Chapter Text
Aziraphale sat down at the pub and ordered a glass of sherry. It was a nice enough place, but he knew he could get better wine at home, as well as more comfortable seating, not to mention some actual peace and quiet. What he couldn’t get at home, what kept him coming back to this particular pub every Sunday night, was the intriguing redhead he’d begun chatting with a few weeks ago. Aziraphale wished he’d brought a book with him this week, more for something to do with his hands than to actually read. He wanted to look casual and relaxed should Crowley show up yet again. It wouldn’t do for him to be caught sitting there looking eager for his attention.
But Aziraphale was feeling eager, and not only for the chance to see the man who was taking up more and more space in his thoughts as of late. He also wanted to forget about work for a while, which had been predictably frustrating over the past week. It was convenient then, that the one unspoken rule he seemed to have with Crowley was that they were not to discuss their jobs.
It was about a month ago that they’d met. Aziraphale had been on the same stool, flipping through a book he’d read a dozen times. He’d been feeling bored and, if he was honest with himself (which he generally tried not to be), he was also feeling a tad lonely. The isolation that came with working mostly from home was not a new problem, but it seemed to hit him particularly hard when he realized that it was the start of June, which marked another year that he’d been single without any prospects. So he’d wandered out of his flat in Soho on an early summer’s evening and into the Dirty Donkey. He had no expectations that sitting in the local pub with his nose in a book would improve his situation any, but at the very least he might find a distraction from the world’s most polite nuisance that had recently begun hounding him at work.
He felt someone watching him before he looked up from his book and inadvertently made eye contact with the most stunningly attractive man he had ever seen. Aziraphale’s mouth lifted into a smile before he could stop himself when he took in the stranger’s lithe frame leaning up against the bar, as confident as anything, sipping from a tumbler filled with dark liquor and peering at him over the rims of a pair of round sunglasses. He schooled his expression and quickly diverted his attention back to the book in his hands the moment his brain uncharitably reminded him that a man like that had no business giving Aziraphale the time of day. He was probably looking at someone over his shoulder.
And so it was with no small amount of surprise that he discovered the man had splayed himself across the stool next to him and struck up an easy conversation.
After introductions, Aziraphale had gone for the most obvious source of small talk. “Well, Crowley, what do you do for a living?”
Crowley groaned. “Ugh, do we have to do that? Work is the last thing I want to think about right now. Tell me something more interesting. Like, why did you bring a book to the pub? Did you get lost on the way to the library? I believe there’s an old bookshop nearby, if you’d be more comfortable there.” His playful smirk suggested the comment was less a gibe and more of a harmless tease. Perhaps even a flirtatious tease?
Aziraphale still had no idea why this gorgeous creature was talking to him, but he knew better than to question it. “I brought a book in case there was no stimulating conversation to be found. I couldn’t have predicted that a mysterious tattooed man would stroll up and offer to buy me a drink.”
Crowley touched his fingers to the snake tattoo alongside his ear absently as his smirk widened. “I haven’t said anything about buying you a drink.”
“No, but I’ll need another one if I’m going to listen to you explain why there’s a snake on your face.” Aziraphale downed the last sip of his wine and returned the stranger’s grin. He had no issue taking a ribbing, but he also knew how to deliver a taunt of his own. And on the off-chance that Crowley was actually flirting with him, he wasn’t going to turn down the attention of a beautiful man, even if it would be fleeting.
Crowley gave him a look of begrudging respect. “Here you sit, posture straight as rail, all buttoned up, with blond curls like the halo on an angel. False advertising is what it is. Not an angel at all, are you?”
“Never claimed to be. I’ll take a merlot and one embarrassing tattoo story, please.”
“How do you know the story is embarrassing?” Crowley furrowed his brows incredulously.
“Oh, the best ones always are, my dear.” Aziraphale delivered one of his softer smiles, only slightly patronizing.
Crowley raised his hand in gesture to the bartender without taking his eyes off Aziraphale. “Okay fine, but I doubt you’d have made a better decision at nineteen years old with half a distillery running through your bloodstream.”
The hours ticked by without either of them seeming to notice until the pub’s employees had to practically shove them out the door. They did not exchange numbers before they parted outside on the pavement, but Aziraphale somehow knew that if he returned the following week he’d see Crowley there again. There were few things Aziraphale hated more than being wrong, and thus he was relieved when his hypothesis proved correct.
The second time they met, Crowley strutted up to Aziraphale and slouched into the neighboring stool without preamble. He sighed heavily and politely requested a large Talisker from the bartender before scrubbing his hand across his face.
“Rough week at work?” Aziraphale offered.
“Oh, you have no idea, angel.”
Aziraphale took a sip of his drink to hide the shiver that ran through him from the nickname. It felt strangely intimate coming from someone he’d only met once before. “I’m afraid I have a very good idea. But none of that now. Why don’t you tell me what type of undoubtedly dreadful music you like to listen to?”
His chosen distraction worked wonders, and soon Crowley was rambling about his favorite rock bands. He was surprisingly well versed in classical music as well, and Aziraphale was gleefully disagreeing with nearly everything he said, if for no other reason than because Crowley looked rather adorable when he was riled up.
Their congenial bickering was eventually interrupted by the raised voice of an enraged bar patron standing next to Aziraphale. The young person behind the bar was clearly getting flustered as their repeated attempts to appease the man were rebuffed.
“I do apologize sir, but if you wanted vodka instead of gin, all you had to do was ask. I’ll gladly make you another.”
The man nearly growled. “It’s supposed to be made with vodka! I can’t believe how bloody stupid–”
Aziraphale watched Crowley’s face split into a snarl of disgust at the man and he decided he’d had quite enough. Aziraphale turned on his stool and halted the obnoxious sod mid rant. “Pardon me, could you go be terrible somewhere else? Like perhaps that empty, darkened corner?” Aziraphale pointed to the opposite end of the pub. The red-faced creature opened his mouth to retort but Aziraphale held up his hand and continued. “You see, not only are you wrong about the cocktail, you’re also behaving like a horrific boor.”
The man sputtered angrily but Aziraphale cut him off, scolding him in vivid detail about not only his misinformed understanding of the martini, but his behavior and treatment of the employees, until the man finally had the decency to look somewhat abashed. By the time Aziraphale finished, the bartender had placed a new drink in front of the man, who mumbled an apology and slunk away.
When Aziraphale turned back around, Crowley was watching him bemusedly with a smirk on his face, his chin in his hand, elbow resting on the bar. Not knowing exactly what to make of that, and worried he had embarrassed Crowley or himself with his impromptu lecture, he smiled nervously and rushed to continue their previous conversation. “Now where were we? Oh yes, I believe you were about to tell me some remarkably wrong opinion about Schubert?”
Crowley chuckled. “Do you not know how opinions work, angel? As it turns out, people are allowed to have ones that are different from yours.”
Aziraphale’s eyebrow crept up his forehead. “A wretched state of affairs, if you ask me,” he remarked dryly.
Crowley’s smile sobered slightly. “You know, you are rather–”
“Insufferable, yes, I do know.” Aziraphale knew very well what people thought of him. Might as well get it out in the open. “A know-it-all, an overdramatic prig. I’ve heard it all before, darling.” He waved his hand dismissively. It still stung, of course, but Crowley didn’t need to know that.
Crowley drew back slightly in surprise. “I was going to say refreshing.”
“Refreshing?” He frowned in confusion. That was one Aziraphale had not heard before.
“Yeah. I never have to guess what you’re thinking. And you don’t seem bothered by what others think of you. I’m kind of envious, to be honest. I find myself consumed by other people’s opinions. Occupational hazard, I suppose.” Crowley shrugged.
“Oh…thank you? I have to admit, a lot of it is just a facade. There are certainly some opinions that I concern myself with.” Like Crowley’s, for example. Aziraphale felt his cheeks flush.
When their drinks were getting low, the bartender appeared with a refill for the both of them. “Thank you, sir, for your help earlier. I’m still new here and I’m trying my best–”
Aziraphale smiled at them softly. “Nonsense, my dear. No need to thank me. And you’re doing a wonderful job, Muriel.”
They thanked him again with a bright grin before getting back to the other patrons. Crowley had removed his sunglasses and was giving him that unreadable expression again when Aziraphale turned back to him.
“So I sit here all night being bullied about my music preferences, and they get your sweet side? I have half a mind to be jealous, angel.” Crowley sipped his scotch slowly.
“Being disrespectful to service workers is the most deplorable form of behavior. You, however, are fair game. You’re free to tell me to go to hell, or walk away, anytime you please.”
“And yet, here I am.”
“And yet, here you are.” Aziraphale was starting to accept that Crowley, dressed in all black and criminally handsome, might actually be flirting with him. It didn’t make a lot of sense, but the evidence was mounting. Aziraphale endeavored to be a bit nicer to him for the rest of the evening by only disagreeing with half of Crowley’s opinions. He also held the door for Crowley as they left the pub several hours later.
“I’ll see you…next week?” Crowley offered hesitantly.
Aziraphale’s reply was a bit quicker and more breathless than he’d planned. “Absolutely.”
The third time they met, Crowley got to the pub first. He was seated at their usual spot with a glass of merlot waiting for Aziraphale on the bar counter. A frisson of heat curled its way around Aziraphale’s bones. When he wasn’t focused on petty annoyances at work, he had spent most of the last week thinking about Crowley. His neck, his graceful hands, his laugh. Hair that Aziraphale longed to sink his fingers into. But Crowley was also clever, and interesting. He was self-assured, but there was a softness in his eyes that prevented his confidence from crossing the line into arrogance. Aziraphale was embarrassingly smitten.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley greeted with a nod as he sat.
“Crowley. I hope you had a good week?” Aziraphale also hoped, against all odds, that Crowley might have been thinking of him even half as much as he was thinking about Crowley.
He sighed deeply. “About the same as the last. I love what I do, truly, but there are parts of the job that make me want to pull my hair out.”
“I am very familiar with that feeling. I don’t think I could have asked for a better career, and I get to work with some lovely people. I almost feel guilty when I get the urge to complain.”
“So let’s not. What do you like to do outside of work, angel? I’m sure you’ve got hobbies to keep you busy. A partner, perhaps?” Crowley raised an eyebrow and took a very purposeful sip of his single malt scotch.
Aziraphale was vaguely aware that under normal circumstances, he’d mock the complete lack of subtlety in Crowley’s question. But that would be rather hypocritical, considering the pathetically unsubtle response he blurted out not a second later. “No!” He cleared his throat awkwardly before continuing. “No, I don’t have a partner, I mean. I do have hobbies.”
Crowley’s grin was warm, if a bit smug around the edges as he pulled off his dark glasses and tucked them into the pocket of his blazer. “I’m also…unattached.”
Aziraphale found himself even more unmoored after that admission. He’d hoped, of course, that Crowley was available, but the confirmation made his pulse pounding distractingly. Mercifully, Crowley allowed Aziraphale to ramble about his love of books and theatre for a while until he got his feet back under him. Their good-natured teasing put Aziraphale at ease and he laughed when Crowley informed him that all of his preferences were at least a century out of date.
“Seriously, angel. Your favorite musicians, authors, playwrights–all of them a bunch of dead people. Are you sure you’re not a time traveler?”
Aziraphale giggled again. “I wish. Do you know how challenging it is to get your hands on vintage menswear?” He smoothed his hands down his worn, well-loved waistcoat.
Crowley’s eyes followed the motion and he chewed his lower lip distractedly. “Yes, I can imagine…that must be such a struggle.”
Aziraphale felt his cheeks darken. No one had looked at him like that in quite a while, but he thought he recognized the look from when he was younger, less jaded, and far less soft around the middle. Flustered, and desperately in need of a distraction, he scanned his eyes across the pub, trying to look anywhere but at Crowley. “Oh look, dear, a table just opened up. Much more comfortable. Would you like to sit over there, and you can tell me what you like to do with your free time?”
Crowley’s smirk returned. “Sure, whatever you’d like, angel.” They carried their drinks over and settled at opposite sides of the small table. Aziraphale regretted that they were no longer close enough for him to get a hint of Crowley’s spicy, slightly smokey scent. “Indoor gardening. That’s what I do for fun.”
“Gardening? Really? I was expecting something a bit more…edgy. Motorcycle maintenance, or something of the like.”
Crowley snorted out a laugh. “Sorry to disappoint. My work can be very fast-paced and stressful. Taking care of my plants is how I relax. Give them what they need, and they flourish. It's straightforward. And unlike my employees, they don’t talk back when I shout at them.”
“I would love to know your secret. I was gifted a plant by a dear friend, and I must admit it died a horrible death. I have a black thumb, apparently.”
“So you’re confessing to murder?”
“No, but I would plead guilty to involuntary plant-slaughter.”
Crowley laughed again, and berated him for the terrible pun. Aziraphale listened attentively as Crowley prattled on about soil types, and pH, and eradicating common pests. It was not his area of interest, but he kept asking questions and humming thoughtfully so he could watch Crowley chat about something he was passionate about. Captivated by Crowley’s voice and gestures, the part of Aziraphale that longed to bite and snap, criticize and tease, was peacefully subdued. He was almost tempted to ask about Crowley’s job just to see if it would elicit the same level of enthusiasm, but he managed to resist.
Perhaps he let himself become a bit too unguarded, too caught up in Crowley, because before long Aziraphale found that he was fairly drunk. He was watching Crowley, imagining him in a t-shirt, hands covered in soil, wearing petrichor like a cologne, when he realized Crowley was still talking about something or another. “I’m sorry, darling, I think I’ve lost the…the plot a bit. What point were you making?”
“My point is…my point is, dolphins. That’s my point. Big brains. The size of…damn big brains.” Crowley’s almost-slurred nonsense suggested he was in a similar state of inebriation.
Aziraphale was giggling in a very undignified way when Muriel approached with some water and a mug of black coffee for each of them. “I thought you gentlemen might want to sober up a bit before you head home, yeah?”
“Oh Muriel, you are a saint.” Aziraphale smiled at them warmly.
Crowley took a sip of the coffee and eyed Aziraphale carefully as Muriel walked away. “That’s the one.”
“What was that?” Aziraphale turned back to him, still wearing a soft and silly grin.
“The real one. Your real smile. When we first met, I was trying to figure out which part was real and which part was the mask. You wear this aura of bitchiness like a shield. But sometimes it slips, and I can see the kindness behind your eyes.”
“I don’t… I’m not…” Aziraphale was struck dumb with the truth of the statement, even as he tried and failed to deny it.
“Sorry for calling you bitchy, that was rude. I like the sharp parts of you. You’re funny and observant and quick. But there’s this softness…a sweetness in you. Who made you feel like you had to stifle it?”
Aziraphale felt his mouth drop open slightly. That was far too complex a question to be pondered while he was half-drunk. Feeling a bit too seen, he took a hurried sip of coffee and winced at the bitterness. Tea would have made him feel more grounded.
Crowley shook his head. “Sorry, sorry. Don’t answer that. I’ve had too much to drink.” He took another gulp of steaming coffee.
For the first time since they’d met, the conversation between them stilled. They remained quiet when they parted on the pavement.
Crowley looked at him hesitantly. “Goodbye, Aziraphale.”
“See you next week, Crowley.” Aziraphale indulged himself with one backward glance after they turned to head in opposite directions, watching as Crowley’s fluid, hip-swinging strides disappeared around the corner.
And that was how Aziraphale found himself back at the Dirty Donkey the next Sunday evening with a glass of sherry, in need of something a bit more fortifying than his usual red wine. This would be the fourth week in a row they would meet, but Crowley was later than usual and Aziraphale was panicking that his luck had finally run out. This was why he kept his guard up. It would only hurt more to know that Crowley had seen who he really was before he turned away and found someone more worthy of his time and attention. He’d been delusional, thinking he could spend time with someone like Crowley and not get his feelings all twisted up in his chest.
Aziraphale had finished his first glass of sherry by the time he looked up and saw a tall, dark figure rushing through the door of the pub. Crowley spotted him immediately as he pushed inside, his smile open and guileless. Aziraphale made the conscious decision not to hide the relief he knew was evident in his features while Crowley sauntered towards him.
“I apologize if I kept you waiting, angel. I usually have Sunday nights off, but there was an issue that needed my attention. It's just one of those things that comes with owning your own business.”
“No trouble at all, my dear, I assure you.” After all, he didn’t completely crawl out of his own skin in anticipation. “I’ve had an interesting week at work as well. Have you ever had to deal with someone who simply refuses to take ‘no’ for an answer?”
“Oh, I am all too familiar with stubborn arseholes. Some people just won’t listen to reason. We’re dealing with one such individual at the moment, actually.” Crowley waved towards Muriel to get their attention.
“That sounds infuriating.” They were getting a bit too close to actually discussing their jobs, so Aziraphale decided a change of subject was in order. “Our table has miraculously opened up, why don’t I go claim it. A sherry for me, a large one.”
“Of course, Lady Bracknell.”
Aziraphale was still chuckling at the barb when he sat down at the table, but the cheer left his features immediately when a man suddenly approached.
“Mr. Fell!” An overexcited smile split across the man’s face beneath his unfortunate mustache.
“Oh…hello.” Aziraphale couldn’t place the face immediately. He realized it was someone he knew from work, that was obvious enough when he addressed him as "Mr. Fell." The man flopped down into the chair opposite him without invitation, and that was when Aziraphale realized who he was dealing with: Mr. Brown. They’d only met a few times in person, and mostly communicated through email, but he was the dullest and most annoying of all Aziraphale’s colleagues. Always trying to organize painfully dry monthly get-togethers that no one really wished to attend. He was rambling about one such gathering while Aziraphale tried to calculate exactly how long he had to humor him before he could politely decline. Or not so politely, considering he was rudely occupying Crowley’s seat.
Brown was still talking. “Every time I’d send you an email about one of our gatherings, you’d never respond. If I was a superstitious man I would have taken it personally!”
“Indeed…I’m afraid that–” Aziraphale was relieved that Crowley’s appearance at his side cut him off. He was not certain the next sentence out of his mouth was going to be terribly nice, considering he wanted to inform Brown that a wiser man would have taken it personally.
“A sherry for you–and a whisky for me.” Crowley placed the glass on the table and Aziraphale immediately took a much needed sip. Crowley turned towards Mr. Brown with an insincere smirk. “Hello…”
Brown looked up at Crowley with an air of disappointment, but kept a smile plastered on his face. “My dear colleague here was just telling me how much he’s been looking forward to attending our monthly office get-together!”
Aziraphale tried to communicate with his eyes just how desperately untrue that statement was. If he hadn’t been wearing his signature dark glasses, Aziraphale was certain the glare Crowley directed towards Brown would have turned him to stone on the spot.
Thankfully, the man finally seemed to sense that his presence was unwelcome and he rose to leave. “So, look, I’ll send over all the details, but it’s this Thursday night after work hours.”
Crowley slouched into the newly vacated seat without acknowledging the man further. There was a sharpness to his features when he took a swig of his drink that was a stark contrast to his usual playful demeanor. “Is that the prick that’s giving you a hard time at work? Won’t take ‘no’ for an answer?” Crowley pulled off his glasses.
“Oh no, he’s just a minor annoyance. Irritating but harmless–going on about his little get-togethers, asking me to collaborate with him.” Aziraphale shrugged.
There was a visible twitch on his face as Crowley’s jaw tensed. “The way he looked at you…he’s got a pash on you, angel.”
If Aziraphale didn’t know any better, he’d think there was a flash of actual jealousy in Crowley’s eyes. “What? No! What on earth would make you say that?”
“Takes one to know one, as they say.” Crowley hid behind a quick sip of whisky as his cheeks flushed. He seemed as surprised as Aziraphale over what he’d let slip past his lips.
Aziraphale struggled to come up with a response. His mouth opened and closed several times in a way that he was certain would draw unflattering comparisons to a fish. Crowley seemed to be giving him time to contemplate what he’d just said. Unfortunately, Aziraphale’s brain appeared to be on holiday at the moment. He had spent quite a lot of time thinking about how he felt about Crowley, and very little time considering the possibility that Crowley might be feeling similarly.
Crowley broke the silence after a few awkward moments. He downed the last of his whisky and dropped the glass onto the table between them. “Look, sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear. I’ll go and leave you be, if that’s what you want. But on the off chance that I haven’t ruined everything…you could come with me.”
Wide-eyed, Aziraphale stared at Crowley. “What?”
“My place, it's not far from here. I have a couple nice bottles of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. We could–” Crowley shook his head and stood from his seat. “No, I get it. You barely even know me. I’ve pushed too far. I’ll go. I shouldn’t have–”
Aziraphale jumped up and stopped Crowley with a hand to his chest. He was firm, and warm beneath his palm, and Aziraphale thought he could feel Crowley’s racing heart. “I’d like that.”
“You would?” Crowley’s voice sounded hopeful, lilting upward as he looked into Aziraphale’s eyes.
“Obviously. I’d never turn down a tall, dark, gorgeous–” Aziraphale paused as Crowley’s mouth dropped open, “–glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape.”
“You’re a cruel man, Aziraphale.” Crowley’s serious tone was undercut by the bright smile that spread across his face.
Crowley was telling the truth about his flat being nearby. The walk was only a few minutes, about the same distance as Aziraphale’s flat, albeit in the opposite direction. He considered that it was a bit of a wonder that they hadn’t crossed paths until recently, as they walked the short distance hand-in-hand, giggling at each other like teenagers and not like a couple of men in their forties.
Crowley let them into the flat, and Aziraphale’s eyes scanned across the expensive, modern furnishings of the living room. There was an oversized couch positioned in front of a flat screen television. Everything was shades of black and grey, sharp clean lines. And much neater than Aziraphale’s small, cluttered flat.
Crowley stood with his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, it's a bit…much. I hired someone to furnish the place, didn’t have time to deal with it myself. Not sure if I’m totally in love with the decor, but the couch is comfortable. Have a seat, I’ll pour the wine.” He strutted off down a hallway, presumably towards the kitchen, and left Aziraphale on his own.
Aziraphale was struck with the awareness that Crowley was likely rather wealthy; everything about the spacious flat exuded quality. He stepped towards the couch, but was distracted by the green foliage occupying the space in front of the window. Aziraphale was examining the luxurious, verdant, and beautiful plants when Crowley returned and handed him a glass of wine.
“You really do have a talent, my dear. Your plants are stunning.”
“The real trick is to put the fear of god into them. They wouldn’t dare step out of line at this point.” He glared menacingly at the plants and Aziraphale laughed. The look in Crowley’s eyes was soft and affectionate when he turned them back to Aziraphale and guided him towards the couch. They sat down next to each other.
“Have you lived here long?” Aziraphale asked.
“Not really. About eight months? I grew up in London but I was up north for a while. Came back for a business opportunity.”
Their usual chatting and teasing came easily as they drank the wine. It was rich and full-bodied, obviously an exceptional vintage, but Aziraphale was too distracted by Crowley’s proximity to register much more than that. He truly was absurdly attractive. Sharp features and long limbs, broad shoulders and narrow hips. Aziraphale couldn’t rationalize what Crowley saw in a soft and fussy man who dressed as though he was from another era entirely. However, Crowley had given him no reason to doubt his interest.
When they got to the bottom of their glasses, Crowley offered to go to the kitchen and get the bottle.
Aziraphale put his glass down on the coffee table in front of them. “No need, I think I’ve had enough.”
“Right. Yeah, okay.” Crowley put his glass down but looked disappointed, probably assuming that meant the end of their evening. Aziraphale reached out and cupped Crowley’s cheek, turning his face so they were looking directly at one another. “Oh?”
Aziraphale nodded in response as he leaned forward to slot their lips together. He had no idea what possessed him in that moment, but he needed to kiss Crowley and taste the wine from his lips. Crowley’s mouth was warm and soft. He snaked an arm around Aziraphale’s waist to pull him closer and they kissed like that for a few minutes, almost chastely, their lips sliding gently against each other slowly and carefully. It was sweet, and lovely, and not nearly enough. Aziraphale pulled away to look at Crowley, hoping that what he was seeing in those pale brown eyes was something akin to the desire he knew he was failing to hide.
Crowley raised an eyebrow at him in question, and Aziraphale nodded again. That appeared to be all the permission Crowley needed to lunge forward, pushing Aziraphale onto his back on the couch. His head came down near the armrest, and Crowley spread himself on top of him, plunging his tongue into Aziraphale’s welcoming mouth. Now this was what Aziraphale needed after an unfairly long dry spell. Something heated, passionate. Hands grasping at fabric and flesh, soft moans emanating from open mouthed kisses. The push and pull, trading of warm breath. Crowley kissed down his neck and Aziraphale keened even as his cheeks blushed in embarrassment, grasping Crowley by the hair to keep him pressed to his skin. His scarlet hair was silky between his fingers and Crowley groaned when Aziraphale scraped his nails across his scalp. Crowley pulled his mouth off Aziraphale’s neck and he quietly hoped there’d be a mark there tomorrow to prove that this had really happened.
“So hard for me, aren’t you, angel?” Crowley breathed the words into his ear and ground his hips down against Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale moaned helplessly. That kind of talk was his weakness, and he hadn’t counted on Crowley being adept at it. “What’s the matter? Not so quick with the comebacks when I’ve got you desperate and writhing beneath me, are you?”
Crowley trailed his hand down Aziraphale’s body and squeezed his cock over his trousers. “Crowley!” The word was punched out of him as his back arched off the couch. He hadn’t been touched by anyone other than himself in so long.
“That’s it. Let me hear you, angel. I wonder what kinds of sounds you’d make with your cock in my mouth.” Crowley grinned in appreciation of the dumbstruck expression Aziraphale knew was spreading across his own face, but Crowley’s eyes softened when they met Aziraphale’s. “I have condoms, and we don’t have to do anything that you’re not comfortable with, but I want you to know I haven’t been with anybody since I was tested last.”
Aziraphale had, up until this moment, rather naively believed that he couldn’t get more overwhelmed. He took a few steadying breaths and waited for his swirling thoughts to clear before speaking. “The same is true for me. So, if you wanted to forgo protection, I would be alright with that.”
“Fuck yes. Wanna taste you. Bet it’s better than the wine.” Crowley dove back into a kiss as he unbuckled Aziraphale’s belt and opened his trousers. Crowley reached inside and into his pants, stroking him in his fist. Aziraphale could only release a devastated whine in response. He couldn’t remember ever wanting someone this much. Crowley’s satisfied hum came from deep in his throat. “Should’ve guessed you’d have such a nice, thick cock.”
Crowley slid down his body, pulling Aziraphale’s trousers and pants down just far enough to free his aching cock, settling between Aziraphale’s spread legs. His tongue teased Aziraphale’s balls while Crowley’s hand stroked him again. He used his tongue and lips to caress the sensitive underside of his cock from root to tip. Then he sucked the delicate head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.
Aziraphale could barely draw in breath, and words were out of the question. He stopped his eyes from clenching shut with pleasure so he could peer down at Crowley. He was struck by how obscene he must look, still fully clothed except for his cock between Crowley’s lips. He grabbed the hand Crowley had splayed across his chest and squeezed, craving more contact. The look in Crowley’s eyes was diabolical, and if any of his blood was flowing towards his brain, Aziraphale would have known that Crowley was up to something. But as it was, he was caught entirely by surprise as Crowley swallowed him down to the root without hesitation.
Another loud and pathetic moan poured out of him, and Aziraphale fought to avoid bucking up into Crowley’s throat. Crowley pulled up slowly, sucking and tonguing along his cock before plunging down again and again. Aziraphale’s arousal was building rapidly, but he didn’t want to stop feeling Crowley’s mouth wrapped around him.
Crowley pulled off and looked into Aziraphale’s eyes. “You like that, don’t you, angel? You want to come down my throat?” He gently stroked with one hand and kissed the head of his cock with surprising tenderness.
Aziraphale whimpered when he realized Crowley was still looking up at him, waiting for an actual response. “Crowley…please.”
Crowley smirked before resuming his devastating pace, swallowing him down all the way before pulling back up with just the right amount of pressure and suction to send Aziraphale’s eyes rolling into the back of his head. Crowley hummed and the vibration pulled Aziraphale’s balls tight against his body. He whined, too lost to give Crowley a proper warning before he was coming into his mouth. Crowley didn’t pause, just kept sucking him down and swallowing as Aziraphale twitched and writhed his way through an orgasm he felt down to his bones, coming harder than he had in years.
Crowley finally pulled off and looked up at him with a satisfied grin. Aziraphale tugged at his arms, his hair, anything he could latch on to and pulled Crowley back up to kiss him. He could taste his own release on Crowley’s tongue and swollen lips. Aziraphale wanted to see Crowley come. Needed to bring him that same pleasure, needed to feel Crowley lose himself completely. He grabbed onto Crowley’s slim hips and positioned him so he was straddling Aziraphale’s chest. He propped his head up on the couch’s armrest and unbuttoned Crowley’s ridiculously tight jeans.
Crowley looked down at him, bewildered but panting desperately when Aziraphale pulled Crowley’s hard cock out of his pants. “You sure? You don’t have to–”
Aziraphale stroked the sizable length, and leaned forward to lick at the head. “I want to. Go ahead, take my mouth, darling.” He leaned back and Crowley’s trembling hands came to rest on either side of his head on the armrest. Aziraphale was struck with the desire to let Crowley use him. His cock was big, but Aziraphale knew he could take it. If he hadn’t just come moments before, the thought would have made him hard all over again.
Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s hips and guided him forward, letting his cock slip into his waiting mouth. Crowley hissed. “Oh fuck…that’s so fucking hot. Not gonna last.” He thrust into Aziraphale’s mouth slowly, careful not to choke him with his cock. Aziraphale wouldn’t have minded if he did, but he wanted Crowley to take his pleasure however he saw fit. He sucked and licked and slid his hands up and down Crowley’s firm thighs as he plunged his cock into Aziraphale’s mouth over and over. The weight of him, the taste of him, felt so perfect on his tongue. “Those lips…yes, you have such a pretty mouth, angel.”
Before long Crowley’s thrusts got quicker, more urgent. His eyes squeezed shut, and Aziraphale could see the sweat beading along his hairline. “Angel, you feel so good. Can’t…I’m gonna–” Crowley cut off with a groan and Aziraphale leaned forward to take him down deeper as he came, spurting hot come down the back of his throat. It had been so long Aziraphale had almost forgotten how much he liked giving someone pleasure, making them lose control. He wrung every drop he could out of Crowley’s cock before he pulled away.
They tucked themselves back into their pants, and they shifted so they lay side by side, facing each other on the couch. They kissed lazily for a while, able to savor it now that they weren’t in a rush to chase their release. Their legs were tangled together, and Aziraphale ran his hand up and down Crowley’s torso, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. Crowley rested his head in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and he could feel his warm breath against his skin. Aziraphale had missed this too, the post-orgasmic haze, touching just because you could.
Crowley pressed a gentle kiss onto Aziraphale’s neck before propping his head up on his elbow. He smiled down at him and ran his fingers across Aziraphale’s face delicately. He caressed his brows, his cheek bones, ran a finger down the bridge of his nose. Aziraphale tried not to flinch at the touch, even as a spike of vulnerability pierced his chest. He kissed the tips of Crowley’s fingers when he touched them to Aziraphale’s lips.
Crowley laughed softly. “See? I knew you had a sweet side.”
“Don’t tell anyone. I have a very bitchy reputation to uphold.” Aziraphale felt the skin around his eyes crinkle as he smiled up at Crowley.
He kissed Aziraphale gently. “That shouldn’t be very hard to do, considering I know hardly anything about your life. Wouldn’t be opposed to learning more. Maybe over dinner?”
This is where Aziraphale would normally feel the urge to hide behind sarcasm, or make a biting joke to bury what he was really feeling, what he really wanted. Instead, he ran his fingers through Crowley’s short hair and answered simply. “Yes.”
Crowley leaned into the touch. “I’m not working on Wednesday night. Will you be free?”
Aziraphale’s schedule was largely up to his own discretion, so he didn’t have to consider for long before agreeing with a nod.
They kissed a little more before they peeled themselves up off the couch. After they exchanged numbers, Aziraphale decided that he should really be getting home. Crowley walked him to the door and pulled Aziraphale in for another soft but devastating kiss that left his heart and lungs aching in his chest.
Aziraphale didn’t really remember the walk home. All he knew was that it was a warm summer night, and he was happy.