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Hot under the Collar

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“You can’t be serious.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow over his dark glasses and turns to Aziraphale. “What?”

“Your uniform!” The angel looks him up and down. Crowley’s tie is much shorter than the other waiters’. The lapels on his white jacket are sharp and point towards the heavens instead of being round. And the trousers - good lord, those trousers can’t possibly be legal to wear at a child’s birthday party. They are just so - so tight, how does Crowley even walk in them?

“What’s wrong with my uniform?” Crowley always does that thing with his mouth - that little half-scrunch that signals he knows exactly what Aziraphale is talking about and is being intentionally dense.

“You absolute—oh! Hello, Mrs Dowling.” Aziraphale immediately straightens up and beams at the woman that’s passing them by in big dark glasses and the face of someone who’d rather be anywhere else. Possibly at the beach, sipping a daiquiri.

“Mr. Fell,” Harriet Dowling says, or rather sighs. Then she turns to Crowley, frowning as if she can’t quite place him. The demon gives her a quick toothless grin, and she looks back at Aziraphale. “You’re scheduled in about an hour. Good luck.”

Aziraphale watches her step through the door that leads to the garden and immediately reach for a glass of champagne. Well, she’s handling all of this completely alone, it’s quite understandable. Aziraphale wouldn’t know the first thing about organising a child’s birthday.

He’s about to begin scolding Crowley again, but the demon isn’t standing in front of him anymore. “Crowley? I’m not done with you!”

“Over here, angel.”

Aziraphale follows his voice and finds him in the small, dark room that the Dowlings have turned into a coat room for the day. Luckily, the valet assigned to be the attendant is nowhere to be found at the moment.

“What are you doing?”

“Switching the tags on some of these,” Crowley replies, with obvious glee. “A classic. Few things infuriate humans more than being given the wrong coat a bunch of times.”

“Yes, simply wonderful.” Aziraphale doesn’t even try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Now. You must change, we don’t have time for this.”

Crowley keeps rifling through people’s coats. “Yeah, I’m not going to do that.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale steps closer, putting a hand on his arm. “Is this not important to you? We don’t know if things are going according to our plan! We need to keep watch.”

Crowley turns to him and gives his silk bow tie a flick. “You’re one to talk. You’re taking this as a chance to play with your magic act.”

That’s true, Aziraphale couldn’t resist. And since it’s true, it infuriates him to hear it. “I’m taking this very seriously! My attire is perfectly adequate for my part.”

“Why, what’s wrong with mine?”

“You must be doing this on purpose!”

“Oh, poor innocent angel, goaded by the evil demon.” Crowley gives him a preposterous pout and smooths down his jacket. “I have a sense of style is all. I’ll blend in perfectly.”

“That’s not—look.” Aziraphale taps his fingers on the thin white fabric on Crowley’s chest. “Let me. I’ll fix it, it won’t be a moment. Just be nice for a second, I’ll—”

Crowley grabs both of his wrists and pushes him back until Aziraphale’s shoulders hit a wall. “Don’t,” he hisses, so close to his face Aziraphale can feel his hot breath against his lips. “Don’t you dare try to fix me.”

Aziraphale swallows, and the sound of it seems louder than a gunshot in the sudden tense silence between them. His heart is pounding in his chest - why is it doing that? “Crowley,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Crowley is so close. So close in such a small space, only a rack of coats between them and the rest of the world. A world that might be about to end if they’ve got something wrong.

Aziraphale has a terrible feeling that something has gone wrong. The child is too normal. They’ve been with him for so many years, almost 24 hours a day. They would have noticed, they would have caught signs of his demonic nature by now. The world’s about to end, and they’re arguing in a closet, and he never had the courage to sit in Crowley’s Bentley and let this infuriating, beautiful, silly demon drive him out of the city. They never had their picnic, and now it might be too late.

“Crowley.” He doesn’t know what he’s asking, but he’s begging. He’s pinned to the wall by Crowley’s closeness rather than his hands around his wrists, he’s frozen in place and suddenly terrified they’re going to lose everything. They’re going to lose each other. “Cro—”

He doesn’t know what he was expecting. For Crowley to be angry, perhaps. For Crowley to shake him and tell him he’s been an idiot, for him to bite like the snake he is.

Instead, Crowley’s lips are gentle against his own, and he hears a desperate noise tearing from his own throat. Crowley’s not pressing, he’s not pushing, he’s just joining their mouths with such care and tenderness Aziraphale’s fears melt away.

There are so many reasons they shouldn’t be doing this. It’s dangerous, it’s forbidden. They’re out of time, and it will only complicate things. But that simple touch awakens a hunger in Aziraphale that he’s been smothering for too long. It wakes his body inch by inch, from his shaking hands to his burning cheeks, from his beating chest to the heat rushing between his legs.

Crowley makes a surprised sound when Aziraphale puts both hands on his face and deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against the demon’s, and he’s not at all being gentle or slow, but he can’t help himself. He’s wanted this for so long, he’s denied it for just as long. They might never have the chance again, and it feels like he’s going to discorporate on the spot if he doesn’t press as close to Crowley as he can possibly get.

Somehow, he’s not the one with his back to the wall anymore. At some point he must have flipped them over, because his hands bump into the wall behind Crowley’s back as they take their fill. He touches Crowley everywhere - he ruffles his hair, oh, he’s always wanted to do that - he feels the fluttering pulse on the demon’s neck under his fingertips. He drags his fingers down Crowley’s chest, feels the stiff peaks of his nipples through his shirt - delectable, Aziraphale wants to lick them, but his mouth is still busy exploring Crowley’s. Their kiss has turned wet and hot and desperate, he’s making a mess of his demon and he can’t even bring himself to care about holding himself back. He just doesn’t. His arms around Crowley’s torso, his nails digging in the demon’s back through the thin fabric, and oh - Crowley’s muscles jump and twitch under his touch, and it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. Crowley is squirming in his embrace, he’s squirming because of him. Aziraphale is causing him to whine and writhe, and he’s never been prouder of anything more.

He grabs his buttocks with both hands and squeezes, and Crowley moans into his mouth, and - fuck, Aziraphale never knew what he’d sound like. He pictured it, he pictured it a million times, burning with shame in his own bed, a hand around his cock, jerking himself off as quickly as possible, as if doing it hard and fast wouldn’t count as a sin, as if somebody could walk in on him at any moment. But he never knew what Crowley would sound like moaning while they kiss, and it’s a sound that annihilates whatever was left of his rational brain.

He almost rips Crowley’s trousers apart in his urge to touch him. When he finally manages to get them open and sneaks his hand inside, there is no underwear to speak of. The demon’s cock is hard and solid in his palm, and he has to - he just has to drop to his knees.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley gasps, but Aziraphale doesn’t listen.

He licks his own lips and they taste like Crowley, and he must have lost his mind a little, because he can hear that somebody’s stepping closer to the coat room and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t even care.

The floor is cold under his knees and he pulls at Crowley’s trousers until the demon finally tugs them down for him. His cock is beautiful, and already wet at the tip, and Aziraphale immediately chokes himself on it.

Crowley makes an indescribable noise, garbled sounds and broken words, and reaches behind himself to cling to a curtain.

In the meantime, someone walks into the room. Aziraphale stills his movement for a moment, tries to keep perfectly silent while the valet thanks a woman for her coat and hangs it amongst the others. Crowley’s breathing hard, and when Aziraphale looks up at him, his cock still between his lips, the demon has to slap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from making any sound.

When the intruder leaves, he counts to ten before resuming what he was doing.

“I… I can’t, Aziraphale, I’m…” Crowley sounds barely coherent and ruined , and Aziraphale moans around his cock. “I’m not going to last. At all. I’ve, I’m… so many times, I pictured—I can’t hold back.”

Aziraphale pops off of him with an obscene sound he feels very satisfied about. He’s been so clean for so long… now he wants to be absolutely filthy. “Darling. Don’t.” He takes one long, slow lick from the tip of Crowley’s cock all the way to the base, nuzzling the dark red hair with his nose. “Give it to me, please. I want it.”

Crowley tilts his head in a jerky nod, and Aziraphale suspects he can’t quite bring himself to speak. Aziraphale opens his lips wide and closes his eyes, holding his tongue out for him. Crowley takes himself in hand and carefully slides into his mouth, and it feels heavenly. It feels better than anything Aziraphale’s ever tried. The strong taste of Crowley dripping on his tongue, the sinful stretch of his jaw to accommodate him. He feels debauched, he feels dirty. He feels perfect.

Crowley’s hand on his head doesn’t quite push, but it holds him still as the demon pistons his hips back and forward, inside and out, hitting the back of his throat, scraping against his teeth. There is no grace in this, no experience, and there’s nothing in the world Aziraphale wants more than to be used like this.

He grabs Crowley at the hips and begins to properly suck him off, and Crowley shakes apart almost immediately. The warm fluid hitting the roof of his mouth is a pleasant shock, and Aziraphale is quick to close his lips and swallow, not letting a single drop go to waste.

When he pulls back, his lips feel swollen from all the rubbing, his cock is hurting in his trousers, and Crowley’s looking at him like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. And, at the same time, like he’s a tornado that just hit him full force. Aziraphale guesses that’s fair.

“My dear—”

“Finish on me.” Crowley seems stunned by his own words, recoiling at the sound of them. His glasses are crooked now, and Aziraphale can see him blink twice. “I…”

“Is it what you want?” Aziraphale stands up, resisting the urge to dab his lips with his handkerchief. There will be time to clean up, and that time isn’t now.

Crowley swallows visibly. He undoes his tie, unbuttons his shirt while maintaining eye contact, and Aziraphale can now see the entire stretch of naked skin between the tempting curve of his throat and his cock. The smattering of freckles right below his collarbone, the hair on his chest, the dip of his navel, the v of his hips framing the trail that leads to his cock. It’s all so gorgeous, he wants to taste all of it.

“Please.” Crowley’s staring somewhere behind Aziraphale now, maybe too ashamed of his own desires to meet his gaze. Of course he would be, wasn’t it Aziraphale himself who always told him they couldn’t be allies, or even friends? That they couldn’t be too close, spend too much time together? Now it all seems so foolish. The world is going to end, and he can’t believe he was about to let it happen without knowing what this felt like.

Aziraphale curls into him, clamps his lips on Crowley’s throat as he opens his trousers. The demon holds him, his hands big and warm and a little clumsy. They’ve never done this before, and Crowley is clearly trying to be careful. He’s such a kind, romantic demon, and Aziraphale has been in love with him for so much longer than he even knew.

He wraps his fingers around his aching cock, leaning his weight against Crowley.

“Why do you want this?” He asks, because he’s curious, and because it’s incredibly affecting to know.

“I want it on me. I’ve always wondered…” Crowley is muttering into his hair now, a hand massaging the back of Aziraphale’s neck while the other is far lower down, making its way to his backside in a sort of shy way that makes Aziraphale smile. “What it’d feel like. To feel it on me - to have it on me where no one can see. Nobody will know.”

Aziraphale can’t help but think they’ve both accidentally given each other very specific fantasies. All those centuries of repressing, there was no way this wouldn’t happen. He’s been a fool.

“I want to, you know…” Crowley clears his throat as he slides his fingers from Aziraphale’s shoulder to his elbow, then from his elbow to the hand Aziraphale has wrapped around his cock. He closes his fingers around it, and now they’re both setting the pace, both of them masturbating him - a thought that feels so forbidden and sinful. And, God forgive him, so blindingly arousing. He realises in that moment he’d do just about anything with Crowley, for Crowley, on Crowley. He already is, isn’t he? For Somebody’s sake, he’s wanking in a coat room and about to come all over a demon’s body. “I want to feel it under my clothes. I want to know we did this, that this time it wasn’t in my head—ah, fuck, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Keep going.” Aziraphale is so close, his voice thready and high to his own ears, the desperate rustle of their clothes against their moving arms the only sound in the small room. “Please, please keep talking.”

“Angel, I’m… you must have known. I’ve dreamed about you every way one can dream about someone. And then another hundred more. There’s never been anyone else for me. I’m a sad, pathetic fool, and I really fucking need you to—” He twists his hand and tightens his grip around Aziraphale’s fingers and cock. “Let go. Let go. Do it on me, come on, do it, do it—”

The orgasm rips through Aziraphale like a bolt of lightning. It never seems to end. It hits Crowley’s chest, drips down his stomach, slips into his trousers. Aziraphale sees it wetting the red pubic hair at the base of his cock and gives another weak twitch, dribbling all over their joined fingers. He’s glad for Crowley holding him up, because he’s not sure he could. His head is spinning and his knees are liquid, and he regrets absolutely fucking nothing about this.

Crowley kisses him. It’s a different kiss now - not desperate anymore, but full of feeling. Love. It feels like coming inside from a snowstorm, being wrapped in the heat and safety of his home after being out in the cold for too long. Pure, ferocious, stubborn love, and it’s all for him.

“Crowley,” he sighs again, because he must have forgotten how to say anything that isn’t his name.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,.” Crowley replies.



It’s only a few days later that they’re standing in Tadfield Manor, and Aziraphale dares calling Crowley nice.

Crowley grabs him and pushes him up against the wall, and Aziraphale’s eyes immediately fall to his lips. Crowley could fuck him right here and now, he would say yes, he would say yes a million times.

But they’re interrupted, and he clears his throat and straightens out his bow tie.