[ 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. ]
[ The way that Crowley sucks him down is greedy and starved and Aziraphale loves every single second of it. Eyes dark, jaw slack, he gives himself over to the most base of wants. Crowley in his bed, mouth constricted around him, singing praises with his tongue. Crowley, wings cocooning around him and shielding him from all else.
His desire surmounts and ripples through him like thunder; he comes shouting and messy, thighs framing Crowley's face shake as his full body releases, deep from within his core. He feels light and dizzy and everything shines so brightly for a second that Aziraphale wonders if he suddenly can't see more colors than he used to.
His body adjusts as if returning to Earth from the white halls of Heaven, breath flooding back into his lungs. ]
--Crowley.
[ He already knows his answer. He knows it despite all his delays to this moment, all his denials, all the things he knows he will say in the future to try and fight the impossible, that Crowley is the single thing he would forsake all else for. When eternity comes and goes, and when all the words in all the languages he has ever spoken, when all the words in all the books he has ever read are no more than turn to dust, his love for Crowley will still be full to the brim.
So he reaches for his friend, pulls him up by the shoulders, and kisses him breathless, every fiber of his being trying to demonstrate this feeling before it's too late. ]
[ Crowley finds that he's trembling too, as he catches his breath over Aziraphale, still resonating with the forces of need and desire and shattering pleasure that moved between them. Aziraphale in his release was such a beautiful thing, he can't imagine that he'll ever forget the feeling of it, even if he should live a hundred thousand years. He licks his lips, tasting the angel's come, looking up when Aziraphale says his name--captivated by the utterance of it, how much love there is in the depths of Aziraphale's voice. His eyes widen, going dark and desperately impassioned, and it feels to him as though the angel is strong beyond measure as he pulls Crowley up to him and kisses him, love poured into the gesture, love that feels breathtakingly eternal, love that could shatter him at his core and make him something new.
Crowley is drowning in it, grasping Aziraphale with hands that hold onto him as though he is the only thing keeping him whole. His wings move with a restless, enormous rustling like the branches of a tree tossed in a thunderstorm, tangling with Aziraphale's.
At last he must break away, before he's completely overcome, burying his face against Aziraphale's shoulder as he struggles for breath. For so long he's wanted to feel this, and it's better than he could ever have imagined. He'd not conceived of how an angel's love could set his soul alight. He kisses his shoulder, filled with an unaccountable gratitude. ]
Aziraphale. Angel. I won't--I won't ever forget this.
[ Aziraphale's great white wings flutter to catch shelter and nest themselves underneath Crowley's, easing into his embrace so that they are truly and wholly cut off from the entire rest of the world. He's lost track of the time, unable to tell it by the little light filtering in through the top, casting a little halo in Crowley's hair, painting a faint celestial glimmer on his cheek and nose. If only it were possible, Aziraphale could kiss Crowley holy again, fingertips leaving exaltation, and arms to draw him away from downfall. ]
The goal, Crowley, is to remind you periodically so I will never have to worry about the possibility.
[ He says it so easily despite all his worries, because he knows there's an underlaying fear upon them; it's one that has no chance of reaching either one so long as Aziraphale feels that if he should flap, there's a fair chance it may be black wings that carry him into the sky. He holds Crowley to his shoulder, skin laid out against his skin. And he caresses the ink by his temple, and kisses the crown that once was filled with the plans of the whole universe, now made only to bear the burden of one angel's love overflowing.
He hooks one leg around one of Crowley's, entangling them together as if he would need any other obstacle to keep him from leaving. ]
If there were a way, I'd stay like this with you indefinitely.
[ He has no doubt as to how he would choose to wile away all his days, if they were his to decide. ]
[ He can feel the drag of white wings against his, and it makes him shiver with pleasure and longing. Crowley can’t help reaching out a hand to trail along the edge of one of those great wings, smoothing the feathers, feeling the warmth and the faint bite of holiness underneath. And he too wishes, at that moment, that Aziraphale had the power to drag him back into the light—not for the want of Heaven or the love of God, but so that nothing would ever keep them apart again, nothing would come between them and the love he yearns for with all his damned soul.
He lays quietly beneath the stroke of Aziraphale’s fingers to his cheek, caressing the skin still flushed and hot from their lovemaking, but lifts his head when Aziraphale says that he’d like to stay like this indefinitely, echoing Crowley’s thoughts. And he smiles ruefully, saying aloud what he was just telling himself. ]
Don’t think of it, angel. You’ll still have me when I’m not there. You won’t forget, either.
[ It’s a bit like a prayer. Crowley kisses him as though to offer all his heart, and then lays his head back down against his shoulder, closing his eyes to rest. ]
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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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His desire surmounts and ripples through him like thunder; he comes shouting and messy, thighs framing Crowley's face shake as his full body releases, deep from within his core. He feels light and dizzy and everything shines so brightly for a second that Aziraphale wonders if he suddenly can't see more colors than he used to.
His body adjusts as if returning to Earth from the white halls of Heaven, breath flooding back into his lungs. ]
--Crowley.
[ He already knows his answer. He knows it despite all his delays to this moment, all his denials, all the things he knows he will say in the future to try and fight the impossible, that Crowley is the single thing he would forsake all else for. When eternity comes and goes, and when all the words in all the languages he has ever spoken, when all the words in all the books he has ever read are no more than turn to dust, his love for Crowley will still be full to the brim.
So he reaches for his friend, pulls him up by the shoulders, and kisses him breathless, every fiber of his being trying to demonstrate this feeling before it's too late. ]
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Crowley is drowning in it, grasping Aziraphale with hands that hold onto him as though he is the only thing keeping him whole. His wings move with a restless, enormous rustling like the branches of a tree tossed in a thunderstorm, tangling with Aziraphale's.
At last he must break away, before he's completely overcome, burying his face against Aziraphale's shoulder as he struggles for breath. For so long he's wanted to feel this, and it's better than he could ever have imagined. He'd not conceived of how an angel's love could set his soul alight. He kisses his shoulder, filled with an unaccountable gratitude. ]
Aziraphale. Angel. I won't--I won't ever forget this.
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The goal, Crowley, is to remind you periodically so I will never have to worry about the possibility.
[ He says it so easily despite all his worries, because he knows there's an underlaying fear upon them; it's one that has no chance of reaching either one so long as Aziraphale feels that if he should flap, there's a fair chance it may be black wings that carry him into the sky. He holds Crowley to his shoulder, skin laid out against his skin. And he caresses the ink by his temple, and kisses the crown that once was filled with the plans of the whole universe, now made only to bear the burden of one angel's love overflowing.
He hooks one leg around one of Crowley's, entangling them together as if he would need any other obstacle to keep him from leaving. ]
If there were a way, I'd stay like this with you indefinitely.
[ He has no doubt as to how he would choose to wile away all his days, if they were his to decide. ]
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He lays quietly beneath the stroke of Aziraphale’s fingers to his cheek, caressing the skin still flushed and hot from their lovemaking, but lifts his head when Aziraphale says that he’d like to stay like this indefinitely, echoing Crowley’s thoughts. And he smiles ruefully, saying aloud what he was just telling himself. ]
Don’t think of it, angel. You’ll still have me when I’m not there. You won’t forget, either.
[ It’s a bit like a prayer. Crowley kisses him as though to offer all his heart, and then lays his head back down against his shoulder, closing his eyes to rest. ]