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Crowley rings off and slams his head down onto the pillow. Bloody stupid, how many times is he going to beg the angel to reject him before he turns into a pile of ash? And how disgustingly, syrupy soft can he make his voice before Aziraphale just does it for him?
Despite what he’d said to Aziraphale, he doesn’t set his alarm at all. He’ll wake up whenever he wakes up. What harm can another century nap do? Not like anyone will be waiting around on him anyway.
He throws his phone across the room and hears it shatter against the concrete wall. With a grumble, he flops over into the middle of the bed, stewing like a miserable little demon burrito. The angel had called him that once when he had walked in and found Crowley pouting after Hell hadn’t appreciated some great plan of his. He still remembers the first time he took Aziraphale for a burrito. The angel had been delighted by it all, of course. Got the biggest one they offered and polished it off before ordering a nice sopapilla with honey to finish. Crowley groans, twisting around and getting hopelessly tangled up in his sheets.
No matter how many times Aziraphale agrees that they’re on their side, when the chips are down he chooses anyone, anything but Crowley. Always has. Who could blame him? Aziraphale is a being of love and goodness and light and Crowley is a filthy demon, for Satan’s sake. And Crowley is so pathetic that despite it all, he will always choose Aziraphale. The angel could push the Bentley off a cliff and Crowley would take him for a nibble afterwards. Crowley makes a tremendous effort to push all thoughts from his mind. He flips onto his belly, resolutely crossing his arms and tucking his head beneath them.
Soon, he begins to drift off into a fitful sleep. The dreams begin immediately, as they always do. (After all, from what Crowley has seen, humans dream all night every night from the second their heads hit the pillow until the moment they gasp awake. No one ever bothered to tell him anything about sleep stages or REM or any other such nonsense.)
He dreams of that blasted bandstand. In his dreams it’s always the angel who walks away from him, his beautiful, white-blonde head bobbing away into the sunset. He never so much as glances back. The dream shifts, Aziraphale spread out on a picnic blanket, smiling in the warm sunlight. Crowley reaches out for him and the world begins to distort, clouds cover the shining sun, the angel’s smile melts into a grimace. Aziraphale pulls away. Always, always pulling away. It shifts again. This time Crowley is down on his knees, begging Aziraphale to stay with him. The angel snatches his hands from Crowley’s grasp, a sneer warping his beautiful face. The world changes again. Into the worst one of them all. Flames lick at Crowley’s clothes, at his face. He’s screaming at the top of his lungs, ripping his throat with the sheer volume of it. Aziraphale, where are you? I can’t find you!
A sharp, trill yanks Crowley from his sleep. He gasps awake, just as one should, searching for the source of the noise. It’s his mobile, which has reassembled itself during his sleep, it seems. His blood freezes in his veins. Is Aziraphale in danger? How long had he been sleeping? Oh, Satan. He leaps up from his bed and throws himself across the room, reaching desperately for his blessed mobile.
“Hello? Angel?” he says, close to hyperventilating. Why hadn’t his Aziraphale’s-in-danger sense woken him?
“Hello, dear,” Aziraphale says, his voice shaking.
“What’s the matter, angel? Where are you? I’ll come to you right now, don’t worry,” Crowley says. He’s already up off the floor, miracling actual clothes onto himself.
5 Minutes Ago
The Principality Aziraphale, (ex) Guardian of the Eastern Gate, stares at the phone receiver in his hand, gnawing on his bottom lip. Ages-old anxiety is curdling in his stomach, causing a real ruckus that he could quite do without, thank you very much. Crowley’s voice reverberates through his mind, the aching sadness there. Sadness that, once again, Aziraphale had been the cause of. Will he ever stop crushing his demon’s precious heart?
Aziraphale snaps the phone down and steps away from the table. All of a sudden, he’s feeling a lot of that misery Crowley had been on about. He’d been thoroughly distracted by his new hobby before, baking cake after cake, covered in flour from dusk ‘til dawn. Now, though, he can’t help but imagine a sweet little red-bellied snake coiled in the pocket of his apron whilst he bustles about the kitchen. A gorgeous, long redhead sprawled on his couch in the midday sun, his black shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of flesh that Aziraphale is desperate to touch.
He imagines waking Crowley, brushing his hair from his forehead and offering him the first bite of a pastry warm from the oven. Oh, Crowley won’t care much about the flavour, of course! But he’ll taste it for Aziraphale. He’ll go on about how well his angel had done, and shouldn’t he sit on the couch with Crowley and have a nice big piece of his own whilst it’s still warm?
Something far less pleasant creeps into his mind. His poor demon, all alone in that bleak thing he calls a flat. Nothing but concrete walls and floors. Naught to do but mope around, terrorize his plants. Not even any mischief to be caused to occupy his brilliant mind! No wonder he’d sounded so out of sorts on the phone. And Aziraphale had rejected him again. For what? Because the humans aren’t allowed to be out and about? Well, so what? The human government can’t control them any more than heaven or hell can. Especially considering neither of them can actually get sick or pose any danger to human lives. They are truly on their own side.
Their own side. Aziraphale still has to pinch himself when he remembers the truth of that. They don’t have anyone to answer to but one another. It’s as terrifying as it is beautiful. He still has to remind himself that they have no need to live in fear anymore. Crowley had gone upstairs and faced a whole heavenly host to keep Aziraphale safe. Aziraphale had braved one of his greatest fears, plunged into the depths of Hell, faced hissing demons and the Prince of Hell themselves. Just for Crowley. And he would do it again in a moment. Lord, he’d step into a ring of Hellfire himself if it would keep Crowley safe.
They’re on their own side and it’s high time Aziraphale starts showing Crowley that he means it. Maybe he could even let the demon know… how he feels. No heaven or hell to punish either of them for it anymore. Oh, he knows Crowley doesn’t return the feelings, of course. Crowley loves him, of that Aziraphale has no doubt. Crowley has always been a good, soft-hearted creature, regardless of what he would have anyone think. Aziraphale thinks God might have forgotten to turn off the angelic love bit when She cast him from Heaven. He’s full of mischief, of course, but he really, truly loves people. And Aziraphale is included in that number. But… well, Crowley is so attractive. He knows he could have his pick of all the humans on earth. And he likely has had his pick. Aziraphale shudders at the thought. Crowley would never want to hold Aziraphale the way he so desperately wishes he would. Never want to kiss him. Wake up next to him. Next to soft, boring, fussy Aziraphale.
Even still, Crowley deserves to hear it. After all the times Aziraphale has pushed him away and disparaged their friendship, he deserves to hear the words from Aziraphale’s mouth. That he loves Crowley and always has. That he’d only ever pushed him away out of fear. Aziraphale worries that it might spook Crowley for a bit, but he thinks, in the end, it’ll mean a lot to him. Maybe begin to heal some of the damage that Aziraphale has done to him over the years. And if Aziraphale is honest, it’s all but impossible for him to hold it in any longer. It’s undeniable that his very soul yearns to be able to express his feelings to Crowley. To reach out and touch his soft hair, to draw him into a gentle kiss instead of pushing him away as he always has.
Well, those things won’t happen, of course, but an angel can dream!
Yes. Well. He’ll just call Crowley right back up. Explain to him that he’d only gotten flustered because Crowley had asked so suddenly! On second thought he would love for the wily old serpent of Eden to slither up to his door and – oh, what was it Crowley had said? Hunker down? Whatever that means. If it’s what Crowley wants, then Aziraphale is sure it will be lovely.
Aziraphale marches back over to the telephone and picks it up with trembling fingers, dialling his old friend’s number once again. It rings three times before Crowley’s voice comes through the line.
“Hello? Angel?” He sounds out of breath. What on Earth had Aziraphale interrupted? His cheeks flush. He clears his throat.
“Hello, dear,” Aziraphale says, his voice shaking.
“What’s the matter, angel? Where are you? I’ll come to you right now, don’t worry,” Crowley says. There’s a great deal of shuffling on the other end of the line. Aziraphale’s brow furrows.
“Whatever do you mean, my dear?” Aziraphale asks. “I’m at the bookshop, of course. Where on earth would I have gotten to since we rang off?”
“Is someone there with you? Are you in danger?” Crowley asks, his voice pitching higher and higher with each word. “Say Eden if you can’t speak freely.”
“Danger? Say Ed—? Dear, what are you talking about? I’m fine! I was only ringing back to say… well, it’s rather embarrassing, but I was wondering if you might want to come to my bookshop after all?” Silence. Beats and beats of silence. So many, in fact, that Aziraphale thinks Crowley might have rung off again.
“You want me to come to the bookshop?” he asks. His voice is different now. Low and airy, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
“Well, I understand if you don’t want to. It was terribly rude to say no in the first place. I mean, we are on our own side and, really, maybe you should have been here with me all along. I can’t stop thinking about how lonely the shop feels without you now. And I’m sure that flat of yours is the same!” Aziraphale can feel a proper ramble coming along and only hopes that Crowley speaks up soon to save him the embarrassment.
“Finally, a decent dream for once,” Crowley mutters. There’s a great flump from Crowley’s end of the phone, as though he’s collapsed onto his bed with his mobile still against his ear.
“Dream? Crowley, this isn’t a –”
“This is loads better than the burning bookshop one, that’s for sure,” Crowley says. Aziraphale can practically see him undulating in his bed, cuddling down into his duvet. Burning bookshop?
“Crowley, I’m telling you –”
“Although, any really decent dream would have started with you actually in my flat. Hmm… how do humans get dream versions of themselves to move around? I wonder if I could actually imagine myself into your bookshop.”
“Anthony J Crowley, cut it out right now! Now I don’t know whether you think this is funny, taking the mickey out of me just because I got a little flustered, but it isn’t! It’s mean! Just say no and move on with your precious little nap,” Aziraphale says. He sounds like a brat even to his own ears, but he can’t help himself. It was unusually cruel for Crowley to mock him when he’s trying to be sincere.
Crowley gasps like a bucket of ice water has been thrown onto his head. Aziraphale imagines him sitting bolt upright. Words tumble out of his mouth and suddenly he sounds awake and alert.
“Angel, I’m so sorry. I really thought I was dreaming. How long has it been since we last spoke? Your call woke me. My mind was all foggy when I answered, that’s all. I’m sorry, angel, I –”
A bright red flush blooms across his face as he realises that Crowley had not, in fact, been taking the mickey. He truly believed he was dreaming. And he wasn’t surprised to find Aziraphale starring in his dream, which means that Crowley dreams of him often. He wiggles in place, overcome with joy at the mere thought.
“Oh, that’s all right, dear. Never you mind. We’ve both been a bit silly today! So… do you still want to come over?”
“The assembled hordes of Genghis Khan couldn’t stop me, angel.”
Crowley picks out a case of his very best wine and places a hand on it, preparing to teleport himself into Aziraphale’s bookshop. He pauses, considers. Then he miracles up a box of lavish chocolate and places it on top of the case of wine. A peace offering for his stupid little dream mix-up that had upset Aziraphale so terribly. With a snap of his left hand, he and his gifts pop out of existence in his flat and directly into Aziraphale’s cosy little bookshop.
“Angel?” he calls out, glancing around the space. “I made it! You wouldn’t believe the traffic I hit.”
Aziraphale’s beautiful laugh drifts from the backroom of the bookshop and Crowley follows it like a sailor after the siren.
“Traffic, hm?” Aziraphale says, his blue eyes twinkling in the warm yellow light of the backroom. He’s sitting on the couch, a plate of cake untouched on the coffee table in front of him. Crowley’s brain, as it often does, stutters to a halt the moment he lays eyes on him. Any witty little retort he might have been able to come up with flies out the window. It suddenly crashes down on him how very long it’s been since they’ve seen one another. How long it’s been since he’s been able to unabashedly drink in the sight of Aziraphale’s fluffy curls, the quirk of his pink lips, the little bump and upturn of his divine nose.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale says, his brow furrowing with concern. “Are you quite all right?”
“Hmm? Yes, sorry! Shall I pour us a glass of wine?” he asks, eager to have something to do to occupy his hands. Something to keep him from straddling his angel’s lap, burying his fingers in his hair. Crowley shakes his head and turns on his heel to go grab the wine. Get a grip, for Satan’s sake. Since when is he so on edge? This quarantine has gotten to him more than he realised.
Crowley pours them each a glass, bringing a couple of bottles and the box of chocolates along with him to the backroom. He hands Aziraphale his glass and the candy and settles down in the cushy armchair opposite him. The wine glass occupies his trembling hands.
“Oh, lovely! Is this for me, then?” he croons, cradling the box of chocolates between his hands. Crowley beams. Temptation accomplished once again.
“An apology for the little mix-up earlier,” he explains, leaving it at that.
“Oh, you old serpent,” Aziraphale says. He opens the box with delicate hands, humming as he searches for his first piece. He selects one directly in the middle and pops it into his mouth.
“Hope it’s all right,” Crowley says, shifting in his seat.
“It’s delicious,” Aziraphale assures him. He closes the box and sets it lovingly on the table beside him.
“I suppose I should…” Aziraphale says, trailing off as he glances down at his little plate of decadent cake. Something molten settles in the pit of Crowley’s stomach, deep and yearning. A familiar feeling, of course. He’s been arse over elbow for the angel since he found out Aziraphale gave away his blasted flaming sword. And unfortunately for Crowley, it’s only gotten stronger as the millennia have gone on. This might be the strongest that he’s ever felt it in his life, this deep pull like Aziraphale is the thing that holds him to this tiny little planet rather than his own body or gravity or anything else.
“Y-yeah, please have some,” Crowley says. If his blood didn’t know better, it would be flooding his cheeks from the tremor in his voice. As it is, he clears his throat and takes another huge gulp of wine. It burns into his bloodstream as the edges of the room become incrementally fuzzier.
Aziraphale wiggles in his seat, holding the plate delicately with his left hand. He cuts into the cake, his mouth dropping open into a little ‘o’, his pink tongue just peeking out. Crowley shifts in his seat, willing his blood to behave once again. The moment the dark chocolate touches his tongue, Aziraphale melts. His eyelids flutter shut, a deep, satisfied breath escapes him. Crowley’s brain immediately jumps to wondering what it would be like to feel that breath against his neck… against his stomach as Aziraphale slides down his body…
“S’it good?” Crowley asks, his voice gruff. He only hopes that Aziraphale is too preoccupied to notice. The angel looks up at him with hooded eyes, a flush in his porcelain cheeks.
“Would you like a taste, darling?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley swears to Satan he nearly blacks out. Darling. Aziraphale has called him many things over the millennia. Many terms of endearment, even. But never something as intimate as darling. Crowley finds himself nodding without even realising. He knows he won’t care much for the taste, but anything that makes Aziraphale happy, makes him call Crowley darling, is worth it.
“Come here,” Aziraphale says, patting the couch next to himself. Crowley is sitting next to him in a flash with no real recollection of how he got there. Aziraphale cuts another bite and scoops it up with the fork. His eyes twinkle, a naughty smirk playing at the edges of his lips. Aziraphale’s free hand comes up to Crowley’s jaw, tilting it up just slightly. If Crowley didn’t know better, he would think Aziraphale was trying to make him squirm. “Open up, serpent.”
Crowley’s jaw drops and he leans forward, closing his eyes the way he knows Aziraphale likes him too. It allows you to focus everything on the flavours, Crowley. Cool metal presses against his tongue and Crowley closes his lips around the tines. He puts on a bit of a show for the angel. More than he normally would, since Aziraphale is the one who crafted this dessert. He lets out a low groan as Aziraphale pulls the fork back. It really is incredibly tasty, indulgent, even for a creature such as Crowley that doesn’t care much for food. Not that he would expect anything else from Aziraphale, hedonist that he is.
Aziraphale’s thumb brushes Crowley’s bottom lip and Crowley’s eyes snap open, a gasp ripping from his throat.
“C-crumb,” Aziraphale says. “You had a crumb on your lip. H-how is the cake?”
Crumb. A bloody crumb. Leave it to Aziraphale and his ceaseless fussiness to not know what it means to touch someone’s lip so… so delicately. Crowley takes a deep breath and re-centres himself. Aziraphale clearly didn’t mean anything by it, no need to push him away with his disgusting affection.
“It’s really good, angel,” Crowley says, swallowing hard. He can’t resist indulging him a bit. “Best cake I’ve ever had, in fact.”
Aziraphale beams and tucks into the cake, taking bite after bite, savouring each and every one. Despite all of his efforts, Crowley’s blood does begin to flood southward. He shifts, hoping that he can keep it under enough control that it doesn’t become an obvious problem. He focuses on his wine, gets a few glasses deep before Aziraphale is finished with his slice of cake.
“Top you up?” Crowley asks, face flushing at the implication behind his own words. Luckily it goes right over Aziraphale’s fluffy little head.
“Oh, yes, please! This wine is excellent, Crowley,” Aziraphale says. Somehow, Aziraphale managed to wriggle so much whilst he was eating his cake that their thighs are pressed flush against one another. Crowley’s hand shakes as he pours Aziraphale another glass. The angel takes a big sip and straightens his back as though he’s steeling himself for something important. Crowley braces himself for a rant of some kind about a mid-century modern writer’s body of work. He takes a huge gulp of wine, letting it play across his tongue. It really is delicious.
“Crowley… do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley’s brow furrows. That’s different.
“Of course, angel. You can ask me anything,” Crowley says with a shrug. Maybe he’s going to ask Crowley to explain Twitter to him again. Really, he isn’t sure how many times he can stomach doing that before he abandons the modern world altogether. He takes another big sip.
“Do you dream of me often?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley, head spinning from the bottle and a half of wine buzzing through his bloodstream, snorts. What kind of ridiculous –
“In bloody love with you for six millennia and you ask me whether I dream of you often?” Crowley mutters into his glass, semi-unaware that he’s even speaking out loud. “Of course I do.”
“You- you’ve been, I’m sorry, what did you just say?” Aziraphale sputters. Crowley freezes in place, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. All the alcohol vacates his system in a moment. From the way Aziraphale smacks his lips, Crowley can tell he’s sobered up as well. Oh. Oh, no.
He jumps up from his place on the couch and makes to run for the door when a strong, solid hand grips his wrist, pulling him back down onto the couch. Pathetic as it is, there are tears in Crowley’s eyes. This is it, then. His angel has no more plausible deniability of his… his wretched feelings for him. Can’t brush this one off. Aziraphale is about to tell him to get his demonic arse out of his bookshop and never return, he’s sure.
“Crowley, look at me, please,” Aziraphale implores. He tugs on his wrist. “Crowley.”
Crowley turns his head, still unable to deny Aziraphale anything. When their eyes meet, Aziraphale gasps. Crowley reaches up to wipe the blessed tears away with a disgusted chuckle.
“Look, angel,” Crowley says with a great sniff. “I’m sorry. I was drunk and the quarantine has been messing with my head like you wouldn’t believe. I, uh… I won’t say anything like that again. I know how it makes you feel when I… Well, I understand if you want me to leave.”
“Leave?” Aziraphale gasps. His thumb strokes the soft skin of Crowley’s inner wrist. What..? “You tell me you’re in love with me and you think I’m letting you leave this bookshop any time soon?”
Oh, this is cruel, even for Aziraphale.
“Aziraphale, please,” Crowley says. The words taste like ash on his tongue. Demons don’t beg. Then again, demons don’t fall in love with angels. Crowley’s never been great with rules. “Don’t do this.”
“What do you mean?” Aziraphale whispers. His eyes are shining in the firelight, his cheeks rosy red. His perfect lips curved into a gentle, beatific smile. Why the heaven does he look so blessedly happy? Has he just been waiting for Crowley to slip up enough to have a reason to give him the permanent boot?
“We don’t have to… I can still be your friend. You’re my best friend, angel,” Crowley says, his voice thick with tears. “I promise I won’t say… that… again. Ever. I’ve gone this long without saying it, right? And I’ll bring you all the chocolates I can get my hands on… I’ll find every first edition you’re missing… if you just keep being my friend. I can be useful, I promise.”
In the most mortifying moment of his long, long life, Crowley realises that tears are streaming down his face. All of the joy has slowly drained from Aziraphale’s face, replaced by abject horror. The next thing he knows, Aziraphale is cradling Crowley’s head against his chest, stroking his fingers through his hair.
“Darling, my darling,” Aziraphale murmurs. “I’m so sorry, Crowley.”
Aziraphale rocks him and Crowley cries, unsure of what he’s even crying for at this point. Or what Aziraphale is sorry for. All he knows is that the hole in his chest that was ripped open when he was cast out is burning red-hot. He can smell sulphur. Flames flickering at the edges of his mind.
“W-what are you ap-po-pologising for?” Crowley manages to get out. Aziraphale sighs, resting his cheek on top of Crowley’s head.
“For ever letting you think that I don’t love you, too,” Aziraphale says. “For everyone, Her included, who made you feel like you aren’t enough. Like you need to prove your worth through favours and gifts. You’re the most precious creature in all existence and no one has ever told you so, have they? I should have told you every single day of your life.”
Crowley’s brow furrows deep, confusion now the most prominent feeling swimming around in his brain. “You what? Wait, what? What are you… what?”
Crowley is many things, but he has never claimed to be eloquent.
He pulls back, sniffling. He gives it his best effort to stem the flow of tears. Aziraphale cups his cheek, smoothing his thumb across it, catching his tears.
“Crowley, I’m in love with you,” Aziraphale says. He chuckles, a soft, self-deprecating sound. “I have been for… Lord, longer than I could tell you. I only realised it after the bombing at the church, of course, but… It was long before that, I can assure you.”
“You’re in what with me?” Crowley gasps. He sits up straight, putting much-needed distance between their bodies. “Look, angel, I’m sorry for crying. You don’t have to- to pretend to make me feel better. I’m fine with it being this way! I’ve been arse over elbow for you as long as I can remember and I’ve made peace with the fact that you can’t feel the same way for me. It’s more than enough that you’re even willing to be my friend.”
“Willing? Crowley, my heart, please listen to me now. I know I’ve pushed you away countless times, and I will spend the rest of my existence making up for it. But I hoped you knew… I pushed you away for you. When I refused you the holy water it’s because I was terrified that you would destroy yourself. All the times I said you weren’t my friend, it’s because Hell would have done all they could to destroy you completely if they’d known what we were. How I felt for you.
“My love, I’m so sorry that I didn’t make you feel the same way you’ve made me feel. Oh, I’ve hurt you beyond repair, haven’t I? I don’t know why you’d even be here with me. I’ve been so harsh. So cold.
“Crowley, could you ever forgive me? I’ll do whatever it takes to make you believe that my whole existence has been about protecting you. However long it takes. Crowley, please, forgive me.”
“All this time you were protecting me?” Crowley breathes. He’s floating above his body, looking down on himself. There’s no way he’s awake right now. This is just a long, complex dream. “Angel, please don’t tease me. Don’t-don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. I’m going to be your friend even if you don’t feel the same way about –”
Aziraphale grips Crowley’s jaw and leans in until their lips are a breath away. Crowley’s heart stops beating in his chest. Every ounce of his being is focused on the angel in front of him.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers, his breath hot against Crowley’s face. “I will never push you away again. My darling. Tell me now if you don’t want this. If I’ve hurt you too many times, and I’ll back off. I’ll never try to be physically intimate with you again unless you ask.”
Instead of answering with words, Crowley closes the gap between their lips. The kiss is soft. Sweet. Practically chaste. Until, that is, Aziraphale moans into it. The sound lights something on fire in Crowley. His jaw drops open so that he can suck Aziraphale’s bottom lip into his mouth. The angel shifts, moving so that his back is pressed up against the armrest of the couch. He draws Crowley closer, enticing him to straddle Aziraphale’s lap, his knees pressed into the couch. Crowley lowers his weight onto Aziraphale, thighs trembling with excitement. Aziraphale breaks their kiss, resting his forehead against Crowley’s as he pants.
“I love you, angel,” Crowley whispers. Aziraphale pecks another kiss against his lips.
“I love you, too, my darling.”
“I, er, I always hoped deep down. Deep, deep down. But I never really thought that you did. Couldn’t let myself think so, I suppose,” Crowley says.
“I’m so sorry that I couldn’t tell you sooner, Crowley,” Aziraphale says. “Thank you for sticking beside me always, no matter how stubborn I was being.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, angel,” Crowley admits. His cheeks are permanently burning hot, but Aziraphale deserves to hear it and, honestly, Crowley is sick of keeping it all locked up inside.
Aziraphale crashes their lips back together, threading his fingers into the hair on the back of Crowley’s head. Aziraphale’s tongue traces the seam of Crowley’s lips, begging entrance. Crowley grants it to him without hesitation. Aziraphale sucks on Crowley’s bottom lip, laving his tongue over it in a way that makes Crowley’s entire being quiver. The things he’s sure his angel can do with that tongue… One of Aziraphale’s hands slides down Crowley’s back and lands firmly on his arse, pulling him tighter against him. He breaks the kiss again.
“My dear, I’m afraid I’m rather excited,” Aziraphale says, his cheeks stained bright red. “But if you don’t want to take this any further than kissing, that’s fine with me.”
“Aziraphale, there’s nothing I want more than to feel you inside of me as soon as possible,” Crowley says with a smirk. Aziraphale gasps, anchoring their mouths back together. They grind their hips together, Crowley’s cock filling with blood so swiftly that it makes him light-headed. The heat of Aziraphale’s cock presses against his own is something he never imagined he’d actually feel. For a moment, Crowley fears that he’ll come in his trousers. He realises, though, that it doesn’t matter if he does. His body has none of the limits that humans have to worry about. He and Aziraphale can come as many times as they see fit and stay hard through the entire process if they want. Oddly enough, that eases the pressure building in his gut, makes him feel more in control. Crowley braces his forearms on Aziraphale’s shoulders, burying his fingers in Aziraphale’s short curls. He pulls the angel back, their lips separating with a wet ‘smack.’
“Do you want to do this here?” he asks.
“I think it’s as good a place as any to begin,” Aziraphale says. The implication behind his statement makes Crowley squirm on top of him. “My dear, I would like to get my mouth on you. If you’d be amenable to such a thing.”
“We’ve been kissing, angel,” Crowley says, cocking his head to the side. Aziraphale’s eyes twinkle with mirth and he’s silent, waiting for his true meaning to click in place. When it does, Crowley groans out loud, thrusting his hips against Aziraphale’s.
“Is that a yes, then?” Aziraphale asks with a smirk. Crowley nods frantically, getting up so that Aziraphale can get into place. In the blink of an eye, Aziraphale is on his knees in front of Crowley. Crowley reaches down to undo his trousers, but Aziraphale bats his hands away. “Sit back, my darling.”
Crowley complies, sitting back with shaking hands. Aziraphale leans up, placing a delicate hand on the bulge in the front of Crowley’s trousers. Crowley whines in the back of his throat, hips thrusting up into his touch. Aziraphale strokes him slowly through his trousers, the heat of his palm seeping almost too easily through the fabric.
Then he leans forward to place his mouth on Crowley’s bulge, giving it sweet little closed-lipped kisses. Crowley thinks he might actually discorporate, but he can’t imagine a better way to go. Next, his tongue comes into play. He licks at Crowley’s cock, saturating his trousers with moisture.
“Aziraphale, please,” Crowley whimpers. Aziraphale chuckles against him, sending a spike of heat through Crowley’s bloodstream.
“What is it, my heart?” Aziraphale says.
“Stop teasing me, please,” Crowley begs. “Haven’t I waited long enough for this moment?”
That strikes something deep inside of Aziraphale. The angel looks up at him, his blue eyes swirling with emotion. “Yes, I quite believe you have.”
He undoes his trousers and pulls them down, along with his boxer briefs. The next thing Crowley knows, Aziraphale’s burning hot mouth is surrounding his cock. Aziraphale reaches up for one of Crowley’s hands and places it on the back of his head. Crowley takes his hint, guiding his head gently up and down. Aziraphale moans around him as though he’s getting to taste the most delicious treat in the universe.
“Angel, you feel so good,” Crowley pants. Aziraphale smiles around his cock, redoubling his efforts. He bobs his head a little faster, his tongue playing along the sensitive underside. He brings his right hand up to grip the base of Crowley’s cock, stroking in time with the bobbing of his head.
He pops his mouth off of Crowley’s cock, looking up at him with a wide smile. He kisses down his cock, sweet, soft little pecks down one side of his length and up the other until he reaches the head again. His tongue flicks out to play over the head, showering it with attention. Crowley keens, his hips thrusting up on their own accord. Aziraphale opens his mouth wider, his hot breath brushing against Crowley’s tip, making him shiver. He looks up at Crowley expectantly, waiting.
Crowley takes his hint, tightening his grip on the back of Aziraphale’s head and pushing him down, thrusting his hips up simultaneously. He buries deep himself in Aziraphale’s mouth, his tip sliding into Aziraphale’s throat. The angel doesn’t gag, for which Crowley is grateful. Not because it would have grossed him out, of course, but because it likely would have made him pop off instantly and he wants to enjoy this first moment a little longer. He may have to ask Aziraphale to turn on his gag reflex some other time, though…
Pondering that thought, he begins stroking into Aziraphale’s mouth properly. Aziraphale is still making those little noises, short-circuiting Crowley’s brain to heaven. Aziraphale’s hands come up to cup Crowley’s arse, kneading the flesh there, guiding Crowley’s thrusts smoothly. He looks up at Crowley, pure joy in his clear blue eyes.
“I’ve wanted this for longer than I can even say,” Crowley finds himself whispering. Aziraphale makes a delighted hum around his cock, sending spikes of pleasure down Crowley’s spine. He focuses on his task single-mindedly, utterly concerned with making Crowley feel as good as he possibly can.
Crowley thrusts harder, faster, sliding into Aziraphale’s throat with every stroke. Aziraphale pulls back, a line of spit connecting his lips and Crowley’s cock.
“Come for me, my darling,” he whispers, jerking Crowley’s length. “Come so that I can really savour you.”
Crowley whimpers, thrusting himself back into his angel’s mouth. It only takes a handful of strokes before his balls are tightening up. Aziraphale moans, locking eyes with Crowley, imploring him silently to give it to him. Crowley comes, spilling straight down his angel’s throat. He pants, chest heaving.
Aziraphale keeps their eyes locked together, mischief burning bright in his expression. Crowley’s still-hard cock twitches in Aziraphale’s mouth. His blunt fingernails dig into Crowley’s arse, pulling his hips backwards slowly, slowly, until only the tip of Crowley’s sensitive cock rests on his tongue. He closes his lips until they’re just wrapped around the tip, pursed in a sweet kiss. Crowley whimpers, hips twitching with his desire to bury himself deep in Aziraphale’s hot mouth again. Aziraphale smiles around him, shaking his head minutely.
“Patience, my love,” Aziraphale says. “I know how long you’ve waited, so I took the edge off for you. I’ve waited, too. And I want to enjoy my meal if you’ll be so kind.”
Crowley gasps, lightheaded at his angel’s words. He nods, doing his best to relax under Aziraphale’s ministrations. Aziraphale kisses the head of his cock once more before lifting it up flat against his belly. He licks, wet and hot, down the length of his cock. When he reaches Crowley’s balls, he opens his mouth wider to suck them inside, letting his tongue play against them. Crowley keens, his cock twitching, precome spilling out of his slit and sliding down his length. Aziraphale stays there for a few moments, indulging himself, sucking and licking and kissing. Just when his balls start to tighten, his orgasm on the brink of taking over, Aziraphale stops.
He pulls back, resting on his laurels and looking up at Crowley once again. Love and lust swirl around in Crowley’s chest, each one threatening to overtake him at any moment. He cups Aziraphale’s jaw in one palm, rubbing his thumb against the angel’s cheek. Aziraphale leans into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. Crowley hopes that Aziraphale’s feeling all of the love radiating from him. He’s never been sure whether he can emote love the way non-demonic creatures can.
“Can you feel me?” he asks. “My love. Have you ever… Can you feel my love for you?”
Aziraphale’s eyes open, a soft smile on his face. His fist stays around Crowley’s cock, sliding up and down in a leisurely pace like he’s trying to make sure he stays hard during their sidebar. Not that he needs to worry for a moment about Crowley’s erection flagging. “Of course I can, Crowley.”
A thought occurs to him. “Then how did you not know? All this time, if you could feel how much I love you, how could you not know that I was in love with you?”
Aziraphale never stops the motion of his hand, but it’s clear that all of his focus is on this conversation now. He ponders for a moment.
“A few reasons, I suppose,” he admits. “I just thought that’s how you felt for everyone. I know how much you care about people – don’t interrupt me, Crowley – you care so much. So much that I think She might have forgotten to switch something off when she cast you out. So I thought that the overwhelming love I always felt around you was just… you. And I think to some extent I was right. You love people and you love causing mischief and you love your plants and your car. I never allowed myself to analyse the different layers of your love. Too dangerous for both of us. Especially for you. Now that I’m free to do so, oh, Crowley. Your love is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever felt in the universe.”
Crowley whimpers, his cock growing impossibly harder at the adoration in Aziraphale’s voice. He wants to beg the angel to keep going, to call him all sorts of sweet, beautiful names. He bites his tongue, holding himself back.
Aziraphale bends his neck to kiss the head of Crowley’s weeping cock. “It’s second only to one love that I’ve felt in all my long years.”
Crowley snorts. Leave it to Aziraphale to bring up Divine love at a time like this.
“I mean my love for you, of course,” Aziraphale says just before he takes Crowley’s length into his mouth again. All of the air leaves Crowley’s body in a gasp, his entire body seizing up as he comes without warning. His cock jerks in Aziraphale’s mouth, spilling all he has to offer onto the angel’s tongue. Aziraphale’s eyebrows shoot up, surprise written across his face. He redoubles his efforts, bobbing his head up and down, milking out as much pleasure as Crowley’s body will give him. Crowley keens, still coming, spurt after spurt, until he’s trembling with sensitivity.
“I can’t – I can’t take anymore, angel,” he gasps, tugging on Aziraphale’s fluffy curls. Aziraphale goes willingly with one final suck along his entire length. He swallows with a contented hum, wiggling on his knees. Crowley shivers as Aziraphale rests his cheek on his thigh. Aziraphale peppers little kisses on his inner thigh where he can reach without moving.
“That was beautiful, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“You just sucked my brain out of my dick twice and you’re thanking me?” Crowley says, still breathless. Bless this stupid human body. He centres himself, reminding his body that it doesn’t even need oxygen, and sorts out his breathing.
“Don’t be crass, darling,” Aziraphale admonishes with a little grin.
“Come up here and give us a cuddle, then,” Crowley mutters, cheeks burning. Aziraphale pulls Crowley’s boxers back up into place, giving him one final caress. Crowley’s cock gives a half-hearted twitch, still spent. Oh, he could get it back up in a moment, of course, but all he wants right now is to hold his angel in his arms.
Crowley scoots down until he’s horizontal and opens his arms, waiting. Aziraphale hums for a moment and when Crowley opens his eyes, he sees that his angel is wringing his hands.
“What’s wrong, angel?” he asks, brow furrowed. Oh Satan, is he already regretting –
“Well, it’s only… I don’t want to hurt you,” Aziraphale says, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Wouldn’t it be better if I were on bottom?”
Crowley, unable to stop himself, laughs out loud. When Aziraphale’s face crumples even further, it shatters Crowley’s heart.
“No, no, I’m sorry,” Crowley says, sitting upright. “Come here, Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale sits next to him, still looking hurt.
“I was laughing because I’m a demon from Hell, angel,” Crowley says, rubbing the tops of Aziraphale’s arms. “There’s no way you could possibly hurt me by laying on top of me. I wasn’t making fun of you. I would never make fun of your body. I adore your body. You are perfect in every single way.”
“No,” Aziraphale says, shaking his head. “I’m soft. I’m pudgy and soft and you are perfect. So lean and long and gorgeous. Lord, why you even look in my direction, I’ll never understand.”
“Aziraphale, you’d better shut your mouth right now,” Crowley growls. “I love every inch of you and I have since the beginning of creation.”
One hand drops down to caress Aziraphale’s side. “You’re right, you are soft. You are perfectly, wonderfully soft. I’ve been enraptured with lust for you for six thousand years.”
“You don’t think I should lose the gut, then?” Aziraphale asks with great, big puppy dog eyes.
“Lose the - of course I don’t! Where is all of this coming from?” Crowley demands. He pauses and presses a kiss against Aziraphale’s lips, hoping to let the angel know that he isn’t upset with him in the least.
“Just something Gabriel said,” Aziraphale says with a noncommittal shrug. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is what you think.”
A smile is playing at the corners of his mouth, a pleased glow radiating from him. Crowley kisses the corner of his smile and then the other one, making it double in size.
“If that wanker ever gets within a lightyear of you again, I swear to Satan himself that I’m going to burn him alive,” Crowley says, trailing kisses down Aziraphale’s neck.
“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, swatting at his shoulder. Crowley grumbles, stretching out on the couch once again and bringing Aziraphale down on top of him this time. Crowley gazes up at him. The love within the demon is so strong that it nearly feels like a physical thing.
“Kiss me, angel,” Crowley says. Aziraphale smiles and complies, placing a sweet, soft kiss on Crowley’s lips.
“I’m really glad that you called me back,” Crowley whispers, their lips brushing together with each word.
“So am I, my darling,” Aziraphale says. “I’m never going to let you go again.”