his head that dignified demons could not ask for cuddles. But he wanted them, so he would always end up in the same room as Aziraphale, dramatically sighing and moaning under his breath but without saying any humanly comprehensible word until Aziraphale gave him attention.
At the moment, Aziraphale was at his side, listening to a recording of Jan Dismas Zelanka's Miserere he thought had been lost during World War II but that Crowley had saved at the last moment. Crowley, too, was listening to something with earbuds on, wiggling and whimpering for about twenty minutes. Aziraphale glanced over Crowley's shoulder, seeing a beautiful woman with long red hair, a bit like Crowley's, scratching the smoothest back he had ever seen. Instinctively, Aziraphale sneaked a hand under his shirt and – oh. Crowley moaned out loud and even arched his back a little; then he realized it, realized how undignified he had been, and whipped his head around to look at Aziraphale with outraged (yet shiny, yet full of that aching need for closeness) eyes. “You scared me!”, he yelped as he took the earbuds off. Aziraphale could not hear anything coming from them even if Crowley had not turned his cellphone off.
“Were you not aware I was in bed with you, dear?”
“It's not that, it's – I just forgot,” Crowley frowned. “Not that I forgot you, I was just – distracted, like.”
“I could see that, darling,” Aziraphale smiled. “Were you watching a naughty movie?”
“I was not,” Crowley replied, yet suspiciously hiding his phone under his pillow, “and don't call porn naughty movie ever again, angel.”
“So why was there a naked person?”
Crowley gasped, his eyes enormous as if offended beyond the limit. “You were spying on me!”
Aziraphale blinked, confused. It seemed suddenly more serious than he initially thought, and now he was really curious about it. “I would not consider it spying when I just looked over at your phone while in the same bed, darling. Would you show me what you were watching?”
Crowley squirmed again, and Aziraphale knew at that moment that his ridiculous husband was embarrassed about something extremely trivial and the night was about to turn into something delightful.
“I'd like to see it regardless.”
“... you're not going to laugh, are you?”, Crowley asked in that defenceless tone that triggered the most protective instincts in Aziraphale, who could not restrain himself from hugging him on the spot and kiss his silly head.
“Why should I?”
“Because you're mean.”
“I am no such thing,” he said between kisses as he glided a hand on the small of his back, making Crowley shiver. “How darling you are, love.”
“Teaser,” Crowley whimpered, a little bite on his neck. “Methinks you've seen enough of the video I was watching.”
“I did not, but I'd like it now.”
Crowley, worrying at his bottom lip (as Aziraphale suspected, he was dying of shame about something silly and most certainly not worthy of a second of shame) took his phone in hand and showed him the woman from before, still scratching the same back.
“It's called ASMR,” Crowley explained, “and it's, like, people that, like, massage other people, and whisper things.”
Aziraphale blinked. There was something new to learn every day still, it seemed. “I did not understand in the slightest, love.”
Crowley rolled his eyes, annoyed as usual by the fact that Aziraphale wasn't a little cricket in his head and understand him on the spot. “There's this thing,” goodness, did Crowley need to read something new, “called tingles, right, and it's like when you have good goosebumps, like when you kiss me on the temple -” and Aziraphale, ever the bastard, kissed him there, “yeah, like that,” he smiled, shivering, “and they do that by whispering things in a very soothing voice, and scratching things like, dunno, books, boxes, people's back, neck, arms... massages are super popular too. 's relaxing. Lots of people watch 'em to sleep, like.”
“Oh, really? You didn't seem very relaxed, love.”
“I don't need 'em to relax, I just like watching.” Crowley scrunched up his nose, a bit more at ease from before, and Aziraphale took advantage of that and picked him up on his lap, book long forgotten on the night-stand.
“You imagine to be in their place, don't you?”
“I don't,” Crowley lied in a rather petulant voice, wriggling a bit in his embrace, “they're just good to watch.”
Just good to watch my arse , Aziraphale thought, but he was nothing but a patient angel when it came to his Crowley. “Would you show me another one, love? To understand the whole deal a bit better.”
Five twenty minutes-long videos and meticulous explanations of every little detail later, Aziraphale had not gotten the appeal (he had appreciated, though, a beautiful young lady with pastel pink curls in some fine vintage clothes) as he never equally understood why so many people loved to watch sports instead of playing them, but Crowley was almost butter in his arms, his long neck exposed to kisses. “D'you like 'em?”, he slurred, nice and cosy.
“I like the effect they have on you,” Aziraphale slyly replied, slowly stroking his darling's thighs. “And are you sure you're not fantasizing about being the receiver of those, as you said, tingles?”
Crowley hummed, a lopsided smile on his cherry-red lips. “Maybe. Once or twice. At most.”
“Why didn't you tell me? I'm good with my hands.”
“Dunno. Seemed silly,” he mumbled, ears buzzing pink.
“But you are a silly creature, darling.” A kiss, another kiss, and another kiss on his temple. He could never resist his husband when he was this soft, malleable and darling. “Come on now, lie down, you put me in the mood. You've been so good lately you deserve a reward.”
“Not good,” he pouted. “But I'll take the reward anyway. Like, especially because I am not good and I don’t really deserve it. See, I'll snatch my reward even if I have done nothing to deserve it. Big old evil demon, me.”
“Yes, darling, terrifyingly evil,” he conceded, giving him a little kiss on the forehead like he had seen children kiss their pets, “Now lie down, please,” he repeated, and this time Crowley obeyed, even wiggling a bit like a very excited puppy as he flopped on his stomach. Aziraphale parted his legs just wide enough to kneel between them. He planted a kiss on the nape of his neck.
“Would you like a bit of whispering too, my love?”, he asked in a low, honey-sticky voice, the smallest kiss on Crowley's ear. Shivering, he nodded, adding the sweetest “Please," eyelashes fluttering. What a delightful little thing his demon was.
"How could I deny such a polite request?", he smiled as he breathed the lemony smell of his shampoo.
He started scratching his scalp, slow and light, his nails exploring the familiar land of Crowley's head, patches he already knew would make him a quivering mess of uncoordinated limbs. "Scratch, scratch, scratch," he repeated, stretching the vowels, his fingers moving in spirals through the hair, gliding down the neck, careful with the sharp bones, a couple of kisses here and there for good measure. One of his hands sneaked under the t-shirt, and Crowley moaned just for the feeling of being touched, as sensitive as a newborn. The other rested over the shirt, drawing circles as he muttered sweet nothings into Crowley's ear, smacking his lips every now and then. Crowley was not the biggest fan of mouth sounds, it seemed, but he rather liked them, and Aziraphale now understood why he was always so attentive during lunchtime.
“You're a natural,” Crowley whimpered, incapable of being still for more than two seconds, wiggling and squirming and even so slightly bucking his hips when Aziraphale touched the right spots. What a darling show he was putting on for him, Aziraphale thought, so defenceless, open and trusting. (he had never known something as trusting as Crowley was when it came to someone he loved; demons should be more aware of the chaos and dirt human souls hid, but Crowley, even if he were, decided not to care.)
“Thank you, my dear. Now,” smiled Aziraphale, feather-light fingers stroking his shoulder blades, “I'm going to be brushing through my favourite cat's fur," he said with a smirk as both his hands found the right spot on Crowley's spine to scratch.
Crowley purred, arching his back a bit. “'m not a cat,” he said, lazy and soft and oh-so-beautiful.
“Oh? And what are you, if not a cat? A fox? A dog? You certainly are not a snake at the moment, dear.”
“'m a... 'm a Crowley,” he said, but he did not sound quite sure about it.
Aziraphale knowingly smirked. He kneaded the small of his back, pressing a finger on one of his dimples. “You're not a Crowley any more, you're a puddle.”
"A puddle of Crowley," he proposed with an amused smile.
"The sweetest puddle ever. Now, would you like to take off your shirt, dear? I can miracle it off, I wouldn’t want to move you, since you seem so comfortable.”
“Nuh-uh, I want to keep it,” he sighed, “I like it when you scratch over it. An' I like the sounds.”
“Very well, my precious.”
He traced the outlines of Crowley's ears maddening slowly, drinking every drop of his groans, trailing his jawline with ladybug-sized kisses. “You have wonderful skin, I'll never get tired of caressing and kissing it.” He got back to give his complete attention to his back, starting from the shoulders, kneading his way down to his bottom that, cheekily, completely ignored save for the quickest squeeze, and Crowley loudly whined.
“Did I do something wrong, darling?” he asked with syrupy innocence and Crowley barked out a laugh.
“You didn't, angel. You're just an awful tease.”
Aziraphale clicked his tongue and ignored him. He brushed his calves and ankles, a finger drawing on the taluses and soles of his feet. “My cat is now purring so loudly you all should be able to hear him,” he whispered, “I think one could hear him in Germany even without headphones on.”
“Stop,” Crowley whined again with sun in his voice, “'m not that loud.”
“And yet you're adorable, sweetheart,” Aziraphale cooed. He scratched his scalp again and started braiding his long hair and, at that touch, Crowley even arched his neck, writhing in pleasure.
“Goodness, love,” Aziraphale chuckled as he kissed the tip on the fishtail braid he ended up making, “you are in a state, aren't you?”
Crowley muttered something incomprehensible and went limp and did not reply, which Aziraphale found most curious, as his love was not one to miss the chance of a witty remark. As he slowly stroked his neck, something came up to mind. He lifted his hips, delicately sliding his underwear down, revealing how wet he already was. He sucked in a breath. “Fuck,” he hissed, and Crowley whimpered as he held his pillow tight and raised his bottom higher, tempting and sweet.
Aziraphale's fingers lingered over his inner thighs for a bit, stroking the tender and sensitive meat there, walking on it, pressing with delicate fingertips. “Now,” he whispered, his lips a feather away from Crowley's ear, “I'm going to be touching between your legs, now.”
Crowley nodded, a desperate moan ripping out his throat, not daring to look behind him. Aziraphale, peppering his neck with kisses, slid two fingers into him, starting to stroke his clit as he did so. Crowley pushed against him, mouth full of scarlet bubbles of needy pleasure, as Aziraphale kept whispering.
“Is it good, my dear? Are you happy? You feel so good, my darling boy, so sweet for me.”
Crowley almost ripped the sheets under him apart when Aziraphale slowly, slowly, entered him, warm hands around his waist.
“My good Crowley,” Aziraphale smiled against his neck, pushing inside him, languid and sweet. He kissed Crowley's exposed back, the t-shirt pooled on his shoulders, whispering words of praise in his ears. They fell into an easy rhythm, Crowley whimpering and moaning and Aziraphale thrusting into him with the utmost care.
As soon as Crowley's knees gave up, Aziraphale took him on his lap, kept fucking into him and repeating, in a low voice, how beautiful he was, how good and sweet. Crowley held him tight, his body flushed and trembling, the shouts of his orgasm muffled by Aziraphale's shoulder.
“My love,” said Aziraphale, kissing his beautiful face, his cheeks, his neck.
They stayed like that for a few minutes, simply breathing into each other's scent. Aziraphale kissed his racing pulse, scratching under his shirt again, and Crowley wriggled, giggling.
“I should've asked you millennia ago,” he smiled, nuzzling Aziraphale's neck.
“As I said, you're a silly creature.”
Crowley hummed in agreement, kissing Aziraphale's fingers.