[ 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. ]
[ Aziraphale's hands clutching in his hair and at his back, keeping Crowley press to him, make him gasp out a choked sound against his throat, his mouth wet and hot as he takes and takes of the exposed skin Aziraphale offers him, until he's sure to be left marked under that tartan collar he wears, unless he should miracle it away. He wants to give him pleasure, feel him cling to him or even rake those fine fingers down his back, wants to feel Aziraphale twisting in need beneath him, and the angel gives him that, uttering sounds that are almost pleading words. Crowley sucks at a place beneath his jaw where he can feel his heart jump, and his hand works his cock between them, letting Aziraphale arch up and feeling him slide through his fingers as his hips thrust. It's lovely, Aziraphale is so lovely, Crowley wants to consume him, he wants to drink him in until he's completely, entirely spent and sated. ]
Angel, oh--you--
[ His own voice is raw and wracked with devotion. Touching Aziraphale like this feels like worship. He slithers up over him and catches his mouth again, kissing him as though to devour him. ]
[ His body writhes in pleasure as if he'd never known it before, as if all the colors in the world have new meaning. And he might as well feel like that with Crowley at the helm and guiding him through it; he tries and fails to bite back his moans, uncontainable in this little body when his soul is currently alight.
He gives into Crowley's kiss completely, melts beneath it and feels utterly consumed, smothered and practically suffocating on lust. ]
Then-- ah!
[ His body moves in the ways that his words are currently failing him, drawing Crowley back down towards his mouth and attempting to focus all of his wild energy to one point: he kisses artlessly, clumsy and wholly imperfect. But half of his kisses devolve into gasps and moans, all directly falling into Crowley's waiting mouth.
He can feel the pleasure mounting, and he doesn't know how much longer he has like this, heel dug sharply into the back of Crowley's thigh and trying to let him know, but he can't seem to do anything but get taken along for the ride. ]
[ His hands, his body, his mouth consuming Aziraphale's, taking in all of his gasps and moans as though they are to be tasted and savored, better than anything he's ever had in his life: all of him is a yes, waiting tensely and encouraging, helping the angel as best as he can with the intent strokes of his hand around his cock and how he attempts to wring every bit of pleasure out of him that it's possible to feel. His long body presses all along Aziraphale's and tangles with his, feeling the angel's leg wrapped around him and heel digging in and responding to the pressure with a helpless jerk of his own hips. He wants him to find his release, wants to feel it hot and spilled over his fingers and against his skin, and then wants to lick it from Aziraphale's body, eager to taste all of him. ]
Yesss.
[ His voice pleads and entices, with the extra sibilance he gets when he's too far gone to pay attention. His wings arch over them both, gleaming black, like a curtain of night, as though to protect what happens here and keep it from any eyes other than theirs alone. ]
[ He can barely hold on for much longer, his heart and spirit threatening to escape the confines of his body. And Crowley is there, plucking him like a violin with the strings on too tight, playing him like the devil's trill until he can feel it in his very bones. Aziraphale comes with a strangled cry and is caught in suspension for what seems like forever, spilling hot between their stomachs and all over Crowley's hand.
When at last his breath returns, jagged and rattling around in his ribcage with nowhere to go, he blinks and feels wet at the seams of his eyes, thinks he might be seeing stars twinkle in the vast velvet expanse of Crowley's wings. He doesn't think he's seen a more beautiful sight since they were first put in Eden, and in an endless horizon of the first night was the canvas they had all painted together to be viewed from exactly that point in all of space, sparkling with wonderment and creation. The sky has changed over the years, and the stars fade now in his vision, but when he looks and sees that Crowley is still there, his constant, he doesn't have the words to express how he feels.
He reaches for Crowley's face and brings him down, touching their foreheads together, just wanting to breathe in his air and his space. He doesn't have the words he's looking for, but he settles on the strongest ones he can think of: ]
[ It's beyond any physical enjoyment he's ever known, to feel Aziraphale come in his hand, arched breathless and crying out against his body, the sense of intimate discovery between them making him ache as though he's the one who's shattering apart. He feels the echo of the angel's pleasure and joy deep inside his own body and knows with a certainty that he will never again be without that angelic love, that sense of vast drowning adoration, surrounding him and pouring into him, almost more than his demonic heart can contain. It will resonate in him long after tonight, for centuries on centuries and millennia on millennia, however many more they are granted, even if this is the only night they share in intimacy.
Crowley too is left gasping in the aftermath, a faint trembling at the edges of his wings which still arch above them, protective, possessive. His hand, slick with Aziraphale's seed, touches the angel's stomach where it too is stained, with a sense of wonder and desire; he sees the faint glimmer of tears in Aziraphale's eyes and his breath catches all over again. When Aziraphale reaches for him he lets himself be drawn close, forehead to forehead, mouths nearly touching, and he lets out a strangled sound in response to those words and kisses Aziraphale desperately, as if to taste them in his mouth. ]
I love you. I--Aziraphale--
[ Crowley buries his face against his throat, smothering kisses and an urge to offer up his ruined soul. The depth of feeling overwhelms him and he loses himself in the scent and taste of Aziraphale's skin, making his way with hungry kisses down his body. ]
[ Aziraphale has absolutely, positively no intentions on having this be the only night they share like this, the only time that he makes love to Crowley. No, if he had his way, they would be like this all nights, tangled up in each other and enjoying yet another brilliant human invention, the eldest of them. There's something sacred about the space in between them, souls intermingling so that Aziraphale isn't sure where he ends and where he begins, Crowley managing to take the rest of the breath from his lungs with his kiss. ]
You're so good to me--
[ He starts, but it winds up muffled as he bites his lower lip when Crowley starts moving down his form, branding him every place he dots a kiss, managing to lift his head up for a second to look at him and ask: ]
Darling, what are you--
[ Crowley's found somewhere on his body that makes his head fall back and his hand fly to cover his mouth and cover the hiss he makes where his skin is quite nearly in pain from its over-sensitive state, but he finds it paradoxically quite pleasant. He isn't sure what to do with that information, only to curiously look down at the top of Crowley's head and play with his hair. ]
This body isn't two thousand anymore, Crowley. I'm afraid if you want another go, you'll have to give me a little bit of time to recover.
[ He isn't really sure if that's true or not, but if push came to shove, he'd be very easy to convince to test it out. ]
[ Oh, he loves to hear Aziraphale's voice, he loves the breathlessness in it and the way his words cut off as Crowley lavishes kisses across his skin, finding sensitive places as he moves down his body. The words, too, the praise, he loves so much that it's a twist of pain in his chest, and he aches to hear more of it. He shivers as Aziraphale toys with his hair, and lifts his head to look up at him, eyes dazed and pleading, asking Aziraphale to give him this, to let Crowley worship him. It doesn't matter if he's ready to go again or not; he just wants to touch him, kiss him, lavish every moment of devout attention on him that he can.
With an exhale he nuzzles against Aziraphale's stomach and kisses him there, taking the taste of his skin. He finds the spills of his seed and tastes them, too, and there's something sweet and obscene about every kiss, every hot lap of his tongue, transmuting his boundless need for Aziraphale into the caresses of his hands at his hips and the kisses he trails across his skin. He nuzzles at the angel's spent cock, and lays his head against his thigh. ]
[ When Crowley licks away some of the cooling come on his stomach, and when he presses his pretty face against where his cock is now soft, they're such filthy gestures that they burn into the back of Aziraphale's eyelids and send shivers down his spine at the mere thought. Goodness, he feels thoroughly wrecked, helplessly debauched.
So that, somehow, isn't the answer that Aziraphale is expecting, and it makes his heart leap right in his throat and cut off all the words he was going to say. ]
Oh.
[ He opens up his thigh, leaving more room for Crowley to pillow his head, to make a space for himself to lay there as long as he might like. ]
Then I'm all yours to touch.
[ Aziraphale has no reservations in offering himself to Crowley; he had already, for so long, had thousands of doubts. And here, in this loving winged embrace, feeling safer than he ever had in a long time, he hasn't felt more sure of any other decision he'd ever made in his life. So he takes his trust and his heart and his life, and he places it in Crowley's warm, capable hands. One of his wings flutters, shakes off an errant feather or two, and then blankets itself softly over Crowley in an invitation to stay there. ]
[ His breath catches, as Aziraphale offers himself to him so openly, without any hesitation. The invitation in his spread thighs and his wing blanketing over him as though to embrace him close, to keep him there where he lays so intimately, makes Crowley ache with hunger and need and he turns his face to Aziraphale's skin with a low moan, digging his teeth gently into Aziraphale's thigh and then soothing the place he bit with his lips and tongue. It feels to him as though the edges of their wings are blurring together, one moving into the other, much like their bodies were tangled together moments ago, and the sensation is so lovely, like something long-awaited without knowing what he yearned for. Crowley lies still for what feels like a long time, eyes drifting shut, one of his arms thrown possessively over Aziraphale's hips.
For a while it contents him just to lie like this, though he's an avaricious creature and soon enough his kisses and caresses begin to wander again. Crowley nuzzles again at Aziraphale's cock, thinking greedily of how the angel liked it, and then slowly eases his hot mouth around him. It doesn't matter so much if he's hard again or not, he wants to hold him there, wants to feel Aziraphale shiver and clutch at him in his pleasure. ]
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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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Angel, oh--you--
[ His own voice is raw and wracked with devotion. Touching Aziraphale like this feels like worship. He slithers up over him and catches his mouth again, kissing him as though to devour him. ]
You make me ravenous.
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He gives into Crowley's kiss completely, melts beneath it and feels utterly consumed, smothered and practically suffocating on lust. ]
Then-- ah!
[ His body moves in the ways that his words are currently failing him, drawing Crowley back down towards his mouth and attempting to focus all of his wild energy to one point: he kisses artlessly, clumsy and wholly imperfect. But half of his kisses devolve into gasps and moans, all directly falling into Crowley's waiting mouth.
He can feel the pleasure mounting, and he doesn't know how much longer he has like this, heel dug sharply into the back of Crowley's thigh and trying to let him know, but he can't seem to do anything but get taken along for the ride. ]
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Yesss.
[ His voice pleads and entices, with the extra sibilance he gets when he's too far gone to pay attention. His wings arch over them both, gleaming black, like a curtain of night, as though to protect what happens here and keep it from any eyes other than theirs alone. ]
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When at last his breath returns, jagged and rattling around in his ribcage with nowhere to go, he blinks and feels wet at the seams of his eyes, thinks he might be seeing stars twinkle in the vast velvet expanse of Crowley's wings. He doesn't think he's seen a more beautiful sight since they were first put in Eden, and in an endless horizon of the first night was the canvas they had all painted together to be viewed from exactly that point in all of space, sparkling with wonderment and creation. The sky has changed over the years, and the stars fade now in his vision, but when he looks and sees that Crowley is still there, his constant, he doesn't have the words to express how he feels.
He reaches for Crowley's face and brings him down, touching their foreheads together, just wanting to breathe in his air and his space. He doesn't have the words he's looking for, but he settles on the strongest ones he can think of: ]
I love you.
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Crowley too is left gasping in the aftermath, a faint trembling at the edges of his wings which still arch above them, protective, possessive. His hand, slick with Aziraphale's seed, touches the angel's stomach where it too is stained, with a sense of wonder and desire; he sees the faint glimmer of tears in Aziraphale's eyes and his breath catches all over again. When Aziraphale reaches for him he lets himself be drawn close, forehead to forehead, mouths nearly touching, and he lets out a strangled sound in response to those words and kisses Aziraphale desperately, as if to taste them in his mouth. ]
I love you. I--Aziraphale--
[ Crowley buries his face against his throat, smothering kisses and an urge to offer up his ruined soul. The depth of feeling overwhelms him and he loses himself in the scent and taste of Aziraphale's skin, making his way with hungry kisses down his body. ]
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You're so good to me--
[ He starts, but it winds up muffled as he bites his lower lip when Crowley starts moving down his form, branding him every place he dots a kiss, managing to lift his head up for a second to look at him and ask: ]
Darling, what are you--
[ Crowley's found somewhere on his body that makes his head fall back and his hand fly to cover his mouth and cover the hiss he makes where his skin is quite nearly in pain from its over-sensitive state, but he finds it paradoxically quite pleasant. He isn't sure what to do with that information, only to curiously look down at the top of Crowley's head and play with his hair. ]
This body isn't two thousand anymore, Crowley. I'm afraid if you want another go, you'll have to give me a little bit of time to recover.
[ He isn't really sure if that's true or not, but if push came to shove, he'd be very easy to convince to test it out. ]
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With an exhale he nuzzles against Aziraphale's stomach and kisses him there, taking the taste of his skin. He finds the spills of his seed and tastes them, too, and there's something sweet and obscene about every kiss, every hot lap of his tongue, transmuting his boundless need for Aziraphale into the caresses of his hands at his hips and the kisses he trails across his skin. He nuzzles at the angel's spent cock, and lays his head against his thigh. ]
I love touching you, that's all.
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So that, somehow, isn't the answer that Aziraphale is expecting, and it makes his heart leap right in his throat and cut off all the words he was going to say. ]
Oh.
[ He opens up his thigh, leaving more room for Crowley to pillow his head, to make a space for himself to lay there as long as he might like. ]
Then I'm all yours to touch.
[ Aziraphale has no reservations in offering himself to Crowley; he had already, for so long, had thousands of doubts. And here, in this loving winged embrace, feeling safer than he ever had in a long time, he hasn't felt more sure of any other decision he'd ever made in his life. So he takes his trust and his heart and his life, and he places it in Crowley's warm, capable hands. One of his wings flutters, shakes off an errant feather or two, and then blankets itself softly over Crowley in an invitation to stay there. ]
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For a while it contents him just to lie like this, though he's an avaricious creature and soon enough his kisses and caresses begin to wander again. Crowley nuzzles again at Aziraphale's cock, thinking greedily of how the angel liked it, and then slowly eases his hot mouth around him. It doesn't matter so much if he's hard again or not, he wants to hold him there, wants to feel Aziraphale shiver and clutch at him in his pleasure. ]
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