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A/N: I love these two so much. <3


"Pins"

“So then when he went to pay for the book, the credit card machine began smoking, which made hi- whatever is the matter with you, Crowley?”

His dinner companion was slouched down in his chair, one elbow perched on the tabletop, his hand swishing the contents of a red glass of wine furiously, a mini tornado forming in the bottom of it.

He'd barely said a handful of words that evening, the ones he had uttered to the waiter had had the man going pale, then running as fast to the sanctuary of the kitchen as he could.

Crowley dropped one of his shoulders further, rubbing it hard against the back of the chair with an air of impatience. “It's that time of the century.”

Understanding alighted Aziraphale’s gaze as he immediately felt sympathy for Crowley. Having gone through it himself many times, he very much understood the demon's foul mood. That need for everything to happen at once and being forced to wait as the process sloughed along unhurriedly at its own pace.

It was a nuisance for angels and demons alike, the molting process, the big M. But that's what happened when you gave supernatural entities animal attributes. It was a design flaw no one was willing to own up to, least of all those sitting on the throne at the highest level of Heaven.

“Been giving you trouble?”

Crowley nodded impatiently. “Like nothing else. Usually isn't an issue, but a few dodgy areas are giving me Hell.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips as he thought the matter over, a rather wild idea popping up in his head. He put it down to Crowley's bad influence, which considering how long they'd known each other, was rather substantial.

He cleared his throat. “I could lend a hand…if you want.”

Going still, Crowley stared at him for a few seconds, his dark sunglasses giving nothing away. He suddenly smirked, leaning forward over the table, pulling down his glasses so the barest hint of his eyes was visible to Aziraphale. All matter of devilry resided in them.

“Feel free to give me all the assistance you desire,” Crowley said in a low tone, making Aziraphale's offer sound scandalous when it was anything but.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chided, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

The demon sat back in his seat, chuckling underneath his breath. “Your place or mine?”

“Mine's closer,” Aziraphale replied, ignoring the connotation in Crowley's voice. He finally caught the waiter's gaze, who had been lurking nearby, holding Aziraphale's dessert of sticky date pudding hostage since Crowley snarled at him.

Aziraphale smiled encouragingly, signaling him over. The waiter cautiously brought it to their table, pushing the dessert towards Aziraphale as he kept a close eye on Crowley like he would bite any moment.

“A-Anything else?”

“No, thank you.”


Crowley dumped his coat on the floor as soon as they'd cleared the front door of the bookshop, making Aziraphale stoop down and pick it up to put in its proper place on the coat rack.

They walked towards the back of the shop where Crowley grabbed the chair from Aziraphale's desk and flipped it around, laying his arms over the top of it as he sat down. He removed his sunglasses, letting them hang loosely from his hand before tossing them on top of the desk.

Without preamble, the clothes on Crowley's upper body melted away, becoming so much smoke. As always, he was thin yet muscular, his skin unmarked by the passage of time.

“If you'll just unfurl them then,” Aziraphale suggested lightly, Crowley taking heed, a pair of dark black wings slowly forming on his back, some feathers of them disjointed or lost entirely around the edges.

Still, even with those imperfections, Aziraphale was reminded once again that the shiny wings were beautiful. Their color wasn't entirely black, glistening in a rainbow of dark hues in places as Crowley's wings shimmered in the overhead light.

Not meaning to, but unable to help himself, Aziraphale reached out, running a hand down a few feathers. Much like his own, they were silky to the touch. He reveled in their delicateness, fingertips stroking them as they quickly warmed in his hand.

“Aziraphale.”

Coming back to himself, Aziraphale dropped his hand. “Oh, right, of course. Which part is bothering you the most?”

Crowley partly turned, his slitted eyes narrowing in irritation as they pinned Aziraphale down. “It's all itchy so take your pick.”

He chose a spot that had seen better days, some of the feathers slipshod, and gently pulled one out. Crowley lightly sighed and encouraged, Aziraphale continued onward in his task.

Encountering hardness around a particular area, Aziraphale peered closer, glimpsing a thick formation of pliable waxy sheaths that held mature pinfeathers near the area of Crowley’s shoulders where his wings met flesh.  

His hand hovered over it nervously. If enough of the substance hadn't softened up, touching such an area could be painful.

“Just do it. It's driving me crazy, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale nodded, pinching the light gray substance around the base of one pinfeather, which flaked apart in seconds, the newly grown feather unfurling in his fingertips.

He’d managed to free a few more when he noticed the muscles on Crowley’s shoulders had tensed up. Aziraphale paused, looking up, the back of Crowley’s neck a faint shade of red. 

Aziraphale’s brow creased. Usually, the demon was all but unflappable. “Are you…blushing?”

“Of course not.” Crowley absolutely was. This fact was confirmed when the tip of his ears darkened as well. “That would be ridiculous.”

“If you're quite sure,” Aziraphale said, noting that Crowley froze under his touch as he gradually worked through the section of trapped pinfeathers. He made sure to put them in proper alignment when they released, fingers rubbing them to the end.

When he'd finished preening Crowley's right wing, Aziraphale shifted to his left one, the same area near Crowley's shoulder blade full of pinfeathers. Clearly, it was an awkward area to manage alone.

By accident, Aziraphale caught a glimpse of Crowley's face in a nearby mirror. A light sheen of sweat covered his forehead, his eyes clenched shut, biting his lower lip as he grasped the back of the chair tightly.

It was not, as Aziraphale initially suspected, a look of pain. No, this was pleasure, and the one administering it was Aziraphale himself.

It was exquisite torture, but a kind of torture nonetheless.

“Do you wish me to stop?” Aziraphale asked quietly, lightly gripping another loose feather. From experience, he knew to have it all preened, the molting process finally completed, always felt good, something of a relief.

“Don’t you dare.” Aziraphale doubted Crowley had allowed anyone to lay hands on him in such a vulnerable state before, the trust on Crowley’s part saying much. Inwardly, Aziraphale was flattered at the high compliment.

More to the point, he also didn’t want to stop. If that was sinful, well, Aziraphale would be the first to admit he didn't live up to Heaven's expectations sometimes. Besides, what was life without a little temptation?

He experimentally sank his other hand deep into Crowley's wing, massaging the skin below the feathers, the demon's groan not going unnoticed.

Aziraphale's stomach jerked unexpectedly at the sound, sending a flash of heat through him that was immensely distracting. Redoubling his efforts, Aziraphale stuck to business, trying to ignore the growing tightness in his own body.

Every touch or slight tug on his part was a wave that broke over Crowley, his body trembling at times, Crowley’s breathing becoming unsteady in the loaded silence that stretched between them.

Having such tight control over someone outside of a bedroom was rather novel, Aziraphale wanting to draw the process out as long as he could because he knew it wouldn't last.

All too soon, with a sigh, Aziraphale laid a hand on the last pinfeather on Crowley's back, rolling itself between his fingers. With just a little hard pull at the base, it came free.

Underneath him, Crowley shuddered, turning his head to the side as he let out a long piercing hiss. The edge of a forked tongue peeked out on his lower lip.

Aziraphale was fascinated by the play of muscles on Crowley's back, wings snapping in the air as they twitched sporadically until Crowley eventually went slack, the edges of his wings brushing the floor.

A little lightheaded, his hands unsteady, feeling as if some of Crowley's euphoric state was contagious, Aziraphale leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Crowley’s neck.

Somewhere inside himself was a mellow glow of contentment that he'd managed to draw such intense reactions from someone he cared deeply for.

“There, all done.”

Crowley chuckled darkly, eyelids lifting to reveal the sclera of his eyes were slowly returning to normal. “In more ways than one.”

The clothes on Crowley's lower half simmered for one moment, refreshing themselves, before snapping back to reality, Aziraphale flushing when he realized why.

He started to look away when Crowley stood up, turning to pull Aziraphale into his arms, his wings folding over the angel's shoulders and back, blocking out some of the light. They looked full and lush once more.

“Thank you, Angel.”

Aziraphale sputtered briefly, finally giving up on speech altogether as he carefully placed his arms around Crowley, sure some feathers were still overly sensitive. He figured his body language said everything and more for him.

“You're quite welcome.” He coughed awkwardly as he leaned backwards, acutely aware of Crowley's lingering hands on his waist. “Do you, uh, want to stay for a cup of tea?”

Crowley's answering smile was sin incarnate. “Love to.”

Aziraphale knew he was in trouble by the way his knees trembled. He felt a bit like he was about to be eaten, which he supposed was true in a way. Still, Aziraphale doubted any prey animal in nature felt so much excitement at the prospect of being set upon.


When the Bentley had rolled away around the corner sometime later, Aziraphale dipped his hand into his pocket and stroked the black feather inside it. It had long lost its owner’s warmth but remained a pleasant memento of the night's events.

Aziraphale wondered idly if when the time came around, Crowley would be willing to return the favor.

He rather hoped so.

Chapter Text

A/N: I couldn't help writing out the return favor.

[Written on and off between 7-30-19 to 8-11-19]


“Pins II”

Despite doing everything possible to communicate the fact the world was against him that day and the last thing he wanted was to actually sell any books in a bookshop, Aziraphale stared banefully at the two customers that doggedly remained, browsing the aisles. Neither of them had actually come up to the register yet, which Aziraphale thought a minor miracle.

He leaned an elbow on the counter, Aziraphale lying his chin down on it. His back itched, the uncomfortable sensation riding every move he made no matter how small. It was enough to drive an angel mad.  

The phone rang, Aziraphale reluctant to answer it. He picked it up on the third ring. “What?”

“That’s quite a rude greeting, isn’t it?” Crowley accused teasingly, a smile in his voice. Must have been a good day for him, out tormenting humanity.

Aziraphale rebounded, some of his bad mood dissipating at the sound of Crowley's voice. “Yes, well, forgive the slight if you will.”

“Customers bothering you?” Crowley questioned lightly.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied, then shook his head in dismissal, though Crowley couldn’t see it. “And no. It’s-“

“Are you,” the demon stated, lowering his voice. “Going through your time?” There was just the barest hint of hope in it.

Images of black feathers strewn across his backroom floor rose up in Aziraphale’s mind. His throat went dry, sure his hesitation had already answered for him. “Yes.”

“Right, close the shop,” Crowley suddenly announced. “I’m coming to pick you up.”

“But I hav-“

“Angel, please.” The endearment always made Aziraphale’s chest ache, his reservations instantly shattered in two mere syllables.

“Very well.”

Aziraphale put the receiver back down and eyed his customers in the bookshop with relish. He’d rather enjoy doing this.

He came out from the desk, moving briskly, his voice strict, brooking no refusal. “Right, so sorry but something terribly urgent has come up. Please come again if you can manage it. Or not. Your choice. ” He preferred not. Considering how convoluted his business hours were, the pair had a better chance of finding an abandoned 100-pound note on the ground.

Ignoring any protests and confused inquiries, Aziraphale corralled them to the entrance, practically shoving them outside. After locking the door, he turned around and clapped his hands together, more pressing matters on his mind than disappointed bibliophiles.    


Aziraphale closed his eyes as they barreled through a particularly crowded intersection, the Bentley and any pedestrians miraculously escaping any harm. Unfazed, Crowley shifted gears and accelerated even faster, the stereo booming rock music.

Loosening his grip a bit on the car door as he attempted to relax, Aziraphale studied Crowley in the low light of the city’s passing streetlights. The dark lenses perched on his nose kept his eyes hidden, but his body language was tense, perhaps semi-nervous if Aziraphale was reading him correctly.

“Crowley, if I may ask what might be a sensitive question?”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I’m sure you already know this, but mortals can’t see any celestial extras unless you want them to.”

Crowley stared at him for what felt like too long while he was operating a moving vehicle, unknowingly pushing Aziraphale’s anxiety higher. “Your point being?”

“Why bother with the sunglasses? I know you’re not ashamed of your eyes.”

Making a hmm sound, Crowley's hands tightened on the wheel. “It’s not for their benefit,” he said, gesturing to the throng of humanity milling around on the city streets. “It’s for mine. Enhanced vision has its drawbacks. After a while, even a demon needs something to dull the edges. 

 “Besides, don’t they look cool?” Crowley finished with a grin.

Aziraphale couldn’t help responding in kind as they approached the building that housed Crowley’s flat, the perilous journey almost complete. “Yes, I’ve always thought you looked quite fetching.” Whether Crowley was wearing glasses or not. Aziraphale quickly caught his mistake. “Err, I mean they looked fetching.”

His face burned as Crowley parked the car, remaining in the driver’s seat for a moment before he leaned over and kissed Aziraphale’s cheek.  

“Don’t tempt me this early in the evening,” Crowley all but growled, then slipped out of the car to come around to the passenger side to open the door.

An anticipatory shiver ran down Aziraphale’s back, Crowley’s predatory look doing nothing to soothe his nerves. Quite the opposite in fact. 


Unlike Crowley, who had a bad habit of wasting his unique talents, especially now that they were both off Heaven and Hell’s radars in terms of work, Aziraphale preferred to do things practically if he could. A holdover habit from centuries of having others logging his good deeds.

He shrugged off his coat, placing it in the hallway closet. Even that small move made him uncomfortable, desperately wishing he could just snap his fingers and be done with it. Alas, things weren't that simple.      

“I've had a lot of time to properly think of how to return the favor, Aziraphale,” Crowley said ominously. In fact, it’d been two whole years. “There's no way you're leaving here unsatisfied.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I should hope not.” 

Crowley put his head to the side, scrutinizing him. “You know, sometimes I wonder who’s the real demon and angel here.”

“They are two sides of the same coin,” Aziraphale said. “Bound to be some overlap.”

“Not really what I meant,” Crowley replied, coming up behind Aziraphale, putting his mouth against his ear. His breath was hot. “You can downright sinful when the occasion calls for it.”

Aziraphale started when Crowley's tongue flicked out briefly, touching upon his earlobe. He took a small step to the side in retreat, sure his face was red. “Y-Yes, well, putting that aside. Shall we get started?”

“Let's.”

Aziraphale wondered what he was letting himself in for. Logically, he knew Crowley would never hurt him, but there were other methods of torment that had nothing to do with pain.

When Crowley directed him towards the bedroom, Aziraphale started fidgeting, his thumbs rubbing up against each other. The bed was larger than he remembered, untouched by any leftover traces of general disarray. How often did Crowley use it for its intended purpose?

“Here?” He’d thought it would be the same setup that Aziraphale had had for Crowley, a simple chair. In such intimate settings, it would be far too easy for things to progress further than preening. Not that Aziraphale was opposed to the idea by any means.

“Why not? You might as well be comfortable.”

Aziraphale nodded, beginning to remove the clothes on his upper body, letting Crowley place them on one of the four posts of the bed. He was acutely aware of his more than solid middle, but Crowley had never made him feel bad about it, simply accepting it as part of him.

Closing his eyes briefly in concentration, Aziraphale summoned his wings, which were never far away, resting in what could be considered a pocket dimension.

Large and ungainly, they dragged at his shoulders before the weight of the wings redistributed themselves properly. There was something freeing about letting go, like a breath Aziraphale didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Pick a side and lay flat,” Crowley said lightly, turning to lay his sunglasses on the top of the nearby dresser as Aziraphale got onto the right side of the bed. The sheets were soft to the touch, no doubt of a high thread count. High-quality and fashionable like everything else about Crowley’s flat.

Crowley came to sit next to his prone body, tucking his legs underneath him. He pulled Aziraphale’s wing over his lap gently, his eyes warm as they rested on Aziraphale. With his head resting comfortably on his folded arms,  he realized Crowley’s vantage point.

“Why like this?” Aziraphale asked curiously.

Crowley’s smile was wide and mischievous. “Because I want to see your face.” Aziraphale flushed, suddenly understanding the whole point of the setup. “Turnabout is fair play and all that.”

If possible, more blood rushed to his cheeks. Crowley had known how closely Aziraphale had been watching him last time, likely positioning himself in front of a mirror on purpose.

“Oh, you wicked, wicked…,” Aziraphale muttered, losing steam at the end as he tried to think of the most appropriate insult. Man? That was just the shape he wore in this realm.

“Demon? Yes,” Crowley quipped, then waved shortly. “Hello.”   

Aziraphale snapped his wing up, brushing it roughly against Crowley’s face. “I’m never helping you again,” he vowed fiercely, only half-meaning it.

Crowley pushed his wing back down with little difficulty. “Aw, come on, don’t be like that. I expressed proper appreciation of your services afterwards, didn’t I?”

Leaving Aziraphale sated and tired. His annoyance faded as he sighed, knowing he wouldn't have changed anything, in the end, had he known in advance. “Yes, you did.”

“Worked out then,” Crowley replied steadily, his fingertips skimming over the edges of Aziraphale’s wing as it lay on his lap, making Aziraphale jump in surprise until he got used to the sensation. Their human forms were sensitive, but their wings even more so.

Crowley kept his grip mild, seizing one loose feather, his hand quickly growing warm on Aziraphale’s skin before he unceremoniously yanked. There was the faintest sting of discomfort, then relief saturated the area, Aziraphale’s shoulders relaxing.

While he knew he should be more worried about putting such delicate parts of his body in Crowley’s hands, Aziraphale trusted him entirely. Hard not to when the demon had proven himself time and time again to be a better ally than his own kind.

Their own side indeed.

“Aziraphale.”  

“Hmm?”

“Your mind is wandering,” Crowley said, Aziraphale’s breath catching for a moment as he removed a few more feathers. Bringing him back to the present.  

He took in Crowley’s playful expression. “Nothing but good thoughts, I assure you.”

Crowley chuckled. “I need to work harder to corrupt them then.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Aziraphale replied. “Practice makes perfect after all.”

Still, given it was the first time he'd had let Crowley preen his wings, there was somewhat of a learning curb.

The first pinfeather he freed was far too rough, Aziraphale wincing, trying not to make any noise. He must have failed though because the next one Crowley released was slower, gentler.

There was a quiet, “Sorry,” then, “You don’t have nearly as many pinfeathers as I did.”

“Water helps a little. Not nearly enough to stop the itching, but some,” Aziraphale explained lightly, his voice rising momentarily as Crowley’s hand continued working through the troublesome area, leisurely stoking a growing heat in the pit of Aziraphale’s stomach.       

His breath trembled freely, Crowley’s fingers like fire searing his nerves. Tension built up with every movement of them, making it hard to think coherently. After a while, Aziraphale stopped trying, merely responding to Crowley's touch instinctually.               

His hands bunched in the bedsheets under him, squirming as Crowley meticulously worked over his wing, removing any loose feathers and unfurling mature trapped ones, fingers hot on anything he grabbed, sending a jolt of heat through Aziraphale’s entire body.

Crowley had started out somewhat hesitant, yet over time he got faster, playing Aziraphale's body like an instrument, one he was far too used to manipulating. No surprise since they had far more time to explore avenues in that particular area than the mortals they lived amongst.

Aziraphale shuddered, his voice quiet as he whispered, “Crowley, please.”

“Please what?” Crowley teased as he came around Aziraphale’s other side. He laid hands on his left wing, Crowley's gaze dark with passion.  

He wanted to say it was too much stimulation, that he needed a break, or a kind of release already, but Aziraphale knew Crowley was doing it intentionally.

He backed off when he sensed Aziraphale was close, then renewed his efforts when Aziraphale had relaxed. It spoke of a kinship between them that had taken millennia to build. Word by word, action by action, until it was only natural to rely on each other with everything they had.

His breath gushed out with an air of desperation, “Keep going.”

For a moment, the whites in Crowley's eyes melted away, his smirk triumphant. “I planned to, Angel.”

That was all the encouragement Crowley needed and exactly the response Aziraphale had hoped for.

Crowley’s earlier comment on his wickedness came flooding back. It was, in part, due to living on Earth so long, but also Crowley’s own fault. Spending so much time with someone of the demonic persuasion was bound to affect one’s personality eventually.

Aziraphale had no issue with that as the bond extended both ways. In his own small way, because of Aziraphale’s influence, Crowley, for all his bravado and bluster, wasn't nearly as bad as others of his kind could be.

Crowley was nearly through preening his wings when things suddenly reached a fever pitch, Aziraphale hovering over the edge, panting.

Between the sweet sting of released pinfeathers that rapidly spiraled into bliss, Crowley’s downright sinful digits, and the excitement at surrendering himself utterly, just one small movement more and he’d-   

Without warning, Crowley grabbed a handful of his feathers and smoothly pulled, sending a rush of endorphins into Aziraphale’s system, pushing him into freefall.

His hand shot out and clutched Crowley’s wrist, squeezing as he unraveled completely. Aziraphale’s nerves blazed, the pleasure enough to outweigh any lingering oversensitivity that could be interpreted as pain. He trembled against the bed, his heart hammering away and vision gone hazy.

When he could string more than two thoughts together upon coming back to himself, Aziraphale blew out a heavy breath. He could only find one thing to say.

“Shit.” It was one of the few times he’d cursed in his entire existence, but Aziraphale felt the occasion called for it.

Crowley’s smirk was devilish, the pride on his face clear.

Aziraphale barely had time to even think the words ‘wet spot' before it had magically disappeared, making it a non-issue. He had no doubt as to who was responsible for that.

“Would sir be wanting to leave the bed anytime soon?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale gradually brought his breath under control, limbs and wings still shaking slightly. Tiny aftershocks ran down his spine.

“No,” Aziraphale said. “But you can most certainly lay down beside me.” He couldn't have gotten up if he tried.

Crowley chuckled, briefly leaning forward and giving Aziraphale a quick kiss on the lips. “When have I ever refused you?”

Aziraphale went still as he tried to recall an occasion where he had. His brain cells weren't entirely recharged yet and he soon gave up, instead folding his wings back, which rapidly disappeared into the ether. The lack of irritation was wonderful, a refreshing change from the last week of absolute hell.

Crowley settled in next to him, lying an arm over Aziraphale's waist, practically abuzz with energy as if he’d fed off the whole experience. Perhaps he had.

“Worth the wait?” Crowley asked.

“Of course.”

For a while, they simply laid there, silently enjoying each other's company.

At least until Aziraphale got his second wind and pressed closer to Crowley, deciding to do the pouncing this time around, much to the demon's delight.

A scattered cloud of white feathers rose high into the air as things took their natural course, their soundless descent to the floor unnoticed by the inhabitants of the bed.