Chapter Text
"You're safe now, you're alright." Aziraphale whispers into Crowley's ear like a mantra as he carries the shuddering man into the carriage waiting for them outside the villa. Bee and Hastur send him a few pointed gazes once he enters, but they don't say a word.
Aziraphale cradles Crowley in his arms through all of the journey. There's an occasional sob escaping Crowley's lungs, a nightmare perhaps, waking him up to reality that's not much better. Aziraphale tightens him embrace then, whispers soothing words into his lover's ear until he's asleep again. Free, if only for a short while from the horrors of their existence.
Aziraphale doesn't allow himself to sleep. He doesn't close his eyes despite the weariness he feels in his bones and the heaviness that's pulls his eyelids down. He's not letting Crowley out of his sight until they're safe once and for all.
But as Aziraphale is sitting in the cramped carriage fighting his fatigue, there is an unspoken fear settling at the back of his mind. It prickles at his skin and aches in his chest. The truth he's too scared to put into words—that it is Aziraphale's own actions that brought Crowley to this edge of despair. That it is because of Aziraphale that Crowley offered himself to Lucien so selflessly and without hesitation.
Crowley didn't deserve any of that.
And Aziraphale didn't deserve Crowley.
Briefly he looks at Bee, into those eyes as weary as his, thankful that they were kind enough to include him in their escape plan. He doesn't delude himself that it was in any way for him. He might have lived in the villa much longer, but he barely knew anyone there, barely had any friends. If not for Crowley, he would still be in that awful place trying very hard to scrub bodies of Lucien's lovers from his filth and trying even harder (and failing) to forget that any of that ever happened.
They arrive at lord Gabriel's estate just before the sunrise. Aziraphale waits in the carriage, holding his breath and sleeping Crowley in his arms as Bee is reasoning with lord Gabriel himself. Their voices are hushed, but the tension between them is hard to miss. It's hardly a surprise—they're two runaways no one bargained for, but if they won't be accepted here... they might just as well go back to Lucien already.
After a few sharper sounding words Bee finally peeks into the carriage, their expression unreadable.
"You can stay here tonight, but after that Gabriel will have to transfer you to his other estate further north." Bee explains. "We can't all stay at the same place. Too dangerous," they add after a while.
Aziraphale lets out the breath he hasn't realised he was holding. It's the light at the end of a tunnel, it's hope, it's enough. But there's still one thing bothering him.
"What about you?" He asks. He can't let more people sacrifice themselves for him, not ever again. "Bee, you know you don't have to—"
"It's not like that," Bee cuts in, the slightest hint of a smile curls itself at the corners of their mouth. "It's a different kind of arrangement. And don't worry—Gabriel is not like Lucien."
Aziraphale blinks several times before the meaning of those words sinks in. Gabriel was the newest addition to Lucien's parties and there was nothing that would indicate he was any different (in his mind all aristocrats were worth the same, which is to say not much). But maybe he's got it all completely wrong. Is it possible that Gabriel had a different reason to come to the villa…?
Before he can voice his questions, Bee is already leading them through the estate and towards the servant's sleeping quarters. Aziraphale lies Crowley onto the nearest, tucks him in and kisses his temple, which feels all too much like a goodbye. And maybe it is. Aziraphale has an overwhelming feeling that once Crowley wakes up, everything will change. Once Crowley wakes up, Aziraphale won't be allowed to hold him in his arms anymore.
It doesn't change anything for Aziraphale. He will stay at Crowley's side to ensure his safety. After that… well, if Crowley doesn't ever want to see him again, Aziraphale will accept that.
Exhausted, he falls asleep as soon as his body touches the bed, dreaming about the soft red hair and golden eyes he had, but lost.
"Is it okay if I wash you?" Aziraphale asks and Crowley nods.
Since he's woken up in this new unfamiliar place, Aziraphale has done everything to make sure Crowley is taken care of—from bringing him meals to cleansing his body. It's strange, but Crowley concludes it must be a compulsion on Aziraphale's part. A habit born from the countless repetitive movements, a kind of muscle memory.
Aziraphale is washing him with no haste, bringing the sponge up and down Crowley's skin. Every stroke is measured and efficient, and not at all affectionate. Not even once Aziraphale lets his skin brush on Crowley's. But the familiarity of it is soothing and Crowley can already feel his body relaxing under the gentle pressure.
Curled up in an unfamiliar bathtub in an unfamiliar room and partially submerged in the lukewarm water, he tries to get his thoughts in order, tries to remember what exactly happened.
He wonders if Aziraphale is only washing him to survey his body for the damage Lucien has done. There isn't much this time. Not on the surface there isn't. But Crowley can still feel those greedy hands on his skin, can still hear the voice injecting venom into his mind and dissolving his will, he can feel the man's body weighing down on his...
It's all he remembers.
And then there were different, gentle hands taking him to safety, holding him in a tender embrace. He remembers the sense of panic and the constant apologies sweeping from his mouth, the trembling of his body and the terrifying conviction that he's done something utterly unforgivable.
But he hasn't, has he? Aziraphale told him so. 'There's nothing here you should be sorry for.'
Then who should?
"Call me if you need me." Aziraphale says, setting the sponge down and turning towards the door.
Crowley nods not even looking up at Aziraphale, focusing all of his attention on the fire flickering in the fireplace and the pleasant warmth washing over his skin instead. Briefly he runs his thumb over the scars on his wrists. The scars that Aziraphale kissed not that long ago, when Crowley thought this thing between them was still possible.
He stands up and dries himself off with a towel, dresses in the clothes that have been left for him on the side. He doesn't question it, for as long as he can remember he's been dressed and undressed for other men's pleasure and he did so without hesitation. It's the only thing he knows how to do, leaving Lucien behind isn't going to change that. He's just… useless otherwise, this is his only useful skill that has ensured his survival so far.
He finds Aziraphale in the next chamber—hunched over some papers scattered on the table with his back turned to Crowley. The room itself is not nearly as grandly decorated as Lucien's villa. The colours are more toned down and there's less splendour to it. Crowley immediately likes it. The owner is likely not a total jerk like Lucien was. Maybe he'll be gentler with Crowley.
"A…" he coughs, "Aziraphale."
The man turns around at once and smiles in a sad sort of way. "I'm sorry Crowley, for everything that happened." Aziraphale says immediately.
Crowley feels his stomach plummeting, his skin prickling with heat. He knew they will need to have this conversation, but this is not quite how he pictured it going. A part of him wonders if Aziraphale is sorry about what will happen to Crowley next. Has his body been a bargaining chip for their escape? Was it all part of a plan…?
"How did you know I was in danger?" He asks dryly, his thoughts still a much bigger whirlwind than he'd wanted to.
"I, ah. Hastur told me something... about a man who...had the same position as you, before you. Who has broken Lucien's rules too… Ligur was his name and," he sighs, "Hastur said he will never forgive himself for not stepping in between them, when he still could."
Crowley nods slowly, trying not to think of all the horrible things that must have happened to that poor man. There's more to that story, he can see it in Aziraphale's eyes, but he doesn't ask. The very thought of what would have happened if he was left alone with Lucien for even an hour longer makes him shudder. And it suddenly doesn't matter to him if it was all planned all along, as long as he's away from that dark room that he knows will plague his dreams for many nights to come.
"Crowley, I was so scared for you." Aziraphale says with a breaking voice as he stands up and reaches out for Crowley. Alarmed, he flinches and takes a step back.
"Was it really that? Were you scared or... upset it wasn't you?" Crowley barks. He should have known better than to trust someone again. Maybe then he wouldn't have ended up alone and helpless in Lucien's room.
Aziraphale stops mid-step, his hands fall to his sides. Crowley can read the torturous hurt in those blue eyes, but he can't take his words back now. And he doesn't want to, he needs to know.
"I suppose it's fair you see it that way," Aziraphale responds, more put together again, "and I'll understand if you don't want to associate with me anymore. But I was scared for you, dear. For your sake. Not mine."
Crowley nods. Somehow he had hoped the answer would bring him more relief than this.
"Crowley...what do you want?" Aziraphale's question is quiet, almost a desperate whisper.
"Does it matter?" He responds just as quietly. Nothing really changed except for the person that will have him next. Nothing that Aziraphale would be able accept in the long run, that much is clear now.
"It does to me. Bee has ensured us Lord Gabriel's protection, a place to stay and decent job positions too. If you want it, that is. But we don't have to stay in the same place anymore, in fact, it's probably safer if we don't…" Aziraphale admits, his features contorting.
And that's when the understanding hits Crowley like a ton of bricks—he's got it all wrong. Aziraphale still wants him. Nothing has been lost. Nothing has to change between them. Although...he's suddenly not so sure if that's what he wants. But what's more important he doesn't have to whore himself to survive anymore and it's because of…
"Bee?" Crowley blinks, still trying to wrap his head around it.
Aziraphale nods, "as much as I'd love to take credit for our survival, it's Bee who organised the escape. Hastur helped too. Me? Well…"
"You only came into Lucien's room and smacked him in the head like a bloody hero you are." Crowley finishes for him, suddenly more impressed with the whole endeavour now he understands the full scope of it and his hearts ache for Aziraphale again.
"Ah, I suppose… that's a rather accurate assessment." Aziraphale blushes slightly, but doesn't move otherwise. "So you see, it's rather very important to know what you want, dear." Aziraphale gives him a weak smile.
And Crowley realises that… he doesn't know what he wants. It's just as alien a concept for him as choosing his own clothes. He's hardly had the luxury of choosing what he wants up until now.
He takes a deep breath and takes a step towards Aziraphale, brushes his cheek gently and sinks his hand in the golden hair in front of him. Aziraphale's head leans easily on Crowley's stomach, where Crowley cradles it with his arms and it's a relief much stronger than all the words combined.
He does want it. He's never felt so safe around another person before, even if Aziraphale has made some mistakes. He wants to forgive and he wants forgiveness, and he wants to put the past behind them, where it won't be able to hurt them anymore.
And if anything goes wrong, he can still walk away. Aziraphale doesn't have the same power over him as Lucien had.
"I'm so sorry Crowley, we should have been more careful, I should have known better." Aziraphale whispers, carefully placing his hands around Crowley's frame.
Why should Aziraphale feel sorry? He might have brought Crowley some pain, yes, but also a great deal of good into his life, not to mention all the practical help when he needed it the most… But above all Aziraphale has set Crowley free of Lucien and of that reckless deal Crowley has made with the devil. Why should Aziraphale be responsible for that?
"It's not your fault. I was careless too," Crowley says carding his fingers through the soft curls of Aziraphale's hair. "I want to," Crowley mutters. "Associate with you, I mean…" he chokes every word chewing on his lip. Is he making a mistake? It doesn't feel like it, but mistakes don't usually come with a big 'danger' sign. The devil doesn't come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns, he comes dressed as everything you ever wished for.
But this, however much he wants it, it's not easy and it will require work from both of them, and that will tell him whether he made the right decision or not. Both of their hearts have been broken, he can only hope they will heal in the right way.
Carefully Crowley lowers himself to sit on Aziraphale's lap and winds his arms around the man's soft frame. It's warm and open for him and it's his. Crowley breathes in and out.
"Let's just... take it slow?"
"Of course, dear. Whatever you need."
The Carbisdale Castle is a completely different place to all of the estates Crowley has ever worked in. Bright beige tapestry walls are in stark contrast to the mahogany staircase, gilded chandeliers are hanging from almost every vaulted ceiling.
The castle itself is small, located by a river and surrounded from all sides by a little woodland. There are no other buildings as far as Crowley can see.
There's not many inhabitants in the castle itself either, only a few distant relatives to lord Gabriel—cousins and aunts—that the man visits once or twice a year, always bringing Bee with himself.
So far Lucien hasn't found them here, although neither Crowley nor Bee ever found out what happened to the man or even if he survived. Not that Crowley was particularly interested in finding out. He rather enjoyed his life without Lucien's ominous shadow looming over him.
Aziraphale hasn't acted jealous ever since, though Crowley supposes the circumstances aren't particularly trying anymore, which is good. No one should need to go through everything Aziraphale has, in order to be with someone they love.
Though Aziraphale casts an occasional disapproving look, when people dare to slide their eyes an inch or two below Crowley's waist, it's nothing compared to his previous behaviour. In a way that even makes Crowley feel safer—knowing that his angel is always watching his back and wouldn't allow anyone to hurt him again.
He knows he can trust Aziraphale.
Everything about this new place is perfect, but what Crowley loves the most is the bathtub they are allowed to use once a month, after their Masters have gone to sleep. It's a heavy cast iron tub with feet in the shape of a claw and it preserves heat of the water like nothing Crowley has ever seen before.
Crowley could spend hours like this—nesting in Aziraphale's embrace in the warm water, his broad hand sweeping over his shoulder blades, there and back and he wonders if that alone isn't heaven on Earth. He hums his pleasure and rocks only slightly into Aziraphale's thigh. There's a number of things they haven't done in the bedroom since coming here, Crowley isn't sure if they ever will, but there's also plenty of things they still do.
He climbs higher on Aziraphale's chest to chew at his nipple playfully and draw out Aziraphale's fake outraged reaction.
"Oh, you sneaky snake," Aziraphale tuts, but it's light-hearted. They're not in a rush, everyone else in the house is already asleep. Their limbs are lazily weaving around each other and Aziraphale's eyes are half-shut.
Crowley continues sliding his tongue on the man's fluffy chest and it lasts forever. Crowley doesn't know which way this might go until their cocks rub together in a familiar way and the friction sends pleasure in waves down Crowley's spine. He reaches down between them to close his hand around both of their erections when Aziraphale puts a hand on his wrist.
"Wait."
Crowley lets go momentarily and leans back, puzzled.
"I didn't mean…" Aziraphale starts," it's just I thought— I've been wondering if you would like to try something with me."
Crowley frowns. All this time until now Aziraphale has learned Crowley's boundaries and accepted them, which was reassuring. Even if he said 'wait' or 'stop' in the heat of the moment, Aziraphale never complained.
Crowley really wasn't sure how this was going to go between them once he stopped being a glorified rent-boy. Because that's not what he wanted to be from now on and that meant a lot of adjusting in their relationship. Part of him still waited for Aziraphale to finally get fed up with it and maybe that time came now. So he tenses, bracing himself for Aziraphale's next words.
"I um," Crowley has the distinctive impression that Aziraphale would fidget with his clothes if he had any, but now he's fully exposed in front of Crowley, trusting and vulnerable, which melts a chunk of Crowley's anxiety away. "I thought maybe... you could consider a different arrangement… of uh, you inside of me."
Crowley blinks. It's not what he expected. He's never even considered that Aziraphale would want that, though he'd be lying if he said the fantasy has never crossed his mind. "Are you sure?"
"Only if you want to," Aziraphale adds.
Crowley swallows. "I would love to...would like to try, angel."
"Oh, good." Aziraphale beams, leaning out of the bathtub and rummaging between his clothes and towels to finally take out a small bottle of oil.
Crowley raises a brow at this, surprised, but doesn't say anything. His cock is already hardening again.
He's never done this before in his life.
Aziraphale must have caught a bit of his expression because he frowns, "oh, you didn't mean now, did you?"
"No," Crowley says truthfully "but now it's all I can think about." He adds and leans into Aziraphale to kiss him passionately until both of their lips are swollen. "How do you want to do this?"
"I think on my hands and knees will be the easiest."
Crowley lets Aziraphale reposition himself and put his hands on the edge of the bathtub. "Tell me if you don't like it and I'll stop," he kisses the ample arse in front of him and presses his face to the small of the man's back. His hand is playing in between Aziraphale's cleft and it gives him goosebumps to feel the man in front of him shivering. "Alright?"
Aziraphale gasps, "yes." He hasn't realised how truly wonderful it is to be able to give his lover pleasure in such a way. How much arousing Aziraphale's moans and gasps would be. He's never quite had the chance to focus on such things before.
"You're lovely, you know that?" Crowley says, spreading Aziraphale's arse cheeks with his hand, ghosting over the man's entrance with his warm breath and suddenly he has an overwhelming need to put his mouth there too.
Too much too fast, he thinks, even though he wants to. But so far, everything that happened proved to him he should trust his guts more than his wants. And his guts are telling him he's going too fast. There will come a time, just not quite yet. It will be something to look forward to.
Instead he reaches for the oil, slicks his fingers with it and slides them along Aziraphale's entrance, who gasps at the contact. Once he dares to slide one finger in and once he sees it disappearing within Aziraphale, the feeling of his stomach turning into knots is so overwhelming he needs to hold to the edge of the tub for support. (And then promptly at the base of his cock to hold himself off.)
Aziraphale starts to twitch around Crowley's fingers. It's almost imperceptible, and yet Crowley can clearly feel the micro clenches on his knuckles. Half-abortive thrusts Aziraphale cannot quite control follow soon after.
"Okay?"
"Yes."
"How does it feel?"
"Unreal."
Crowley huffs a wordless laugh because...it does feel that way—like an overwhelming first time. It's almost ridiculous they haven't thought about it any earlier with Aziraphale's obsession over first times and the things Crowley hasn't done before with anyone else. But above all seeing Aziraphale so vulnerable and open for him, so trusting that Crowley will be good for him is overwhelming in the best way.
Crowley's head is swimming with all of these thoughts as he presses third finger in and massages the tensed muscles that are slowly giving in under his touch.
He leans over Aziraphale to lay kisses along his spine. His hand that until now rested on Aziraphale's plush hip now reaches lower and between Aziraphale's legs. The man releases a laboured breath of relief when Crowley finally curls his fingers around his cock.
"Good?"
"So good! I'm ready, dear."
It makes Crowley's heart thumb in his ribcage. For good measure he keeps this up for a little while longer before he slicks himself too and a moment later he's aligning himself with Aziraphale—open and waiting for him.
"I haven't done this before," he announces before pushing in. The head of his cock presses in until Aziraphale's muscles give in and the tip of his cock slides in, catches there. They gasp in unison.
Aziraphale's body tenses and he grips tighter on the edge of the tub.
"Oh God, you're so tight and hot," Crowley notes, amazed. He never imagined it would feel like this.
Sometimes during sex memories of his past sexual encounters flood his mind uninvited. The ones with Lucien too, despite Crowley trying very hard to shut them out (although they get blurred in his memory the more time passes.) But this time Crowley doesn't have anything to compare to these new sensations.
This is a very real first time for him.
"Good Lord," Aziraphale's breath hitches and he clenches his hands on the bathtub even more. "Don't stop now!"
So Crowley pushes in, slowly, until he's entirely buried within the heat of Aziraphale's body. He gives them both some time to adjust and then he starts off with slow, small movements, building up the pleasant tension within their bodies without haste. And when he angles his hips just right and Aziraphale cries out in pleasure, Crowley loses himself entirely in the moment.
He thrusts until his hips roll on his own and he can barely control them, though he pays attention to be careful even then. Distantly he registers words that are spilling from his mouth, though he's not aware of their meaning anymore.
"... the only one, angel, the only one I want, you always were…" he hears himself whispering.
Crowley's hand falls on Aziraphale's cock at the same time the man moves to touch himself. Their hands knot together over Aziraphale's hard length and start sliding up and down.
"It's good, dear. So good." Aziraphale whispers. "I love you, dear. So, so much."
"I love you too, angel."
Crowley mutters just before his hips stutter and he spills inside Aziraphale, but he doesn't stop there. He continues thrusting through his euphoria and the haze of his own orgasm until Aziraphale is there with him, his back arches up and Crowley feels their hands coating with Aziraphale's spent.
Crowley kisses Aziraphale's back and laughs. Not even in his most daring dreams he pictured a future this bright for the two of them.
"Thank you, dear," Aziraphale gives him a lazy kiss and cradles Crowley in his embrace. The water is only lukewarm, but not unpleasantly yet. They can stay like this for a while longer. For a lot longer.
"My pleasure, angel." Crowley whispers.
He is exhausted, as he is sure Aziraphale must also be, and not only because of the amazing sex, but everything they had to go through. He's exhausted, but happy that they've managed to get this far together.
And lying buried in Aziraphale's softness in the iron cast bathtub, Crowley is not thinking about his fractured past, but about the things that are yet to come. He's thinking about all the possible first times that they are yet to experience together. He's thinking about this man than loves him despite everything and he smiles.