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The coffee cup hovered in the air before him as Aziraphale smoothed his waistcoat and straightened his bow tie. The Supreme Archangel would already be displeased by the inferior drink. He knew better than to appear dishevelled while delivering it.
He reclaimed the handle of his boss’s grey mug and grasped the door knob with his other hand. As he entered the private corner of Heaven, he pasted a smile on his face. He truly was happy to be there and doing what he did. Afterall, a mere principality would not typically be granted the privilege to serve the leader of the Heavenly Host. Previously, this position was held exclusively by Dominions like Sandalphon.
Of course, everything about their situation was unusual in the days before the Second Coming. Yeshua kept his own counsel about who would serve and in what capacity. It was how Crowley had come to be at the desk he presently bent over, frowning in concentration at some dizzying graphs.
Aziraphale took a breath to admire the view. The red hair on Crowley’s head glowed in the frozen glimmer of the twin stars outside the window. He rubbed the auburn bristles along his jaw. The leaves of a monstera paused mid-rustle.
“Your excellency,” Aziraphale called out, hesitantly.
Serpentine eyes captured his, and he gasped at their narrowed beauty. “Aziraphale,” Crowley acknowledged, scanning him from head to foot in an unblinking instant. Then he flicked his eyes to the mug in his hand. “Is that my coffee?”
“Oh!” he gasped and stammered as he shuffled forward. “Yes, er, well… You see, your excellency, there’s an issue with the lift, and… I would normally have gone to Nina’s shop, but…. I didn’t expect… and I knew you had quite a busy day.” He started to wring his hands, nearly forgetting about the mug he still held.
Crowley’s brows drew down into a fierce V. “Aziraphale, did you bring me… miracled coffee?”
Aziraphale swallowed hard at the darkly forbidding tone in his voice. “I apologise.” He hid the mug behind his back. “I’ll take the stairs down to Earth, sir. It should only take…” He tried to think of some way to minimise the amount of time it would take him to travel 140 flights of stairs.
He hissed unhappily and held out his hand. “Give it here.”
Reluctantly, Aziraphale turned the mug, handle out, to be taken from his hand. Crowley’s eyes never left his as he took it and drank. Of course, he grimaced at the flavour. Miracled beverages never tasted quite right.
“This is swill.” The mug clicked heavily as Crowley set it down on the surface of his desk. “Come here.”
“I really can go and get…”
“I said, come here.”
His feet moved around the desk involuntarily at the sound of that heavy command. His heart shuddered in his chest, and blood rushed to his cheeks. After an eternity, he stopped, holding his breath to keep from drawing in Crowley’s intoxicating fragrance.
“Take a drink.”
Aziraphale watched his own hand lift the mug. When it came close to his face, he took a deep sniff of the rich brew. As he expected, it smelled slightly off in a divinely pure sort of way.
He met Crowley’s eyes, hoping to gain some clue on his desires. The yellow of his irises devoured the whites of his eyes. It was indeed a clue, though not one Aziraphale found particularly helpful.
Obediently, he took a sip, flinching at the taste. Somehow, the too hot drink was both sour and bitter. Aziraphale was no fan of plain espresso, but this was even more dreadful than he remembered.
“You don’t like it?” Hot breath blew into his ear with a malevolent chuckle.
Aziraphale gasped and shuddered. When had Crowley stood? How had he got so close without warning? The heat and smoky citrus smell of him surrounded the angel, fogging his mind.
“Well?” Crowley braced his weight against the desk, a hand on either side of his executive assistant. His eyes demanded an answer.
“I… well, you see,” he stammered in nervousness. With a sigh, he admitted. “I don’t generally care for plain coffees or strong ones.”
“I see,” Crowley hissed a bit as he whispered, “you don’t like the taste of my coffee, and yet you decided to miracle me a cup anyway.” He draped himself along Aziraphale’s back, adding to the oppressive menace already surrounding them. “Did it occur to you that that distaste would translate to your end result?”
Aziraphale’s eye flew open. He tried to force his voice to form apologies. They all stuck in his throat. His mouth gaped silently as one of the hands caging him against the desk slid up and under the hem of his waistcoat. “N..” Nimble fingers found the metal clip of his braces.
“I can’t hear you.”
“No, your excellency.” He bit back a whimper as the remaining clip that held his trousers in place was subsequently snapped loose. Friction and a few buttons were the only things keeping him clothed but not for long.
“I thought not,” Crowley ground his hips into the crease of Aziraphale’s derriere. “I wonder if we can drum a bit of forethought into you, little principality.”
Another flick of dexterous fingers, and Aziraphale’s trousers collapsed to the floor. His pants followed directly after them. Despite the chill in the air, sweat beaded between his thighs. The room would not even grant him a breeze. It felt like Heaven itself held its breath.
Crowley palmed his arse with one hand, still leaning most of his weight on his back and the desk. “Tell me what you’ll do to keep this from happening again?”
Aziraphale closed his eyes in relief. Of course his merciful leader would let him make this right. He smiled softly. “I’ll reach out to maintenance and have the lift serviced before tomorrow.”
The hand on his left cheek disappeared, leaving a clammy coolness in its wake. Crowley remained silent, and Aziraphale turned his head, hoping for a glimmer of approval. Their eyes met, and he knew that was the wrong answer.
The smack of flesh upon flesh echoed through the room a mere heartbeat before the heat and sharp ache of the impact bloomed through his arse. Tears welled up in his eyes. This time, Aziraphale let his whimper free into the space.
“Try again.”
His mind whirled frantically, partly trying to solve his conundrum but also cataloguing the many forms of heat through his body. His cheeks were flushed with blood, both sets. His back bore the hot weight of his displeased boss, and between his legs…
Another strike landed, opposite the first. This time, he could feel his flesh ripple with the impact just before the sting registered. He sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. He rolled his head back onto the shoulder behind it. “I…”
Crowley rubbed his arse, soothing away the sting. “Come on, now. I know you’re clever. Tell me how you’ll prevent me from ever having to drink that awful swill again.”
Aziraphale rocked his hips back, seeking the friction of that caress. “I’ll start my morning earlier, so that I have time to take the stairs if I nee-”
That time, he earned a slap before he even finished his sentence. He moaned at the feel of it. The surface fire of a fresh strike combined with the deeper ache of the one before it. He closed his eyes to keep his tears in.
“These are temporary solutions, little angel. You’re an eternal being.” Crowley’s lips brushed his ear as he ordered, “Do better.”
The smooth wool of Crowley’s trousers brushed against his hot flesh. Aziraphale imagined he could see the flush of red handprints on his creamy skin. He shivered.
Crowley’s hand gentled, cradling his hip tenderly. His nose nuzzled into the frothy blond curls at this temples. Aziraphale frowned. Tenderness had no place in Heaven.
He reached back to rest his hand on top of his lover’s. He matched his fingers over top of Crowley’s longer ones and curled inward, encouraging them both to dimple into his flesh. Instead of squeezing into his soft skin, that hand escaped his grasp and curled around the curve of his jaw.
His head tilted backward, and he felt soft hair and sharp teeth graze his neck. “Oh,” he gasped. He drew up onto his toes at the upward pressure on his jaw. Off balance, he fell into the chest at his back. When Crowley bit down on the tendon of his neck, he moaned, rolling his hips back to rasp against thin fabric that barely contained a thick hot cock.
Crowley sucked hard on that sensitive spot, and the noise he made when he pulled off reverberated in the silence around them. “Think, Aziraphale. What can you do?”
He felt the body against his shift and let more of his weight fall back onto it. The hand braced on the desk finally moved, stroking up and down the front of his thigh. Occasionally, Crowley would catch a bit of skin between two fingers in the promise of a pinch if he gave another poorly considered answer.
Of more interest than the implicit threat was the way Crowley’s arm crossed over Aziraphale’s throbbing arousal. He arched into it, barely holding back a plea for more. His breath sounded ragged, loud and desperate to his own ears.
“I…Oh…” He closed his eyes and tried to focus. “I’ll get a pallet of coffee beans.” He moaned at his reward, teasing fingers brushing his cock from base to tip and back. “I’ll, oh, yes, please… I’ll get my kettle and french press from the bookshop.”
Crowley’s fingers curled around Aziraphale’s girth. “Good angel.” He nipped at his earlobe.
A miracle shuddered through the space, and Aziraphale felt naked skin against his back and that lovely cock nestled between the tender cheeks of his arse. He ground back against Crowley, eager to feel more of him. “Please, oh…” he suck air in through his teeth and tried to corral his chaotic thoughts. “Have I pleased you, your excellency?”
“Yes,” he brushed his thumb over Aziraphale’s weeping tip. “Now I think it’s time for your reward.”
“Oh, thank you, sir,” he whispered.
Two fingers were lifted to Aziraphale’s lips, and he eagerly sucked on them. The suggestive gesture amplified his lust, and, based on the restless grinding behind him, he was not alone. He flicked Crowley’s fingertips with his nimble tongue and wished they had time for more.
Instead, Crowley drew his fingers back and used his other hand to guide Aziraphale to lay face down across the desk. The angel wiggled and writhed into a wider stance that he hoped would make his blushing posterior look even more enticing. He felt Crowley trace something that might have been a hand print before pulling his cheek apart.
Miraculously, his fingers were much slicker than saliva would normally allow. He traced his warm slippery finger around Aziraphale’s rim. Then, Crowley pressed his fingertip in and out of his hole. The tease went on long enough that the angel bit back a swear and bucked his hips backward seeking more contact.
“Impatient, little angel?”
“Oh!” He timed his next movement better and was rewarded with two fingers sliding inside him. “You have…” He moaned as Crowley twisted his hand seeking for his prostate. “Meeting soon.”
Crowley chuckled, “We have all the time we could ever need.”
Aziraphale appreciated the lie.
Despite his assurance that they had plenty of time, Crowley finally notched the hot head of his cock into the rim of Aziraphale’s hole. The stretch felt glorious, and both beings groaned in relief. Crowley pressed steadily into him until Aziraphale felt slim thighs against his aching arse.
They both held still, savouring the closeness and pleasure they shared. The heat and pressure of being filled and covered by his lover was enough, until suddenly it wasn’t. “Please,” Aziraphale begged, grinding his hips backwards. “Please, Crowley, I need…”
“I know what you need.”
True to his word, Crowley drew back until only his head remained inside. He ran his hand down Aziraphale’s spine and took a firm grip on his hip. Using his leverage, he trust home, hard.
The angle made him see stars, and Aziraphale groaned out, “Yes! More!”
“My greedy angel,” Crowley accused even as he started up a fast hard rhythm.
“Yes!” Aziraphale would have agreed to anything to keep his lover going. Fortunately, he had no quarrel with that phrase.“Greedy for you! Always need you!”
Crowley threaded his fingers into Aziraphale’s curls pulled his head up off his arms. “And mine! Say you’re mine!”
“Yours!” he cried out, dangerously loud even for their remote corner of heaven. “I’m yours! Always yours!”
“Good angel, very good.” Crowley latched into the already tender bite on his neck and sucked hard. Aziraphale howled.
Long fingers wrapped around his needy cock. Crowley matched his own rhythm, gasping desperate moans into Aziraphale’s ears. They moved together, chasing their release.
For Aziraphale, the overwhelming sensations bloomed from everywhere his lover touched him. The lightning along his throat met the fire and throbbing need travelling up into his abdomen. When all the sensations crashed together, his scream caught in his lungs.
Ecstasy exploded out from him, and he only vaguely noticed his partner’s own exclamations of bliss. “Yes, so perfect… love you… my angel…”
They melted together to drape across the desk, gasping for air they didn’t need. Crowley brushed kisses along his skin, the prickles of his beard sending shivers along Aziraphale’s spine. He reached back and laced their fingers together. The flush of their intimate moment warmed more than his skin.
“I love you, too, Crowley,” he whispered. “So very much.”
Crowley captured his lips in a slow kiss, again pretending they had all the time in universe. Aziraphale played along for another moment. He would always give his darling another moment, if he had one.
By mutual, though silent, agreement, they pulled away. Heaven would only wait for so long, and they both knew it. Aziraphale leaned in for one more kiss, before smiling regretfully.
“My sweet fiend,” he told him, softer than mortal ears could hear.
“My angel,” Crowley reminded him.
Slowly, they stood up, straight with a dignity that belied their nakedness. Aziraphale snapped to bring forth a miracle. His clothing appeared, not his preferred waistcoat and tie, but a severely tailored dove-grey suit with a snug fit and silver tie.
Beside him, Crowley’s own heavenly attire appeared. His beige waistcoat blended in with the linen shirt beneath it. Only his kilt gave the ensemble any personality as it bore a blue and tan tartan in inverse to Aziraphale’s favorite tie.
As Alpha Centauri began to twinkle outside the window, the heavenly workspace transformed. Aziraphale stared sadly as the desk stretched and spread into sturdy drafting table. The sex crumpled files faded away, replaced by a complex and elegant drawing of a nebula.
Outside, indistinct voices carried toward them. Aziraphale met Crowley’s serpentine eyes. They held each other’s gaze for one last moment before they both blinked. Aziraphale dropped his eyes to stare at the floor. His dear found his ethereally purple glow as unsettling as Aziraphale found his lover’s guileless brown eyes.
Footsteps and a mobile chair were audible beyond the door to their sanctuary, but Crowley still stepped close. His thumb, carrying a tinge of a miracle, brushed against a particularly tender spot on Aziraphale’s neck. He mouthed a “thank you” even as he regretted the loss of the visible evidence of their time together.
Aziraphale reached for the door knob just as it opened. “Yeshua! Saraquael!” He forced a welcoming smile.
“Good day!” The Son of God grinned. “I came to fetch you. Michael said you hadn’t accepted the meeting to review the latest plan for securing the lift in a great battle.”
The last remnant of his post coital glow faded away at the promise of another meeting that would pair intense boredom with casually intentional violence. “Ah, I must have missed the communication.” He turned back to the starmaker. “Darashel, thank you for reviewing your project with me so thoroughly. I think the Morrison nebula will be lovely.”
Saraquael moved past them into room. As he fell into step with Yeshua, they could hear the suspicious archangel ask, “What was that about, Darashel?”
“Oh, his excellency was curious about our projects at the outskirts of the universe.” Crowley’s cheerful voice carried out to them. “He even brought me something called a coffee.”
“Oh?” the archangel sounded suspicious, but she always did around them.
Crowley whispered, “He says it’s quite popular among humans, but I didn’t like it.”