Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“The… the rest?” Crowley asked, but Aziraphale was already up, wrapping a towel around his waist, and holding one out for Crowley.

He stood, letting the angel drape the soft white towel across his shoulders, pulling it close around his body. Little miracles, he thought… it felt warm, like it had come fresh from the dryer, even though he knew it had been lying there on the countertop for the last thirty minutes or so.

Aziraphale ushered him back into the bedroom, his hands rubbing warmth deeper into Crowley’s shoulders as they walked.

“Right,” Aziraphale said, pointing Crowley toward the bed. “Why don’t you have a nice lie down?”

He went over to the bed, dropping the warm towel and crawling under the coverlet in one fluid motion to bury his head in the soft mountain of pillows waiting there.

He peeked out from under the covers, watching Aziraphale as he walked over to the closet, dropping his own towel unceremoniously on the floor. When he reemerged from the wardrobe, he was wearing a soft looking shirt (with short sleeves! And a v-neck!) and some very comfy looking pajama pants. Crowley ducked back under the blankets, trying to hide the smile it brought to his lips. He didn’t think the angel had ever looked softer, more domestically cozy — certainly never in front of Crowley. It made him blush, thinking of how buttoned up and thoroughly covered the angel usually was. It was intimate in a way that being completely naked wasn’t.

Aziraphale walked over to the nightstand, producing a small bottle of liquid from a drawer.

“Angel?” Crowley said, suddenly uncertain about where this was going, “What…”

“I believe you mentioned massage earlier,” said Aziraphale, opening the bottle and pouring a small amount of the liquid into his palm. “I’ll give you one, if you like.”

He looked up at Crowley, perhaps searching for the uncertainty in his eyes that Crowley already knew was there. He glanced down again, staring at the pillow. “Uh…” he said. “Oh. Yeah, okay.”

“I know how troubling that spine can be for you, dear,” Aziraphale said, rubbing his hands together.

“Yeah, well,” Crowley scoffed. “Snake… you know. Weren’t meant to be toddling around vertical all the bloody time…”

Aziraphale nodded, grinning as if sharing an old joke.

“But just so we’re clear,” Crowley said, shifting up onto his elbows and nodding towards Aziraphale’s now oil slick hands, “That is… lube, yeah?”

Aziraphale looked down at the innocuous little bottle, pursing his lips. “Ah, well…” he shrugged. “It is a… multi-purpose… body oil?”^[14]

“Right,” Crowley flopped onto the pillow, burying his face in it. “Do your worst, angel,” he mumbled into the soft fabric. “These shoulders are beyond fucked up. I’m warning you… we’re talking some serious knots, here.”

“Really, dear?” said Aziraphale, climbing up onto the bed next to Crowley. “You might have said. Have you been in pain?”

Crowley coughed something like a laugh into the pillow, resettling himself with his arms overhead. “Only usually.”

Aziraphale let out a little -tsk-, fussing with the blankets, pushing them aside as he laid hands across Crowley’s naked shoulders. “Well,” he said. “You might have told me, dear. We’ll put it to rights, not to worry.”

Crowley was somewhat doubtful that a bit of simple muscle manipulation could cure him of all that ailed his misaligned, serpentine spine, but he didn’t argue. Anything Aziraphale had to offer certainly couldn’t hurt. And anyway, it did feel nice.

“Now, let me just…” Aziraphale leaned against Crowley’s back, palms flat against his bare skin, and shifted to find a better position to sit in. “Is it alright dear, if I…”

He straddled Crowley, placing one leg on either side of his body, and settled himself onto the backs of Crowley’s thighs, sitting on him, effectively pinning him to the bed. Crowley went stiff in surprise, but quickly recovered. “Ah,” he said, tugging the pillow to his face. “Nnng, s’fine.”

“Oh, good,” said Aziraphale primly. “That’s much better.”

Crowley sighed, already settling into the soothing sensation of thick fingers digging deep into his neck and shoulder muscles. Then, almost as quickly, he was startled by a sudden tingling sensation on his skin. He flinched, turning his head to get a better look at the soft white glow that had suddenly lit up the room. “What are you doing?”

“I’m…” Aziraphale lifted his hands, “Massaging you. Is something wrong?”

“Are your bloody hands glowing?” Crowley grunted in disbelief, craning his neck for a better look.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, looking down at his own hands as if he’d just noticed them. “Well, yes.”

Crowley stammered out some inarticulate noise. “An—and… would you care to tell me… why… they’re doing that?”

“Well,” said Aziraphale, looking a bit confused. “They always do that, dear boy.”

Crowley scoffed, “They absolutely do not. I think I’d have noticed by now if you went around with glowing hands all the time.”

“Not always always,” said Aziraphale, rolling his eyes. “I meant, they always do that during healing.”

“I’m sorry,” said Crowley, turning on his side so as to get a better look at the angel and immediately regretting it, realizing he’d just placed himself beneath the angel straddling him. He was looking up at him face-to-face in a position that had already been a touch too intimate. “Uh…” he scrabbled back to one side, freeing himself from between Aziraphale’s legs. “Did you say, healing?”

“Well yes,” shrugged Aziraphale. “What did you think I was going to do? Simply rub your muscles with human hands and hope for the best? Crowley, if you’ve got real… deep-in-your-bones pain… I’ll have to apply at least a little miraculous healing energy.”

“So basically,” Crowley nearly choked on the words as he said them out loud, “You’re b—blessing me. Me? A demon? You do realize how mad that sounds?”

Aziraphale’s eyes grew soft, gazing tenderly down at Crowley in a way that made something in the demon’s chest turn vaguely gelatinous. Annoying, how he could do that.

“But my dear,” Aziraphale said, reaching up to stroke a wayward tuft of Crowley’s hair, “You’re already quite blessed.”

Crowley gulped audibly. “Wot?”

“You can’t have spent as much time around me all these millennia as you have without being blessed… just a little bit.” He frowned, eyes searching Crowley’s for anything beyond confusion — fear or pain, specifically. “It didn’t hurt you, did it? It shouldn’t.”

“Uh,” Crowley looked askance. “Don’t think so. More of a weird… tingling sort of thing?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale grinned, a bit mischievously. “Tingling can be very nice.”

Crowley cleared his throat, scrabbling back into position and burying his face in the pillow once more. “Yeah, all right, angel. Carry on then, I guess.”

Aziraphale resettled himself on top of Crowley again, the soft blankets bunching between them, and placed his hands on Crowley’s shoulder blades. A warm, penetrating heat radiated from his palms, making Crowley sigh at the comfort of it. He breathed deep into the pillows, trying to center himself, flinching only slightly every time Aziraphale’s hands glided across his skin, leaving little sparks of holiness in their wake.

“All right, dear?” Aziraphale would ask at intervals, every time Crowley twitched.

“S’fine. Bound to happen — pure evil meeting holiness head on, as it were.”

He could hear the playful grin in Aziraphale’s reply. “Pure evil? Oh, don’t be silly. There’s never been an ounce of evil in you, dearest.”

Crowley lay still, contemplating this. “Think you might be a bit biased, angel.”

Aziraphale giggled, reaching for the bottle of oil and slicking his hands with a liberal application, moving down Crowley’s arms, squeezing the biceps. He coaxed Crowley’s hands out from under the pillows, pressing his forearms into the mattress at his sides. “I suppose that’s possible, but I’m not wrong. I think I knew that very first day, up on the wall. We’d been talking for maybe twenty minutes before I realized you were nothing at all like the demons I’d been warned about.”

“You…” Crowley took a deep breath. They’d never really talked about this, even after so much time. “You did?”

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale said fondly, remembering. “And for years, for centuries after that, I convinced myself it was some sort of trick, some glamour or something — you trying to fool me into thinking you could be trusted. Oh,” he paused, moving his hands away. “I’m quite thoroughly ashamed now, my dear, at how long it took me to finally realize that was…” he sighed. “That was just you. No tricks. The real trick was…”

Crowley rolled over, suddenly needing to see the angel’s eyes. “What?”

Aziraphale smiled, his eyes crinkling with love as he gazed down at Crowley — then, just as quickly, grew sad. “You were so heartbroken, after the crucifixion.”

Crowley froze, glancing aside to stare at the coverlet.

“It didn’t make any sense to you. Do you remember what we did that night?”

“We got drunk. Drunk out of our minds.”

“No, darling,” Aziraphale corrected. “You did. I sat there with you, quite sober.”

Crowley licked his lips, remembering. Because of course he remembered. Sure, he’d been about as close to blackout drunk as a demon could get at the time, but he remembered.

How could She? How could She see how he’d suffered, how he’d cried out in agony, and just let it go on?

So many desperate questions without answers, questions that Crowley had flung like daggers in the angel’s general direction, all that night. He’d hurled jugs of wine and jars of oil at the hard ground, watching them shatter like his heart, breaking into little pieces that could never be restored.

And at the end of it, once he’d worn himself out to the point of exhaustion, he’d slumped to the ground and wept.

And Aziraphale, who had sat watching him silently all night, had finally risen to his feet. Without so much as a word, he’d walked over, gathered Crowley tenderly against his chest, and wrapped his wings around them both while Crowley sobbed.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Well.”

Aziraphale smoothed one hand over Crowley’s chest, gazing down at him ever so fondly. “I decided right then that it couldn’t possibly be any kind of act. You weren’t anything like the others, and you were clearly so full of love, and struggling with an inner conflict that…”

Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to look away. “…that wasn’t really so different from my own.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “You had doubts, angel? Even back then?”

Aziraphale huffed a little laugh, looking back to lock eyes with Crowley. “Oh, of course I did, dear. I sat there, all that dark night, listening to you shout all those questions and accusations at Heaven that I… Many of which I’d wondered about, myself. The only real difference between us was that you refused to be silent. You gave voice to the things I didn’t dare say. You were always braver than me, like that.”

They stared at each other for a beat before Crowley rose, lifting himself up on his elbows, to seize Aziraphale with a feverish kiss, pouring into it every ounce of adoration he held within him.

Aziraphale was the first to pull away, smiling against Crowley’s lips as he did. “Anyway,” he said. “No sense dwelling on such old, sad memories, is there?”

“I fucking love you, angel,” Crowley sighed, fighting to keep the tears from pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“I know, darling. And I adore you. And you deserve to be adored. And one day, I am going to successfully convince you of that fact.”

Crowley squirmed, frowning. “Ngk…”

“Now then,” Aziraphale cooed, trailing light flourishes of his fingers across Crowley’s shoulders and chest, “any other injuries in need of treatment, dear?” His fingertips tickled Crowley’s nipples as they brushed by, and he felt a little jolt of electricity that he wasn’t sure whether he should attribute to Aziraphale’s healing holy touch or… just simple stimulation.

“Uh…” Crowley’s face was hot, and he suddenly regretted having flipped over, nothing between him and Aziraphale’s loving gaze but the soft white blankets wrapped over his lower body. “Well…” he said, biting his bottom lip to keep from shaking all over. He wasn’t sure it was working, aware of a slight tremble starting in his fingertips, which were thankfully all tucked away beneath the blankets.

Aziraphale leaned in closer, placing a chaste kiss over the serpentine mark at Crowley’s temple, making him shiver. “It’s all right dear. Tell me where it hurts. I’ll make it all better.”

Fucking hell… thought Crowley. Does he know what he’s saying? Is he trying to seduce me?

Surely, surely, he must know. Crowley had carried out enough temptations in his own time to know a double entendre when he heard one, and Aziraphale had more than proven that he was no innocent blushing maiden. He knew exactly what he was doing, the fucking bastard.

“Uh,” Crowley said, and this time he couldn’t quite manage to keep the tremor out of his voice. “Yeah. Well, ya know. Legs.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, shifting from where he’d been hovering over Crowley’s upper body, scooting down the mattress and repositioning the blankets to gather Crowley’s legs into his own lap. “Say no more, my dear.”

He smoothed more of the velvety liquid over Crowley’s skin, starting at the ankle. He worked his way down, taking a vaguely scaled foot between his hands and driving his thumbs carefully into the arch, pressing hard against the tendons here.

“Ungh,” Crowley moaned, flopping back onto the pillows. “Oh, angel... Fuck.”

Aziraphale’s hands glided against the demon’s skin, and Crowley opened his eyes, sparing a peek for the soft holy light he could now see pressing brightly even against his closed eyelids — and oh, someone help him — Aziraphale was a vision, his head haloed in glimmering radiance, his hands glowing with love. As his fingers worked their way slowly up to Crowley’s calf muscles, little twinges of static sparked against Crowley’s skin, but he endured it gladly, because every inch of him that Aziraphale applied attention to simmered with pleasure and comfort afterwards.

He applied the same attention to the other leg, and when he came to Crowley’s knees, Aziraphale glanced up, seeking permission. Crowley nodded dumbly, quite unable to speak. The angel smiled, gently pressing Crowley’s leg to one side. He grasped the pale, lightly freckled thigh, driving his fingers into the muscles there. He glanced up to meet Crowley’s eyes again when the demon hissed in response to the little shock coursing its way through his flesh at every new touch.

“S’fine,” he hissed, trembling under Aziraphale’s consideration. “M’good.”

When Aziraphale answered, Crowley was startled by the deep timbre of his voice, like something ancient and eldritch and powerful, echoing off the walls. “Fear not, my beloved.”

It occurred to Crowley that he might dismiss this as both the most cliche and unhelpful thing an angel ever could say.^[15] Alternately, he could argue against the implication, but this denial would be quite fruitless. He was naked in front of the angel, and Aziraphale was glowing with more holiness by the second, and Crowley was afraid. Any demon would be. He’d be a fool to deny it.

It would also be quite foolish to deny it was having another… very different sort of effect on him.

Aziraphale smiled, and his face beamed like the sun. Extra sets of electric blue eyes were popping out on his cheeks, forehead, and neck, and they were all crinkled in gentle mirth. His wings were blinking in and out of the visible plane, finally settling into the space behind him, blindingly white and emanating even more light, filling every corner of the room.

“My darling,” he said, and it occurred to Crowley just now that Aziraphale’s lips were closed — the voice wasn’t coming from his mouth — “Thou art most cherished, and highly favored.”

And, oh, fuck… he could feel it. Crowley could feel every ounce of angelic love flowing from Aziraphale’s fingertips, bathing him in acceptance and adoration. He began to cry, quite involuntarily, caught up in grace and unconditional devotion the likes of which he hadn’t felt since before the Fall — long before, if he were quite honest. The last time he could remember feeling love like this poured out over him like so much anointing oil, he’d been finishing up work on the Milky Way, quite proud and satisfied with his own artistic flourishes. She’d been proud of him too. That was the last time he’d felt Her praise, and the memory welled up in his throat, coming out as a hiccuping sob.

“Oh, my love,” Aziraphale said, his ethereal voice cutting through Crowley’s tormented memories. “Thou art worthy of all praise, and love, and the satisfaction of your every desire.”

Crowley’s breath was coming in gasps now, overwhelmed by so much positive reinforcement being lavished on him. He sat up, curling into Aziraphale’s chest, and hid in the angel’s robes, which he’d only been dimly aware of, until now — but at some point, the soft grey shirt and blue pajama pants had become brilliantly white robes, rustling in a supernatural breeze.

He made a decision then, a shift that happened in one blink, almost without conscious thought. And then it was there, between his legs, and it was suddenly very… very interested.

“A—angel,” he managed to say, still clinging to Aziraphale’s robes like some kind of ethereal security blanket.

“Yes, my dear?” Aziraphale said, words slipping soothingly from his actual mouth this time, sounding altogether normal, even though his face still blazed bright and blinding when Crowley dared a glance upwards.

He looked away just as quickly, pressing his cheek to Aziraphale’s body. “I, uh… You’re terrifying. But, I think I like this.”

Aziraphale hummed approval, and something like chimes danced on the air, little pealing bells of satisfied angelic laughter. “I’m so glad, my darling,” he said with his corporeal mouth, moving to plant a kiss on Crowley’s forehead.

His wings, fully visible and solid now, moved to engulf Crowley, hugging him closer. Aziraphale leaned down, lifting Crowley’s chin with one hand to meet his eyes. “And have we massaged away all your pain, my love?”

“Yeah,” Crowley sighed, not quite able to focus on Aziraphale’s eyes, because they were now blazing a bright blue, like hydrocarbon-fueled flames. “Angel, nothing hurts right now.”

Aziraphale’s face softened, and the ten or so eyes dotted across his cheeks and forehead all closed in unison, blinking thoughtfully. That shouldn’t have been so endearing, but there it was.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley shifted, leaning his head against the angel’s shoulder. “I uh, ought to tell you something.”

“What’s that, love?”

“I’ve… I’ve got a…” Crowley hesitated, feeling stupid for being so anxious, even now. “There’s something between my legs.”

A ripple of something like satisfied amusement rolled off of Aziraphale, and the exposed skin of his collarbone was covered in rapidly blinking eyes, looking around in every direction.

“I know, my dear boy,” he said, reaching around to squeeze Crowley’s shoulders with strong arms, wings fluttering closer against them, feathersoft against Crowley’s naked back.

A whole new collection of eyes appeared, dotting the surface of Aziraphale’s skin, and when Crowley looked up, a set of white wings had unfurled from the crown of his head, fluttering back and forth over and away from his face, always moving.

“Angel,” Crowley marveled. “You sure you’re a… Principality?”

“Shhh,” Aziraphale soothed. “Only in my heart of hearts, dearest.”^[16]

He kissed him, then, soft and probing, warm wet tongue exploring Crowley’s mouth like it was a treasured thing, to be handled with utmost care. His hands went under Crowley’s arms, lifting him up and repositioning him bodily so Crowley straddled one of Aziraphale’s knees.

“You may press against me, darling,” he said, voice still soft and gentle. “See how you like it.”

Crowley froze, suddenly realizing just how wet he already was, his cunt grinding hard into Aziraphale’s leg, the slippery silk of his robes rising up to meet Crowley’s newly-formed sex.

“Ah,” he let out a little cry, pressing his face into Aziraphale’s chest. “Jesus, angel.”

“Language, darling…”

“Guh,” Crowley grunted, his tongue going forked in his mouth. “Sssssorry.”

Another ripple of amusement radiated from Aziraphale, and he pressed his knee ever so slightly upwards, reveling in satisfaction when the demon leaned into it, letting out a little moan of pleasure at the sensation.

Crowley slid forward, sitting down on Aziraphale’s thigh, his shins pressed into the mattress beneath them, and hid his face in the curve of the angel’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he sighed. “Aziraphale…”

“Whatever you like, beloved,” Aziraphale cooed in Crowley’s ear, kissing him there. “Take only what you want.”

Crowley began to move then, and found it suddenly quite difficult to even consider the possibility of stopping.

“Ungh,” he groaned, the muscles in his legs tightening with something he’d observed (and caused) in others countless times, but never experienced for himself. “Angel… I… I don’t…”

“That’s all right, darling,” Aziraphale placed one hand on the back of Crowley’s head, petting his hair. “You go right ahead. This is entirely for you.”

“Hnggg…” Quickly, it happened so quickly, Crowley thought. He must have been on the edge longer than he’d realized, because almost as soon as the words escaped Aziraphale’s lips, urging Crowley to let go and take what he liked, something warm and unmistakable was coursing through his lower body — waves of pleasure, staggered and unpracticed, washing over him and making every muscle in his thighs and in between clench tight, searching for more of the overwhelming and uncontrollable sensation.

It felt like falling, in the best possible way, knowing Aziraphale would be there to catch him, would never let him crash against the hard ground, but instead would buoy him up in soft blankets and yielding pillows, shielding him behind soft white wings just as he had on that very first day in the Garden, a shelter against the rain. He wrapped his arms tightly around Aziraphale, sighing out sweet sounds of blissful agony in the angel’s ear as he came.

It was over almost before he’d known it was happening, and, satisfying though it was, Crowley nearly cried out in grief at its brevity. That was it? That was all he was going to get? He wanted more.

“My goodness,” said Aziraphale, pulling back to meet Crowley’s gaze.

All the extra eyes, the shimmering white wings, and the ethereal megaphone of a voice had faded away, leaving behind a marginally normal looking Aziraphale — the kind, tender angel Crowley was accustomed to looking at on a daily basis. “I think you must have needed that, darling,” he said, teasing, but brimming with love. He kissed Crowley’s mouth, moaning into it when Crowley bit down on his lip, hungry for more. He broke the kiss, beaming at Crowley, eyes still alight with holy fire. “I don’t think you’re quite finished. Are you, dearest?”

“N-no,” Crowley muttered, clutching Aziraphale’s shoulders, digging his fingernails in like he was holding on for dear life. “P-please, angel. More.”

“Greedy little thing,” Azirapale teased, smoothing one hand tenderly down Crowley’s spine. “And you call me a hedonist.”

“Angel,” Crowley moaned, reveling in the slick slide of himself as he moved away from Aziraphale’s thigh, “You can call me whatever you want, as long as you make that happen again, please.”

Aziraphale looked pointedly down at the large wet spot on his thigh, glistening in the light of his own halo (which was still very much present, illuminating the crown of his head), and let out a deep, shuddering sigh.

“Oh,” he said, voice ragged, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. By your leave, I intend to make that happen… many more times before this day comes to an end.”

He snapped his fingers, miracling some extra pillows into the space between Crowley and the headboard, and leaned forward to kiss him again.

Sweetheart?

Crowley felt his heart might burst out of his chest at that new endearment. He gulped audibly, and let Aziraphale press him softly backwards to recline against the pillows.

The angel propped himself up over Crowley, one hand pressed hard into the mattress, easily holding his own weight. “Is it all right,” he asked, the other hand sliding easily up Crowley’s thigh and clutching him lightly at the place where pelvis met leg, “If I touch you here?”

“Mhmm,” Crowley nodded desperately, struck dumb like Zechariah for his disbelief.^[17] The comparison seemed fitting — Crowley could never have believed it could be this good, this all-encompassingly wonderful.

Aziraphale’s traveling hand glowed softly again, leaving little shivers in its wake as it moved across the expanse of Crowley’s belly and hip bones, dipping lower between his thighs, the intended destination becoming quite obvious. “And here?”

Crowley was panting, building to that cliff’s edge again, and he understood now that this time wouldn’t be the last, either. “Y-yes,” he croaked. “Yes, please, angel.”

“And so polite, my dear,” Aziraphale nearly purred, pressing warm fingers into the space between Crowley’s legs — slow, infuriatingly tender.

Crowley rolled his neck, turning his face to nuzzle against Aziraphale’s forearm where it stood, solid as a tree rising out of the blankets. He moaned, tensing at the sensation of Aziraphale’s other hand pressing slowly but firmly into Crowley’s cunt, moving almost imperceptibly upwards now, gently searching for…

“Ahh!” Crowley’s eyes shot open, his spine arched, and his hands curled instinctively in the blankets, shocked by the suddenness with which Aziraphale found his clit. “Fuck, angel!”

Aziraphale pulled his hand away, but otherwise didn’t move, watching Crowley’s face closely for any trace of fear as the demon stared up at him in awe.

“Shhh,” Aziraphale soothed. “That’s all right, darling.”

He looked down, watching the little trail of slick that clung to his hand, stretching across the space from his fingertips to Crowley’s body, and smiled. “Gracious,” he marveled at it. “How hungry you are. You’re salivating.”

Crowley looked up at him, wide-eyed, his chest rising with increasingly urgent breaths.

Aziraphale sat back on his heels, smirking at Crowley. He held his fingers up, glistening wet, so the demon could see them.

“Yeah,” Crowley made an attempt at casual. “And?”

Aziraphale positioned his hand into the sign of the Benediction, crossed himself reverently, and then took the outstretched index and middle fingers eagerly into his mouth, sucking them.

“Mmm…” His brow furrowed at the sweet salty taste of Crowley’s wetness. “Delicious.”

“Angel,” Crowley gasped. “Fucking Christ.”

He looked like a goddamn Renaissance painting, Crowley thought, unable to do little more than lie there, amazed at the holy, filthy vision before him. Aziraphale, clad in silken white robes (still fluttering slightly in that impossible, ethereal breeze) sucking hungrily on the two fingers he’d just used to make the sign of the Cross, fingers dripping with Crowley’s own slick. His wings spread out behind him, framing this pretty picture, and his halo blazed like a star going supernova.

The angel watched him through lidded eyes, turning it into a show for Crowley’s benefit — letting the fingers slide free of his mouth, gliding over an exposed, glistening tongue.

“Do you feel properly blessed yet, my dear?”

Crowley’s cheeks turned red for at least the third time that morning. “Uh, angel… I’m not sure that’s how that… works.”

“Well, I’m the holy one,” Aziraphale grinned, leaning back in, slipping his now freshly moistened fingers over Crowley’s hyper-sensitive clitoris, “so I think I ought to know.”

“Ungh,” Crowley leaned back against the pillowed headboard, pressing his feet into the mattress, and rising to meet Aziraphale’s hand, thrusting into it harder with each little undulation of the angel’s fingers. “Angel, Aziraphale. Fuck… somebody…”

“Well, yes,” teased Aziraphale, high on the satisfaction of watching Crowley come to pieces beneath him. “Namely you.” He quickened the pace, sliding slick fingers more urgently against Crowley’s sex, and watched with fascination as the demon closed his eyes, twisted one leg to the side, and seized, rocking his hips up and down, chasing the orgasm to his second finish.

Aziraphale had never really imagined it would be like this. He’d always thought of Crowley taking charge, at least in the beginning. Crowley the tempter, Crowley the suave, sexy demon who was just too lovely to be hampered by such things as scars or boils on his beautiful, angular face — no, no. This was a pretty demon, which made him even more dangerous, tantalizing — perfectly designed to ensnare unsuspecting soft angels.

But the moment they’d crawled into bed together, maybe even before, Aziraphale had realized exactly how this was going to go. Crowley was completely inexperienced in seeking his own pleasure — he’d confessed as much. And Aziraphale was perfectly happy to lead the way. He’d just not quite realized how much he was going to enjoy it.

This was better than any dessert he’d ever tasted. So he set about devouring Crowley — slowly, with the sort of focused attention he’d learned to apply to any worthwhile, decadent meal over the centuries he'd spent enjoying fine cuisine. Methodical, reflective, patient.

He charted little circles around Crowley’s clit, occasionally dipping further south to stroke the soft folds that lead deeper into his body, but never probing too far.

At one point he lowered himself close enough to whisper in Crowley’s ear, “Sweetheart,” and the way Crowley positively quivered under the application of that endearment was not lost on Aziraphale, “Darling. Would you like me to?” He stroked upwards, isolating a single finger and toying it teasingly around the opening. “A finger inside, perhaps?”

Crowley immediately went tense, slamming his legs tightly together, shaking his head. “Ah,” he said, “S-sorry, angel. I—”

Aziraphale was pressing soft kisses to his mouth before he could finish speaking, withdrawing his hand completely long enough to gather Crowley up in his arms, settling back on his heels, and propping Crowley up onto his lap. “Answer received, dearest. That’s a ‘no,’ then.”

Crowley emitted something between a sigh and a sob, thrusting his tongue into Aziraphale’s mouth in a hungry reciprocity of the kiss, wrapping his legs and arms around Aziraphale, riding his torso much as he had done his thigh, earlier.

“Are you just going to make a toy of me, then?” Aziraphale chastised him, teasing. “I’m beginning to feel somewhat objectified, my dear. And you’re ruining these robes.”

“That’s true,” sighed Crowley, humping pointedly against Aziraphale’s hip. “So, I guess you’d better just take them off, then?”

Aziraphale smiled, raising his hand into the air. “I thought you’d never ask.” He snapped his fingers, banishing the robes into non-existence with one quick miracle.

“Now then,” he said, gently taking hold of Crowley’s knees to separate them, “How many was that, last time?”

“Satan’s sake, angel,” Crowley sighed, leaning back against Aziraphale’s now naked chest. “I lost count.”

“I think that was six,” Aziraphale squinted, “though I could be mistaken.”

“Sure,” Crowley panted, sweat cooling on his brow. “Six. Six sounds about right. But they tend to run together after a fashion, don’t they? Like, one building into the next? Sort of just… comes in waves?”

“Mhmm,” agreed Aziraphale, placing his hand between Crowley’s slightly spread legs, just lightly palming him there, petting. “That’s true, my dear.” He nuzzled Crowley’s throat, kissing him there, “Do you think you can manage one more? Seven is an auspicious number, you know. It would be a good omen.”^[18]

Crowley visibly crumpled into Aziraphale’s arms, groaning. “Dunno, angel,” he said. “I’m pretty tired, already.”

Aziraphale leaned over Crowley, letting him slide onto his back, and kissing him upside down. “My dear,” he sighed. “I must tell you, I’ve eaten some truly splendid meals in my time…” He crawled on all fours, pressing kisses down Crowley’s chest as he went, taking one pert nipple into his mouth and sucking on it. He watched Crowley watching him as it popped free of Aziraphale’s wet, pink lips. “But you are making my mouth water.”

Crowley swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Oh yeah?” he said, mouth open. “Got quite an appetite on you, angel. You’re always fucking hungry.”

“Famished, darling.” He turned to face Crowley as he worked his way down the length of his body, settling himself between the demon’s legs. “And don’t you look like just the most delightful little picnic, all laid out on these sheets as you are?” He paused, smirking. “We never did go on that picnic, did we?”

Crowley was beet red, breathing hard again. “No time like the present, angel.”

Aziraphale chuckled, laughing into the curve of Crowley’s inner thigh. “I couldn’t agree more.”

A set of celestial eyes popped open on Aziraphale’s cheek again. The angel was forgetting himself. It did something to Crowley, knowing the impact he was having on the angel’s ability to contain his true form.

“Right then,” Aziraphale said, reaching up to lightly grip the outside of Crowley’s thighs, “I should tell you, I’ve never actually done this before…”

“I’ve seen you eat, angel,” Crowley sighed, his nether regions already wet again with anticipation. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

Aziraphale huffed a laugh, and then grew serious, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the wet, delicate skin between Crowley’s legs.

“Hnn!” Crowley flinched under the localized touch.

“Shh,” Aziraphale soothed, and the brush of warm breath from his mouth made Crowley squirm even more.

“Fuck, angel. M’too far gone for this…”

Aziraphale raised his head slightly, catching Crowley’s wild eyes where he was watching him from the mountain of pillows. “Hush,” he said firmly. “You’re fine.”

The angel reapplied himself to the task, burying his nose in the yielding flesh around Crowley’s clit, reveling in the scent and taste of it.

“Fuck! Aziraphale!” Crowley writhed, arching his back.

Aziraphale reached up, cording his forearms through the curve of Crowley’s bent knees, pressing strong hands down on his hip bones, pinning him to the mattress. “Don’t you dare,” he said, coming up just long enough to suck in a hurried breath.

“Angaah!” Crowley let out a strangled cry, forced to endure the touch of plush wet lips on his already overstimulated sex, rather than wriggling away. “Angel, please!” He was already whimpering with reawakened need.

“Please what?” Aziraphale whispered against slippery flesh, letting his tongue dart out in experimental motions against Crowley’s swollen clit.

“Hnggg!”

Aziraphale grinned, full up and drunk on love, glancing aside just long enough to notice his forearms were covered in wide, rapidly blinking eyes again. He didn’t — couldn’t care. Couldn’t have stopped them if he’d tried. Just as quickly, he returned his full attention to Crowley. “Use your words, darling. Tell me what you need.”

“Nnn — need to come, angel, please!”

“Oh?” Aziraphale looked up, his expression one of false innocence. “I thought you were tired?”

Crowley growled, his pupils blown wide and dark, teeth bared. Aziraphale could have sworn they were sharper than usual, particularly the canines. His tongue had gone fully serpentine, the little fork making his speech slur clumsily over his ’S’ words. “Ssshut up and eat me, you unrepentant teassse!”

“Oh,” Aziraphale remarked, dipping his head back between Crowley’s legs. “Very well, then.” He hummed with pleasure when Crowley’s thighs pressed urgently on either side of his face, constricting around him. So much like a snake, he couldn’t help thinking, making Crowley flinch again at the sound and sensation of angelic laughter on the air around them, and the whisper soft giggles of Aziraphale’s mouth on his body.

Crowley’s ankles crossed behind Aziraphale’s back, tugging him incessantly closer, and the demon’s hands went instinctively into his hair, clasping urgently at white curls.

“Angel!” He cried out suddenly.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale replied, very busy lapping his tongue into the folds of Crowley’s cunt, and not interested in forming real words anymore if he could avoid it.

“Want more of you,” he gasped. “Want to see you. Want all of you.”

This gave Aziraphale pause, and he looked up at Crowley, making sure he’d understood correctly.

Several more eyes had appeared on his now softly glowing face, Crowley noted. It made something in him rise to the occasion, his pulse thrumming in his ears and in his cunt. “Please, angel. Anoint me? Bless me? Show me all of you.”

“I can do better than that, dear,” Aziraphale said, grabbing Crowley by the hips and shoving him upwards, bracing his back against the headboard, holding him there. “I can raise you up,” Aziraphale sighed, releasing every bit of holy energy he’d been holding in check.

Now that he was naked, Aziraphale’s entire form glowed, and Crowley gasped at the little crackles of lightning that shot through his body everywhere the angel was touching him, holding him fast against the wall. “I can put you on a fucking pedestal,” Aziraphale continued as eyes opened all over his body, unmoving and unblinking now, and every last one of them locked on Crowley. His main set of eyes, the ones he always had, fell closed, brow furrowing, as if in prayer. “I can worship you.”

Crowley’s fingers stayed tangled in Aziraphale’s hair, and his eyes went wide in silent shock as the headwings unfurled again, fluttering insistently against the backs of his hands. From this new vantage point above Aziraphale, he could see the final set of little wings where they burst out of Aziraphale’s ankles, dancing across his feet where they dug into the sheets for traction.

And then Aziraphale’s tongue was attacking his cunt again, and Crowley didn’t see anything. That crackled with electricity too, and before he knew it he was rocking into Aziraphale’s holy mouth, on the brink of yet another climax.

When he came, it was more powerful than all the previous orgasms combined, like he’d just been storing up energy before, charging reserves for this final explosion of pleasure. His legs clenched involuntarily around Aziraphale’s back, pressing against powerful, muscled wings for purchase. He folded almost in half, holding onto the back of Aziraphale’s head like he might fly away otherwise, and releasing a litany of curses, blessings, and expletives not fit for the ears of angels, directly into the back of Aziraphale’s neck. His own wings burst out of his shoulder blades, beating wildly against the wall behind him, the curtains, the bedposts; knocking objects from the bedside table in his mindless desperation for more contact.

The angel’s hands shifted in one swift movement, releasing Crowley’s hips and going under his backside to lift him higher. His tongue shifted too, moving slowly, steadily, riding Crowley’s quivering clitoris in a steady rhythm until he was quite spent.

Through all of this, that ethereal voice whispered on the air, like murmuring chatter overlapping in a crowded room. “Holy, holy, holy,” it said, as if uttering soft secrets into Crowley’s ear. “Most treasured, highly cherished — thou art blessed and honored above all others — I worship thee, I lie at thy feet — most beloved Child of God.”

Crowley slumped against the hands that held him up, burying his face in Aziraphale’s hair, wet with tears. He was sobbing uncontrollably, his breath coming in little hyperventilating gasps.

Aziraphale held him there for a moment, just letting Crowley cry, before gradually tipping his head backwards to look up at him. “Are you ready to come down, my love?” he said, pressing his forehead against Crowley’s.

The demon’s face contorted, breaking down into more shuddering little sobs, but he nodded, letting his hands glide down to Aziraphale’s shoulders, crumpling into him as Aziraphale lowered him slowly down.

The next several minutes were filled with gentle reassurances, kisses pressed against lips, cheeks, shoulders, wrists, trembling hands. Aziraphale’s true form had faded back into his corporeal body, and it was only the familiar, musical voice of the soft angel he’d known for six thousand years that whispered sweet nothings into Crowley’s ears, reminding him over and over how beautiful he was, and how precious, and how loved.

Finally they both lay on the bed, hands entwined, just breathing.

“Hng…” Crowley rolled over, flopping heavily against the still damp sheets. “Bloody Hell, angel… Is that what they mean when they say a massage comes with a ‘happy ending?’”

“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose that might count toward several happy endings, don’t you think?”

Crowley smiled, brighter that Aziraphale had ever seen him. “Fair point,” he rasped, looking sleepy and satisfied, not in any mood to argue.

Aziraphale beamed in response, reaching up to ruffle Crowley’s hair. “Are you happy, darling?”

Crowley continued to pant, gasping for breath. “Definitely,” he said, smiling up at his angel. His angel; something tugged in his chest at the thought of that, the inherent truth of it. “Can we do that again sometime, do you think?”

“Oh, absolutely, my dear.” Aziraphale shifted to one side, curling around Crowley’s body protectively. “Consider me available to bathe you in holy adoration anytime you like.”

“I sort of more meant the sex part,” Crowley grimaced, a mixture of pleasure and terror shooting through his body at the idea of daily worship, of being laid bare before the overwhelming gaze of the angel’s all-seeing eyes.

Aziraphale laughed, pulling Crowley close in his arms. “Whatever you want, my dear,” he said. “And never anything you don’t.”

Crowley turned in Aziraphale’s arms to face him, burying his face in the angel’s neck. “Well, maybe like… weekly worship, then.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale perked up. “Like going to church!”

“Or…” Crowley backpedaled. “Couple times a month. Think I could stomach that, at least.”

“Hmmm,” Aziraphale mused thoughtfully. “All right, then.”

They lay there, in silence, for long minutes. It might have been hours — neither of them could be sure.

Eventually, as if no time had passed at all, Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Speaking of stomachs, I don’t know about you, dear, but I do believe I’m hungry again.” He glanced toward the window, noting the dim light of sunrise peeking through. “What would you say to some breakfast?”

Crowley chuckled into the soft skin of Aziraphale’s throat. “I wouldn’t say no. How about that little French cafe that just opened in Westminster?”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, already kicking himself free of the blankets. “Yes, that sounds lovely.”

Crowley sat up, pulling Aziraphale back down and pressing a kiss against his smiling mouth. “Crêpes, angel?”

“Mmm,” Aziraphale nodded, eyes wide with anticipation. “Crêpes. And after, perhaps a little more… dessert?”

Crowley shook his head, sighing. “You’re not letting these food metaphors go anytime soon, are you?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, already snapping his fingers and miracling his clothing back from where it hung in the closet. “Don’t pretend not to love it.”

Crowley looked up at him, softly indulgent. “Come on, angel. Let’s go.” He crawled out of bed, relishing the stiff soreness lingering in his muscles. “I’m starving.”

¹⁴ Translation: Yes. Yes, it is. ^{[return to text]}

¹⁵ Right up there with, “All shall be revealed to you,” and “Our Lord is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. (S)He shall not abandon you.” ^{[return to text]}

¹⁶ Few angels had ever been demoted in all of cosmic history, (rather than just Falling altogether) but there were a few. At some point not long before the humans were created, Aziraphale had grown rather bored with singing eternal praises day after day, worthy of it though She may have been. He may or may not have feigned a sudden onset of laryngitis, resulting in the need for a reassignment to something less demanding on the ethereal vocal chords. And so he’d been sent to the wall, to watch over the Garden. Completely unrelated to this point, please see Merriam-Webster’s short description on the physical traits of seraphs. ^{[return to text]}

¹⁷ Father of John the Baptist. It was said that when the archangel Gabriel appeared to announce that Elizabeth (Zechariah’s wife) would give birth to a son, Zechariah doubted this, due to their advanced age, and asked the angel how this was possible. Gabriel was in a particularly foul mood that day, and shut the poor man up with a snap of his fingers, leaving him mute. It wasn’t until months later, on the child’s name day, that Gabriel remembered the man, and belatedly undid the curse. He played it off like it was all planned that way, but some of the other angels had their own doubts about that. ^{[return to text]}

¹⁸ Voice of God - Hey! That’s the name of the show! ^{[return to text]}