Chapter Text
Crowley did not believe in much. He'd only really just started to believe in second chances, and in Anathema.
When all else failed a single-minded witch wielding a bread knife was something to truly put your faith in.
As he held Aziraphale close, Crowley hoped he might be able to believe in this nervous, somewhat hairier than he had been, man. Crowley wanted to believe in the two of them. His brain, on some deep primeval level knew what Aziraphale was. Crowley had hung around Anathema long enough to know she was more than just incense and tarot cards, so he knew the world still had some tricks up its sleeve . That day he'd dropped off the soup, the terror of facing something above him on the food chain had been real. It had got his inner ancestral monkey by the throat and squeezed.
Crowley would have fled right then if his friend hadn't looked so unhappy.
Crowley knew.
He just wasn't ready to accept the label.
Labels could be useful shorthand, sure. They could also be a box that was too small, a chain dragging you back.
Like ex-con. That was a shit label.
And he didn't want to slap anything on Aziraphale unless it was something he chose.
Aziraphale was Aziraphale right now. That was all Crowley needed to know. Aziraphale who had climbed onto Crowley’s lap so cautiously and was now looking at him with wide, worried eyes.
Crowley ran his knuckles over Aziraphale's cheek, feeling the smoothness of his skin give over to the softness of the new beard. He shifted closer, took Aziraphale's face in his hands and kissed his lips.
Aziraphale whimpered, reaching out for Crowley's upper arm.
"It's OK, I'm here." It was amazing how just holding Aziraphale calmed them both.
Crowley had never thought he was particularly good for anything before, but that his mere presence could soothe Aziraphale, that holding him on his lap could steady his breathing, make his hands relax on that flipping wreck of a pillow was a whole new world.
He rubbed Aziraphale's back, fingers catching the places where the seams of his shirt had ripped.
When Aziraphale stopped shuddering, Crowley risked petting his hair. "Guessing you don't want a bath? Or should I be spelling that?"
Aziraphale snorted into Crowley's shoulder, it sounded very much like a laugh.
"A bath would be nice. And something to nibble." His teeth dragged gently against Crowley's neck.
Crowley shivered down to his stomach. "When you say nibble…?"
"I was thinking of a charcuterie board, but you do smell divine."
Aziraphale still looked at Crowley hesitantly, but there was a resolve there too, hovering just at the edge of his teasing smile. "If you might want that?" he whispered more seriously.
Crowley's body did. Thrumming with an aching awareness. His mind was still catching up. "Shall we see about bath and food first?"
"Hmm." Aziraphale rested his cheek back on Crowley’s shoulder.
"Which one? Or both at once?"
Aziraphale lifted his head. “Both?”
Crowley nodded. This was ok. More than ok. Weird too, but there was nowhere else he wanted to be. "Go sort your bath out and I'll bring something up."
"You won't leave?"
The tremble in Aziraphale’s voice nearly snapped Crowley's heart in two. "Nope,” he said firmly. “Promise."
The stairs creaked slightly as Aziraphale ascended them, still clutching the pillow, but with only one hand now, which suggested to Crowley that some progress was being made. He ran his hands through his hair and took a moment to let his brain dwell on what had happened last night.
The inhuman noises that had to be an animal, no Aziraphale, in pain. The shape of him in the half light of the room, still him, but not him with limbs awkwardly aligned, head too big, shoulders unnaturally broad and moving like a puppet that had lost its strings.
Still Aziraphale’s eyes though. Even glowing mineral-green they had been his eyes. His fluffy white hair. His look of embarrassment and fear as he’d slid out of the shadows.
Crowley opened the fridge. Lots of protein, lots of carbs, but typical Aziraphale all from the deli in town with the fussy little sticker logo holding the waxed paper closed. The rotisserie chicken had seen better days though. Something had snapped the carcass up and sucked out the bone marrow.
Crowley’s grip tightened on the fridge.
The sound of water hitting the ceramic bath drifted down the stairs. Crowley pulled the kitchen door to and called Anathema.
“You’re both still alive,” she said by way of greeting. “Well done.”
“Yeah, thanks. Ana, look, just, what the fuck?” Crowley juggled his phone by his ear as he pulled things from the fridge.
“Hey, you shouldn’t go asking questions if you don’t think you’re going to like the answers. You put yourself into this.” She sounded annoyed, but also amused. It was a combination that always made Crowley want to shake her.
“And that’s fine. You think I can’t handle this?”
“Do you think you can?”
“Ana, what’s happened to him?” It was bothering Crowley. A lot of it was bothering Crowley as his mind recalibrated itself to believe the unbelievable, but what he was really having trouble with was things that he already knew to be true. In prison some of the inmates had a certain look, a way of moving that suggested they expected to be hurt, that they didn’t know which direction it was coming from, but that it would come. He’d seen it on Aziraphale before, in a beer garden when someone had dropped one of the kegs, or when someone spoke too loud in an American accent.
Last night it had been pronounced. A toxic thing warping the air.
“He's been not treated well,” Ana said. “Not my story to tell, but if you're doing this, you need to know. He'll get through it. He does every month, but he always doubts himself. Be gentle with him. And yourself. I’ll stay right here.”
“Right.” That didn’t make the sourness in Crowley’s stomach any better. Yes, alright, Aziraphale was terrifying. Even when he didn’t look capable of crushing bone with his jaws, he had a wicked streak to him, a vein of bastardry that pulled no punches. His sudden, calm and confrontational reaction to the group of bikers who had called Crowley names when they’d been at the travelling fair was now shed in a whole new light on it. At the time Crowley had been worried Azirapahle would get himself into trouble, that he’d never be able to stand up to all that leather and muscle. Now Crowley remembered the way the tallest of the gang had stepped back when confronted with the excruciatingly polite, I’m sorry, what did you say?
The way the air had grown thick and deadly.
Point was, Aziraphale was also the kindest person Crowley knew. The idea that somebody had twisted him up inside as they had made Crowley want to break things.
"Be kind to him Crowley," Ana said softly. "Be gentle, and honestly, I don't think you can give him too much praise."
Kind. Gentle. Praise.
Clearly all the things the last people Aziraphale knew hadn't given to him.
As this wasn’t Crowley's house, and all the china looked rather old and expensive, he didn't break anything but focused his energy on putting together the best tray of nibbles that he could and went up to the bathroom.
Crowley balanced the tray on one hand and knocked on the door. It was only when Aziraphale called him in that Crowley realised he’d be naked in there.
The bathroom, like the cottage itself, was a mirror of Crowley’s own, although Azirpahale’s bathtub was bigger and the colours softer. Everything had gentle curves and soothing tones. There was also a great deal of lavender scented steam in the air. The bubbles floating on the surface of the bath water were a blessing, because it meant that although Crowley looked, really, he couldn’t help himself, there was nothing to see.
That was until Aziraphale sat up a bit more, arms resting on the sides of the tub. Crowley paused, trying not to think too closely about the ethics of being turned on when your neighbour, your friend, was trusting you and clearly very vulnerable.
Aziraphale’s forearms had always been a thing for him though. First time it had been so hot he’d succumbed to rolling up his shirt sleeves they had made a home in Crowley's daydreams. And now there was the swell of upper arms too, the slope of shoulders, and they were wet.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale sunk back into the water a bit.
“Sorry, yeah, it's hot in here.” And his gaze had caught on a tattoo on Aziraphale’s right shoulder. A pair of angel wings, in a circle.
It looked like a fucking logo.
Crowley’s fists clenched on his tray.
“Sorry, I do run the water hot. My muscles cramp up. Never sure what shape they should be.” Aziraphale bit his lip, shifting a bit so the tattoo vanished from Crowley's view.
There was a table next to the bath where Crowley put the tray. Nibbles while taking a soak must be a regular thing.
Crowley handed over the glass of water he’d placed on the tray too. "Ana said to keep you hydrated."
“Thank you.” Aziraphale took the glass carefully and sipped. “She really is very patient with me.”
She’d never been patient with Crowley, but then he knew he’d respond to a tougher kind of love.
“You don’t have to stay.” Aziraphale looked up at him hesitantly. “Not here. You can go downstairs, or back to your house. As long as I know you’re nearby. You must have things to do.”
There were always things to do. None of them were more important than this so Crowley shook his head. The silence bobbed between them while Crowley considered each one of his questions and promptly banished them as not kind, gentle or giving praise. And there would be time enough, now that he’d decided that he wasn’t going anywhere.
He swallowed, testing the idea in his head before daring to say it out loud. "I can help with your muscles. If you'd like?"
"Oh?” The water sloshed a bit as Aziraphale moved.
Crowley waggled his fingers. “Not a professional or anything, but if they hurt I could rub them.”
“If you'd like? I mean you wouldn't mind?" Aziraphale blushed slightly.
"Wouldn't have offered otherwise." Although the idea of actually getting to touch those shoulders, the nobs of Azirapahle’s spine, was making Crowley warmer. He should have brought up a glass of water for himself.
There was a three-legged stool in the corner that had towels on. Crowley popped them on the floor and sat on the stool at the head of the bath. He braced himself, and started off gently kneading the back of Aziraphale’s neck with his thumbs.
“Oh!” Aziraphale sighed.
Crowley bit the inside of his cheek, dug his fingers in deeper, feeling Aziraphale go loose beneath him.
Aziraphale’s head tipped forward, and Crowley took the glass of water before it fell into the bath.
“Do you actually, you know… Change?” Crowley asked quietly. He was allowed one question, wasn’t he? And it looked like something of that ilk had been going on last night. Although Aziraphale looked like himself now. If this version of him currently sitting in the bathtub was himself?
“Into a wolf?” Aziraphale tensed up again and Crowley cursed himself.
“You don’t have to tell me. Nosey, remember?”
The quiet dragged for a moment too long, just to the wrong side of uncomfortable, then Aziraphale said, “Yes. It's not just two binaries though. It's a sliding scale. Just, at this time of the month the moon drags on my mind, my heart, makes me more unsettled. It's harder to remember who I want to be, I suppose. And there are some of us out there who want to be the beast. They find it liberating. Not that the wolf is the beast by itself. It's the human bits still inside, you know? The fear, the hate, the loneliness that can no longer be controlled just looking for a way out and taking on that form so, yes, bits of me change.”
“And you have a lot of that? Fear. Hate.” Crowley tried to focus on Aziraphale’s shoulders, not his own barbed emptiness. “Loneliness?”
“Yes, but, I don't want to… I can't.” Aziraphale hung his head. “You musn’t stay tonight, Crowley.”
“I’m not leaving you.” Not after hearing the noises Aziraphale had made. Not after the way he’d curled up against Crowley, whimpering and shivering, until they’d both found sleep.
Aziraphale’s nails scratched the side of the tub, leaving rents that would not be humanly possible. “Bother.” He snatched his hand back into the water.
“Let’s park that for now,” Crowley murmured. “Still breakfast time, isn’t it?”
He worked his thumbs either side of Aziraphale’s spine until he couldn’t get any lower.
“Crowley…” Aziraphale pleaded.
"I could get in with you. If you like? Tub’s big enough.” The words rattled out of him.
Aziraphale tensed again, turning so he could fix his worried eyes on Crowley. "You mustn't feel sorry for me."
Crowley bristled. "Is it so hard to believe I want to be close to you too?"
"Yes,” Aziraphale replied stubbornly.
Crowley stood up. He pulled off his T-shirt roughly and began to undo his trouser buttons. Aziraphale made a noise deep in the back of his throat, but his eyes tracked over Crowley as though they could swallow him down whole.
Crowley’s nerves trembled. He was expecting something, half-terrified of what that would be, but wanting it just the same. He'd made some stupid, messed up decisions in his life, but this wasn't one of them.
This was the star he'd been unconsciously following.
No question of it.
"Shift over," he said firmly.
“I can't control it,” Aziraphale said desperately. “They always told me I couldn't.”
“The people who gave you this?” Crowley stepped forward, trousers still half-undone, and dragged his thumb over those neat little wings on Aziraphale's shoulder.
Aziraphale looked up at him imploringly, and so very scared.
“You said I helped,” Crowley whispered. “But I can go, whenever you want.”
Aziraphale closed his eyes. “You do help. I just. I want you so much. I’m afraid I can’t be rational. Not when all the fear bubbles over.”
“You can be rational,” Crowley stroked his fingertips down the side of Aziraphale's face. “You can control it. For me. Like you did last night.” He brushed Aziraphale’s damp hair back from his forehead and fell in love with the way Aziraphale leaned into his touch. He remembered what he’d said to Aziraphale last night, the way he’d leaned into Crowley then too. Crowley wet his lips. “Good boy, aren't you?”
He felt unsure saying it, but Aziraphale's reaction was everything. A sharp inhalation, a shiver that ran all the way through his body.
"My very good boy.” Crowley leaned forward, one hand resting on the edge of the bath. The other stroked Aziraphale’s hair. “Could I kiss you?”
Aziraphale’s eyes opened. “Do you want to?”
“Very much.”
Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, please.”
It was so very gentle, a delicate, trembling thing, barely alive. It still managed to make Crowley’s toes clench in his socks.
Kissing Aziraphale made all Crowley’s broken parts slot momentarily back together, still with cracks, but not exposed and sharp and ragged. Not so ready to cut.
He would leave if Aziraphale wanted him to. But damn it, he wasn’t going far.
This was not what Crowley had expected the first time he went to bed with a werewolf. He had not expected quite so much snuggling. They’d both kept their underwear on and been excruciatingly modest as they’d dried themselves off, despite the further kissing they’d done in the bath, the cautious drifting of fingers below the water line. Despite sitting wrapped in towels in Aziraphale’s kitchen sharing the remains of the breakfast Crowley had made, sneaking in casual touches as they chatted about nothing. About books and movies and music, and very much not what would happen this evening.
Eye contact had barely been made until they’d slid into Aziraphale’s bed. It was still early, it would be safe to nap, and Aziraphale looked exhausted. Crowley could only imagine how much energy having your body ripped apart so it could reform itself would take, how much mental will would go into fighting it. He held Aziraphale close, stroked his back, kissed his head until his eyes had fluttered closed. Crowley had dozed for a bit, enjoying the closeness, enjoying being worth something to someone. He hadn’t wanted to leave him. He’d been on the verge of setting the alarm on his phone for dinner time when he’d been caught in the cosey undertow of the moment and drifted fully into sleep.
Crowley surfaced to a world of dreamy silver, aware that something was wrong. There was a heavy silence to the air, a witching-hour stillness as though the night was holding its breath, but in shock, as though just witnessing a disruption so deep it could shatter reality. There was the iron tang of blood and pain hovering in the room, the disquiet that had turned Crowley’s dreams fractured and forced him awake.
The sound of the sheets whispering off his skin as he sat up was obscenely loud.
He was alone in the bed, but not the room.
There was a patch of shadows by the wardrobe, darker than the rest. A trail of feathers spilled across the rug towards it.
“Aziraphale?” Crowley’s heart was a loud thump, thump, in the eerie silence.
The growl he got in response was a low vibrating hum, a warning.
“I’m sorry. Forgot to set my alarm.”
Should he leave? Probably. But Crowley’s muscles were too tight, locked in place with the ice of his own fear, his own brain telling him that if he did leave, whatever was curled in the dark would follow him, and catch him.
Crowley didn’t examine his reactions to that too closely. It didn’t matter. He didn’t want to leave anyway. Not if Aziraphale needed him.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley said again, as gently as he could. “Are you alright?”
There was no response.
“Please. Let me know you’re ok.”
The shadows shivered a bit, sliding away to reveal a snout as Aziraphale crept out into the moonlight. He lay on the rug, chin resting on his front legs, ears flat to the back of his head and face turned away.
Crowley should have known that despite the way his body had changed it would still manage to look like him. Would still be permeated with an inherent Aziraphaleness, from the fluffiness of the pure white fur, the softness of those ears, the way the black wet nose turned up and the worried hopefulness trembling deep in his eyes. There was a consciousness there that hadn’t been present the night before. The mad terror contorting Aziraphale’s face, his whole body, was blessedly absent, and Crowley’s heart felt full with the knowledge that his care may have enabled that.
And there were other human aspects clinging to Aziraphale’s form too. The bend of his knees, showed very human legs, fingers, albeit, larger than they had been and tipped with wicked looking claws.
Aziraphale wriggled back on his belly, eyes fixed on Crowley, muscles quivering.
“It’s ok.” Crowley swung his legs off the bed, hand reaching out. Aziraphale started back, standing on all fours, and Crowley’s heart stopped. Aziraphale hadn’t looked quite that big when he’d been lying down. He had to be about 150lbs, not a small man, although he tried to make himself appear so on occasions, but now that was all translated to wolf he loomed.
Crowley drew his hand back, an excited little chill weaving through his body at, not just the size and breadth of Aziraphale, but the space he took up. The moonlight soaked into that ghostly white fur, turning it iridescent and making his edges shimmer, and yet somehow the otherness made him look more real in the world than mundane things like carpet, or wardrobe, or Crowley himself.
It was like the day Crowley had delivered the chicken soup and been scared, but mostly because he thought he should be, because that would be the logical thing to feel. He’d also been fascinated and aroused and desperate to reach out.
That conflicted mess of emotion swept through him again, hot and sharp. So very good.
Aziraphale’s nose twitched. His nostrils flared. His eyebrows lifted as that anxious gaze of his became calmer, curious.
Crowley swallowed.
“I find you sexy like this, what of it?” Crowley snapped.
He wasn’t expecting a verbal response, but also wasn’t expecting the sheer expressiveness of Aziraphale’s face, all furred and snouted as it was. He looked surprised, and disbelieving, and although you couldn't see a blush beneath the fur he glanced away as though one was happening.
“Find you sexy no matter what you looked like,” Crowley grumbled defensively. “Find you sexy in tartan which is more outrageous than this.”
He’d never been one to adhere to labels, after all, always open to new ideas, and this was certainly an idea.
Aziraphale tilted his head. His lips tried to purse. If he could speak Crowley just knew he’d say something waspish in defence of tartan.
Crowley reached out again, leaning forward on the edge of the bed. “Stop doubting me and come here.”
A sharpness slipped into Azirapahle’s gaze, something keen and focused.
Crowley remembered how suddenly he’d sat down on the kitchen floor. Crowley may not have been able to smell interest, but he was pretty good and reading people. Important skill in prison, that was.
“You like that?”
Aziraphale looked away, looked back again, appearing, as far as a wolf could, sheepish.
Crowley licked at his suddenly very dry lips.
The moment tensed between them, a hungry gnawing, silence, spooling out endlessly.
Still, Crowley thought over the frantic leaping of his pulse, faint heart and all that.
“Come. Here.”
Aziraphale shook a bit, muscles contracting and flexing across his broad shoulders. His gaze was imploring.
“I’m sure,” Crowley said. He was. A certainty so liberating it left him floating. And Aziraphale had said he needed to be close to Crowley. As close as physics would let him.
And when he’d started to change he’d slid off the bed, probably bit his lip and convulsed in silence, and yet couldn’t bring himself to leave the room.
“Come here.” This time a more gentle plea than a command.
Aziraphale came. Slowly, the way he moved was deliberate, sinuous, and the way his eyes fixed on Crowley sent pinpricks of exhilaration darting over his flesh. He wasn’t sure who was prey here, who was really in control, but the buzz of not knowing, the buzz that the words he was speaking were not a magic spell that had conquered Aziraphale's will, that he was aware and was choosing to let Crowley call the shots was a drug. Aziraphale still wanted to please, but he could decide not to at any time.
Crowley sat on the edge of the bed and spread his knees. “Sit.”
Aziraphale was not dithering and anxious now. He was calm. Aware.
He sat between Crowley’s thighs, his nose near level with his chest.
Crowley’s breath was quick and wet. Every nerve tingled as he reached out, holding Aziraphale’s gentle gaze as he ran his hands over his skull, carefully stroked the velvet soft ears, and then leaned forward so he could push his fingers into his ruff.
Aziraphale lifted his front legs onto the bed, chin resting on Crowley’s shoulder, and the whiskers on his cheek tickling Crowley’s ear.
“Good boy,” Crowley’ breathed, as was rewarded with a loosening of the muscles being kneaded by his fingers, the weight of the head resting on him increasing, as Aziraphale let go a bit more.
“What do you need?”
Aziraphale pressed closer, a pleading whine humming through his throat.
“Whatever I can do.” Crowley tugged on Aziraphale’s ruff, pulling his head back so he could meet his silver-flecked eyes. “Anything.” Crowley tightened his grip. “And I really do mean anything.”
He did, despite only just starting to let himself acknowledge exactly what anything might entail.
Aziraphale nuzzled him, the tip of his tongue leaving a warm wet stripe along Crowley’s jaw.
Crowley tipped his head back, relaxing his grip so Aziraphale could move. His breath was hot and oddly sweet, and the sensation of fur brushing his bare chest made Crowley’s nipples pebble almost painfully.
Aziraphale was at his neck now, and that rasping tongue was joined by a hint of fang, a gentle drag as the points caught Crowley’s skin. He groaned.
Aziraphale paused, drew back.
“‘Sgood.” Crowley put his arms behind him, leaned back on his hands so his chest was arched slightly, his flesh offered up. He grinned. “My, but what big teeth you have.”
Aziraphale huffed. A laugh, but one that held exasperation too.
“Go on then, eat me up.” Crowley grinned.
The image of a wolf rolling his eyes was one that would stick forever in Crowley’s brain. He bit his lip on his own very unattractive snort. Then Aziraphale put his mouth to work on Crowley’s nipples and all amusement fled. He pressed into the sandpaper scrape of Aziraphale’s tongue, mouth slack as his breath heaved out of him.
His other nipple was tended too as well, tasted, savoured, nibbled.
The ache of Crowley’s erection felt lewd and perfect, tenting the front of his boxers. Was Aziraphale hard too?
Crowley’s body clenched, hips squirming. He had a good imagination and an insatiable curiosity.
“Anything,” he said again.
Aziraphale lapped at Crowley’s stomach and his muscles fluttered as he shifted his legs wider, making his arousal obvious, begging shamelessly. The whole room was steeped in moonlight, a silver gilt fantasy from another world.
Aziraphale’s teeth snagged the waistband of Crowley’s boxers, and when his tongue licked at Crowley’s cock through the scarlet material, his hips left the bed. He gripped Aziraphale’s shoulder, fingers pushing deep into fur.
Everything was heated and damp, all of it pleasure curling around Crowley's hips, settling deep at the base of his spine. He worked his other hand between their bodies, desperate to free his cock.
Aziraphale’s teeth were already scraping his hip. Crowley’s boxer seams split. Aziraphale’s jaws could probably suffocate an elk so a cotton polyester blend didn’t stand a chance.
Crowley tugged the ruins of them away, fingers uncoordinated and damp as Aziraphale’s tongue swept along the length of him.
“Oh! Fuck!” Crowley collapsed back on the bed, thrusting upwards. He held the remains of his boxers to his face and made himself acknowledge that there was a werewolf licking his cock, and now his balls, and it was glorious.
Crowley lifted his leg over Aziraphale’s shoulder, tilted his hips. That insistent, wonderfully rough tongue nudged Crowley’s hole. Too cautious, too tentative.
“Yes,” Crowley gasped. “I didn’t add kinky bastard to my litany of sins did I? Well, here we are.”
Another one of those huffed laughs ghosted over Crowley’s burning flesh. It was followed almost immediately by the tip of Aziraphale’s tongue breaching him, pushing in deep.
Crowley dissolved into a writhing mess of begging. He bit at his own underwear, still screwed up tight to his face and let it happen, let the bliss of it fill his veins.
This was more like what he’d expected the first time he went to bed with a werewolf. Not exactly what he’d expected the first time he went to bed with Aziraphale. Not that he hadn’t suspected that his mild-mannered neighbour had a kinky streak too, just that it would take Crowley longer to coax it out of him.
Clearly the full moon had done the work for him.
Aziraphale worked Crowley open, fucked him on his tongue with focused precision, as though being given permission had crushed the last of his concerns. When he found Crowley’s prostate he was merciless, driving Crowley to the edge of shattering and then pulling back until his breathing had steadied before torturing him again.
“I see what you’re doing,” Crowley whimpered, slick and open, a hot sticky mess of need, but still holding on to his snark by the tips of his fingers. “You think I can’t take it? I’m not coming until you’re - ah- fucking me.”
Aziraphale lifted his head, and Crowley protested at the loss of contact.
Crowley’s skin cooled as he pushed himself up on his elbows, chest heaving.
Aziraphale towered over him, head lowered, but eyes glancing up in furtive, worried little peeks.
“You don’t want to fuck me?” Crowley asked. “That’s fine.” He reached out, caressed Aziraphale’s jaw, using his thumb to wipe some of the dampness from his mouth. “Tonight is for you, what you need…”
Aziraphale closed his eyes, turning away. His haunches shifted, causing the bed to creak.
Crowley’s gaze dropped. Aziraphale’s cock hung hard and heavy between his back legs. It looked painfully red, precome dribbling from the tip.
“Looks like you need to though.” Crowley guided Aziraphale’s face back so he was looking at him. He did not think about how big Aziraphale was, or the shape of the knot bulging at the base of his cock. Crowley had probably never taken anything as big, but what he had taken had often been rough and careless. This would not be like that.
He kissed the edge of Aziraphale’s mouth, the fine hairs tickling his lips.
“What you need, remember? Or I can use my hand? Although,” he smiled, “that won't be as close as physics will let you?”
Aziraphale whined. A protest, but one so weak and unsure that Crowley just kissed him again.
“Fuck me,” Crowley said firmly. “Because I want you to, and you want to please me. Just tell me you have some lube first.”
There was lube in the bedside drawer, and doing it doggy style, of course, seemed the most sensible option. Crowley pressed his cheek into Aziraphale’s many pillows and a finger into his already wet and open entrance. His skin was chilled from the lack of contact with Aziraphale’s body, but also with anticipation. And the ice-hot burn of Aziraphale’s gaze on him, the hard pull and push of his breathing as he watched Crowley work a second, then a third finger into himself was already making Crowley grow close to unravelling again. His cock, which had flagged a tad, was now pushing insistently at nothing. It jumped, precome leaking from the tip as Aziraphale’s nose poked the back of his thigh, as his tongue joined Crowley’s fingers.
Crowley dug his teeth into the pillow. “I’m ready, fuck, Aziraphale, fuck. Fill me up, fuck me.”
His answer was the soft scratch of claws on his shoulders, pushing him into the sheets so his arse rose higher. Oh, fuck, yes , Crowley’s hindbrain whispered, dominate me.
Aziraphale’s fingers spread over him, his palms wide and heavy, holding Crowley down as well as cradling him, spanning his shoulder blades.
He shoved his arse back, breath wet against the pillow fabric.
Aziraphale pushed into him. Slow, excruciatingly slow, so Crowley felt every millimeter of the stretch. “Keep going.”
Crowley shifted his knees apart, the tip of his cock finding relief in the friction of rubbing the bed sheets. He could feel the ridges of Aziraphale’s cock pressing against his walls, as he drew back a bit, then pushed in again more firmly.
Crowley’s breath caught. There were no rational thoughts in his head beyond more , beyond Aziraphale’s weight, the pressure of his hands, those claws digging in a bit now as his breath shortened, a whimper as he began to pump in and out. Still too careful.
“My,” Crowley gasped, “what a big….”
Aziraphale’s teeth nipped the back of Crowley’s neck, sharp and disapproving. Crowley laughed, dancing on the edge of madness as Aziraphale’s thighs molded to his arse, as his knot began to swell.
Crowley moaned, an old, primal sound that was shocking coming from his mouth. He was stretched almost past pleasure, pain prickling through his awareness but adding a jagged sweetness to it.
One of Aziraphale’s hands moved, curling around Crowley’s own cock, large enough that the claws didn’t touch him. Although at this point Crowley was sure that would have just added to his arousal. He groaned, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as he was fucked down into the mattress, each thrust sending sparks of bliss shooting all the way to his fingertips and making his feet arch.
“Yes,” he hissed, body rocking in time with Aziraphale’s. “Good boy, go on and make me your bitch.”
Aziraphale thrusts stuttered as he started to lose control, the care that he’d been giving to Crowley falling apart as he chased his own ending. It pushed Crowley’s own orgasm closer. Aziraphale made a noise that was half-groan, half-mewl, as though biting back a howl as his hot seed filled Crowley up.
Crowley could do nothing but feel it, let himself be overwhelmed, a pulsing mad rush that sent him over the edge, his whole body shaking as he cried out into the pillow. He came so hard he felt cored out. Boneless. His knees gave, and still locked inside him, Aziraphale collapsed with him.
They curled up on their sides, still fixed together. Crowley reached behind him, stroking Azirapahle’s hip. “Good boy,” he whispered. “My very good boy.”
Aziraphale licked his neck, claws digging possessively into Crowley’s chest.
He fell asleep feeling held, and loved and very safe.
Sometime before dawn Crowley was pulled back into a pair of strong arms. Less claw this time, less hair. He would miss the beard. It was still Aziraphale through. Always Aziraphale.
“Please.” Aziraphale’s voice was raw from disuse, his breath broken against Crowley’s ear. “May I? I need to feel you everywhere.”
“I’m here.” He was. Nowhere else.
Still half-dreaming, Crowley lifted his leg, took Aziraphale back inside himself, slow and deep and sleepy. He was still sticky, still open and they glided together without fuss. They barely moved and Crowley kept his eyes closed letting Aziraphale smooth out his broken edges again and put him carefully back together. He moaned his approval, hoping he’d done the same service for Aziraphale, that whatever painful ghosts haunted him could be laid to rest, at least for a while.
Crowley drifted off again, sated and cared for, with Aziraphale calling him darling and stroking his chest.
Crowley started awake, jerking upright at the sound of a door crashing open. The world was too bright, his hurtle into alertness too sudden. Aziraphale growled, and it made Crowley’s whole being vibrate. A human throat shouldn’t be able to make that noise, but Aziraphale looked human. Or his back did, at any rate. Human shoulders, the vulnerable back of his neck tickled by those blond curls.
He’d somehow managed to get himself between Crowley and whoever had just barged through the bedroom door.
“Neither of you were answering your phones,” Anathema said in a voice that held no hint of an apology. She breezed to the bedside table, completely unphased by the two rather sticky, naked men tangled up in the bedsheets.
“Tea for Aziraphale.” Anathema placed the travel mug next to the bedside lamp. “Too sweet, too strong, too milky. Stop growling, Az or I will bop you on the nose, so help me.”
“You could have warned us.” Aziraphale still sounded half-animal, but very much the chastised kind.
His muscles relaxed though as Crowley rubbed between his shoulder blades.
Anathema glanced at him. Her smile was genuine and bright, and so very proud. Crowley tried not to blush and failed miserably.
“Coffee for Crowley.” Anathema put down the second mug. “As black as he pretends his soul is. And danishes!” A paper bag joined the cups. “Please,” her gaze dropped down to the bed, “don’t get up to thank me. Just glad you’re both still alive.”
“Was there ever any doubt?” Crowley asked.
Anathema shrugged. “I had faith. You both did well. Good boys.”
She swept from the room, closing the door behind her more gently than she had when she entered.
The atmosphere in the room settled. The breeze crept back through the open window, carrying the tang of salt, and the sound of the sea lapping against the beach.
Aziraphale shifted, he held out the coffee cup without making eye contact. “There you are.”
Crowley took the cup and placed his hand on Aziraphale’s jaw, now smooth and beardless. “We’re ok,” he said. “Very much ok.”
Aziraphale glanced up, eyes grateful and slightly teary at the edges.
“And I, ur,” Crowley grinned. “I always wanted a dog when I was growing up.”
Aziraphale’s lips he parted. He wiped his widening eyes. “Oh, fuck off.”
Which just made Crowley laugh with delight. “Want to go for a walk on the beach later? You owe me for the amount of times you ducked out on me the last few weeks.”
“For your own safety! Infuriating man.”
“Safe now, aren’t I? We both are.”
Aziraphale shuddered a bit, his forehead came to rest on Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley reached up with his free hand, stroking the back of his neck, dragging the tips of his nails through the hair behind Aziraphale’s ear.
“Yes,” Aziraphale whispered. “Yes, we are.”