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Aziraphale embraced Crowley from behind, nuzzling underneath his ear. “That was very kind,” he whispered, and kissed the little snake marking. “Don’t worry. I won’t say it to anyone else.” A deeper kiss. “But I’ll say it to you.”
“Nggh.” Crowley turned to give Aziraphale better access to his neck.
“No one knows except me.” Aziraphale tugged the hem of Crowley’s shirt out of his trousers, slipped his hands underneath, curled them around his bare waist. “But I know exactly how kind you are.”
“Not… kind…”
“Whatever would they think of you?” Aziraphale’s lips skimmed along his jaw, trailed down the cords of his neck. “If they knew how tender you are? How good you are?”
“Not good —”
“Shall I go on telling you? Shall I show you?”
“Oysters,” whispered Crowley, and that meant “Please, keep going, I want more.”
“I see. And what would you say if you’d had enough… oysters?”
“Petrol,” murmured Crowley, impatiently but correctly. “Oysters,” he repeated.
“Oh yes, very good.” Aziraphale wrapped both arms around him. “That’s what you are, after all. Good.”
“Nnnn.” Crowley writhed in his embrace.
“Oh yes. The parfait gentil knight. The preux chevalier.” His fingers found Crowley’s belt buckle, unfastened it. “I see right through your dark, demonic facade. You go around every day in public, saying such shocking things.” He undid Crowley’s zipper and slipped his fingers inside. “But all the time — underneath — all you really want is to be nice, isn’t it?”
“Not nice,” whined Crowley, his cock like a burning brand to Aziraphale’s gentle touch. “Evil. Wicked.”
“Oh, I think we both know better,” chuckled Aziraphale. “I know what you are. I know what you’ve been doing.” He shoved the demon’s trousers down his hips. “And I’m going to thank you for it,” he murmured, hot into Crowley’s ear.
“No — no —”
“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale extracted a sachet of lubricant from his breast pocket, tore it open in front of Crowley’s belly, poured a small puddle into his right palm. “There, that should ease the way.”
He took hold of the demon’s cock, which had sprung free in a state of great excitement, and began to stroke. “I said I wouldn’t tell anyone else. But I think I might, after all,” he mused. “I could tell all the neighbors. Could stand on the pavement with a — what do you call it, a boomerang, boxer —”
“Boombox, angel —”
“There, you see? You’re even kind enough to help me get the words right. I could stand on the pavement, violins playing, telling the whole world what a lovely, gentle, darling creature you are.” He twisted his wrist deliberately, working his palm over the head.
“Aaah.”
“They’d all know. Oh, how their faces would go soft when they looked at you — imagine the dreamy little smiles, the crinkles around their eyes. They’d all be asking you for small favors —”
“No.”
“And you’d do it, wouldn’t you? You’d love to do it. For all of them. Pick up the milk, walk the dog, wash the car. Even help old ladies across the street. Right there in public. Where everyone could see you.”
“No — ohhhh — angel, s’not fair —”
“There you’d be, soft and kind and helpful, in front of the whole world.”
“Aziraphale, please —”
“Now,” purred Aziraphale, stilling his hand for a moment, “are you ready to admit what you really are?”
“Shut up,” spat Crowley, his eyes squeezed tight shut.
“Do you have a word for me?”
“Oysters,” gritted out Crowley. “Fuck. Oysters.”
“Then if you won’t admit it, I shall have to go on telling you.” He began to stroke again. “Even your cock stands up for me so sweetly. Oh, yes, darling, let me hear those pretty sounds you make. It feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Yes — fuck, yes, it does —”
“I’m going to keep on making you feel good. Because you are good.” Aziraphale kissed the little snake once more. It wriggled ecstatically against his lips, as Crowley twisted and arched in his arms. “You’re so good. No matter what you say. You can’t hide it from me.”
“No, I’m not — you can’t say that—”
“And do you know, there’s not a whiff of Heaven about it? You’re far too warm, far too real, far too decent for that. Your thoughtfulness, your generosity, your gentle compassion — it’s you. All you. You simply can’t help it.”
Crowley was whimpering now, riding close to the edge, tears rolling down his cheeks as he sobbed “No, no, no…”
Aziraphale quickened his rhythm. “I can taste it on your skin. That’s it, love. I know you. I know what you are.” He spoke low and warm into Crowley’s ear. “So sweet for me. So kind for me. Say it for me now. What are you?”
“I’m — good,” choked out Crowley, and came with a gut-punched groan, spurting hot between Aziraphale’s fingers.
“Sweetheart,” Aziraphale whispered, slowing to a stop. “Beautiful. You did so well.” He plucked a handkerchief from his pocket, cleaned his own hand, cleaned Crowley’s softening prick. “It’s all over now. Let me help you.” He pulled up Crowley’s trousers again, carefully tucking and zipping. “There, now. All put back together.”
Crowley turned in Aziraphale’s arms to face him, and held on tight, weeping.
“Oh, Crowley,” soothed Aziraphale, petting him. “Are you all right? Was it too much?”
Crowley stammered, “I just… not good enough for you… never can be… demon — wicked — unforgivable.”
“Crowley, listen to me. You don’t need forgiveness for being who you are. You don’t have to be good. You don’t need to earn my love. You already have it. You always have.”
“Aziraphale, you walnut. I know. I believe you. I believed every word you said. That’s what — fuck,” he broke off, and wiped his eyes.
“I see,” said Aziraphale softly. “Oh, Crowley. I understand.”
“You —” He coughed. “You won’t really tell everyone, will you?”
“No, darling. Don’t worry. I won’t say a word to anyone.”
“But you’ll tell me?”
“As often as you like.”
“H’m,” mumbled Crowley, mollified. “Good.”