Work Header

Going Down, Going Up

Work Text:

Crowley shifted his weight from one foot, then the other, barely resisting the urge to jump up and down with the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He tugged on the bow tie at his throat, which had been choking him steadily for the last few hours, and tapped one foot impatiently while he waited for the elevator to arrive.

It had worked. He couldn't believe it, like actually did not believe it. How had that worked? The looks on their faces had been priceless, and the only unfortunate part was that they would never know, could never know just how much pleasure Crowley had taken in scaring the utter piss out of them -- Gabriel had nearly jumped out of his own skin in his eagerness to shield them from the plume of hellfire. Uriel's face! Utter horror! And it really took a lot to shake that one, Crowley remembered. Unflappable, they used to call them. Unflappable Uriel. Well they had certainly been flapped today. He couldn't wipe the stupid grin off his face.

Finally, the elevator dinged, and he all but skipped inside.

All right, don't get cocky… he reminded himself. You can only hope things went so well with the angel.

Well, he would know soon enough. And really… Downstairs didn't have the sort of imagination to see through such a deception -- Anyway, Crowley had a feeling he would already know if anything had gone awry. The information would probably have made itself known in the form of Satan bursting Crowley's eardrums with a bloodcurdling scream, followed by a lockdown of the entire building while they set the hounds to work looking for him.

Just have to make it out of the building and find Aziraphale. Then we're off, scot free.

Until he actually saw the angel, unharmed, he wouldn’t be able to shake off that last little bit of mortal terror that was still dancing around his insides.

He was just approaching Level 98 when the elevator dinged and crawled to a stop.

Oh, shit, thought Crowley. They've realized their mistake and come after me. Who else would be getting on from here?

The doors opened to… empty space.

Crowley held his breath. When no vengeful angels leapt forward to grab him, he cautiously leaned out, peaking between the stainless steel elevator doors.

A large potted plant nearby let out an audible squeak, and began rustling.

For half a second, Crowley didn't know what to make of it. Was this one of his? Terrified in the presence of its master and expecting a tongue lashing about the state of its fronds? (Which actually looked rather perfect, because… Heaven.) That didn't make sense. How could one of his have gotten up here?

A second later, a familiar (very familiar, actually) form came stumbling out from the foliage. It was… him. Crowley. Well, it wasn't Crowley, of course, but by all physical appearances…

"Angel?!" Crowley exclaimed in a fierce whisper. "What the Heaven are you doing up here?'

"Oh, Crowley!" Aziraphale, wearing Crowley's face, shouted back in a hushed tone. "You made it!"

In their mutual surprise, they had both dropped the false voices they’d been using to pass as each other. It was an odd thing to hear Aziraphale’s familiar falsetto coming out of Crowley’s own mouth, and vice versa, but certainly it was easier.

Crowley stopped the elevator door from closing with one outstretched arm, and furiously beckoned Aziraphale over with the other. "Get in here, before someone sees you!"

Aziraphale leapt toward the elevator, ducking inside. Crowley spared the corridor one last glance as the doors closed, and breathed a small sigh of relief. No one.

He turned to the angel wearing his face. "Are you mad?! What were you doing up here?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear boy! I just couldn't wait. Had to see how things went with you, so I thought I'd just pop up here and wait for you to come by. Had to press the button a few times, but here you are at last!"

"Why are you half naked?" Crowley looked down at the loosely wrapped bundle in Aziraphale's arms. "Are those my clothes?"

"Oh yes," said the angel, "Well, I didn't want to muss your jacket, so-- but not to worry, everything's dry, perfectly safe. Did a quick drying miracle there while I was waiting for you."

"You really should have just gone on to the park like we planned. Anyone could have come by and seen you there, angel."

Aziraphale had the good manners to look chagrined. The expression looked very odd wearing Crowley's own features. "Oh, I know," said Aziraphale. "Was just feeling a bit giddy, I suppose." He grinned, looking down at Crowley. "Can you believe that actually worked?"

Looking down at him. Well, that was certainly new, the demon thought.

"No. I can't, actually," he said, feeling a bit giddy himself.

They stood there for a moment, just grinning stupidly at each other while the elevator whirred away, the many floors of Heaven beeping by one by one… 95… 94… 93…

They were going to be here a while. And now that they had a free moment, Crowley was struck by how… interesting it was to see Aziraphale looking out at him through his own snake slitted eyes. He let his gaze fall, giving the angel a once over.

Aziraphale's eyes darted, nervous under the quiet scrutiny. "You're at least 90% leg, do you know that?" He said, hugging the bundle of clothing a bit closer to his chest. "Don't know how you walk in this thing."

"It's more of an upright slither, really," Crowley mused, taking in the angular lines of his own face. Bit pretty, those cheekbones, even if he did say so himself.

"I see. So..." Aziraphale trailed off. He was suddenly very distracted by the intense blue of Crowley's eyes. Because of course, technically speaking, they were Crowley's eyes, it was just that at the moment… they looked exactly like Aziraphale's own eyes. The ones he'd been wearing for the last 6000 years, anyway.

Only, Aziraphale had never paid such close attention to what they looked like, and had never seen them from this particular vantage point. It was a known fact that mirror images were never true to life, and so one could never see one's own face exactly as it was.

There was also the matter that Aziraphale was… pretty sure… he had never looked at anyone or anything with quite the expression of open lust that Crowley was looking at him, Aziraphale, with those eyes right now.

Without breaking eye contact, Crowley began to carefully remove Aziraphale's coat, letting it drop to the tile.

"How many floors to ground level?" he asked, ignoring the pointed glare this clothing crime had earned him from the angel.

Aziraphale looked up where the digital readout had just hit 87. "We have some time…" he said, picking up on where Crowley was going with this. "What is it they call it? A 'fast one?'"

Crowley leaned in, attacking the angel's mouth with a rough kiss. "A quickie, angel. A 'fast one' is what we just did. We 'pulled a fast one' on them."

"Mmpull a fast one on you," Aziraphale mumbled through the kiss.

"Shaddup," Crowley said, gripping the angel's naked shoulders. Aziraphale responded in kind, grabbing Crowley by the blue lapels of his own button down, making the bundle of clothing between them tumble to the floor in a heap.

Crowley backed them up against the wall, grinning when Aziraphale's shoulders made a satisfying smack of flesh against glass.

Aziraphale pulled away long enough to give Crowley a meaningful look. "So that's how it's going to be?"

"Just for today?" Crowley raised an eyebrow, already tugging at the tight undershirt and pulling it over Aziraphale's head. He tossed it behind him, adding it to the pile of clothing already at their feet.

"Well," crooned Aziraphale, already wrapping his ankles around the small of Crowley's back, "Not just today, dear. You could be on top whenever you like. Surely you know all you have to do is ask... nicely."

Crowley growled, pushing the angel's thin, oh so familiar body easily up the wall, bracing him there. "--mmnot nice!"

"Whatever you say, darling."

It was incredible, really, how little this body weighed. He slid Aziraphale up higher on the wall, knocking his ankles free and leaving his legs to hang lose. Crowley found that it was quite an easy thing to press his one hand up into Aziraphale’s solar plexus and hold the angel there against the wall. Meanwhile, Crowley used his free hand to wrench the soft black underwear down over those spindly, boney legs he loved so much, leaving the stretchy fabric to cling about the knees. He became distracted briefly by one of the finely shaped calves, and stroked it with the palm of his hand.

Aziraphale scoffed, watching Crowley fondle the leg. “Bit in love with ourself, aren’t we?”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” Crowley bit back. “You love this body,” he said, smacking the free hand against his own chest.

Aziraphale glanced away, uncharacteristically shy. “Well, parts of it.”

Crowley had already moved in to take the angel’s cock into his mouth. He might as well; it was currently at mouth level, after all. He stopped short, stunned by Aziraphale’s statement. “What?” he said, looking up to meet Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Oh nothing; get on with it. We don’t have much time,” said the angel, grabbing Crowley by the shoulders to lean on him for support. He shimmied the underwear off his legs, then tucked shins easily under the demon’s arms, clutching his ribcage with deceptively small but powerful calf muscles.

Crowley moaned at the pressure constricting him on either side of his body, and took Aziraphale’s cock into his mouth in one smooth motion. He noted, briefly, that it wasn’t so difficult to do, as this cock was smaller and thinner than Aziraphale’s usual… make and model.

He gripped Aziraphale’s hips hard with both hands, bracing him against the glass while he hollowed his cheeks and… applied himself to the task. Crowley had no idea how many floors they had left to go, and he wasn’t about to either 1) come up for air long enough to ask Aziraphale, or 2) turn around to find out himself.

It occurred to him suddenly that this was a view Aziraphale had been privy to many times. And, quite honestly, it wasn’t a bad one. Maybe it was a bit narcissistic of him, but the view of those hips from here really was incredible. And they were working hard right now -- pumping backwards and forwards in time with each thrust of Crowley’s hungry mouth.

For his part, Aziraphale was equally transfixed by the view from above. Crowley’s lips -- well, Aziraphale’s own lips, for all intents and purposes -- they were beautiful. They were the round pliant lips of a lover in a Renaissance painting. (Which made perfect sense. Aziraphale had posed for enough of them during the period, after all). They were soft and rosy and wet in a way that would have been erotic even if they weren’t currently wrapped around his cock and pummeling him into ever encroaching oblivion.

The angel bit down on his own lower lip, watching Crowley watch him; blue eyes open, brow furrowed in concentration and something like awe. Aziraphale shifted, placing a hand on the top of Crowley’s head, gripping soft white curls and appreciating them in a way he never quite had before. He felt the orgasm start to take over, and threw his head back, letting out a high keening moan.

Crowley’s own erection was pressing uncomfortably against his trousers, and twitched at the sight of Aziraphale’s neck curved back in pleasure. He ignored it, redoubling his efforts. He let his hands slide down just a bit from Aziraphale’s hips, to his thighs, pressing his legs apart just enough to apply some extra pressure.

“C-Crowley! I’m--” the angel sputtered, grasping desperately at the back of Crowley’s head. Crowley hummed with understanding as the first jet of come hit the back of his throat.

The angel’s fingers had become entwined in the soft white curls, and held on tightly there while the orgasm coursed through his body in rolling waves.

Aziraphale went limp, and Crowley let him slide to the floor gradually until he’d found his feet again. “All right, angel?”

“Mm-fine,” Aziraphale murmured, glancing up at the floor numbers ticking by. “69!” He exclaimed, scrambling to find his balance.

“Not sure we’ve got time for all that…” said Crowley.

“No, no, we’re on the 69th floor, Crowley. Here.”

The angel grabbed Crowley by the lapels, pulling him close and kissing him. Those soft pliant lips. He’d had no idea. Aziraphale sucked the bottom lip, worrying it between his own, and sighed when Crowley let out a moan that said 69 floors would be plenty enough to get this thing done, and thank you very much.

Crowley had just enough presence of mind left to have a thought. He pulled away from Aziraphale’s kiss, a skeptical look in his eye. “What did you mean, parts of it?”

“Oh, Crowley, it hardly matters!” The angel tugged the blue collar, pitching Crowley forward, and climbed Crowley rather like a tree -- using his ample hips and thighs as a step ladder to press his own body up against the glass wall again. He wrapped his legs around Crowley’s waist, hoisting himself into the air. “This body is so light, Crowley, feels almost like I’m weightless! I could fly away, if you’re not careful, and hardly even need wings!”

The demon thrust his hips forward, securing Aziraphale to the wall. “You’re not flying anywhere, angel. Stay right there and watch this.”

Crowley tore the bow tie from his neck and began quickly divesting himself of the waistcoat and then the blue button down. He was careful not to pop any buttons as his thick deft fingers scrabbled down the line of them.

“What are you doing? That’s hardly necessary,” protested Aziraphale.

“Beg to differ,” huffed the demon, wriggling his arms free and tossing the shirt aside. There was a white undershirt too (because of course there was) and that he was less careful with, ripping it over his head and hurling it away. His pants had come half undone while he was tugging the shirt tails free of the waistband, and it was a simple thing to rip the fly all the way open. He let the trousers fall to his ankles, underwear going along with them.

Aziraphale blanched, glancing away.

“Look, angel,” said Crowley, slipping one hand beneath Aziraphale, cupping one skinny ass cheek and thrusting upwards with his own quite powerful thighs. “Look how goddamn pretty you are.”

“Crowley, honestly…” Aziraphale squirmed. Crowley didn’t waste any time. He grabbed both cheeks, spreading them and lining their bodies up perfectly.

“You ready, angel?”

“Yes, yes! Just get on with it, please!”

Crowley did, thrusting deep inside Aziraphale’s body with practiced ease. Well, it wasn’t the first time they’d arranged themselves this way, after all. But it was certainly a different perspective to be doing it from inside this particular form.

Aziraphale’s head fell backward again, and already his dick was growing hard for a second time. “Ah!” he cried out. “Crowley!”

The demon rutted into him, rocking Aziraphale against the glass, over and over. “Look at me,” said Crowley, rough. He snaked a hand behind to cradle the angel’s head, forcing him to look up. “Open your eyes, angel,” he said more softly. “I want you to see this.”

“Want me to see what?” Aziraphale gasped.

“How gloriously beautiful you are when you fuck me,” Crowley said through gritted teeth. “You’re fucking perfect. You’re holy. I love every inch of this perfect body you inhabit, do you hear me?”

And Aziraphale did hear. He did see. That round, softness of his belly, the place where it folded neatly every time Crowley thrust his hips into him, the raw power there -- the thickness of his chest and the now pert, pink nipples standing proudly while Crowley quickly approached his own orgasm. His hair, tousled in disarray -- little sheen of sweat on his furrowed brow, and the way those piercing blue eyes were staring deep into his very soul.

“Not parts of it, Aziraphale,” Crowley gasped. “The whole of it, do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” Aziraphale managed to choke.

“All of it! All of you,” Crowley huffed, “But especially these powerful fucking hips!” He punctuated each word with a thrust that left Aziraphale feeling lightheaded.

Crowley wrapped his free hand quickly around Aziraphale’s cock, and pumped furiously as his own orgasm washed over him.

“Per--fect, per--fect, per--fect!” Crowley chanted it like a mantra in the angel’s ear while they both came. Aziraphale made a deep, guttural noise, slapping a hand against the glass wall behind him, desperate for anything to hold onto. He gave up and wrapped his arms around Crowley instead, moaning into his ear while he rode the aftershocks.

They collapsed in a heap of exhausted limbs, clinging to each other.

“Floor?” asked Crowley, too spent even to turn around and look for the numbers himself.

“10,” sighed Aziraphale. “Hurry.”

They scrambled to their feet, miracled away the mess, and dove for the pile of mixed up clothing. A couple of times, they shared a laugh when Aziraphale reached for his waistcoat and Crowley instinctively grabbed his jacket.

“Ah, I think this is meant for you,” joked the demon, handing the jacket off to Aziraphale.

“Well, you’d have a hell of a time getting it over those shoulders, to be sure,” the angel chuckled, accepting the jacket and shrugging into it quickly.

By the time the elevator dinged open on the ground floor, Aziraphale was adjusting his jacket and stepping calmly through the doors. Crowley took a bit longer to straighten his bow tie, letting the doors close in front of him. He tapped the 'door open' button, making the elevator DING again, and hurried to catch up with Aziraphale, adjusting his waistcoat with a contented sigh.

“Now that was playing with fire!” he said under his breath, glancing around to make sure no one had seen them.

Without another word, they headed for the park.