Chapter Text
The silence that followed was deafening.
It was the type of silence that formed around the absence of something. Heavy and stifling, worse than any words that could have replaced it.
Still, Crowley felt the words knock at the back of his teeth, clenched his jaw even harder. Or maybe not. Because what he wanted to say, what he was desperate to utter, what the silence was goading him into, it- It wasn't something he could let himself do.
It wasn't something Aziraphale could forgive.
The evidence of his sin was quickly pooling between their trembling bodies and Crowley tried not to look, tried to fight the bile rising in his throat. He had done that, he had marked delicate white skin and how dare he, how dare he ask for more. How dare his hands skirt over innocence, spread disease and rot with every knuckle pressed.
His head was laying on Aziraphale's shoulder, too heavy to move. Or at least that's what he told himself, the lie not as bitter as the truth dissolving in his mouth.
He needed more.
His skin engulfed in flames, cool relief only where it was touching the angel and he was shaking again, desperation and something worse growing in the shade of his brief respite. Crowley watched as his fingers dug into the mess he had left on the angel's hip, denied the brief flare of possessiveness at the mark. His. Nobody else's. Only his, always. That's what Aziraphale had said, wasn't it, when Crowley had begged him to. That's what his angel had vowed and he would hold him to that. Aziraphale was his, for now, while the pain ravaged his body.
A flick of the wrist and all trace of what had happened was gone, all of it, and he wanted to banish the memory of it just as easily. But, of course, he couldn't.
He watched as his hand inched up, the soft of the angel's belly, up, the round of his ribs, before it nested right on top of its goal. Aziraphale's heart was thumping under him, frantic and wild and alive, and Crowley pressed against it, against the only thing he had ever wanted.
"It- it didn't work, did it?" Aziraphale's question, more a series of gasps than words, drifted towards him in the haze.
But Crowley was prepared, Crowley knew what to do. He shook his head, forced the tentacles of his depravity away from warmth and love and perfection. Next was his body, a slightly more devastating affair but nothing he couldn't manage. Not when it came to Aziraphale, not when it meant not hurting him more than he already had.
The moment he was away from his angel, the pain was back, searing and all-consuming, making his eyes swim with agony. There were pleas, stacking in his throat, calls for mercy, for more, for anything. His jaw screeched with the force he applied keeping it shut.
Aziraphale was looking at him, eyes strangely shuttered, before he was nodding to himself. His head thumped against the door as he leaned back, took a deep breath, and Crowley almost wished he had his hand on his chest again so he could feel it move, flutter beneath him. So he could sink his nails into it, so he could claw at it until it was just as exposed as his own bleeding mess.
The desire so vivid, it was almost like a punch to the stomach and he stumbled backwards, hands raising to protect himself from another hit. He couldn't do this. He couldn't be here. He opened his mouth to chase Aziraphale away, make it clear exactly what was going to happen to him if he didn't leave. He would be honest if he had to, he knew he had no other choice. He would tell him about every vile thing he wanted to do to him, every mark he wanted to press against his skin, every sin, every bruise he could already see blooming across soft skin. He would reveal all of the rot and scum inside of him until Aziraphale left.
Until he was safe.
What came out of his mouth instead was, "Satan, angel, you don't know what you do to me."
Aziraphale shuddered before him and with his palms pressed against the door and his ramrod straight posture he looked like a feast for the famine inside the demon's soul. All laid out, just for him, if he just-
Aziraphale nodded to himself again, before pushing away from the door, and there was relief running down Crowley's throat, tangerine-sweet and just as short-lived. Because there was also a strong hand wrapping around his wrist, dragging him after the angel.
"I am sorry, my dear, I know you don't want this. But I am not leaving you to suffer through this alone." The hand around him tightened as if the angel could sense the objections in his heart and the pleas burning his tongue. "And if we are to continue this, I prefer we didn't do it against the door. Ethereal or not, our knees are only human."
Aziraphale smiled, as if trying to goad him into sharing in the joke with him. When Crowley could offer nothing more than a blank stare and control over his limbs, which currently ached to wrap around the angel's naked form, the smile twitched. Disappeared. Just as quickly as it had blossomed.
And then Crowley was being pushed down his bed, Aziraphale quickly climbing on top of him. Strong thighs bracketed his own as hands pressed his chest down. As if trying to make him stay, trying to stop him from running away.
As if he could. As if he would have ever been able to.
The pain was back again, spreading through his body like wildfire, scorching and just as devastating.
"You'll be the death of me, fuck," Crowley growled, fingers quickly curling around strong thighs, kneading and squeezing at the flesh.
Aziraphale was trembling on top of him, hips shifting into the touch, each minute movement addictive. He was gorgeous, so perfect that it was almost enough to make Crowley weep, with his wild hair and flushed cheeks and determination swimming in the oceans of his eyes. He was gorgeous and he was his, if only for this moment. He was Crowley's and the demon shouldn't have felt joy at the thought, shouldn't have felt his heart swell with something that even now, he couldn't possibly let himself name.
Something wet landed on Crowley's cheek and he didn't move to touch it, the idea of letting go of all this perfect skin on top of him almost sacrilegious. He didn't need to, the wetness slid further, brushed over his lips and he could taste the salt of it and he realised he was crying.
Aziraphale must have noticed at the same moment. And just as quickly, he was bending down, pressing a palm against Crowley's side, his lips brushing his other cheek.
"Please, please, don't-" Aziraphale pleaded in his ruined voice and it shouldn't have felt so horrible. Of course it was. Here Aziraphale was, naked and vulnerable and giving himself to the demon. And yet, he was the one comforting Crowley, pressing kindness-shaped bruises into his skin, kissing the hurt away. "It's okay."
Crowley leant away from the touch, head instead sinking into the mattress. It wasn't okay. He didn't deserve this, he would never deserve this. Just the realisation of that made fresh tears tumble out of his eyes and he had to press a hand against his mouth to stop anything as pathetic as a sob escaping into the world. He couldn't do this. He couldn't, he would rather waste away in his apartment, in grief and pain and with only the memory of the angel's touch to keep him warm. He couldn't-
Aziraphale had let himself be pushed away from the demon's face but the only thing Crowley had accomplished was to make that dangerous mouth move further down his body. The angel was pressing soft kisses against his collarbone, hands rubbing soothing circles against Crowley's fluttering heart.
"Let me do this for you, Crowley, please," Aziraphale whispered, when he felt the demon's eyes on him. He straightened up, the movement making his body brush against the part of Crowley, which throughout everything had remained more interested in the ethereal warmth on top of him rather than anything as trivial as feelings. "Let me take care of you."
It would have been easier if Crowley could somehow delude himself that Aziraphale would enjoy this, if the lies that the angel would want this, could ever want this, didn't taste bitter on his tongue. Because Aziraphale might have been the one to push him down and climb on top of him, but Crowley didn't need to have known him for millennia to see the way he was biting into his lip, the unsure way his gaze flickered up and down Crowley's body and never once settling onto his eyes. The way he would tremble, ever so slightly, whenever Crowley dared to let his hands wander from the safe perch they had found on his waist.
Was this how this would go? Crowley - desperate and shaking, filled with shame and bile and anger. And his angel trying to calm him down, just as terrified, just as full of horror? His hold tightened, fingers digging into skin as he tried to focus, tried to think.
The pain was back, just as intense as before and it didn't make sense. It couldn't possibly make sense. Not when Aziraphale was laying soft kisses across his chest and his mouth, Satan himself, his mouth looked so soft, so pink and Crowley knew what it tasted like now. He wanted to taste it again, he wanted to beg for it on him and the words were choking him, crowding his chest and his throat and it hurt. It hurt so fucking much.
"Please, stop, angel. Just for a moment," he whispered, voice as wrecked and hoarse as if he had spent all this time screaming out loud and not only in his head. "Satan, you should see yourself. You are like a vision, so perfect, so- You don't know how beautiful you are, you can't possibly. You wouldn't be here if you did, you wouldn't possibly let me-"
He managed to snap his mouth shut but it hardly mattered. He had succeeded. Aziraphale was finally looking at him, frozen on his lap, a gorgeous and devastating statue, his eyes wet and shining. And the pressure on his chest was better now, not gone, not at all, but- Lighter, somehow. He felt like he could breathe again, like the words burning his insides were material things, each one heavy around his heart and when he had let them out, the weight of them had gone too. The pain was better too, and he tried to think, tried to focus through the fog of shame and humiliation.
The pain had eased the moment he had opened his mouth, the moment he had let all the poison flow freely out of him and he... He realised. It wasn't Aziraphale's touch making it better. Not his kiss, not his caress, so readily given. It was all those words he had whispered in the soft of the angel's body, confessions and promises and pleas, all tumbled into one, all wretched and sinful. The compulsion to touch, to hold, was caused by it, yes, but only because it was a part of his deepest secret. The one thing he had vowed to never reveal to his angel. Never say to his angel.
The horror of the realisation should have felt sharper, should have been more cutting. It wasn't. With a sudden clarity, he understood, what Hell had been trying to do. It wasn't about tempting him into lust, pushing him to corrupt an angel. No, that was easy, that could be waved away with the fact that he had been forced to do this. They wanted him to reveal his worst secret, all the darkness and rot inside of him. And they wanted him to do it in a way he could never walk back, he could never deny. Could never run away from.
Panic was squeezing at his chest, panic and those words he knew now he had no choice but to say and they were hot and burning in his throat. Making him wonder if they could leave a physical imprint. A neat little 'You are my world' branded across his neck that Aziraphale could look at, could read and wouldn't be able to ignore. Wouldn't be able to wave away like he had done with the lust and the greed of his hands.
And then he would leave.
And then Crowley would be alone.
"You are my best friend," instead Crowley whispered in the still of the room. The words were ancient, as old as the Earth, he had felt them glide out of the cavity in his chest and slide over all those new and irrelevant feelings. He hoped it would be enough. He let his mouth open, readied himself to clench it shut the moment anything worse tried to break the surface. He wasn't quick enough. "Your hands, angel, need them on me. Please, fuck, you are driving me cr-"
Aziraphale had stilled on top of him, eyes wide and worried, but otherwise making no move to stop him. He must have realised this was important to Crowley, not a token protest, not something he could shush with with his lips. His hands were still rubbing soothing circles on the demon's chest and Crowley could feel himself twitch eagerly towards the caress, could feel his hips rock up gently, chasing delicious heat.
"I would do anything for you," he tried again. A more recent truth, but just as sickly sweet as it dissolved against his tongue. Still shameful, still forbidden. Enough, he hoped.
He watched as his hands slid down from the angel's waist, coiled around his thighs. Pushed him down to where he needed him the most. Aziraphale stumbled back, drew a little circle with his hips against Crowley's cock, before he managed to straighten himself up, body back to hovering over the demon's.
"Forgive me, my dear," Aziraphale gasped, voice tense as he struggled against the pressure of Crowley's hands. "Lord, I forget sometimes- How strong you are."
And that, that was just unfair, because all Crowley could think about now was flipping them over and holding the angel down as he rutted against him and, oh, Satan, his hands were moving up, curling around a delectable waist and he could feel the muscles on his arms bracing and-
"I am yours," he almost yelped, desperate to put a stop to this before it was too late. This was as far as he could go, as much as he could admit, even to himself. Surely, it would be enough. Surely, his body would know that he would rather die than let the other secret tear away from the burrow it had made in his heart. "Have been yours ever since the wall, ever since I saw you on that wall. Satan, please, I can't take this anymore."
It was as bad as a confession, worse, even, because now Aziraphale would know how deep this ran, how ancient it was. He would know and he would be disgusted, of course he would be. How could he not? A wretched demon that had been pining for him ever since the moment their eyes had met, under a storm of feathers and rain.
The tears were burning at his eyes again and he tried to take a deep breath, tried to squeeze them shut, tried to stop it but no matter what he did, the reminder of what he was losing was all around him. The scent of the angel, his warmth, the gentle touch of his hand, now curling around his cheek, patting it gently.
"It's alright, my darling. It will all be over soon," Aziraphale was saying, a soothing vow that he wouldn't be able to keep. Not when Crowley told him the truth, not when all the darkness inside the demon was festering on the surface.
Crowley would rather die.
'Don't worry. It won't kill you'
"It won't kill me," he repeated out loud, somewhat dazedly, eyes snapping open to drown in pools of kindness. He tried to push at the body on top of him, even as his hands decided to clutch tighter instead.
Aziraphale's eyes narrowed, like he knew exactly where this was going. He didn't stop petting at his cheek. "What?"
"The pain, it won't kill me. Beelzebub confirmed it before they left."
He should have felt elation at that and he would, he knew he would, the moment the angel was off his lap and dressed in his stuffy clothes. The moment he didn't have all this white skin on display before him, to touch and kiss and burn the memory of inside his mind until there was nothing else but the angel that existed in his head. He would be fine. He could do this.
Aziraphale tilted his head upwards with a huff. "Yes, why don't we trust the demon that got you into this mess in the first place. I'm sure they won't lie to you."
But Crowley shook his head, now that the fog had cleared, now that the end was in sight it was becoming terribly easy to think.
"They couldn't lie. Not after they had the wine. I can't-"
He snapped his mouth shut but the damage was already done. Everything he had said, every admission, every plea. Aziraphale had thought it was a product of whatever was in the wine, he had waved the words away. He had as much as permitted him to bare the bloody, disgusting thing he called a heart and pretend it was not a rotten, putrid mess.
Now, he would know.
Aziraphale would know and he would leave and Crowley should have probably kept his bloody mouth shut and just taken this. Just laid here and taken the careful hands and the soft kisses and betrayed the only creature he had ever cared about. He wasn't made to be loved, to be kissed and held gently. This had been his only chance.
His thumbs were rubbing circles into soft hipbones and he snatched his hands away, curled them into fists at his sides.
"You can leave, angel. I'll be fine."
That was the truth and he almost wept in relief as the words left him, easy and truthful. He squeezed his eyes shut, he couldn't bear the thought of crying in front of the angel again. He would be fine. He had lived millennia with this ache inside his heart, he would learn to live with this pain too. The alternative was far worse.
He wouldn't be able to learn to live without Aziraphale.
He was going to be fine. He had to be.
The warmth was back, pressing against his face, and Aziraphale was shifting, leaning forward until Crowley could feel his breath on his neck. Even the surge of arousal that licked at his bones couldn't distract him from the terror of what he was sure would follow.
And he was right.
"Can you lie to me?" Aziraphale asked, voice unnaturally breathless. As if he was the one being flayed open, having all of the darkness inside of him thrust into the light. As if he was the one on the precipice of something terrifying and alien.
Crowley nodded quickly, hoped the way his breath stuttered in his chest would not give him away. Hoped Aziraphale would believe him, would let him have this one delusion to cling to.
"Your words, Crowley," the angel whispered, as if a sacred vow. His thumb left its perch on Crowley's cheekbone to trace over his lips. "I know this is hurting you, darling, I'm so sorry. But I would need you to use your words."
And how could Crowley deny him that, how could he say no. It didn't matter how utterly humiliating it was, undemonic and pathetic.
"No, I can't- Can't lie to your, angel. Never could, really, not about this. Not about how much I-" Crowley bit at his tongue, tasted the blood tickling down the back of his throat. Not that. He could not say that. Please, don't make him say that.
The hand on him snatched back, leaving his cheek freezing and then the whole of him was shuddering in the cold as Aziraphale drew himself up, shifted off his lap and away. Like Crowley knew he would. Why was he surprised, why was his glass heart fracturing inside his ribs? Hadn't he told it, so many times before. This was the only way this could end.
Instead, the angel was curling next to him, sliding a hand over his chest, a gentle, soothing caress, that despite everything, managed to slow the hammer of Crowley's heart.
Aziraphale hadn't left which felt like a balm on his rubbed-raw skin until Crowley realised that meant they would need to talk about this. Now, when he couldn't lie. Now, when Aziraphale knew that he couldn't.
As if having read his thoughts, Aziraphale whispered, "I won't force you to talk to me, I don't- I don't wish to take advantage. If you don't want to answer, my dear, just shake your head. I'll move on to something different."
Crowley nodded. What else could he do? He didn't open his eyes, though, not yet. Not ever, if he could help it.
"Would it help if we were to continue this?"
For a moment, Crowley considered saying yes, taking what he could from the angel, before he had decided to leave him. It wouldn't even be a lie, he wouldn't even have to force himself to say it. It would help, the angel's gentle touch would stave off the tendrils of pain. For a little while, yes, but maybe enough for him to get Aziraphale to leave.
It wasn't worth it. Of course, it wasn't. Taking this from the angel was not a price he was willing to pay.
"No."
The hand on his chest twitched, fingers curling into a fist for just a second, before Aziraphale forced them to relax again, get back to the way they were soothing at the hurt in his ribcage.
"The thing you don't- you don't want to say, would that help? Would that stop the pain? Saying it?"
Crowley finally opened his eyes. There was no use fighting this. Even the words inside his throat could sense that this was how it all ended. He met Aziraphale's gaze, noted the way the angel was looking at him with a clarity only obtainable by those staring down the blade of their own guillotine. Aziraphale's eyebrows were drawn together, his teeth digging into soft lips. He looked worried, but more than that, he looked fragile. Like he was aware of the glass nature of the air between them, the serrated edges that surrounded them.
"Yes." In the stillness of the room, the single word rung like a vow.
Aziraphale sucked in a breath through his teeth. Shifted closer, just slightly, just enough so his body was pressing against Crowley's side.
"Do you want to say it? Please, darling- Would you say it?" The angel's voice was almost desperate and on pure instinct, Crowley felt his jaw unhinge, felt the words unhook the claws they had sunk into his heart millennia ago. His throat convulsed pushing them up, the air vibrated as if moving away to make space for them.
Nothing.
He couldn't. Not like this. Not here, surrounded by desperation and swallowed by shame. Not forced into it against his own wishes.
Aziraphale waited for a beat and then he was nodding. Pressing a kiss to sooth the tremors Crowley hadn't even noticed had taken control over his body. Resting his head against Crowley's still fluttering heart. He shifted slightly, enough to prop most of his limbs on top of the demon's body and Crowley knew he should have felt suffocated but all he could really feel was... warmth. Heat and happiness and the pain was almost completely gone now, still lurking in the shadows but far away enough for Crowley to actually enjoy this.
"I'm sorry." It wasn't enough but hopefully it was a start. Hopefully, it would keep Aziraphale in his arms for just a little longer.
The angel shook his head, his curls dragging against feverish skin and Crowley tracked their movement with lazy hunger.
"No. I know you don't want this, not like this. We will figure it out." Aziraphale shifted his head, chin digging at Crowley's chest as he blinked up at him. Despite it all, he was smiling, a tentative little thing. "I have known for a while now. The thing- the one you won't say."
Crowley flinched. Moved to get away. But Aziraphale knew him well enough and he was already wrapped around him tightly.
He couldn't run away. He couldn't escape the horror in the distance, barrelling towards him.
Aziraphale's lips brushed against his throat. "I feel the same way," the angel whispered, safely tucked away from view. Pressed another kiss against his collarbone. Then another one, and another, all the way towards his shoulder. All while Crowley stood frozen, not even trying to escape now, a prey animal playing dead, hoping that the kill would be swift enough not to hurt.
"I love you."
It wasn't swift. The pain started out from his chest, every ornate organ flickering out of existence for a moment before shifting back into place with a searing flutter. Then his throat, squeezing once again, valiantly trying to wish into existence those words embedded into his very soul. And then it was his skin, every inch of it burning as if being branded by those three little words, over and over and over again until nothing else mattered. Until nothing else existed, just them and the angel's confession.
And through it all, Aziraphale held him, chasing the hurt away, a kiss here, a caress there. Whispering sweet nothings into his skin, teaching him the meaning of those words. The most important of words.
And when it was all over, Crowley came to himself, warm and relieved and loved and he wanted to say it, he did. Aziraphale deserved to hear it. The pain was gone but that didn't matter, that couldn't have mattered because it hadn't been enough to force him to say those words. Before. He could now. He had to or else...
"I-" And yet, he found himself unable to, his heart too full but his lungs too empty.
"I-" He tried again. It was the least he could do. He had to. He felt the words stir in his chest again and he begged them, just this once, to help him. Aziraphale was looking at him, no doubt expecting Crowley to say it back. And if Crowley didn't then Aziraphale would know how broken he was, how unable to love he truly was and he would leave and he would never come back and, worst of all, Crowley would know he could have had it all. If he had just. Said. Those. Words.
"I-"
Aziraphale kissed him. A gentle, loving thing, a simple brush of lips and Crowley knew he couldn't say those words, but he could press them into the angel's lips, sink all of his affection in the way he caressed the angel's body, let every endearment he couldn't voice shimmer in the air between them.
When they separated, Aziraphale smiled at him. And when he pressed a hand to his cheek, it felt like a welcome and not the goodbye Crowley had been expecting.
"I know. I know you do. You don't have to say it. It's okay."
And when Aziraphale leaned down to kiss him again, it tasted like absolution. Maybe the angel did know. Maybe Crowley didn't have to say it.
Maybe it would be okay.