[ Crowley's arms fit just so around Aziraphale that he feels fully enveloped, precious and secure. And when it takes a whole six thousand years and a scary teetering precipice of five seconds to culminate in three little words, such simple words, Aziraphale can't help but experience contrasting emotions of complete contented satisfaction and of being totally overwhelmed at the same time; he melts into the feeling as one might slide into a bath, cautiously but eventually reaching his muscles and his joints and warming his bones.
He is a being composed entirely of love and of light, but he usually manages to contain it in his relatively small human form. He can't seem to do so at the moment, and the entire block is suddenly, miraculously, having dreams so strong that they will inexplicably be in a good mood all day.
He lifts his head from its resting spot on Crowley's shoulder as if wanting to say something, but he racks his brain for all the words in all the languages they've ever spoken and none come up sufficient. Instead, he looks on with the kind of fondness he'd had finishing reading his very first book, or the first time he'd heard birds singing after a rain. He thinks he might be able to see all the stars in the night sky reflected in Crowley's eyes, and doesn't realize he is inching closer as if it might give him a better look. ]
[ That radiant sensation of utter contentment and bliss, of angelic love--Crowley's felt it before at times, it's impossible not to, really, when you're around Aziraphale, but never as enormous and nearly overwhelming as he feels it now--catches hold of him, too, and he finds himself sinking into it, assurance settling deeper into his bones, until he's no longer holding the angel quite as tightly. Still very close, still keeping him wrapped up in his arms, but his hands relax and his fingers rake softly through the downy feathers at the base of Aziraphale's wings, his chest no longer tight with the fear that he might have said too little too late, or that the angel might not love him back. It's impossible to mistake.
He looks back at Aziraphale when he lifts his head from his shoulder to gaze at him. Crowley's eyes have possibly gone a little dark, the slit pupils wider, and he stares at Aziraphale as if to drink in that gentle, affectionate look in his eyes, as though just gazing at him gives the angel the kind of pleasure he usually reserves for his favorite foods. It doesn't really seem to matter what Aziraphale's intent is in leaning closer; after the agony and fear of chasing Aziraphale away a few moments ago, in the rush of bliss that comes with those emotions dissipating into unimportance, he feels as though nothing he could do would be unwelcome. Crowley's hand comes up to Aziraphale's cheek, and he leans forward just the slightest distance between them and kisses him tentatively, the press of his mouth light and soft. ]
[ His eyes, a golden ring on a round pupil, looks positively like a halo, though Aziraphale would never say so aloud. He'd made this mistake before, but Crowley really was, deep down, good. If he were, truly, all evil, then Aziraphale wouldn't be here and certainly not so satisfied.
Practically on instinct, he finds himself clumsily navigating towards Crowley's mouth though it's entirely unnecessary, as their lips meet just fine in the middle. Though he doesn't try to escalate beyond a light press, there's absolutely no trepidation or tentativeness about him, finding this instead the most natural and easy thing to do.
Crowley has a warm, slightly spicy scent to his skin, which Aziraphale is currently finding to be nothing short of intoxicating. And in his serpentine embrace with hands in his wings and a lightness in his heart, his entire face illuminates and blooms into a smile against Crowley's lips. ]
Stay with me today.
[ He murmurs, barely audible, having ended the kiss but having not moved away. ]
[ The miraculous sensation of Aziraphale kissing him back brings him a kind of bone-deep contentment along with an ache of longing, as though he’s missed this though they’ve never done it before, missed it without knowing it. Crowley doesn’t try to press for more, either, the kiss staying soft and light, his fingers on instinct digging gently into the handfuls of feathers they grasp, and then letting go to rub up Aziraphale’s back. He feels the angel smiling against his mouth, and it feels almost painfully sweet.
When the kiss ends he slowly opens his eyes which had fallen shut, seeking out Aziraphale’s again. Crowley draws breath and nods a little, resisting the urge to pull the angel harder against him and holding him carefully instead, like something precious. ]
I can do that. [ His voice comes out a little scratchy. ] No plans either.
[ The longing must be contagious because Aziraphale is practically aching, his whole body buzzing with excitement as if he's gotten his hands on a new book and he can't wait to dive in and absorb all its contents. But tempting as it is, he always manages to keep from skipping straight to the end, and he nestles into Crowley's arms instead; having managed to repress this on either or both parts for six thousand years, he doesn't think any lack of urgency is likely to muck things up.
The sun, now casting a calm yellow outline on Aziraphale's wings, now sits wholly over the horizon to mark the dawn. He absentmindedly thinks that this is his favorite part of the day and he'd like to share every morning with Crowley just so, but promptly shuts down all further notions of the like in his dreamy runaway thoughts.
He allows today, and perhaps in the future he'll allow stolen moments behind closed curtains and away from prying eyes, but let that be enough. ]
I think perhaps we could find something to occupy the time.
[ He makes a promise to himself to enjoy this now, to delay his worry until inevitably when Crowley has to leave again and isn't presently the only thing in his entire field of perception. It might just work, with Crowley being ever so devastatingly distracting. ]
[ He's never felt anything quite like Aziraphale settling comfortably into his arms, leaning into him as though this has happened a thousand times before. It makes Crowley's heart jump, makes him fear he doesn't know what to do with his hands, at least for a an instant or two before he just does what is instinctive and goes back to stroking over Aziraphale's spine with a slightly rough kind of affection, or petting over the edges of his wings where the sunlight inscribes them in gold.
There are a thousand temptations he should be out there in the world doing right now, all the sorry little jobs Hell gives him, but Crowley wishes he would never have to leave this bookshop again. The thought of Hell or Heaven looking in brings a twist of anxiety into him that makes him clutch a little tighter, but he tries not to let the worry show, tries to let himself be distracted by the warmth in Aziraphale's voice and touch. The angel's request certainly manages to capture his attention, and Crowley nods wordlessly before reaching out to pull Aziraphale into a kiss again.
It's hungrier this time, the yearning in him not quite so well disguised. Aziraphale's mouth is soft and lovely and Crowley didn't realize--didn't let himself think--how much he's wanted this. His hands shake a little as he drags Aziraphale closer. ]
[ Perhaps it had happened a thousand times over, but only in Aziraphale's dreams, sequestered away where they were safe from Heaven's grasp. Yet, in the privacy of his own home, here in his celestially insignificant bookshop away from prying eyes, he gives way to honesty. And his truth is melting into Crowley's touch, huffing a little surprised gasp into his mouth when he gets pulled in, his hand on Crowley's cheek clutching on instinct.
In retrospect, Aziraphale should have definitely anticipated that Crowley would kiss him like this, and he should therefore have logically concluded the effect it would have on him. Something about the catch of Crowley's lips draws out little sounds from Aziraphale's throat, his head tilting as he shifts on the couch for easier access, allowing his other hand to come around Crowley's neck; it as a fist there until he spreads it out and into soft hair that he tugs at by the very root.
The angle he finds himself at is rather uncomfortable, and though his mind is preoccupied, his body takes over in wisdom and boldness, lightly nudging Crowley's shoulder to move him so as to slide easily into his lap. ]
[ His dazed thoughts run away from him, as he clutches Aziraphale close and kisses him as though it's the only chance he'll have. The angel's mouth is lovely, warm, it's like what drinking in sunlight would be, and other such silly ideas that come to mind; his tongue flickers out for a hesitant taste. Crowley doesn't really notice what Aziraphale's hand is doing until he feels his fingers tangle in his hair and tug at the roots, and that makes him gasp against his mouth, startled by his own unexpected response.
He moves when Aziraphale nudges him, almost unconsciously, too preoccupied with his mouth to realize what he wants until he settles into his lap. Then Crowley has to break away from the kiss to look at him, drinking in the sight of him like he hasn’t seen him for millennia rather than just decades. It feels that long, it feels as though he’s waited for and wanted him forever. ]
Aziraphale. [ Tentative but needing touch, he runs his hands over the angel’s waist and down to his hips. ]
[ Even straddled across Crowley's lap, elbows balanced on his shoulders and arms bracketing his head, Aziraphale manages to look down at him with such innocent fondness when they part, though really his thoughts are tangled up in the discovery that Crowley's mouth is finer and more intoxicating than any wine he has ever drunk, and he should be so lucky to stay awhile and imbibe.
Aziraphale, still playing with his hair, finds himself growing warm wherever Crowley's gaze falls. There's so much longing there that it touches him in the deepest of his soul, and for a second he looks on apologetically, sorry that he's made his friend wait this entire time wondering whether or not his feelings were returned. ]
My dear Crowley
[ Said in direct response, as he dots kisses like little blessings all over his cheek.
Aziraphale, of course, wants to avoid any misunderstandings in confrontation like the one they just had moments ago, and yet he finds the want in Crowley's looks and the taste on his tongue unmistakable; he is not signing up to play another thousand year long game of chicken. Deftly, he tugs a corner of his shirt out of his waistband, and reaches for one of the hands on his waist, guiding it underneath to touch his skin. And lest his own intentions be misunderstood, and perhaps also to disavow any lingering ideas that he might be just a fussy angel, he rocks his hips forward and asks, voice heavy: ]
Would you like to come upstairs with me?
Edited (I don't know why I suddenly switched to prose! Sorry ) 2019-07-19 15:06 (UTC)
[ It's breathtaking to look at Aziraphale like this, when he draws back from his mouth. Gazing on him with such softness in his eyes, straddling his lap, innocence and pure temptation all tangled together--and who knew that an angel could tempt, who would ever see Aziraphale like this, except for Crowley. His eyes are possibly widened as he looks back at him, stunned, a little dazed, lost in wanting and need. He feels as though he's loved Aziraphale desperately, from what first moment in their history together he can't remember, always carefully waiting for a sign, hesitating to push for too much, but the angel is here with him now, gentle understanding and invitation tangled with his desire, and he wants, he wants-- ]
Yes.
[ Said in response to the offer to go upstairs with him, the kisses scattered across his cheek, Aziraphale's hand taking his to guide it beneath the hem of his shirt. Crowley's hand caresses up his bare skin. Oh--oh, he loves touching Aziraphale, skin to skin, loves feeling his hips rock against him like an echo of lust and need. ]
[ Aziraphale would, in all honesty, lay Crowley down on this couch and make both their centuries at this very moment, so given over is he to the current wave of feeling sweeping over both of them. He also, unfortunately, knows how old this couch is, and how it may not hold up so well to anything more than light napping and maybe a stack of books.
With his shirt untucked, hair unkempt and wings a bit ruffled, Aziraphale appears the least put-together that Crowley is ever likely to have seen him. He slides his feet to the ground to get up and the first steps he makes are backwards, as if for fear that looking away might cause this entire dream to rupture, for Aziraphale to have discovered that he had fallen asleep with Crowley after all. And yet, the idea of starting this all over from the moment he'd awoken isn't a bad one, so he relinquishes the thought and scurries up the stairs.
The bed, almost entirely unused, is crisp and perfectly made. With one sweep of a wing and a pull of his hand, the pillows tumble to the ground and the blankets fly back. ]
Now, where were we?
[ He takes a seat at an exposed corner of the mattress, looks up at Crowley with such endless wonder, with utter devotion, and miracles all the buttons of his shirt loose. He pushes the fabric aside with great care as he would unveiling a masterpiece, and with his hands on either of Crowley's sides, presses a kiss to his ribcage, this thing that is the keeper of his heart. ]
[ Somehow he manages to navigate the stairs, to go with Aziraphale into a bedroom that clearly hasn’t seen much use, not quite knowing how he’s got there, he’s in such a daze of wanting and a state of disbelief that this is truly happening, right now, though there is an implicit trust in him that would give into anything Aziraphale wanted. Crowley finds himself next to the bed, glancing over the sheets that surely haven’t been unruffled in years before Aziraphale miracled them out of a characteristic neatness before sitting down on the mattress. He looks at the angel, too, wordless, hardly daring to move as he miracles the buttons of his shirt undone—doesn’t snap a single one out of place, and that, unexpectedly, makes Crowley bite back a smile—and draws him forward so that he can kiss the tender, unguarded place where his ribs join. Crowley gasps, and makes some sort of low fraught sound of utter reckless need, tangling his fingers into Aziraphale’s hair. ]
Angel.
[ He caresses through Aziraphale’s hair roughly, and bends to kiss the crown of his head. Torn between the urge to crawl into his lap or to go down to his knees before him, Crowley urges Aziraphale to look up at him, his own gaze helplessly impassioned. ]
Tell me—is there—is there anything you’d like?
[ His heartbeat is wild, pulse jumping in his throat, and Crowley thinks—he’d do anything. Anything that Aziraphale pleased. ]
[ Aziraphale tries to pace himself but there Crowley is, making him a glutton for choice, making such sweet noises, tangling those nimble fingers into his hair, and looking at him like he's the only thing on this good Earth. For an angel, he seems to collect sins, but he welcomes lust like an old friend, looking up at Crowley with a curiosity. ]
You. All of you.
[ It's not a helpful answer, but it's the only one worth giving; he understands the question, since he's usually very particular and Crowley is surprisingly accommodating to all of Aziraphale's many preferences. However, at the moment, he can only think that he wants everything: Crowley's hands on him, and his mouth, and his legs and arms wrapped around him, their very souls colliding together. ]
And what do you want?
[ He asks this, with such an angelic smile on his face even as he undoes Crowley's belt and lets it fall to the floor, even as he fiddles with unzipping the seat of his pants and sliding one very impatient hand in between his legs. He appears to be very pleased with what he's found, and gladly presses against it with the heel of his palm. ]
Surely you have something specific in mind. Tell me, please. I'd like to hear it.
[ Crowley has to shut his eyes, feeling a heat and passion that burns him down to his very soul. All of him. That's what Aziraphale wants, and Crowley--Crowley wants to offer him that. To be his.
His fingers clutch feverishly in Aziraphale's hair, his eyes open again as Aziraphale asks him that question--looks down at him and sees the smile on his face, the sweet interest in his eyes, and his hands busily undoing Crowley's belt and letting it drop and then--and then his trousers, his hand sliding in and pressing against Crowley's already hard cock and making his mouth fall open with a groan. He jerks helplessly to the touch, startled and gasping. He's had this shape for a while, has enjoyed the pleasure he's gotten out of it in the past, but it's an entirely different realm of feeling when it's Aziraphale's hand on him, the physical sensation and the fraught tangle of emotion all at once, nearly overwhelming.
Shivering, he tries to answer coherently. ] I want--
[ Aziraphale to keep doing that, oh, please. ]
You--you touching me. And then I want to get my mouth on you.
[ He feels breathless, in spite of how he doesn't really need to breathe, his voice gone harsh with blatant need. ]
And you--will you talk to me, will you tell me if it's good, if I'm-- [ He gives Aziraphale a pleading glance. Surely it's not too much to ask, not too greedy of him? ]
[ The little reactions and noises that Crowley's making, the feel of his skin, the drag of his fingers, those are all the things that send shivers down Aziraphale's spine. He could steam up the entire room on his breath alone, drawing Crowley's cock out of his trousers and giving it a few tugs as he migrates his kisses to the lower half of his stomach.
Yes, he think he can oblige Crowley's requests, though he quirks an eyebrow up at the last one, just teasingly. ]
You want to know if you're... what? Good?
[ A coy smile plays across his face as he looks up at Crowley and wonders idly how many people have ever seen him from this angle. None that matter, surely, in this moment or going forward; it's just curiosity. ]
Yes.
[ He runs his hand down the length of Crowley's cock, still watching his face to see what kind of pressure or speed he likes. And he plays with it, experimentally, pads of his fingers eager to see where he's most sensitive, cataloguing and filing it away for later. ]
Yes, darling, you're being so good for me.
[ By the time his lips have gotten around to Crowley's very prominent arousal, he thinks he might have gone a little off of the script he requested. But he can't very well have Crowley's mouth anywhere on his skin where it's covered up, and he needs his hands to get himself out of his clothes. He guides Crowley into his mouth and puts both his tongue and his clumsy, restless fingers to work. ]
[ He feels a little like his knees will buckle with Aziraphale's hands on him, like he's never been touched before, but he manages to stay on his feet and stroke the angel's neck encouragingly with his mouth scattering kisses across his stomach. It's reckless of him, so hot, and it makes Crowley ache, his hips jerking forward as Aziraphale's hand moves on his cock and he looks up at him with that teasing glance.
Crowley swallows, feeling it burn a little in him when Aziraphale calls him good--it's dangerous, discomfiting to let him say it without protest, and yes, yes, it's what he wants. It doesn't really even surprise him how easily Aziraphale understands, though he's shivering when the angel says it again, when he calls him darling, and he feels as though kindness may end up being the thing that ruins him. ]
Aziraphale--
[ His name chokes off in a moan as Aziraphale takes him into his mouth. Oh, oh it's good, who knew he'd be so wicked--it's overwhelming to feel his mouth and tongue working at him, and he's so painfully hard he can't think straight, but Crowley's hands are restless and he finally pulls himself together enough to help Aziraphale with his clothes, just as clumsily as he undoes Aziraphale's tie and collar and works at the buttons of his shirt. ]
[ He rushes with his clothes, with his hands, but he takes his time with Crowley. He savors how he feels on the flat of his tongue, the salt of his skin, the scent of his musk. Crowley is the most gorgeous thing that Aziraphale has ever imagined in his bed: and now, standing before him, disrobing him, being so vulnerably exposed with him, wakes all the parts of his body and sets every single nerve abuzz. Enraptured in lust with heat unwinding all over, he lets out a low moan and his eyes flutter closed for a long moment.
As much as he'd like to, he can only really fit about half of Crowley's cock in his mouth, but he can't find it in himself to be embarrassed or self-conscious about a thing like that. Regardless, once he's shrugged off his shirt and clamored out of his pants, he's divested of most of his clothes and one of his hands heads straight to grasp Crowley firmly at the base as he continues with greedy lips and fervent tongue.
His other hand makes a play for the rest of Crowley's clothing, because now he's wearing too much and it's unfair, all of it. That he should have this effect on Aziraphale, that he should have been the one to be placed on this Earth opposite him, opposing him, that he should be so damned irresistible. ]
[ Crowley entirely forgets what he was trying to do with his hands when Aziraphale gives that low, soft moan, muffled by his--fuck, by his cock--and simply clutches gasping at Aziraphale's shoulders, at his hair, the nape of his neck, hands moving restlessly as he tries not to be completely overcome. Aziraphale's way ahead of him, anyway, shimmying out of his clothes, and Crowley takes him in dazedly, as much of him as he can see, and strokes his bare skin wherever he can reach it with fingers that tremble. He's no help either when Aziraphale reaches to undo more of the clothing that he's still wearing, because his hand at the base of his cock, his mouth taking in as much as he can, the beautiful unholy wanton sight of it--he's never felt such wrenching pleasure and unbearable longing as he does at this moment. ]
Aziraphale--angel--
[ He stammers pleading words, sounds, his hips stuttering as control slips away from him like he never had it. Aziraphale's mouth is hot and wet and it savors him, lavishing the kind of hedonistic attention on him that Crowley's always known Aziraphale is capable of, only he never imagined it like this. He's not going to last long if he keeps this up, he can tell. Crowley's fingers tighten in his hair, and he grits his teeth as he forces a quick miracle so that all the rest of his clothes fall easily away. With it his wings come out with a snap, a few black feathers scattering around the bedroom. ]
[ There is, quite possibly, nothing more delicious on this entire Earth than the way that Crowley calls for him, the little tremble of his fingers wherever they touch him. This, he thinks, is what it feels like to be adored, and he doesn't know if he's ever felt more beautiful.
Aziraphale longs to touch those wings as soon as they come out, but he tries to control himself, though one of his hands instinctually reaches up Crowley's thigh and his side, touch palpable in desire. When he said he'd wanted all of Crowley, he hadn't lied. He wants to fold himself up in black wings, and pillow himself into a strong chest and to know him, grows nearly delirious when he reminds himself that all these possibilities might soon become reality.
He hadn't been sure if he was doing this properly, but he drinks in all of Crowley's movements and he'd smile with pride if his mouth weren't presently full of cock. It spurs him on but renders him a little careless, Crowley hitting the back of his throat in ways he knows will leave a sore throat later, but he can hardly find reason to be upset about it right now. No, he is sure that more of him will be sore by evening, and he is thinking he would be rather disappointed if he were not. Sliding a hand underneath to cup Crowley's balls, he gives them a little tug and a gentle squeeze, sending a little encouragement. ]
[ Somehow with clothing gone and wings unfurled, he feels more unrestricted, able to breathe easier and to revel in the pleasure he's being given until he feels a tender greed in his chest. It helps that Aziraphale takes him in with such apparent delight, letting Crowley deeper into his mouth and sucking at him carelessly until he's sure it must be too much, but he doesn't protest: Aziraphale knows what he's doing, or at least he seems to have an enthusiastic idea of it, and the least Crowley can do is let him give this to him--accept the pleasure and the desire spiraling between them as the gifts they are. If this is the only night they might have, he'll take as much as he can get.
He lets his hips rock forward, trusting Aziraphale to stop him if it's too much, while his wings arch instinctively into reach, the gleaming black feathers a dark curtain around them. He draws in painful gasps, his voice breaking into moans, helpless sounds, for he's so close, he wants so badly. ]
Aziraphale. I--please--
[ Crowley tries to warn him, but instead he sounds like he's pleading for it, for the release he's chasing with Aziraphale sucking him deep into his lovely mouth. Pleasure wrenches through him with Aziraphale's hand cupping his balls and gently squeezing, the encouraging motion telling him that Aziraphale knows how close he is, and that it must be all right, too, if he comes like this--
Which he does, not long after, trembling with his legs gone weak as he spills into the angel's mouth, a shiver going through his wings with a great sussurus, and his mind gone utterly blank with the stunning depth of pleasure. ]
[ Crowley's hips come forward and he does think it's all a bit too much, but finds that he loves every moment of it, both of them given over to pleasure like this, so enamored they are with each other. And he heeds Crowley's warning, but indeed misunderstands as if he's begging instead; Aziraphale won't deny him much of anything right now, let alone this. It comes as a shock, at first, but he quickly acclimates, arms holding Crowley securely and happily carrying on riding out the rest of his orgasm.
He misjudges, just the slightest, and winds up with a streak of come across his cheek, tongue darting out to the corner of his mouth but getting basically none of it off.
Aziraphale patiently waits for Crowley's breathing to stabilize, resting his head against Crowley's thigh and absentmindedly playing with a few of his feathers. ]
You're lovely.
[ It's said softly, like a prayer, as if he wasn't quite sure whether it was a thought worth sharing. But it is something he wants Crowley to know, because he's sure it isn't something Crowley's gotten to hear enough of since the fall. Aziraphale reaches for one of his hands and turns his cheek into it, kissing it with a sweet reverence, this hand he'd rarely ever gotten to touch, he now bestows all of his affections. In this blessed moment, the thought returns to Aziraphale that he would do anything for Crowley, and it scares him a little to think about. Yet, at the same time that he finds it condemning, he finds it exhilarating and splendid. He cannot, for the life of him, understand how it could be wrong to manifest a love so pure. ]
[ He comes choking out moans of pleasure, hardly able to believe that this is happening, that this is permitted--to have Aziraphale with him, his beautiful angel, taking him in and letting him spill in his mouth, which is a sight so obscene and lovely he doesn't think he'll ever forget it. Shivering in the aftermath, fighting to pull together his tattered breaths and dazed thoughts, Crowley strokes helplessly through Aziraphale's hair and presses his wings into his touch when he toys with some of his feathers, begging wordlessly for more.
His eyes close when Aziraphale calls him lovely, sensing so much adoration in the word, in Aziraphale's voice, that it's almost unbearable. He clutches at the angel with hands, arms, wings around him, kisses his hair and then draws back a little to look at him. He sees the streak of his come on Aziraphale's cheek and touches him with reverent fingers, thumb brushing at it--it has to be wrong, a demon staining an angel, it has to be sinful, wicked, sacrilege; he can think of a thousand adjectives, but none of them have anything to do with how desperately he loves Aziraphale, how he would love him to his last breath. Surely that kind of devotion is worth something in more pure eyes than his? He ducks down to kiss the corner of Aziraphale's mouth and his cheek, licking it away. ]
Angel.
[ Crowley aches for him. He pushes Aziraphale back, crawling into his lap, crawling over him on the bed. ]
[ Aziraphale welcomes Crowley's touches, laughs a little as he licks the corner of his mouth and tickles him with it. He turns his head, pulls Crowley in for messy attempted kisses as he falls back with a whoomph and lets his favorite demon crawl over him. It's now that he feels suddenly exposed, wings outstretched and hanging off the bed, nothing on him but the red burning into his face, cock standing tall and begging for attention.
He reaches for Crowley's arm, thumb across his pulse and breath hitching as he can feel it race underneath. As if to double-check, he places that hand over his heart instead, and revels at what he finds there, the same want and the same yearning for him as he has for Crowley, just a pair of fools trying to find their place in the Universe and finding each other instead. Yet, Aziraphale thinks, if this is not part of his purpose then something must have gone wrong; how could he feel this way if it wasn't meant to be? Was this a long test, and had he just failed it? He brushes a lock of hair behind Crowley's ear and looks up at bright yellow eyes that sear like the sun, and searches around for answers there. He finds assurance, and he finds safety; that's enough for him. ]
Crowley...
[ It's said breathlessly, and taking Crowley's shoulders, he leans up and lays a kiss where his hand was just at his temple, right over the tattoo of the snake. ]
[ His mouth meets Azirphale's in the kisses he seeks, wet and hot and glancing as they shift themselves into this new position, Aziraphale on his back and Crowley crawling insistently over him, at last capturing a handful of his hair in his fingers and holding him briefly still so that Crowley can kiss him properly, with an eager tongue, searching out the soft wet taste of Aziraphale's mouth. Feeling Aziraphale's thumb stroke along the underside of his arm, lingering over his pulse, he draws back when that hand goes to his chest instead, centered over his heart. Crowley glances down at it, and then at Aziraphale's face, faintly questioning. What does he feel, what does he sense, he wonders, from a demon's heartbeat? A little buzz of anxiety lies beneath the thrum of excitement he feels throughout his body, but Aziraphale strokes his hair back behind his ear and searches his eyes and says his name, the sound of his voice making pleasure twist in him.
He goes still when Aziraphale kisses him over his tattoo, captivated by it. There's so much need, so much longing in him, and Crowley lowers his head to bury his face against Aziraphale's throat, mouthing at it, and one of his knees presses in between his. As if in a dream, he loses himself in Aziraphale's body, a hand unerringly finding his cock and smoothing over it. He wraps his hand around it, miracling a bit of something slick between Aziraphale's cock and his palm and beginning to stroke him devoutly. ]
[ Crowley's kisses taste of temptation, dark and alluring with something undefinable that has Aziraphale chasing after his mouth when they part. And when Crowley lavishes his attention instead on Aziraphale's throat, he lets out a shocked gasp into the heavy air around them, eyes falling closed but neck tilting back to give him all the exposed skin he could care for. Then, when Crowley takes his cock, it sends a jolt through his entire form and his hands dig into the sheets; thinking better of it, he moves them to Crowley's hair and his back instead, digging into his scalp and his skin but keeping him rooted to the spot. ]
--Crowley--
[ He utters it rough and strangled, arms tightly wound around Crowley to hold him as close as possible, hips moving of their own accord against those talented fingers. His vision's gone hazy and he feels a complete and utter lack of control over his own body, but he thinks this might be the best thing the twentieth century has to offer him.
Aziraphale is needy, spouting out rushed puffs of air that quite almost form words like "don't stop" and "just like that," but not quite; interspersed with moans, he's absolutely incoherent. It wouldn't even matter, as Crowley's every seamless touch has Aziraphale reeling, questioning why it was he ever sought to deny them this. ]
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He is a being composed entirely of love and of light, but he usually manages to contain it in his relatively small human form. He can't seem to do so at the moment, and the entire block is suddenly, miraculously, having dreams so strong that they will inexplicably be in a good mood all day.
He lifts his head from its resting spot on Crowley's shoulder as if wanting to say something, but he racks his brain for all the words in all the languages they've ever spoken and none come up sufficient. Instead, he looks on with the kind of fondness he'd had finishing reading his very first book, or the first time he'd heard birds singing after a rain. He thinks he might be able to see all the stars in the night sky reflected in Crowley's eyes, and doesn't realize he is inching closer as if it might give him a better look. ]
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He looks back at Aziraphale when he lifts his head from his shoulder to gaze at him. Crowley's eyes have possibly gone a little dark, the slit pupils wider, and he stares at Aziraphale as if to drink in that gentle, affectionate look in his eyes, as though just gazing at him gives the angel the kind of pleasure he usually reserves for his favorite foods. It doesn't really seem to matter what Aziraphale's intent is in leaning closer; after the agony and fear of chasing Aziraphale away a few moments ago, in the rush of bliss that comes with those emotions dissipating into unimportance, he feels as though nothing he could do would be unwelcome. Crowley's hand comes up to Aziraphale's cheek, and he leans forward just the slightest distance between them and kisses him tentatively, the press of his mouth light and soft. ]
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Practically on instinct, he finds himself clumsily navigating towards Crowley's mouth though it's entirely unnecessary, as their lips meet just fine in the middle. Though he doesn't try to escalate beyond a light press, there's absolutely no trepidation or tentativeness about him, finding this instead the most natural and easy thing to do.
Crowley has a warm, slightly spicy scent to his skin, which Aziraphale is currently finding to be nothing short of intoxicating. And in his serpentine embrace with hands in his wings and a lightness in his heart, his entire face illuminates and blooms into a smile against Crowley's lips. ]
Stay with me today.
[ He murmurs, barely audible, having ended the kiss but having not moved away. ]
I don't have plans, I'll close up shop.
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When the kiss ends he slowly opens his eyes which had fallen shut, seeking out Aziraphale’s again. Crowley draws breath and nods a little, resisting the urge to pull the angel harder against him and holding him carefully instead, like something precious. ]
I can do that. [ His voice comes out a little scratchy. ] No plans either.
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The sun, now casting a calm yellow outline on Aziraphale's wings, now sits wholly over the horizon to mark the dawn. He absentmindedly thinks that this is his favorite part of the day and he'd like to share every morning with Crowley just so, but promptly shuts down all further notions of the like in his dreamy runaway thoughts.
He allows today, and perhaps in the future he'll allow stolen moments behind closed curtains and away from prying eyes, but let that be enough. ]
I think perhaps we could find something to occupy the time.
[ He makes a promise to himself to enjoy this now, to delay his worry until inevitably when Crowley has to leave again and isn't presently the only thing in his entire field of perception. It might just work, with Crowley being ever so devastatingly distracting. ]
Kiss me again?
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There are a thousand temptations he should be out there in the world doing right now, all the sorry little jobs Hell gives him, but Crowley wishes he would never have to leave this bookshop again. The thought of Hell or Heaven looking in brings a twist of anxiety into him that makes him clutch a little tighter, but he tries not to let the worry show, tries to let himself be distracted by the warmth in Aziraphale's voice and touch. The angel's request certainly manages to capture his attention, and Crowley nods wordlessly before reaching out to pull Aziraphale into a kiss again.
It's hungrier this time, the yearning in him not quite so well disguised. Aziraphale's mouth is soft and lovely and Crowley didn't realize--didn't let himself think--how much he's wanted this. His hands shake a little as he drags Aziraphale closer. ]
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In retrospect, Aziraphale should have definitely anticipated that Crowley would kiss him like this, and he should therefore have logically concluded the effect it would have on him. Something about the catch of Crowley's lips draws out little sounds from Aziraphale's throat, his head tilting as he shifts on the couch for easier access, allowing his other hand to come around Crowley's neck; it as a fist there until he spreads it out and into soft hair that he tugs at by the very root.
The angle he finds himself at is rather uncomfortable, and though his mind is preoccupied, his body takes over in wisdom and boldness, lightly nudging Crowley's shoulder to move him so as to slide easily into his lap. ]
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He moves when Aziraphale nudges him, almost unconsciously, too preoccupied with his mouth to realize what he wants until he settles into his lap. Then Crowley has to break away from the kiss to look at him, drinking in the sight of him like he hasn’t seen him for millennia rather than just decades. It feels that long, it feels as though he’s waited for and wanted him forever. ]
Aziraphale. [ Tentative but needing touch, he runs his hands over the angel’s waist and down to his hips. ]
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Aziraphale, still playing with his hair, finds himself growing warm wherever Crowley's gaze falls. There's so much longing there that it touches him in the deepest of his soul, and for a second he looks on apologetically, sorry that he's made his friend wait this entire time wondering whether or not his feelings were returned. ]
My dear Crowley
[ Said in direct response, as he dots kisses like little blessings all over his cheek.
Aziraphale, of course, wants to avoid any misunderstandings in confrontation like the one they just had moments ago, and yet he finds the want in Crowley's looks and the taste on his tongue unmistakable; he is not signing up to play another thousand year long game of chicken. Deftly, he tugs a corner of his shirt out of his waistband, and reaches for one of the hands on his waist, guiding it underneath to touch his skin. And lest his own intentions be misunderstood, and perhaps also to disavow any lingering ideas that he might be just a fussy angel, he rocks his hips forward and asks, voice heavy: ]
Would you like to come upstairs with me?
no worries! I can always do prose
Yes.
[ Said in response to the offer to go upstairs with him, the kisses scattered across his cheek, Aziraphale's hand taking his to guide it beneath the hem of his shirt. Crowley's hand caresses up his bare skin. Oh--oh, he loves touching Aziraphale, skin to skin, loves feeling his hips rock against him like an echo of lust and need. ]
Please--angel, please.
only if you prefer!
With his shirt untucked, hair unkempt and wings a bit ruffled, Aziraphale appears the least put-together that Crowley is ever likely to have seen him. He slides his feet to the ground to get up and the first steps he makes are backwards, as if for fear that looking away might cause this entire dream to rupture, for Aziraphale to have discovered that he had fallen asleep with Crowley after all. And yet, the idea of starting this all over from the moment he'd awoken isn't a bad one, so he relinquishes the thought and scurries up the stairs.
The bed, almost entirely unused, is crisp and perfectly made. With one sweep of a wing and a pull of his hand, the pillows tumble to the ground and the blankets fly back. ]
Now, where were we?
[ He takes a seat at an exposed corner of the mattress, looks up at Crowley with such endless wonder, with utter devotion, and miracles all the buttons of his shirt loose. He pushes the fabric aside with great care as he would unveiling a masterpiece, and with his hands on either of Crowley's sides, presses a kiss to his ribcage, this thing that is the keeper of his heart. ]
I’m good either way :)
Angel.
[ He caresses through Aziraphale’s hair roughly, and bends to kiss the crown of his head. Torn between the urge to crawl into his lap or to go down to his knees before him, Crowley urges Aziraphale to look up at him, his own gaze helplessly impassioned. ]
Tell me—is there—is there anything you’d like?
[ His heartbeat is wild, pulse jumping in his throat, and Crowley thinks—he’d do anything. Anything that Aziraphale pleased. ]
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You. All of you.
[ It's not a helpful answer, but it's the only one worth giving; he understands the question, since he's usually very particular and Crowley is surprisingly accommodating to all of Aziraphale's many preferences. However, at the moment, he can only think that he wants everything: Crowley's hands on him, and his mouth, and his legs and arms wrapped around him, their very souls colliding together. ]
And what do you want?
[ He asks this, with such an angelic smile on his face even as he undoes Crowley's belt and lets it fall to the floor, even as he fiddles with unzipping the seat of his pants and sliding one very impatient hand in between his legs. He appears to be very pleased with what he's found, and gladly presses against it with the heel of his palm. ]
Surely you have something specific in mind. Tell me, please. I'd like to hear it.
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His fingers clutch feverishly in Aziraphale's hair, his eyes open again as Aziraphale asks him that question--looks down at him and sees the smile on his face, the sweet interest in his eyes, and his hands busily undoing Crowley's belt and letting it drop and then--and then his trousers, his hand sliding in and pressing against Crowley's already hard cock and making his mouth fall open with a groan. He jerks helplessly to the touch, startled and gasping. He's had this shape for a while, has enjoyed the pleasure he's gotten out of it in the past, but it's an entirely different realm of feeling when it's Aziraphale's hand on him, the physical sensation and the fraught tangle of emotion all at once, nearly overwhelming.
Shivering, he tries to answer coherently. ] I want--
[ Aziraphale to keep doing that, oh, please. ]
You--you touching me. And then I want to get my mouth on you.
[ He feels breathless, in spite of how he doesn't really need to breathe, his voice gone harsh with blatant need. ]
And you--will you talk to me, will you tell me if it's good, if I'm-- [ He gives Aziraphale a pleading glance. Surely it's not too much to ask, not too greedy of him? ]
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Yes, he think he can oblige Crowley's requests, though he quirks an eyebrow up at the last one, just teasingly. ]
You want to know if you're... what? Good?
[ A coy smile plays across his face as he looks up at Crowley and wonders idly how many people have ever seen him from this angle. None that matter, surely, in this moment or going forward; it's just curiosity. ]
Yes.
[ He runs his hand down the length of Crowley's cock, still watching his face to see what kind of pressure or speed he likes. And he plays with it, experimentally, pads of his fingers eager to see where he's most sensitive, cataloguing and filing it away for later. ]
Yes, darling, you're being so good for me.
[ By the time his lips have gotten around to Crowley's very prominent arousal, he thinks he might have gone a little off of the script he requested. But he can't very well have Crowley's mouth anywhere on his skin where it's covered up, and he needs his hands to get himself out of his clothes. He guides Crowley into his mouth and puts both his tongue and his clumsy, restless fingers to work. ]
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Crowley swallows, feeling it burn a little in him when Aziraphale calls him good--it's dangerous, discomfiting to let him say it without protest, and yes, yes, it's what he wants. It doesn't really even surprise him how easily Aziraphale understands, though he's shivering when the angel says it again, when he calls him darling, and he feels as though kindness may end up being the thing that ruins him. ]
Aziraphale--
[ His name chokes off in a moan as Aziraphale takes him into his mouth. Oh, oh it's good, who knew he'd be so wicked--it's overwhelming to feel his mouth and tongue working at him, and he's so painfully hard he can't think straight, but Crowley's hands are restless and he finally pulls himself together enough to help Aziraphale with his clothes, just as clumsily as he undoes Aziraphale's tie and collar and works at the buttons of his shirt. ]
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As much as he'd like to, he can only really fit about half of Crowley's cock in his mouth, but he can't find it in himself to be embarrassed or self-conscious about a thing like that. Regardless, once he's shrugged off his shirt and clamored out of his pants, he's divested of most of his clothes and one of his hands heads straight to grasp Crowley firmly at the base as he continues with greedy lips and fervent tongue.
His other hand makes a play for the rest of Crowley's clothing, because now he's wearing too much and it's unfair, all of it. That he should have this effect on Aziraphale, that he should have been the one to be placed on this Earth opposite him, opposing him, that he should be so damned irresistible. ]
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Aziraphale--angel--
[ He stammers pleading words, sounds, his hips stuttering as control slips away from him like he never had it. Aziraphale's mouth is hot and wet and it savors him, lavishing the kind of hedonistic attention on him that Crowley's always known Aziraphale is capable of, only he never imagined it like this. He's not going to last long if he keeps this up, he can tell. Crowley's fingers tighten in his hair, and he grits his teeth as he forces a quick miracle so that all the rest of his clothes fall easily away. With it his wings come out with a snap, a few black feathers scattering around the bedroom. ]
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Aziraphale longs to touch those wings as soon as they come out, but he tries to control himself, though one of his hands instinctually reaches up Crowley's thigh and his side, touch palpable in desire. When he said he'd wanted all of Crowley, he hadn't lied. He wants to fold himself up in black wings, and pillow himself into a strong chest and to know him, grows nearly delirious when he reminds himself that all these possibilities might soon become reality.
He hadn't been sure if he was doing this properly, but he drinks in all of Crowley's movements and he'd smile with pride if his mouth weren't presently full of cock. It spurs him on but renders him a little careless, Crowley hitting the back of his throat in ways he knows will leave a sore throat later, but he can hardly find reason to be upset about it right now. No, he is sure that more of him will be sore by evening, and he is thinking he would be rather disappointed if he were not. Sliding a hand underneath to cup Crowley's balls, he gives them a little tug and a gentle squeeze, sending a little encouragement. ]
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He lets his hips rock forward, trusting Aziraphale to stop him if it's too much, while his wings arch instinctively into reach, the gleaming black feathers a dark curtain around them. He draws in painful gasps, his voice breaking into moans, helpless sounds, for he's so close, he wants so badly. ]
Aziraphale. I--please--
[ Crowley tries to warn him, but instead he sounds like he's pleading for it, for the release he's chasing with Aziraphale sucking him deep into his lovely mouth. Pleasure wrenches through him with Aziraphale's hand cupping his balls and gently squeezing, the encouraging motion telling him that Aziraphale knows how close he is, and that it must be all right, too, if he comes like this--
Which he does, not long after, trembling with his legs gone weak as he spills into the angel's mouth, a shiver going through his wings with a great sussurus, and his mind gone utterly blank with the stunning depth of pleasure. ]
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He misjudges, just the slightest, and winds up with a streak of come across his cheek, tongue darting out to the corner of his mouth but getting basically none of it off.
Aziraphale patiently waits for Crowley's breathing to stabilize, resting his head against Crowley's thigh and absentmindedly playing with a few of his feathers. ]
You're lovely.
[ It's said softly, like a prayer, as if he wasn't quite sure whether it was a thought worth sharing. But it is something he wants Crowley to know, because he's sure it isn't something Crowley's gotten to hear enough of since the fall. Aziraphale reaches for one of his hands and turns his cheek into it, kissing it with a sweet reverence, this hand he'd rarely ever gotten to touch, he now bestows all of his affections. In this blessed moment, the thought returns to Aziraphale that he would do anything for Crowley, and it scares him a little to think about. Yet, at the same time that he finds it condemning, he finds it exhilarating and splendid. He cannot, for the life of him, understand how it could be wrong to manifest a love so pure. ]
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His eyes close when Aziraphale calls him lovely, sensing so much adoration in the word, in Aziraphale's voice, that it's almost unbearable. He clutches at the angel with hands, arms, wings around him, kisses his hair and then draws back a little to look at him. He sees the streak of his come on Aziraphale's cheek and touches him with reverent fingers, thumb brushing at it--it has to be wrong, a demon staining an angel, it has to be sinful, wicked, sacrilege; he can think of a thousand adjectives, but none of them have anything to do with how desperately he loves Aziraphale, how he would love him to his last breath. Surely that kind of devotion is worth something in more pure eyes than his? He ducks down to kiss the corner of Aziraphale's mouth and his cheek, licking it away. ]
Angel.
[ Crowley aches for him. He pushes Aziraphale back, crawling into his lap, crawling over him on the bed. ]
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He reaches for Crowley's arm, thumb across his pulse and breath hitching as he can feel it race underneath. As if to double-check, he places that hand over his heart instead, and revels at what he finds there, the same want and the same yearning for him as he has for Crowley, just a pair of fools trying to find their place in the Universe and finding each other instead. Yet, Aziraphale thinks, if this is not part of his purpose then something must have gone wrong; how could he feel this way if it wasn't meant to be? Was this a long test, and had he just failed it? He brushes a lock of hair behind Crowley's ear and looks up at bright yellow eyes that sear like the sun, and searches around for answers there. He finds assurance, and he finds safety; that's enough for him. ]
Crowley...
[ It's said breathlessly, and taking Crowley's shoulders, he leans up and lays a kiss where his hand was just at his temple, right over the tattoo of the snake. ]
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He goes still when Aziraphale kisses him over his tattoo, captivated by it. There's so much need, so much longing in him, and Crowley lowers his head to bury his face against Aziraphale's throat, mouthing at it, and one of his knees presses in between his. As if in a dream, he loses himself in Aziraphale's body, a hand unerringly finding his cock and smoothing over it. He wraps his hand around it, miracling a bit of something slick between Aziraphale's cock and his palm and beginning to stroke him devoutly. ]
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--Crowley--
[ He utters it rough and strangled, arms tightly wound around Crowley to hold him as close as possible, hips moving of their own accord against those talented fingers. His vision's gone hazy and he feels a complete and utter lack of control over his own body, but he thinks this might be the best thing the twentieth century has to offer him.
Aziraphale is needy, spouting out rushed puffs of air that quite almost form words like "don't stop" and "just like that," but not quite; interspersed with moans, he's absolutely incoherent. It wouldn't even matter, as Crowley's every seamless touch has Aziraphale reeling, questioning why it was he ever sought to deny them this. ]
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