[ 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. ]
[ Crowley is so impatient that Aziraphale has to laugh, but his laughter turns to gasp when his legs open of their own accord; in his six thousand years of existence on this Earth, he has never felt so desired as he does underneath Crowley's care. His mouth feels somehow both wicked and blessed and Aziraphale can do nothing but lovingly card through his hair and sling his leg over a shoulder as he feels his cock respond to the kisses, the great traitorous thing. ]
You'll be the death of me.
[ It's said with such fond sweetness, since he has this wild errant thought that it was Crowley's devious plan all along to turn him into a smoldering pile of moans and sweet nothings, a mess of pulse and feathers and deliriously well-kissed skin.
He gives a low, very satisfied chuckle at the thought, hand lingering brushing away the hair from his forehead as if the sweat had stuck it there. Aziraphale needs something else to hold onto when Crowley takes him into his mouth and his whole body jerks with unexpected interest. ]
Oh, you really don't have to--
[ Somehow, he still thinks there might be a small chance Crowley just feels obligated because now he's gone and aroused him again. He tugs at Crowley's hair, softly holds his cheek. ]
[ There’s so much of Aziraphale to discover and learn and linger upon, could anyone possibly blame him for a lack of patience? He’s waited six thousand years, after all. Since the Beginning—Crowley thinks he may have loved Aziraphale all those millennia ago, from the first moment he saw him on the wall, anxious and loving and watchful. How he wished he were the subject of Aziraphale’s care, his attention and love. He has it now and doesn’t intend to squander it.
He presses closer as Aziraphale slings a leg over his shoulder and reaches down to his hair, fingers sliding tenderly through the strands. His mouth is occupied but from his throat comes a sound that is between a moan and a purr, a pleasurable shiver going down his spine as he feels how Aziraphale’s cock responds to the hot, sweet attention he lavishes on it. It’s almost unbearable, how much lust and need twists into him, how he aches feeling Aziraphale grow hard again in his mouth, and Crowley looks up at him disbelieving when he says he doesn’t have to do this. Can he really think—?
Drawing off briefly, he licks at the head of his cock luxuriously. ]
You know I want to.
[ Nuzzling for a moment into Aziraphale’s hip, Crowley looks at him again with heavy-lidded eyes. ]
Say it’s good. Say it, angel.
[ He takes his cock into his mouth again, lips tight and sweet and sliding all the way down to the base. ]
[ How could he possibly not see what he's doing to Aziraphale, taking him apart piece by piece and somehow putting him back together making him feel more whole than when he had started. How could he possibly need the reassurance? But it's such a little thing to ask in this moment, and Aziraphale would like very much to bathe Crowley in praise, to leisurely wash it over him. ]
--Yes, Crowley. You're so good, so incredibly good--
[ His fingers tighten in Crowley's hair and he nearly swears aloud as Crowley's mouth so hot and wet and wanting around him renders all other thoughts asunder.
If pressed to answer when it was he knew he was hopelessly in love with Crowley, he would say it was when he looked over at a pile of rubble and he so casually plucked out a bag of books, rescued human knowledge that lasts as long as they do, and relatively recently. But if one were to ask him when he fell in love with Crowley, he wouldn't have an answer. As the years had passed without him, he had gone back into the lexicon of his memory and found less of a point and more of a continuum, as if Crowley had slowly slithered his way into Aziraphale's heart and slowly left all his belongings until he was all moved in without Aziraphale even having looked up from his cocoa to notice that he wasn't always there.
Sometimes it feels as if he was, ever since the beginning. He draws his thumb along Crowley's jaw and tried to meet his gaze but it's such an obscene sight he can't hold it; he tears his eyes away and wishes he could just sink into Crowley, somehow let him know that in so thoroughly claiming him now, he isn't staking anything that wasn't already his. ]
[ He can see it, he can feel it, Aziraphale trembling beneath him, nearly to pieces once again, but oh the words make him shudder, he needs them, he feels delirious with how much he craves them. Forbidden words, sweet engulfing words in Aziraphale's lovely voice, which sounds so breathless with wanting. For him, for what Crowley is doing to him. He groans again around Aziraphale's cock, desire a burning, breathtaking thing inside him which makes him lavish Aziraphale with a tender greedy mouth, hot and wet and so, so willing, eagerly taking him in.
He feels--a joining between them, something beyond the physical that can never be reverted or ignored, Aziraphale reaching for him in all the ways he's never done before and Crowley grasping desperately, wantonly, taking anything and everything that he is given. Aziraphale's love burns, but then he had always thought that it might. Surely the love of an angel was never meant to be turned upon a demon in all its raw force. But he wants it too much to care, even if it should consume him. Feeling Aziraphale's fingers clench tightly in his hair, feeling his thumb stroke along his jaw makes him shudder with a longing that goes down to his soul, and even if Aziraphale can't bring himself to look Crowley is watching him, touching him with hands that caress and linger at his hips, wanting to sear every moment of this into his memory. And he sucks devoutly, wanting to feel Aziraphale giving into pleasure again, wanting to taste him at the back of his throat. ]
[ He isn't sure whether it's catching Crowley's intense gaze, or the feeling of the back of his throat, the obscene curve of his cheek or the fact that he's completely buried in Crowley's mouth -- seemingly effortlessly, Lord, how does he do that? --that seems to overwhelm all of Aziraphale's already-fried circuitry. ]
You don't-- hah..., need to ruin me for anyone else dear, you already have.
[ No one in all the worlds and heaven above or hell below could make him feel the way that Crowley does, as if he is the sole collection of matter in the universe, the center of all of creation. He has never known love like this and now he gets to share it, pile adorations on Crowley until he understands even a fraction of the depth of how besotted he is and how unadulterated his endearment; could anything else be so holy?
Aziraphale tries his hardest to hold onto some semblance of control, but Crowley's tongue, soft as velvet belying a piercing wit, so enthrall him that his thumb presses into the pulse under his jaw, possibly hard enough to bruise.
Immediately, he attempts to scramble away. ]
--Oh I'm so sorry, Crowley; Crowley, are you alright?
[ He rubs the area to soothe it, blue starting to return to his eyes in concern. ]
[ He feels--ravenous for Aziraphale, feels as though he could swallow him down, tempt him into giving everything into his wet eager mouth, and it only urges him on when Aziraphale says that he is ruined for anyone else. Yes, Crowley wants Aziraphale for himself, only for himself: it's a selfish, greedy, all-encompassing desire, suited for a demon, but there is adoration in it too, a love that consumes him from within, until Crowley suspects that he may be ruined too. Tormented, wracked with need, and Crowley thinks how lovely it would be to exist only to give and receive pleasure. He's never wanted anyone else, anything like this.
The bruise that Aziraphale's thumb presses beneath his jaw is only the littlest pain--almost holy, and oh, he'd suffer any bruise or mark that Aziraphale left on him, there is no touch he wouldn't welcome. Crowley looks up at him with dazed eyes when he apologizes, drawing off his mouth in a luxurious drag of lips and tongue, his hand curling around Aziraphale's flushed, wet cock to stroke it gently. His throat, too, feels a little bruised and he swallows, licking his lips indulgently before pressing a kiss to Aziraphale's stomach. ]
I'm all right. I'm perfect, angel.
[ Crowley kisses him again, his hand rubbing gently. ]
[ Even the way he takes pause is delectable, dripping in sinful indulgence, and Aziraphale feels so spoiled. He's caught up in the sight of Crowley's mouth, shining and blushed deep red, shares for a brief moment a similar thought that it would be nice to just stop time and stay in this existence for awhile, but he pulls his mind back to the conversation at hand. ]
--No! Well, not if you don't. I just.
[ It hasn't started to color, but he worries his thumb over the spot where he got a bit carried away and he stops to think that he just does that when he thinks of Crowley, that his heart soars and his mind gets lost in the clouds. He doesn't know if they can be afforded such freedoms, each tied to their respective posts. ]
I don't want to hurt you.
[ It's said on a single rush of breath the way a confession is uttered, and clearly it's not just about the physical pain of leaving a bruise that could heal with time, that could be easily expand away if any demons came asking. It wouldn't be nearly as embarrassing as the love bite on Aziraphale's neck, which, when he discovers later, will suddenly bring him back to this night, a memory both so vivid he'll reach for Crowley, and yet so far away he might wonder if he dreamed the whole thing. Yet Crowley, so carefully having guarded all his feelings this entire time, had been careful to leave any marks underneath Aziraphale's collar. And he would never slip up, never wear his heart on his sleeve and cause anyone else to think he might regard Aziraphale the way he does now.
He promised himself one night with no worries, and he's already broken it. ]
[ He rests briefly against Aziraphale, gazing up at him hazily. ]
Hurt me?
[ Crowley considers this. Surely Aziraphale wouldn’t be worrying over bruises and such things, marks that won’t even matter after a day or so—not like the turmoil all this will leave in Crowley’s heart and mind, that he’ll guard away as carefully as he’s always guarded himself.
Because this could hurt him, he thinks—not Aziraphale gripping him too tightly, losing himself in a moment of passion, but what came after, when they should inevitably have to part ways again, restrict how often they see each other or what they do together lest their respective offices catch on that anything is not as it should be between an angel and a demon. And Aziraphale—what if he decides that it isn’t worth the risk again? What would Crowley do then, other than burn for him, writhe silently in the torment of an aching need for him and the agony of having known so much pleasure that he can never again have? He can’t possibly force himself not to see Aziraphale again, even if it makes him suffer.
It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care enough to stop. He kisses Aziraphale’s hip. ]
You make me ache, angel.
[ There’s no help for it. Crowley moves over him again, taking his cock into his mouth once more, as deep as he can, and he won’t stop unless Aziraphale tells him to. ]
[ He really should stop Crowley and have a conversation about it. He might do, in ten or fifteen years' time, and say precisely the things he doesn't mean, things that might sound like he regretted this night, which he does not. He will panic, because he loves Crowley most of anything, because he wishes for them to never have to be apart, and it was so much easier when he deluded himself into believing that the feeling wasn't returned.
And even as Crowley swallows him down -- such a vulgar sight, seeing Crowley's lips pressed up against the thatch of curly white-blond hair, making Aziraphale squirm with kinetic energy -- the guilt remains for a fleeting moment, but no words come to his mouth. Any of them that existed have been supplanted with "Crowley," just that, a name he repeats in refrain, in devotion.
His hips, with their own agenda, rock forward just the slightest, into the glorious heat of Crowley's mouth. And his eyes roll back and shutter closed as lust takes over once more, huffs of pleasure that keen into whimpers. It takes him by surprise how electric he feels in this moment, nerves getting the better of him and setting themselves alight. His thighs tremble around Crowley's neck and he opens his mouth to warn him but it comes out in peals of moans that could almost be mistaken for laughter. He tries to move his head up instead, pulling deep in his hair. ]
[ Aziraphale doesn't say it, he offers no words to tell Crowley to stop, that they mustn't do this, that they'll both regret it...just his name, just those lovely utterances of it, each of them a little bit like a blessing because of how they make him burn, resonate within him like holy fire. Such torment Crowley would gladly suffer a thousand times over; he'd worship Aziraphale for a thousand years if he let him. And oh, it is vulgar, it is an obscene delight, taking the angel's cock in his mouth to the hilt, lips sealed around him, sucking hungrily until Aziraphale's voice raises in whimpers and moans. He feels him grasp hard in his hair, dragging at the roots, and it does warn him indeed how close he is to the peak of his pleasure, which only makes Crowley redouble his efforts to bring him there.
He sucks until he feels and tastes his release, swallows his seed and gentles the motions of his mouth gradually, utterly captivated by how Aziraphale trembles beneath him, around him. Crowley draws off of his cock at last and lays his head against his stomach, resting for a moment, his body thrumming with the incredible satisfaction of being with Aziraphale, touching him, tasting him, knowing him in the most carnal ways. His black wings are folded down across them both, heavy and unstirring, at least for the moment. ]
Oh, Aziraphale.
[ He is open, unguarded, all the secret tenderness and adoration he's carried for so long spilling out. ]
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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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You'll be the death of me.
[ It's said with such fond sweetness, since he has this wild errant thought that it was Crowley's devious plan all along to turn him into a smoldering pile of moans and sweet nothings, a mess of pulse and feathers and deliriously well-kissed skin.
He gives a low, very satisfied chuckle at the thought, hand lingering brushing away the hair from his forehead as if the sweat had stuck it there. Aziraphale needs something else to hold onto when Crowley takes him into his mouth and his whole body jerks with unexpected interest. ]
Oh, you really don't have to--
[ Somehow, he still thinks there might be a small chance Crowley just feels obligated because now he's gone and aroused him again. He tugs at Crowley's hair, softly holds his cheek. ]
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He presses closer as Aziraphale slings a leg over his shoulder and reaches down to his hair, fingers sliding tenderly through the strands. His mouth is occupied but from his throat comes a sound that is between a moan and a purr, a pleasurable shiver going down his spine as he feels how Aziraphale’s cock responds to the hot, sweet attention he lavishes on it. It’s almost unbearable, how much lust and need twists into him, how he aches feeling Aziraphale grow hard again in his mouth, and Crowley looks up at him disbelieving when he says he doesn’t have to do this. Can he really think—?
Drawing off briefly, he licks at the head of his cock luxuriously. ]
You know I want to.
[ Nuzzling for a moment into Aziraphale’s hip, Crowley looks at him again with heavy-lidded eyes. ]
Say it’s good. Say it, angel.
[ He takes his cock into his mouth again, lips tight and sweet and sliding all the way down to the base. ]
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[ How could he possibly not see what he's doing to Aziraphale, taking him apart piece by piece and somehow putting him back together making him feel more whole than when he had started. How could he possibly need the reassurance? But it's such a little thing to ask in this moment, and Aziraphale would like very much to bathe Crowley in praise, to leisurely wash it over him. ]
--Yes, Crowley. You're so good, so incredibly good--
[ His fingers tighten in Crowley's hair and he nearly swears aloud as Crowley's mouth so hot and wet and wanting around him renders all other thoughts asunder.
If pressed to answer when it was he knew he was hopelessly in love with Crowley, he would say it was when he looked over at a pile of rubble and he so casually plucked out a bag of books, rescued human knowledge that lasts as long as they do, and relatively recently. But if one were to ask him when he fell in love with Crowley, he wouldn't have an answer. As the years had passed without him, he had gone back into the lexicon of his memory and found less of a point and more of a continuum, as if Crowley had slowly slithered his way into Aziraphale's heart and slowly left all his belongings until he was all moved in without Aziraphale even having looked up from his cocoa to notice that he wasn't always there.
Sometimes it feels as if he was, ever since the beginning. He draws his thumb along Crowley's jaw and tried to meet his gaze but it's such an obscene sight he can't hold it; he tears his eyes away and wishes he could just sink into Crowley, somehow let him know that in so thoroughly claiming him now, he isn't staking anything that wasn't already his. ]
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He feels--a joining between them, something beyond the physical that can never be reverted or ignored, Aziraphale reaching for him in all the ways he's never done before and Crowley grasping desperately, wantonly, taking anything and everything that he is given. Aziraphale's love burns, but then he had always thought that it might. Surely the love of an angel was never meant to be turned upon a demon in all its raw force. But he wants it too much to care, even if it should consume him. Feeling Aziraphale's fingers clench tightly in his hair, feeling his thumb stroke along his jaw makes him shudder with a longing that goes down to his soul, and even if Aziraphale can't bring himself to look Crowley is watching him, touching him with hands that caress and linger at his hips, wanting to sear every moment of this into his memory. And he sucks devoutly, wanting to feel Aziraphale giving into pleasure again, wanting to taste him at the back of his throat. ]
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You don't-- hah..., need to ruin me for anyone else dear, you already have.
[ No one in all the worlds and heaven above or hell below could make him feel the way that Crowley does, as if he is the sole collection of matter in the universe, the center of all of creation. He has never known love like this and now he gets to share it, pile adorations on Crowley until he understands even a fraction of the depth of how besotted he is and how unadulterated his endearment; could anything else be so holy?
Aziraphale tries his hardest to hold onto some semblance of control, but Crowley's tongue, soft as velvet belying a piercing wit, so enthrall him that his thumb presses into the pulse under his jaw, possibly hard enough to bruise.
Immediately, he attempts to scramble away. ]
--Oh I'm so sorry, Crowley; Crowley, are you alright?
[ He rubs the area to soothe it, blue starting to return to his eyes in concern. ]
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The bruise that Aziraphale's thumb presses beneath his jaw is only the littlest pain--almost holy, and oh, he'd suffer any bruise or mark that Aziraphale left on him, there is no touch he wouldn't welcome. Crowley looks up at him with dazed eyes when he apologizes, drawing off his mouth in a luxurious drag of lips and tongue, his hand curling around Aziraphale's flushed, wet cock to stroke it gently. His throat, too, feels a little bruised and he swallows, licking his lips indulgently before pressing a kiss to Aziraphale's stomach. ]
I'm all right. I'm perfect, angel.
[ Crowley kisses him again, his hand rubbing gently. ]
D'you want to stop?
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--No! Well, not if you don't. I just.
[ It hasn't started to color, but he worries his thumb over the spot where he got a bit carried away and he stops to think that he just does that when he thinks of Crowley, that his heart soars and his mind gets lost in the clouds. He doesn't know if they can be afforded such freedoms, each tied to their respective posts. ]
I don't want to hurt you.
[ It's said on a single rush of breath the way a confession is uttered, and clearly it's not just about the physical pain of leaving a bruise that could heal with time, that could be easily expand away if any demons came asking. It wouldn't be nearly as embarrassing as the love bite on Aziraphale's neck, which, when he discovers later, will suddenly bring him back to this night, a memory both so vivid he'll reach for Crowley, and yet so far away he might wonder if he dreamed the whole thing. Yet Crowley, so carefully having guarded all his feelings this entire time, had been careful to leave any marks underneath Aziraphale's collar. And he would never slip up, never wear his heart on his sleeve and cause anyone else to think he might regard Aziraphale the way he does now.
He promised himself one night with no worries, and he's already broken it. ]
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Hurt me?
[ Crowley considers this. Surely Aziraphale wouldn’t be worrying over bruises and such things, marks that won’t even matter after a day or so—not like the turmoil all this will leave in Crowley’s heart and mind, that he’ll guard away as carefully as he’s always guarded himself.
Because this could hurt him, he thinks—not Aziraphale gripping him too tightly, losing himself in a moment of passion, but what came after, when they should inevitably have to part ways again, restrict how often they see each other or what they do together lest their respective offices catch on that anything is not as it should be between an angel and a demon. And Aziraphale—what if he decides that it isn’t worth the risk again? What would Crowley do then, other than burn for him, writhe silently in the torment of an aching need for him and the agony of having known so much pleasure that he can never again have? He can’t possibly force himself not to see Aziraphale again, even if it makes him suffer.
It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care enough to stop. He kisses Aziraphale’s hip. ]
You make me ache, angel.
[ There’s no help for it. Crowley moves over him again, taking his cock into his mouth once more, as deep as he can, and he won’t stop unless Aziraphale tells him to. ]
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And even as Crowley swallows him down -- such a vulgar sight, seeing Crowley's lips pressed up against the thatch of curly white-blond hair, making Aziraphale squirm with kinetic energy -- the guilt remains for a fleeting moment, but no words come to his mouth. Any of them that existed have been supplanted with "Crowley," just that, a name he repeats in refrain, in devotion.
His hips, with their own agenda, rock forward just the slightest, into the glorious heat of Crowley's mouth. And his eyes roll back and shutter closed as lust takes over once more, huffs of pleasure that keen into whimpers. It takes him by surprise how electric he feels in this moment, nerves getting the better of him and setting themselves alight. His thighs tremble around Crowley's neck and he opens his mouth to warn him but it comes out in peals of moans that could almost be mistaken for laughter. He tries to move his head up instead, pulling deep in his hair. ]
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He sucks until he feels and tastes his release, swallows his seed and gentles the motions of his mouth gradually, utterly captivated by how Aziraphale trembles beneath him, around him. Crowley draws off of his cock at last and lays his head against his stomach, resting for a moment, his body thrumming with the incredible satisfaction of being with Aziraphale, touching him, tasting him, knowing him in the most carnal ways. His black wings are folded down across them both, heavy and unstirring, at least for the moment. ]
Oh, Aziraphale.
[ He is open, unguarded, all the secret tenderness and adoration he's carried for so long spilling out. ]
I love you. I have--I have always loved you.
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