It had been far too long, in Aziraphale’s opinion, since he had seen Crowley like this.
The angel whose heart belonged to a demon had been admiring said demon’s various forms and fashions since the very beginning, and had loved them all (to lesser or greater degrees, obviously). One common factor among many of Crowley’s sartorial phases that Aziraphale especially enjoyed, however, was when he’d worn his hair long.
Right from the beginning, as far back as the Garden, Aziraphale had admired the beauty of Crowley’s flaming red waves. The demon’s hair reminded him of so many other lovely things...of the way the setting sun shimmered on the horizon, or the way the holy fire of his sword licked almost lovingly along the edges of the blade, or even of the shining red skin of the Fruit of Knowledge itself…
He’d tried not to think about it, told himself that it was unbefitting for an angel to admire a demon in any manner, but as time went on he found himself unable to stop himself gazing upon Crowley’s beauty whenever the demon wasn’t looking. No matter the time period, the fashion, or the circumstances, Aziraphale was always taken with what he eventually came to think of as ‘Her loveliest creation…’, though he always found himself a little bit disappointed when the style of the time had Crowley choosing to crop his hair short.
He wasn’t even entirely certain what it was about it being long that appealed to him so much more… That was, until he quite literally stumbled into the understanding during Crowley’s century-long nap.
Though they’d last departed on poor terms, Aziraphale did his best to do both of their jobs while Crowley was indisposed, not wanting the demon to eventually awaken to a furious Beelzebub wondering why he’d shirked his demonic duties for so long. To these ends, the angel had once found himself in a pub with a very particular kind of reputation, with the task of tempting a politician into cheating on his wife.
(The politician in question was already a monster who regularly hit his wife, for whom Aziraphale had already performed a tricky miracle that would have her meeting the man of her dreams after the scum she’d gotten stuck with was arrested for embezzling government funds into his own pocket.)
While seeking the politician, Aziraphale had accidentally walked into the wrong room and, incidentally, found himself faced with a couple who were having rather exuberant physical relations in a broom closet. He’d stumbled back in surprise, with every intention of shutting the door and taking off before the couple could notice the intrusion. His body had betrayed him, however, when he noticed that the man’s hand was tangled into the woman’s hair, fisted there and pulling hard so that her head was forced back, exposing her throat. The sight was almost distressing, but half a heartbeat and a truly ecstatic moan later, Aziraphale realized the truth: she liked it just as much as he apparently did.
That night, once the politician had been effectively tempted and the angel had returned home, he couldn’t help but reflect on what he’d seen. Couldn’t help but think about the way the sharp addition of just a bit of pain had seemed to intensify the woman’s pleasure.
Couldn’t help but imagine his own fingers, thrust into red-hot tresses, pulling back while the rest of his body pushed forward…
The next time he saw Crowley he was almost grateful that he was wearing his hair short. He hadn’t yet worked out how to control his corporation’s reactions to the fantasies that had become far too regular occurrences since that night.
Then the End came...or, rather, it didn’t.
Freed of Heaven and Hell and all of their former responsibilities and fears, Crowley and Aziraphale were able to be together, properly, for the first time. They began with dinner at the Ritz, and ended tangled together on the sofa in the back of the bookshop, mouths and hands exploring one another with all the stumbling exuberance and lack of experience of a pair of human teenagers. They muddled their way through with smiles and laughs of joy, slowly working their clothes off piece by piece, proceedings regularly stalled by the need to kiss a sharp hip or massage a trembling thigh, or wax poetic about the color of one or the other’s eyes.
It was playful, and jubilant, and perfect in how wonderfully imperfect it was.
Then all of the barriers were gone, and Crowley was in Aziraphale’s lap, and his hips and thighs were moving in the most sinful of ways that made the angel want to laugh and cry and scream all at once. They were gazing into one another’s eyes, finally free to let their undying love and desire shine through, and Aziraphale could feel that the end - but only the first of many, many ends - was nearing.
He wove a hand up his lover’s back, pressing his fingers up into the short strands that trailed along the top of his neck, and made sure that Crowley was paying attention when he growled, “Make it longer…”
For a brief moment Crowley’s movements stuttered and confusion flashed across his face, but then he seemed to understand and a dark, desperate longing filled his eyes instead. He lifted a hand from where he had his arms wrapped around Aziraphale’s shoulders, and snapped his fingers.
In the blink of an eye, those apple-red waves flowed over the demon’s back and shoulders, just as they had that first day in the Garden. Aziraphale’s fingers sank into them, gentle and exploratory, savoring the softness and the slightly ticklish sensation. Crowley’s movements slowed to an unhurried rocking as his eyes fluttered closed and his lips parted in a little moan.
“ Angel …” he sighed as his hips rolled and his chest and neck flushed.
“Gorgeous,” Aziraphale praised, delighted beyond words to finally feel free to say it aloud. “You are absolutely gorgeous, my Crowley, my love.” He pressed the pads of his fingers firm against the demon’s scalp, and then curled them until he had a full fist of vibrant red. “I imagined this so many times, my sweet, gorgeous thing…”
He pulled .
Crowley gasped, eyes flying open, and for a moment Aziraphale thought that he’d made a mistake, or perhaps pulled too hard, or-
But then he noticed the way Crowley’s serpentine eyes had devoured all trace of white, the pupils dilated larger than he’d ever seen them, and before the doubt could fully seat itself in the angel’s mind, the demon groaned, low and loud.
Encouraged and aroused more than he could express, Aziraphale gentled his touch, swirled his fingers through the sea of his lover’s hair, grabbed another fistful, and pulled again. This time Crowley moaned right away, his hips jerking erratically and his fingertips digging into the angel’s back.
Gorgeous… Aziraphale thought, his heart and soul full to bursting.
He repeated his ministrations a third time, and it was the final push to send Crowley soaring over the edge. With a cry of tangible ecstasy, the demon’s body trembled and convulsed, brilliant, night-black wings springing into existence behind him as his came hot and hard between their bodies. The clench of muscles around and the celestial perfection before him sent Aziraphale following after, tumbling over and over again into crashing waves of euphoria greater than anything he had ever experienced since his creation.
He may have drifted off somewhere - so fully consumed was he in his own personal paradise - because his head had fallen back against the sofa, and soft lips were traveling a path along his shoulders. He could feel Crowley’s body atop him, gently rocking against him, hips twitching slightly as though the snake within him needed to writhe . Little whimpers of love and overstimulation fell from the demon’s lips to the angel’s flesh, and Aziraphale’s chest was being tickled by stray strands of red hair.
“You liked it,” the angel said after a moment, heaving a deep sigh of contentment.
Crowley lifted his head, an eyebrow raised sarcastically, as though to say, “Of-fucking-course I did, you moppet.” His wings twitched and swished behind him, further proof of the obvious. He might’ve made some smart-arse remark, or otherwise tormented the angel for daring to say something he perceived as ridiculous. Instead, his face softened and his eyes fairly glowed with adoration. “Never realized you liked it long…” he murmured, blushing a bit. “I’d have never cut it, not even once.”
The declaration made Aziraphale’s chest swell with adoration. “I like it short too, darling,” he assured his beautiful demon. “I’ve loved it every way you’ve ever worn it, even that nonsense you donned during the French Revolution.”
Aziraphale chuckled at the indignation on Crowley’s face. It melted back into pleasure as the angel wove both hands now into the demon’s hair, carding through it lovingly. “But I must admit that I’ve always rather enjoyed it this way, yes… So lovely for getting a grip on,” he added with a mischievous grin and a playful tug.
Crowley tried to growl, but there was little denying that it came out as more of a purr, so he leaned into it by nuzzling into Aziraphale’s neck to nip at the soft flesh beneath his chin. “Tease,” he whined, wriggling his hips and fluttering his wings. “You’re gonna get me going again, angel…”
So, with a smile that was rather devilish for an angel, Aziraphale fisted his fingers and tugged a little harder, until Crowley was forced to lean back and face him again with heat in his eyes.
“We’ve all the time in the world to indulge, love…”
If you're enjoying the story so far, please check out this post on my blog!