Chapter Text
London is suffering through a heatwave, and Crowley hasn’t heard from Aziraphale in days. He knows the angel copes badly with the heat, despite the fact that he could easily miracle himself colder … So he goes to the bookshop. It’s closed, the blinds are drawn, and the door is locked. But he goes in anyway, quite certain he may be the only thing between Aziraphale and certain death by heatstroke.
“Angel?” he calls, but when he doesn’t hear an answer, he goes to the back of the shop. He’s only been in the flat above the shop a few times, but he knows where to look.
He goes directly to the door he knows hides Aziraphale’s bedroom, knowing the angel will probably be sprawled on his bed, slowly melting into the sheets.
And he’s right.
He takes in the scene as he opens the door. Aziraphale is starfished on the bed, legs and arms spread wide, pillows and duvets thrown to the floor and the sheet scrunched up beneath him. He’s glistening with sweat, and, Crowley gulps as he takes him in, he’s only wearing a pair of white boxer briefs that are clinging to him in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination. He tries not to dwell on the very clear outline of his cock, instead focusing on the way his skin is shining, small droplets running over his chest down towards the bed.
He’s moaning in a way that shouldn’t make Crowley shiver (but does), and although his face is clearly scrunched up in distress, his almost naked state makes it seem like it’s scrunched up in something else entirely, and Crowley doesn’t know what to do with that.
The windows are open, a warm breeze flittering through the room. It does nothing to alleviate the agony on the angel’s face, however.
“What are you doing, Angel?” he asks, a few minutes after entering the room. His voice is dark, and he hopes Aziraphale doesn’t register the lust simmering below the surface.
“I’m melting,” he says, voice dripping with anguish. “Might be dying.”
“You do know you’re an angel, right? You could just miracle yourself cold,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips.
The angel moans again, and it sends a jolt of lust down Crowley’s spine. He tries not to let the feeling pool in the pit of his stomach, but he doesn’t succeed; feels the way his cock reacts to both the image of the almost naked angel, and the sounds emanating from him.
“How do humans cope with this heat?” Aziraphale whimpers, turning his head to look at Crowley. “It’s positively inhuman.”
“Aziraphale,” he says, putting emphasis on each of the vowels. “You’re an angel. No need to suffer like this.”
“Too hot to think,” he groans. “Can’t miracle anything.”
Crowley smiles fondly down at him, ignoring the way the sweat glistens on his forehead, making it look like he’s glowing. And certainly ignoring the way the sweat makes his chest hair cling to his nipples. With each look at the Angel’s practically naked form, his cock becomes harder and he feels like such a creep. Aziraphale is suffering, and all he can think about is taking his nipples between his teeth while he wraps his fingers around his cock, making him come with a moan very similar to the one he’s currently emitting.
“I could help,” he says, breathlessly, hoping Aziraphale can’t hear quite how affected by his sounds he is.
“Really?” the angel’s head shoots up, a sincere smile playing on his lips. Crowley feels the need to reach down and cover himself, but he hopes the angle hides his predicament.
“I don’t want you to die from heatstroke,” he remarks.
“Such a softie,” Aziraphale sighs. “Thank you, dear.”
“Don’t let me regret this,” he says, casting a miracle to make the angel cool down.
It works immediately, Aziraphale’s shoulders relaxing and slumping into the bed. He moans with pleasure, as the cool breeze makes its way over his body. Crowley follows the goosebumps spreading on his skin, almost audibly gasping when he sees his nipples react to the cold.
“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, such satisfaction in his voice that Crowley must strain not to close his eyes and imagine him saying it in a different context.
“Such a drama queen,” he says, but there’s no bite to his words.
“Thank you,” he looks up again, and Crowley has to avert his eyes, afraid what they’ll reveal if Aziraphale catches his gaze. He should have worn his glasses.
“No problem, really. I was round the corner …” it’s a blatant lie, and he knows Aziraphale knows it. “Should probably get going again,” he says, painfully aware of his erection straining against his fly, and the fact that the angel is eyeing him curiously. He needs to extricate himself from this situation, before it gets even more humiliating.
“Where are you going?” There’s something unrecognisable in Aziraphale’s tone, and he tries not to dwell on it, as he shrugs.
“Just … around. Have stuff to do, places to be. You know me …” he trails off, knowing he botched that excuse rather spectacularly.
“I do,” Aziraphale says, sitting up. “Rather well, in fact. Well enough to know that was a lie,” he smiles, and Crowley looks everywhere but at him. If only his fucking erection would disappear, this would all be so much easier.
He shrugs, but the excuse he was hoping for never comes.
“You know,” the angel says. “You did something very nice for me. If there’s anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask.”
His words shoot directly towards his cock, and he fights the urge to cover himself. Aziraphale's tone is exactly like it was in 1941, when he said something along those same lines, and just like back then, Crowley’s mind immediately hotwires. There are many things he’d like Aziraphale to do for him, but he can’t very well ask him to do any of those things. He doesn’t want to scare him away. But if he doesn’t get out of here soon, it won’t matter at all, because the angel will discover the massive erection he’s currently hiding, and he’ll know it’s because of him and everything will become weird.
“I don’t need anything,” he gulps. “But thanks for the offer. May come in handy one day,” he starts walking backwards towards the door. “Now I really must be off.”
He fumbles for the doorknob (why did he close the door in the first place?!), afraid to turn around and reveal himself.
Aziraphale looks at him with a smile playing on his lips. “Do you need some help with that?”
“Hmm? Oh, the doorknob? Nope, I’ve got it,” he says, but he hasn’t gotten it. He can’t find the blasted thing and the longer he stands there fumbling blindly for it, the more apparent it will be how much he cannot turn around.
“I wasn’t talking about the doorknob,” Aziraphale smiles. “Quite a different knob I had in mind.”
And that makes Crowley turn towards him fully, their eyes meeting. “What?”
“You heard me,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley hates how relaxed and calm he looks. “If you need some help with that, I’m here.”
He lets his eyes roam over the angel’s body. He’s breathing calmly, the shine from the sweat gone, but there’s still a glow to him that Crowley wants to touch and taste and fuck, is he really suggesting what it sounds like he is?
“Are you … Are you really saying what I think you’re saying?” he says, his words tumbling out in a heap of unruly syllables.
“If what you think I’m saying is: fuck me, well … yes, you’d be right.” His smile is positively devilish.
He practically melts on the spot.
“Right.” He says, staring at him. “That would be … I’d like that.”
He can’t believe this is happening; maybe it’s a prank? He wouldn’t be that cruel, would he? But of course he doesn’t know quite how long Crowley has been wanting to do this.
“It’s not … It’s not a prank, right?”
“Crowley, get over here,” Aziraphale sounds exasperated, but there’s an edge to his voice that he hasn’t heard before, and he’s pretty sure it’s desire, which is just … wow.
He doesn’t know how he manages to make it to the bed without falling, but he does. He pulls his shirt over his head, ridding himself of as much clothes as possible, as fast as possible. And then he crawls onto the bed, placing himself between the angel’s (wonderfully thick) thighs.
He hesitates for a moment, his hand hovering above his knees. “Can I?” he asks and Aziraphale lifts his legs to meet his hands.
“Have you not been listening? Please touch me.”
“I think the heatwave may have caught up to me,” he laughs. “This is … new.” He lets his hands roam from his knees up over his thighs. He digs his fingers into the soft skin of his inner thighs, and the way Aziraphale’s cock reacts to his touch drives him wild. They’re both wearing underwear, but he can clearly see the outline of the angel’s cock through the white fabric. It makes his mouth water, and it makes his own cock throb.
“Your fingers feel really good,” Aziraphale whimpers, as he skims them over his inner thighs towards the edge of his underwear.
“You’re so soft,” he marvels, quietly. “So warm.”
When his fingers have explored every nook and cranny of the angel’s thighs, he moves them up to the hem of his underwear, running his fingers under the elastic, teasing him as he pulls them down slightly. Aziraphale raises his hips, giving him access to remove them properly.
But he stops, letting the underwear fold just above his cock. Then he moves his hands up further, leaning down to place a kiss on his stomach as his fingers go higher. He’s been thinking of the angel’s nipples since he entered the room, and he’s desperate to touch them. He massages the small nubs, feeling them harden beneath his fingers. Then he moves down to take one between his teeth. Aziraphale takes in a breath as he licks, wrapping his fingers in Crowley's hair, guiding him closer.
“Oh, Crowley,” he moans, and it sounds almost exactly like it did earlier. Except this time, Crowley feels it in all his nerve-endings, knowing he is the one to make the angel moan like that.
He laps at the nipple, until Aziraphale’s hands pull him off.
He sits back, taking him in. He looks flushed and there’s a thin layer of sweat on his skin again, but this time it’s not because of the heatwave. That thought sends a thrill of pride down his spine.
He moves his hands towards his boxers again, this time pulling them off when Aziraphale raises his ass. His cock springs out and he lets it rest against the angel’s stomach while he pulls the boxers off completely.
He moves back, leaning down to kiss his way up the angel’s thigh, biting gently down on the soft skin. Aziraphale takes in a breath and reaches for his head again.
Before he can guide him anywhere, Crowley grabs his cock and licks a line from his testicles towards the tip.
“Oh dear,” Aziraphale whimpers and Crowley can’t help the smile that spreads on his face. He wraps his lips around his cock and takes it down as deep as he can. He works his mouth and hand in synchronicity, making the angel gasp as he clutches at his hair.
He does this for a while, enjoying the heavy feeling of Aziraphale’s cock on his tongue, the taste of him at the back of his throat. And then he remembers his words - fuck me - and he almost chokes. He moves his hand from his cock further down, circling his hole. When he pushes in, there’s a slickness that he assumes Aziraphale miracled, and it makes him laugh around his cock.
“I thought,” Aziraphale moans. “I thought, I’d be the one doing this to you.” His hips buck as Crowley curves his finger. “I want to suck your cock too.”
He pulls off. “We’re not done yet, Angel,” he says.
And then he pushes another finger into him. Aziraphale throws his head back. “And thank God for that,” he moans.
“She has nothing to do with this,” Crowley says, increasing the pace of his fingers, opening him up and making him writhe on the scrunched-up sheet.
“Fuck me,” he whimpers and Crowley wishes he had more restraint than to immediately pull off and out, pull himself out of his boxers and place himself against his hole (but he doesn’t).
He pushes in, closing his eyes as he’s fully entombed in Aziraphale. Aziraphale, with whom he’s been in love for years, centuries, millennia. Aziraphale, his best friend – his only friend, really – the only one who knows him, accepts him, cares for him. Aziraphale, who’s currently moaning his name in a way that makes him feel whole for the first time since he fell. Aziraphale, who’s clutching at him, pulling him closer, wrapping himself around him, making him feel everything all at once.
Aziraphale.
He loves him so much he doesn’t know what to do with it, so he throws it all into his movements, his touch, the words streaming from his mouth.
“Angel,” he moans, hands finding purchase on either side of the angel, as he thrusts into him. “Oh, Aziraphale.”
The angel is so respondent, so pliant against him. His legs are wrapped around his hips, strong thighs crushing him in the most wonderful way possible. His feet are at his ass, pushing him forwards, as his hands clutch at his back.
“Don’t stop,” he repeats, over and over again, and Crowley has absolutely no intention of doing that.
The open windows reveal sounds from the street, cars honking, children screaming and laughing, door slamming. He can’t focus on any of it, though, every part of him attuned to the sounds emanating from the angel, the points of contact between them. He never thought it would be this intense, never knew what they were denying themselves by not doing this. He’s done this before, of course, but not with Aziraphale. Never with anyone like him.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale whimpers. “Please, touch me. I need your fingers on me.”
So, he digs his feet into the bed and rests his weight on one arm, as he reaches for the angel’s cock. He wraps his fingers around him, pumping him in time with his thrusts and he can hear the difference immediately.
Aziraphale starts breathing deeper, his moans becoming more insistent, his walls clenching around him.
“I love your fingers,” he moans. “I love the way you fuck me.”
His words enter Crowley’s heart, unfurling like beautiful flowers. He almost says I love you, but he doesn’t want to come on too strong. “I love how you respond to me,” he says instead, thrusting deeply into him. “I love how you moan my name.”
“Crowley,” he says, almost like he planned it. And then he comes, Crowley’s name on his tongue, Crowley’s fingers wrapped around his cock, Crowley inside of him.
He jerks him through it, stilling his hips, wanting desperately to empty himself inside of him, but needing him to be present for it. When he comes down, he reaches for Crowley’s hips, pulling him closer.
“I want you to come inside of me,” he says, voice so deep and filthy it’s almost enough to make him come undone.
“Fuck,” he whimpers, and then he starts moving again, his fingers still wrapped around Aziraphale’s spent cock. It’s a weird sensation, holding his cock as it softens, but it’s so soft, just like the rest of the angel, and it does something to his heart, that he never expected a flaccid cock to do to anyone. He feels like an idiot, but he can’t stop touching him as he moves, wants their bodies to melt together.
When the angel wraps his thighs even harder around him, reaching for his nipples, he feels his hips jerk involuntarily. Aziraphale grabs one nipple hard, and it hurts but it also sends shivers down his spine and it’s enough to make him lose control.
He falls over the angel, coming inside of him, moaning his name as his hips jerk and his orgasm takes over.
When he returns to himself, he pulls out and rolls over, panting in time with the angel by his side.
“I enjoyed that,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley can hear the smile in his voice.
“Understatement of the millennia,” he muses. “I think we should make this a regular thing.”
It’s quiet for a moment, and he almost starts panicking that he said something wrong. He just thought … but maybe this was a one-time thing. Maybe Aziraphale already regrets it? But he did say he enjoyed it …
“I’d like that,” he says, after a while, and there’s an edge to his voice that Crowley doesn’t quite recognize.
It’s like the energy has gone out of the room, and he has no idea what happened. He thought … But no, maybe this was just a casual thing, and Aziraphale wants him to leave now. And that’s fine. He’s okay with that. At least he didn’t lose him. At least he got to try this, just once.
He wants desperately to lean over to kiss him, suddenly realising he never got to do that … But he stops himself.
When he starts breathing normally again, he sits up. Looks down at the angel. Fuck, he’s gorgeous, he thinks, and he wants to say it, but he’s not sure if he can.
“I should … go?” he says it like a question, hoping the angel will say no please stay – forever. But he doesn’t. He just nods.
“Right, yes.” Their eyes meet and there’s something guarded about the angel. He wishes he could reach in there and untangle it, wishes he could force him to say what was on his mind.
“Cool, fine, yes,” he starts. “I’ll just … uhm …” he rolls out of the bed, pulling his boxers back in place. He starts getting dressed, and it’s awkward, standing at the edge of the bed, Aziraphale lying naked on the bed, looking up at him.
“Crowley, I …”
“Yes?”
“We …,” he pauses, sends him a pleading look that he has no idea what means. “I have tickets for Regent's Park Open Air Theatre tomorrow, if you … if you wanted?”
“Oh,” he says, disappointment colouring his cheeks. Not what he hoped he’d say, but … something at least. “Sure, could be fun.” He smiles, hoping it reaches his eyes.
If the angel wants this to be casual, he can do that. He's always loved their friendship. No reason to change it if it works, he supposes. Even if they both just had incredible orgasms …
Aziraphale smiles too, sighing as he says: “It starts at 19:30, so … we could get dinner first?”
“Or we could bring a picnic basket?” he says, not sure where that came from.
Aziraphale lights up. “Oh! Good idea!”
He knows how much the angel loves picnics, and he can’t help the small chuckle that escapes his lips. “That’s settled then.”
“Wonderful,” Aziraphale says softly, and Crowley walks towards the door.
He turns around to say something else, but nothing comes. Their eyes meet.
“Till tomorrow,” Aziraphale whispers.
“Till tomorrow,” he repeats.
He walks to the Bentley with a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. He got everything he’s wanted for millennia, so why does everything feel so off?
He takes a deep breath as he enters the Bentley, turning on the radio as he wonders what went wrong.
Under Pressure starts blasting from the speakers, and he glares at the radio. “Not funny!” he says, pulling away from the bookshop.
He can’t help a last look up at the window, and he’s surprised to find Aziraphale looking down at him, a puzzling expression on his face.
What just happened?!