It was a nice night.
The bookshop had been closed for hours, and the doors were firmly locked with the blinds drawn. It was long after dinner but still before midnight, and all the lights were out. In the back room a demon and his husband were cuddled together on the sofa under a flannel blanket.
They were watching television, but only in the sense that there was a television turned on and they were in the same room. They had really spent most of their attention for the last half hour on each other, as the wine bottles in front of them gradually emptied and their interest in the story faded. They were not quite drunk, but certainly very, very relaxed.
Crowley was currently leaning close with one arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders, fingers toying gently with his blond hair as he kissed him. His other hand was under the blanket, stroking up and down his inner thigh and occasionally roaming high enough to make their breath catch. He sighed and leaned in just a little closer, deepening the kiss.
Ironically, he never felt less like a demon than when he was seducing his angel. There was something so very bright about his presence that he couldn’t help but catch some of that light by proxy. It was like- like kissing a sunbeam.
He cringed inwardly and was immediately, fervently grateful that Aziraphale could not hear his thoughts.
Not that Aziraphale required a lot of seducing, nowadays. He was gratifyingly enthusiastic, responding to his touch without hesitation. He always met his advances with equal, if not more ardor, a fact that never ceased to amaze him. Six thousand years of making tentative overtures towards the equivalent of a brick wall, and suddenly the angel was alive to him in a way that sometimes shocked them both. It was enough to leave Crowley dizzy from the whiplash. But then, the entire year had been one enormous whiplash on that front.
As if he had indeed read his mind, Aziraphale apparently decided that he’d had enough seduction. He picked up Crowley’s hand and moved it to rest between his legs, holding it there. He reached up and cupped a hand behind Crowley's head at the same time, pulling him closer and kissing his neck.
Being with Aziraphale in this way was...he honestly had no words to adequately describe it. It was incredible, better than he could have ever imagined or hoped, if he had allowed himself the luxury of hope. Every single time filled him with mindless joy and the almost desperate disbelief that he was actually allowed to touch him. After six thousand years of love and longing from a distance, he knew it would take a very, very long time for that to change.
He was certainly touching him now, though, and he squeezed gently, savoring Aziraphale’s soft sound of pleasure against his mouth. The feel of his hard excitement under his hand was enough to make his heart pound. He grinned, feeling the wine play havoc with his inhibitions. In one swift motion he wrapped an arm around his husband’s waist and stood, pulling him to his feet. He was surprised at how much effort it took.
Lately Aziraphale always insisted that they move to the bedroom, where all extraneous furniture had been removed. They sometimes had a tendency to unleash their wings when they got too…overwrought, and after one memorable (and fun) incident where they absolutely destroyed the entire front set of book displays, he had put his foot down.
He grabbed the angel’s hand and towed him towards the stairs, the warm buzz of the alcohol making everything seem just a little glossy. His foot slipped on the first step, and he reflected with amusement that he might have had a bit more than he thought.
Aziraphale was leaning against him a little harder than necessary, clearly in a similar state. That didn’t stop him from yanking open the waist of Crowley’s jeans as they stumbled up the spiral staircase towards their bedroom, the tiny room that had originally been an empty storage space. Once safely inside, the angel unbuttoned his own trousers and pushed them carelessly off his hips, gripping his shoulder to help balance in the dark, and then braced Crowley as he fumbled his jeans and underwear off as well.
Crowley glanced at the small corner fireplace and squinted, and a massive column of flame five feet high suddenly roared up in the grate, making them both jump. “Oops, sorry,” he muttered. He glared at it, and the fire simmered down to a nice crackling blaze.
Aziraphale wasted no time now that he could see; he shoved him backwards to sit on the edge of the bed and climbed onto his lap, kissing him while Crowley busily worked at the buttons on his shirt. His head was starting to spin a bit, and it took a lot more concentration than it should have. Impatient, he gave up on the shirt and reached one hand down between them to grip at the rigid warmth there.
There was a sudden surge in the air, and Aziraphale’s beautiful white wings burst from his shoulders, tearing through the back of his shirt with a ripping of cloth and bursting open the rest of the buttons. Crowley stopped and stared at him, one hand frozen in the act of undoing fastenings that were no longer there. The angel blinked back with wide eyes, mouth slightly open. “Sh-shit,” he blurted, then clapped a hand over his mouth, looking mortified.
Crowley burst out laughing. God, but he was just...adorable. He grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him, muffling his laughter against his mouth and tasting the faint tang of red wine on his lips. Aziraphale kissed him back, with abandon, and it stoked the already burning heat inside him. He slid his hands down the angel’s soft body in a delirium of happiness, feeling the surge of fiery arousal mixed with the equally pleasurable joy of simply being near him. He wanted him. He wanted to do everything to him, all at once, and at moments like these his only regret was that he had but two hands.
He used those two hands to tear away the shredded remains of the shirt, then grabbed Aziraphale’s waist and tipped them both over onto the bed. The angel quickly furled and vanished his wings away to make more space, then rolled over onto his other side. Crowley curled up behind him and held him tightly against his chest, the blonde head cradled tenderly in the crook of his right arm. He kissed the back of his neck and ground his pelvis against his buttocks, pressing his rock-hard erection against his opening as he spooned him.
Aziraphale twisted his upper body slightly towards him to wrap an arm up around his neck. "Go on, darling," he murmured. He leaned back and kissed him as well as he could from that angle. "Go on."
He pressed harder and shifted his position slightly, using just a little bit of magic to slick both of them, and after another breathless moment gently slid inside of him. Aziraphale moaned and pushed his hips back a little, encouraging him, and Crowley pressed forward, easing himself in all the way to the hilt. He shut his eyes and exhaled in a rush.
Being inside of his angel was like climbing into a warm bed after a long, difficult day. It made everything else in the world feel right.
He moved his hand down to grasp Aziraphale’s own erection, and slowly pressed forward with his hips while simultaneously squeezing him. They both moaned in unison that time. He kept the pressure on, feeling his tip press against that special area inside that he knew from personal experience felt incredible. He slowly drew back, then pressed forward onto it again, equally slowly.
They both usually liked to go slow, when they could manage it. Speed was well and good, especially near the end, but there was something especially exquisite about taking their time together, feeling each press and surge of pleasure crest before the next one began.
Of course, there were also times when slow just didn't cut it. Sometimes those six thousand years of waiting weighed a bit heavily.
Tonight Crowley could tell that neither of them was in a patient mood. He had a heavy ache in his groin that was just dying to be soothed, and it was obvious that Aziraphale felt the same way. He began to push steadily back and forth, keeping his hold between his lover’s legs. His angel groaned and reached up to hold his hair, gripping tight enough to hurt just a little. He didn’t mind- he liked the feeling of his hands, and it was worth some wine-dulled discomfort. He was panting against the back of his neck, and he bit him softly, then somewhat less softly on his shoulders. Aziraphale made a gasping sound and squirmed a little in his arms. Crowley grinned against his hair- they both had been surprised to learn that the angel loved that particular habit. He reached down and hooked his arm under his knees, drawing him up tighter against him at a slightly better angle.
“Oh, yes love,” Aziraphale whispered, eyes shut. “Crowley...do it harder.”
That gave him pause, even as it also gave him a swift thrill. He halted and lay there, panting and trying to think through the wine-induced haze. This was new. “Are you sure?” he asked breathlessly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I don’t think it will. I can tell you if it does, but...it’s just something I want to try.”
He couldn’t deny that the idea was exciting. He would never have been the one to suggest it; it felt too selfish. But since he had asked... He brushed his lips across the back of his angel’s neck, breathing carefully. “Okay, then," he said. "Ask and you shall receive.”
He shifted to grasp Aziraphale’s hip with one hand for better leverage. He pulled back slightly, then surged forward and shoved himself into him, all the way in. Aziraphale moaned.
He did it again, pushing harder. “Like that?” he asked. His voice had gone husky and seemed to have dropped a register.
“Yes,” he groaned. “Yes, that was wonderful, keep going.”
He obliged, shoving forward with a grunt of effort. “Just be sure to tell me if it hurts, love,” Crowley murmured in his ear, using the angel’s pet name for him for the first time. He sped up, closing his own eyes and allowing passion to have it’s way a bit. And oh, this was wonderful too; a new kind of exhilarating, and there was something gloriously wanton and uninhibited about taking him this way. He let himself go a little more, and began pushing in harder jerks, encouraged by the decidedly positive noises he was making.
“More,” Aziraphale groaned. “Crowley, take me hard.”
The breathless plea ignited a firestorm deep inside him, completely bypassing the rational part of his brain. He seized him around the waist and thrust over and over again, as hard and fast as he could, crying out in blind pleasure while Aziraphale did the same. “Holy shit, angel,” he gasped. “Holy shit, oh fuck....”
His breath caught, and Aziraphale reached back to grasp his leg. “No, not yet,” he panted. “Not yet, love, don’t come yet. Please.” Crowley groaned. He was so close; but whatever his angel wanted, he got. He bore down with his willpower and held himself back from the brink. Breathing heavily, he rolled Aziraphale over onto his stomach and climbed atop him, mounting him. In a frenzy of passion he bent and ran his tongue up his spine, from his lower back all the way up to the base of his neck. He tasted like salt and cologne. He bit him with feral intensity in every place he could reach, reveling in each fresh gasp it elicited. When he couldn't wait anymore he finally lay forward and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's waist, and renewed his vigourous thrusting. “My glorious, angel,” he gasped between efforts. He lowered his head and kissed the center of his back, letting his lips rest against the soft skin. “Come for me,” he whispered fiercely. “Come for me, angel. Let me feel you come.” He was sweating heavily, panting with adrenaline and pure lust as he took him like he had never taken him before. He was only vaguely aware of releasing his wings as his control slipped, and they unfurled above him with a whoosh. They flapped slightly as he moved, buffeting them both with gusts of wind. The bed creaked and thumped loudly against the wall, unused to this kind of strain, and between that and their own cries of pleasure it was an utter cacophony. Crowley clung to the fraying thread of willpower with all his might, but he could tell it was a losing battle. He bit down at the base of the angel’s neck and held on. He growled through his teeth and wrapped one arm under his chest too, clasping Aziraphale’s body against him.
“Yes, I’m yours. All yours, keep going,” Aziraphale gasped out. He was clutching at the bed, sheets crumpled under his hands, moaning with every breath. As his cries suddenly grew louder his body clenched, and Crowley realized that he was coming. He held him tight and thrust wildly, unable to stop, rushing headlong towards his own orgasm like a runaway train. With a mighty surge he finally reached it, and it was almost explosive, wracking his body with spasms of pleasure so intense that it had flashes of light dancing before his eyes. He felt himself empty into Aziraphale in hot bursts, over and over again, and he clung to him for dear life. Their groans mingled together and gradually faded as they both shuddered into stillness and silence. The room was abruptly quiet except for their heavy panting.
Crowley lifted his cheek from Aziraphale's shoulder and blinked dazedly, feeling sanity slowly assert itself again.
It took an enormous effort, but he unclasped his arms from his middle with a groan and slowly rolled off him, onto his back, wings askew. After a second he felt Aziraphale do the same next to him.
They both just lay there limply on the sweat-dampened sheets and stared at the ceiling.
“Holy shit, angel,” was all Crowley could think to say, again. His entire body felt incredibly heavy, and his thoughts seemed to be dragging their way out through molasses. “Just...holy shit.”
“Indeed.” Aziraphale’s voice was faint and sounded equally dazed.
Crowley looked over at him rather sheepishly. He reached out and smoothed his hair back; the blond curls were mussed and clinging to the sweat on his forehead. “Are you okay? I got a little...carried away for a minute. I didn’t want to hurt you.” He touched his face, suddenly frightened that he might have violated some kind of trust.
“You didn’t. Not at all! It was exactly what I asked for.” The angel’s voice sounded exhausted but sincere, and he flashed a shadow of that brilliant smile at him.
“Oh, good,” he said in enormous relief. “So, you liked it?”
“Yes, Lord Almighty, weren’t you paying attention?” His smile widened and he rolled over, carefully avoiding his wing so as not to crush it, and lay against his chest. Crowley folded the wing over him with a sigh. Aziraphale reached up and absentmindedly stroked the feathers, sighing too. “Not for every time of course, but it certainly adds...variety.”
“Hm. That it does.” Now that the worry was banished, drowsy contentment was seeping through his body, replacing the urgent energy of before. He could sleep, just like this.
Aziraphale looked up at him. "Did you enjoy it?"
He chuckled and lifted his leaden arms to hold him, rubbing his back. "I think the answer to that is obvious." He looked down and traced a crescent shaped mark on his pale shoulder with one forefinger. “You’re already bruising, here.” He looked further, and noticed with a guilty start that there were more than half a dozen slowly darkening marks all over the angel’s back and shoulders. He stifled a snort and bit his lip, incredibly glad that Aziraphale couldn’t see his face. He surreptitiously ran his fingers over each bruise, healing them one at a time while pretending to just stroke him.
“I don’t mind. No one will see it except us.”
“Ok then, I’ll leave it.” He kissed his head and hid a grin in the blond hair.
They were quiet for a few minutes, each thinking their own lazy thoughts.
Crowley eventually cleared his throat. “Angel. Do you think...” he wasn’t quite sure how to put this, so he just charged ahead. “Do you think you could show me what it was like? A little later?” He felt his cheeks warm, which was of course ridiculous. He didn't blush.
Aziraphale looked up at him and raised his eyebrows, clearly trying to hide a smile and not succeeding at all. He kissed him on the chest and tightened his arm around his waist. ”Of course, my love. I’m sure I can find the motivation somewhere.”