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Why Don't You Tell Me Why You Want This Job?

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It had only taken a moment's imagination and then an anxious wave of his hand to make the room smaller and turn the walls white. With a second twitch of his fingers, the room was sparsely furnished: a black leather sofa, one of those horrible, rolling office chairs, and a boxy-looking device Aziraphale meant to be a video camera (so of course, it functioned perfectly as just that.)

His hands had gone cold and clammy, a particularly wretched, human quirk of his corporation. He pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief and rubbed his hands with it, trying to warm them up. He'd nearly tucked it back away in his pocket before he thought better of it and dabbed at his forehead as well, trying to prepare himself. He wanted to do this well , to execute the plan exactly as Crowley had described it to him. His poor demon had taken far too long to explain what he'd wanted and had waited until they were tangled together in the dark, under the covers, where he hadn't had to look Aziraphale in the eye as he'd choked the words out. He must have wanted this very much to navigate such apprehension in order to ask for it.

And then Crowley knocked, somehow knowing even through the closed door that separated them that Aziraphale had dithered enough, that he was as ready as he'd ever be.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then began to do what Crowley had asked of him.

"Yes, come in," he called out, threading a distracted disinterest through the tones of his voice. When the door didn't open immediately, he squared his shoulders and spoke again. "I have many appointments today and more applicants than I know what to do with, so either come in for your interview or I'll thank you to clear out to make room for the next applicant."

The door finally opened, haltingly, jerkily. Crowley peeked around, sunglasses on, in his usual outfit, and looking all the more tempting for the familiarity of it. Aziraphale had wondered if he might not put on a costume, something to get into the spirit of acting like people who weren't their usual selves, and of course, Aziraphale would have loved Crowley in anything. This, however, was just enough to settle the lingering performance anxiety that had settled in the pit of his stomach, and he had to wonder if that hadn't been exactly why Crowley had chosen it. He held out his hand for Crowley to shake and was met with a blank expression instead of reciprocation.

"Hullo," Crowley said, shifting nervously on his feet, and then he thrust out a hand toward Aziraphale as though he'd forgotten that shaking hands upon meeting for the first time was customary. It was just as likely to be Crowley's lack of interest in the current set of human social mores as a brilliant acting performance, pretending to be so uncertain of his footing that he'd only worked out what Aziraphale had expected after a long moment of staring at his outstretched palm. "Sorry that I'm a few minutes late."

"I was beginning to think you weren't serious about wanting this role, Mr. Crowley."

"You can just call me Crowley, if you'd like," Crowley said, and he sat on the very edge of the black leather sofa, feet shifting and tapping on the floor between them.

"I think if you were," Aziraphale said, taking out his pocket watch and reading the time, "eight minutes late to our appointment, I'll call you whatever I'd like."

Aziraphale could see Crowley's Adam's apple bob in his throat as he gulped, his mouth falling just that tiny bit open in shock. He hoped it was an aroused shock, or at least a good one.

"Yes," Crowley breathed, his voice already gone raspy. "You can call me anything you'd like."

"Right." Aziraphale was aiming for a distracted sort of exasperation, but with the way Crowley was now shifting in his seat, practically squirming already under Aziraphale's appraising eye, a bit too much of his true reaction was bleeding through. He cleared his throat and tried again, miracling a folder of papers out of the ether and putting on his reading glasses to look through it as though it was Crowley's application. "Just going over your file. I'll be ready for you in a moment." He let Crowley wait, ignoring the noises of the now-constant nervous fidgeting before him.

"Excuse me," Crowley said, breaking into the silence. "I know I've gotten off on the wrong foot here, and if I've really got no chance, I don't want to take up any more of your time. I can go, I'd underst—" 

"There's no need for that." Aziraphale looked up, then let his eyes roam slowly over Crowley's body, taking in every detail of the form he now knew as well, if not better, than his own. After thousands of years in each other's company, thousands of years of having to suppress the love he had for Crowley, and now Crowley had put himself, trustingly, in Aziraphale's hands. "Lateness is hardly a virtue, but I'm sure I can look past it if you show promise."

"That's good to hear." Crowley folded his hands in front of himself, his elbows resting on his knees. "Truth be told, I've gotten myself into some trouble and I could really use this money to dig my way out of it."

"Ah." Aziraphale let his eyebrow arch as he disappeared the folder back to the nothingness it had come from. "Desperation can be quite the motivator. Would you care to tell me what you've done? Confess your sins to me?"

"Oh, I…" Crowley trailed off, and Aziraphale could immediately see him trying to think. Crowley hadn't had an answer to this question, and it wasn't his job right now to have to work things out and make this go smoothly. That was, currently, Aziraphale's responsibility, and he had no intention of Crowley doing anything but enjoying what Aziraphale was offering him.

"It's no matter. I'm sure you, with your mean good looks, have done something dastardly. Perhaps you've tempted someone into gifting you too much of their fortune, and their angry relatives are coming for you to have it repaid."

"I…I…hrk." Crowley swallowed, taking a moment to re-integrate vowels into his speech. "How could you possibly know that?"

"I know a lot about you. Our research is quite extensive." He sat forward, silencing the awful squeak of the wheels on his chair with a quick, annoyed miracle. "So now you understand how important it is for you to be honest with me. I'll know if you're lying."

"Yeah, all right." Crowley's voice was little more than a breath, and it nearly made Aziraphale's heart stop.

"I have this camera running, to record the whole of our interview. I just need your consent to be put on film before we can continue?" He hoped Crowley understood the underlying questions here: Is this what you wanted? Are you still comfortable? Should I keep going?

"Yes," Crowley said, and then cleared his throat again. "That's fine."

"Good." Aziraphale leaned back in the chair, using yet another miracle to tamp down its endless squeaking. (What a wretched thing it was.) "I hope you're coming into this with a complete understanding of the types of films we make?"

"I know you make porn—"

"Adult entertainment," Aziraphale cut in, correcting him. "I don't care for the word 'porn'. So sordid. What we set on film are the completely normal, natural acts of consenting adults, each of them paid handsomely for their generosity in sharing that part of themselves with the rest of us."

"Yeah, right. Sorry about—"

"No need to apologize, dear boy. I'm aware that 'porn' is what it's commonly called. I merely wanted to communicate to you how we, in particular, see what we do. I believe it will go a long way toward explaining to you what we'll require of you, should we secure your talents for one of our features."

"That sounds like a lot," Crowley said, and his breathing had quickened. 

If he was getting nervous, if this wasn't what he'd wanted… Aziraphale had to check in with him.

"I can assure you, my dear, I would never ask more of you than what you are able to give. The moment it's too much, you need not do more than ask me to stop and I'll do just that."

"Right," Crowley said, and he relaxed, almost imperceptibly, further into the sofa.

"May I be honest with you?" Aziraphale rolled closer to Crowley, subtly bracketing him in where he sat, closing the distance just enough to invade the outer wall of Crowley's personal space. "You must know, you're a charming, achingly attractive creature. I can already see how you'll look on film. I just need to be certain that you can be convincing."

"How can I show you?" The breathy quality was back in Crowley's voice, and if Aziraphale hadn't been aroused from the moment Crowley had entered the room, this would have been enough to make the sense flee from his thoughts. It was only the last shreds of his angelic strength that kept Aziraphale on task, reminding him that this was a gift to Crowley, and that his indulgence couldn't be taken at the expense of that.

"That depends," and Aziraphale was shocked at how calm he'd managed to sound. "Do you prefer men, or women?"

"Either," Crowley said, with a shrug. "Any. I make connections with people, not with a gender."

"Oh, that's…" Aziraphale took a moment. "How very flexible of you, you lovely thing."

"I can do anything you want me to do," Crowley added, subtly spreading his thighs, and Aziraphale could see a clear silhouette of what Crowley's absurdly tight trousers were failing to hide.

"I'm afraid I don't have any potential scene partners available to assist with your interview today. Would you be averse to working with me?"

Crowley actually licked his lips before responding, and Aziraphale wasn't sure whether it had been a deliberate tempting or if Crowley was entirely unaware he'd done it.

"No. Wouldn't be…averse."

The bulge in Crowley's trousers got, impossibly, larger.

"You seem rather uncomfortable in those clothes," Aziraphale said, waving a hand dismissively at him. Crowley squirmed in his seat. "I'll need to see what I'm working with, so this seems to be as good a time as any for you to stand up and strip so I can take a good, long look at you."

Aziraphale rolled the chair backward and waited, watching Crowley carefully for any signs of hesitance or discomfort. It only took a beat before Crowley was up on his feet, opening buttons and flies, toeing out of his boots. He was naked, but for those blasted glasses, in barely longer than a moment.

"The glasses as well, please. So much of our expressions are in the eyes, I find, and it will be quite impossible to film you if you're hiding away behind them."

Crowley's hand shook as it came upward, perching on the edge of the frames before he removed them. He blinked against the brightness of the room, but he met Aziraphale's gaze, letting his arms fall to the side so that each line and curve of his body was laid utterly bare.

"My eyes…it's…it's a medical condition. I can wear contact lenses if you think—"

"I wouldn't change one single detail of your entire being, my boy," Aziraphale told him with utter sincerity. It might spoil the flow of things a bit, but scenario be damned if it got in the way of Crowley understanding that he was perfect just as he was, and Aziraphale couldn't wish for anything other than who Crowley was and what they were together. He waved his hand again to dim the lights in the room to something low enough to keep the strain from Crowley's eyes, and he didn't miss the quick look of gratitude Crowley shot him.

"Should I sit?"

"Not quite yet." Aziraphale twirled a finger in the air. "I'd like to get a better look at you from different angles." Crowley began to turn in place. "Slower, please. There's so much to take in."

Crowley's shoulders trembled as he appeared to be forcing himself to move as deliberately as possible. It was the game they'd been playing for millennia; Crowley rushing ahead and Aziraphale entreating him to move more carefully. As much as Aziraphale felt the fool for depriving them both of the fullness of their love for so long, he also knew that taking their time had allowed the both to know each other as two beings had never known each other before. He wasn't sure how they'd been lucky enough to be allowed this profound, unprecedented intimacy of time, but Aziraphale had never been more grateful for any other gift bestowed to him by the Almighty, or fate, or whatever had seen to it.

Or perhaps nothing had given it to them. Perhaps it had merely been theirs to take, to clasp closely to each other and revel in. Regardless, Crowley's love shaded and cooled him from the starkness of his own doubts, the bright and painful noise of anxiety and uncertainty. He could only hope to bring the brightness Crowley needed to chase away the dark corners within, to fill the spaces left hollow by fear and self-recrimination.

"You are resplendent," Aziraphale whispered, and he watched Crowley's eyes close and his mouth go slack. "The sweetest and loveliest creature I've ever been fortunate enough to lay eyes upon."

"I'm good enough?" Crowley asked, his voice trembling, and Aziraphale had to force himself not to get to his feet and pull Crowley into an embrace, whispering reassurances to him.

"You are, I'm afraid, far too good for me," Aziraphale told him, planting his feet on the floor to keep himself in his seat. "Though you will be stuck with me for your audition."

"Not stuck with you," Crowley said, opening his eyes, which had now gone almost completely black, just whispers of the rich amber Aziraphale loved so well remaining. "You walked right out of every fantasy I've ever had."

"Oh." Aziraphale choked back a delighted gasp, trying desperately to stay in character. "I'm pleased you won't find this too much of a hardship. I'd love to hire you, so it would have been inconvenient if you'd found it difficult to pretend to be attracted to your scene partner for the day."

"What can I do?" Crowley asked, stray muscles in his arm, his leg, his abdomen, twitching under Aziraphale's appraising eye. "How can I show you how good I can be for you?"

"Are you quite sure you're ready?" Aziraphale asked, with what he hoped wasn't quite the last of his self-control. "Once we get started in earnest, we'll have to keep moving."

"I'm not the only one you're seeing today, I know."

The very idea of touching anyone other than Crowley, much less partaking in the intimacies they were about to engage in, filled Aziraphale's stomach with revulsion, but he held together.

"Unfortunately not, lovely creature. It is rather a shame. I can see myself filling entire days taking my time with you."

Crowley's hips twitched, his cock jutting forward in an aborted thrust, and Aziraphale wondered if he could pretend that what the casting director really wanted to see was how well Crowley could react to being serviced quite thoroughly by Aziraphale's mouth. Unfortunately for Aziraphale, that hadn't been what Crowley had asked him for. Instead, he tried to make himself be businesslike, even cold, as Crowley had requested.

"On your knees, then."

Crowley dropped, with a thud, to the floor, his body absorbing the impact in ways that made his serpentine pedigree apparent. His hands twitched forward toward Aziraphale's belt, but he froze in place, waiting for confirmation. Orders.

"You know what to do. Undo only as much as you need to get started on your first task."

Crowley fell forward, hands trembling and fumbling with leather, fabric, the metal of a zip. With his own hands behind his back, Aziraphale helped him along with a miracle here and there, allowing access where Crowley's quaking hands failed him. 

"You're fucking enormous," Crowley whispered, and Aziraphale knew he was spoiling the moment a little when he felt the heat of a blush on his cheeks. This abhorrent casting director person Aziraphale was meant to be wouldn't have been overcome by this, so he needed to try harder to fulfill what Crowley had asked him for.

"Get to work. You have five minutes to bring me to completion."

"Five…I'm not sure I—"

"Four minutes and fifty-five seconds," Aziraphale said, hardening his voice and taking out his pocket watch again, fixing his eyes on the second hand.

Crowley swallowed him down to the root in one go, punching the air out of Aziraphale's lungs as he fought to appear unimpressed. The heat was infernal, scorching him from the inside out, as Crowley's slightly forked tongue laved the underside of Aziraphale's cock. Crowley began a rhythm of pulling all the way off, swirling his tongue and then nestling it into the hollow at the base of the fat, swollen head, which sent sparks throughout Aziraphale's body, and then taking Aziraphale's length far inside him, down into his throat.

It would take a miracle to stop himself from finishing before the five minutes was up, so Aziraphale waved his hand yet again and did just that. 

Crowley kept his eyes open, fixed on Aziraphale's face, and then suddenly moaned, the vibrations going straight into Aziraphale's cock. When it made Aziraphale buck forward, Crowley's eyes looked just as they did whenever he was full of profound mirth, and he did it again.

"Minx," Aziraphale whispered. "Do I need to control you to keep you from trying to take an unfair advantage?"

Crowley's hands, which had been on Aziraphale's knees, pulling them apart to nestle as close into the cradle of Aziraphale's thighs as possible, flew forward and grappled at Aziraphale's arms. It was terribly uncoordinated (and to be fair, Crowley's attentions were most definitely still being spent elsewhere) but he soon had grabbed Aziraphale's hands and shoved them into his hair.

"You do have such lovely hair," Aziraphale said, wrapping a few strands around his fingers before he tugged sharply. "It would be a shame to neglect it."

Crowley moaned again, and Aziraphale pulled back on his hair in retaliation, forcing Crowley to withdraw entirely. Aziraphale's cock bobbed just out of reach and Crowley whined.

"I wasn't precise when I gave you instructions, before. That was my error; one I shan't make again. I would like you to service me for exactly five minutes. You are being wicked and attempting to force me to finish before I've had a chance to take my pleasure from you."

Crowley's chest was heaving and he was straining against Aziraphale's hand, where it was holding a fistful of hair in what must, by now, be causing a searing pain in his scalp. He stared directly into Aziraphale's eyes, his pupils even wider than before, eyes wild and twitching back and forth. He reached forward, taking Aziraphale's cock in his hands and began working it.

Aziraphale pulled Crowley's hands away, earning a yelp when he pressed them, hard, together at the wrists behind Crowley's back.

"Don't move your hands, Crowley. When you can promise me that, you can go back to work."

Crowley took a couple of deep breaths and nodded, then nosed toward Aziraphale's free hand. Aziraphale sighed. This lovely creature. He left one hand on Crowley's wrists, holding them together behind his back, and curled the fingers of the other into the (suddenly slightly longer) strands of Crowley's hair. When Crowley went slack against him, Aziraphale guided his mouth back to the head of his cock, groaning when that sweet warmth surrounded him again. 

This time, Aziraphale controlled how deep his thrusts into Crowley's mouth could go, staying shallow and relishing the way Crowley writhed in his hold. His head strained forward, pulling the hair in Aziraphale's grip taut, but Aziraphale was careful not to allow him too much access.

"You'll get what I give you and nothing more, until it pleases me."

Aziraphale held back a wince, wondering if he was going too far, but with the way Crowley's eyelids were fluttering, he decided this was precisely what Crowley had needed.

Aziraphale continued to tease, allowing himself deeper into Crowley's throat occasionally while keeping most of his thrusts shallow, until Crowley broke. He must have miracled himself free of Aziraphale's grip, because both of his hands were under Aziraphale's palm one moment, but then they were ripping Aziraphale's other hand out of his hair the next. In his brief moments of freedom, he swallowed down Aziraphale's cock completely, humming around his length while allowing his now inhumanely narrow, forked tongue to caress everything it could reach.

Even with the miracle, Aziraphale was having trouble holding back.

"You wicked, wicked serpent. Wily tempter," Aziraphale hissed, pulling the handkerchief out of his pocket. It wasn't quite long enough to do what Aziraphale wanted to do with it, but he had a few very forceful thoughts about it and the fibers of the silken fabric lengthened at his command. 

With an impatient gesture, the handkerchief wrapped itself around Crowley's wrists as Aziraphale gathered them back up, then it held fast. No knots were necessary when an angel wanted something he wasn't getting. The handkerchief would aid him unless it wanted to also face his mighty wrath. Aziraphale stood, pulling Crowley upright on his knees and holding him well away from Aziraphale's body.

"You are the sort of performer who can't stick to the script, are you? We don't usually deal in improvisation, but perhaps, for you, I can make an exception." He wound both hands into the shorter hairs at the nape of Crowley's neck, then pulled him forward and onto his cock. The moan that rumbled through Crowley's body went straight into Aziraphale's, making him lose control as he began to thrust deep into Crowley's mouth. "If you can't give me what I asked for, I will give you what you wanted, but be warned, Crowley. I won't have any mercy for you. You are mine now, to use as I wish."

The trembling of Crowley's body against his was seismic now, foundational, as Aziraphale luxuriated in the warmth of Crowley's mouth, his lips tightening perfectly at just the right moments. It was grounding for Aziraphale, every tiny detail that reminded him that Crowley could do this for him, be perfect for him and give just what Aziraphale wanted most at every moment, because they knew each other so very well. Aziraphale wasn't this character, but acting this way was a gift for his beloved, providing a slightly different means than usual toward the end that Aziraphale wished to give him. Aziraphale meant to take the halting insecurity in the way Crowley had asked for this and turn it into a certainty through his own unwavering devotion to making it real.

Being held back by only his own miracle, Aziraphale had begun to ache so sweetly that the moment he was released from it, he came, shuddering gasps breaking over him like the unrelenting push-pull of the ocean. He swayed on his feet and Crowley's hands, freed by his own infernal miracle, flew to Aziraphale's hips to steady him. Crowley nestled into Aziraphale's belly, planting gentle kisses over the curve of it, until Aziraphale recovered enough to speak.

When he looked down, Crowley was gazing up, expression more open than he'd ever seen it before.

"Despite your quite naughty deviation from the script," Aziraphale said, trying to force the breathiness from his tone, "you have shown yourself to have the sort of talent I'm looking for."

"So you'll hire me?" Crowley asked, still on his knees (in supplication, Aziraphale couldn't help thinking) and blinking up at him, feigning innocence. 

"I didn't say that, my dear. I'm afraid I'll need to see a few more of your…talents…before I can say for sure."

Crowley gallantly stopped himself (just, Aziraphale was sure) from laughing at that, and Aziraphale could feel the corners of his mouth twitching as well.

"Where do you want me?" Crowley asked, then leaned forward and licked up the inside of Aziraphale's right thigh. It was a terribly unfair thing for him to do, and if they hadn't planned out the exact timeline of this afternoon, Aziraphale would have been rendered quite incapable of formulating what they should do next.

Oh, everywhere, Aziraphale thought. I want you everywhere and every time, and I shall never want anything more or less.

"Well," he began, and pulled Crowley to his feet. He let his gaze rake slowly down Crowley's body, then reached forward and ran his index finger, light as a feather, down Crowley's abdomen. The muscles twitched as he passed over them. "I've seen how well you give pleasure. As you have quite exhausted me for the moment, perhaps it's time for me to investigate how well you receive it."

"Oh, yes," Crowley whispered, and then caught himself, clearing his throat. "I mean, yes. Whatever you need to see, angel."

"Angel?" Aziraphale asked, unable to hold the amusement completely back from his tone. "I don't recall asking you to call me that."

"You are, though," Crowley said, leaning in just the tiniest amount toward Aziraphale. "The avenging type. The kind who knows what he wants. Knows how to take it."

"All right," Aziraphale agreed, going along with it. This was all for Crowley, in the end. If this was what he wanted, Aziraphale would give it to him, without reserve. "Lie back against the sofa, please?"

Crowley sprawled backward, hissing in discomfort when he made contact with the leather.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale broke character right away, as soon as Crowley had seemed truly uncomfortable. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he answered, expression impossibly fond. "'S just cold, that's all."

"Well," Aziraphale said, waving a hand and imbuing the sofa with the firm insistence that it should warm itself up, and right away, if it didn't mind. The moment Crowley noticed the difference, though, he met Aziraphale's worried gaze straight on and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Aziraphale reversed it, and after a moment's thought, pushed the temperature of the leather a handful of degrees cooler. Crowley shivered into the chill blanketing his back, but he no longer seemed unsettled by it.

Aziraphale believed it was time to have a bottle of lube in his hand, so it appeared with all due haste. 

"D'you want me to prepare myself for you?" Crowley asked, hips twitching upward rhythmically, as though he was already imagining it.

"Do you truly imagine I would deprive myself of the pleasure of taking care of that task personally?" Aziraphale scoffed, affronted. 

"Didn't know if you were the type to get your hands dirty." Crowley was nearly writhing in place now, gaze hungrily moving between Aziraphale's face and his hands.

"There will be nothing at all dirty about touching you, my dear. I can hardly wait to see how you respond."

"Angel," Crowley whined, somehow finding a way to both draw out the consonants instead of the vowels , as well as put something sibilant into the word that wasn't supposed to be there. "I'm ready. Let me prove to you that I'm worthy. That I can be what you need."

The words went straight to Aziraphale's heart, pinning him in place. That was at the core of this, wasn't it? Crowley wanted to deliver himself to Aziraphale and see if he'd be found 'good enough', and it was so much safer to do so in a ridiculous scenario like the one they were acting out. 

"You've been perfect thus far," Aziraphale told him, running a grounding hand over Crowley's bent thigh as he knelt on the ground next to the sofa. "I can't imagine how I've gotten on here without you, now that I've had a taste of you."

"Please, angel," Crowley pleaded, arching his back into the sofa and hissing again at the cold. "Please let me show you."

"Lie back, my darling," Aziraphale said, thumbing open the lube and spreading it over his fingers. Crowley opened his legs wide, and it would have been obscene if not for how trusting this posture was, how Crowley's guileless eyes were locked on Aziraphale's as he moved closer. "You'll have to tell me what you like, Crowley, so I can see what you look like when this is really good for you. I don't want you to act. I want to see you, your authentic reactions."

"Touch me, angel. Please. It's all I need." Crowley was almost babbling now, writhing impatiently until Aziraphale reached forward, giving Crowley's cock a few pumps with his hand until he began to thrust up into Aziraphale's fist. That was when he stopped, just as Crowley was finding a rhythm, and Crowley was still moaning from the loss when Aziraphale's finger slipped backward to circle around his entrance, spreading the slickness of the lube. 

"That's it, Crowley. I want you to imagine something while I touch you. Visualize a scene for me, as though we were making a film. What if we had been enemies? Long-time enemies, on opposite sides of a conflict. Yet, as we'd gone along, we found that we had much more in common with each other than with anyone we were supposed to be allied with. Imagine we'd been faced with annihilation, and yet, somehow, we got through it. We worked together, we loved each other, and we made it through."

"That sounds like rubbish," Crowley said, forcing the words out as Aziraphale's finger breached him, and he moaned as he rocked into it. "Completely unbelievable."

"Ah," Aziraphale said, crooking his finger carefully and rubbing unerringly at a spot deep inside this wonderful being he loved so well. "You see, sometimes in the world of adult entertainment , we work with rather unconvincing plotlines. We find our clientele really don't seem to mind." He put on a stern face. "And I'll thank you to show me more respect while you're still auditioning for me."

Aziraphale could feel Crowley beginning to relax as he worked his fingers into him, watching every expression as they flitted over the demon's face. He still took his time, enjoying every moment of this pleasure he could give him without being distracted by the sharpness of his own. Oh, it was simmering already, low in his stomach, and he wondered idly if he could someday achieve his release merely by watching the way Crowley reacted to Aziraphale's hands on his body, inside his body, but this was hardly the time. 

"Oh, bloody fucking buggering hell, angel, I'm ready for you," Crowley said, barely able to gather up enough air to push through the words. "How do you want me?" Crowley began to sit up, but Aziraphale held him in place with a look and Crowley settled again. "Shall I drape myself over the arm of this sofa for you? Surrender? Show you my back, where you could slip in a knife if you decided we really were enemies?"

"I would never," Aziraphale told him, and finally leaned forward to pull Crowley into a kiss. Crowley moaned into it, the movements of his hips stuttering as his attention turned to the way Aziraphale was drinking in his pleasure from Crowley's lips, his mouth. He pulled away to a whine from Crowley, and he settled him by petting a gentle hand over his cheek. "We could never have been that sort of enemies. Not when I feel like this when I'm with you."

"But I'm a demon, angel. I'm below you."

Ah. Now this, this , needed to be addressed very seriously.

"Never, not even for one moment, have you been below me, my darling."

Crowley snapped out of the haze of pleasure for a moment, cocking an eyebrow and somehow, wordlessly, drawing attention to their current physical configuration.

"Seems like I'm below you right now, angel."

"Only in the strictest definition of the term," Aziraphale sighed, and tried to look very put out that Crowley had broken character. Crowley immediately looked repentant, but perhaps that had much more to do with what Aziraphale was currently doing to Crowley's prostate rather than anything else.

"Please, please, fucking please , I am begging you, angel. Please. I need you."

Perhaps if Aziraphale had been human, even the otherworldly seductive power of how Crowley looked in this moment, glowing and resplendent under Aziraphale's hand, his body wouldn't have been able to recover so quickly and he would have been unable to do what Crowley was begging him to do.

Fortunately, Aziraphale was an angel, and as such, his body worked precisely and only in the way that Aziraphale imagined it should.

"Let me just," Aziraphale choked out, pulling away to divest himself of his clothes, but Crowley reached out and pulled him forward again. The tugging got more insistent, and if Aziraphale hadn't climbed onto the sofa to settle between Crowley's thighs, his coat would have suffered an absolutely unabideable tear. 

"Just like this," Crowley whispered into his ear, mouthing at that spot behind Aziraphale's earlobe that both of them enjoyed exploring. "If we'd been enemies but I'd really wanted you all that time, I would have fantasized about you just as I saw you. I wouldn't have dared to imagine anything more than that."

"Crowley," Aziraphale whispered, his heart breaking and then reforging, twining itself around Crowley's so they could never truly be parted. He kissed Crowley again, patiently taking him apart by exploring the hollows of his mouth, and he relished the way Crowley writhed beneath him, slithering around until the backs of his knees were thrown over Aziraphale's shoulders.

It was nothing at all to press forward, to breach the slight resistance at Crowley's entrance. And then he was seated deep inside, his own clothes brushing against his almost painfully sensitive skin as he continued to grind forward, unable to feel close enough to Crowley.

Aziraphale groaned, burying his face into Crowley's neck, and he drank deep of the scent there. He was sure he was the only being in the universe who could sense it, could appreciate it. It was something distinctly Crowley , and Aziraphale himself hadn't even been able to discern it until he'd fallen completely and unreservedly in love with him. It hadn't taken long, of course, not nearly as long as he'd been pretending he hadn't been in love with him. (Perhaps it hadn't taken any time at all.)

Crowley's nails bit into the back of Aziraphale's neck after they'd scrabbled against the woolen fabric of his coat. Crowley tended to burrow in as close as he could whenever they were uncovered to each other, those private, endless moments they were now able to take for themselves. He must feel adrift with Aziraphale hidden away, and he began to wonder if perhaps Crowley would have to forgive him later for miracling his clothing away now. 

"Crowley, dearest," Aziraphale said, planting slow, open-mouthed kisses to Crowley's collarbone between words. "Would you like me to—"

""S'perfect, angel. You're perfect," Crowley moaned, bringing his hands around to Aziraphale's front and running them down the lapels of his coat, tracing the weathered strip of fabric at the center of his waistcoat as Aziraphale began to withdraw, slowly, before pressing his hips forward again. "I always wanted to—always wanted to touch."

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut in ecstasy, pressing forward slowly, but firmly, wanting Crowley to feel every last bit of him as they came together. Crowley usually needed more than this—faster, harder, more out-of-control—but he was giving every indication now that he was not so very far away from the end. He debated with himself about the pace, if he should fall into the more reliable patterns they'd established when making love with each other this way, but with the way Crowley had melted against him, his body absorbing and relishing these deliberate, firm movements of Aziraphale's hips, he found himself hoping he wouldn't need to. 

While every intimacy they'd begun to share, from discovering how they could give pleasure to each other to just finally speaking the full truth between them—a truth given while lying on the ground outside and looking up at the stars, pulling the blankets up over their heads in their shared bedroom, or just allowing themselves to be seen —this experience felt somehow different from anything that had come before.  

This was Crowley, trusting Aziraphale. Trusting him when Aziraphale hadn't trusted himself, at first, to give Crowley what he needed to take away from their time together today. He'd handed Aziraphale his fragile hope, outstretched in his hands, and had known even when Aziraphale hadn't that it would be returned to him, safe and sound. Perhaps even better and stronger than before.

"You are so good," Aziraphale whispered to him, just as he buried himself yet again, clutching at Crowley's body and joining them as closely as he could. "You are doing so well for me." He withdrew, watching Crowley as he bowed forward, bereft, hands tangling in the fabric of Aziraphale's coat. "You are exactly what I want."

They locked eyes before Crowley leaned up to kiss him, Aziraphale returning it with all he had, all he was. Crowley's body just kept accepting him, welcoming him in, and Aziraphale fought with himself to keep the pace steady. He felt Crowley moving beneath him, rising up to meet him, and then his hand found Aziraphale's and Crowley twined their fingers together.

Aziraphale was bursting with love for Crowley, blinding himself with it as time seemed to slow down so that he could focus on each individual sensation. He could feel the minute twitches of Crowley's fingers as the grip of their joined hands tightened and released. Crowley's chest bowed upward each time Aziraphale pushed forward as his body absorbed the movement, the arch of it baring his neck, taunting Aziraphale to bury his mouth there and taste the pulse throbbing under his skin. Crowley clenched around him, warm, burning, and the only reason Aziraphale could conceive of for pulling away was to feel the perfection of being welcomed in again. 

It couldn't last forever, yet Aziraphale wondered how he would exist without it, this feeling of the two of them so open to each other, finally free to discover that they were both willing to (wanted to, would die to) accept each other as they were. Crowley, with the sharpness of his cranky prickliness, and Aziraphale, whose stuffiness and overindulgence somehow fit perfectly against Crowley's edges.

"I love you, angel," Crowley panted. "I love you."

It took Aziraphale's breath away, how easily the words fell from him now. It hadn't been easy for him, at first, to say them. Aziraphale hadn't minded. He'd known, once he'd allowed himself to see. He'd felt it. 

"You feel exquisite, my darling. Around me," he said, punctuating himself with another slow, deep, hard thrust. This was what had been difficult for Aziraphale—talking about how their physical expressions of affection felt, telling Crowley what he liked, what he didn't. Crowley had been just as patient with Aziraphale, and though it was still hard for him sometimes, Crowley had never been anything other than overjoyed when Aziraphale was able to trust him this way. "You're so warm, and it's though I'll never be cold again."

"Aziraphale, I'm going to—I want to—can I—?"

"Yes," Aziraphale breathed against Crowley's mouth, lowering himself to one elbow so that he could reach down between them, take Crowley's cock in his hand, and twist his fingers and his wrist just so. 

He felt Crowley's body release, spend spattering between them as Crowley writhed, his hips moving in time with Aziraphale's hand. He had to concentrate not to allow his pace to stutter, but he did allow himself to watch as the pleasure washed itself over Crowley's body, his face tensing and then relaxing as the intensity of the sensations died away. 

Crowley got over-sensitive so easily, Aziraphale knew, so he began to slow his pace, readying himself to pull away and finish himself off (it wouldn't be difficult, not with Crowley still laid out so prettily beneath him) but Crowley reached out with one exhausted arm and clasped Aziraphale close to his chest.

"Like this, angel. Just like this."

"Crowley, you—"

" Please ."

Aziraphale stilled and Crowley whimpered, thrusting upward and urging Aziraphale to keep going.

"I don't want to hurt you," Aziraphale told him, starting to pull away again, but Crowley's arm held fast.

"With me. Please. With me." Crowley stared into his eyes, breathing hard. "Unless you don't want—"

"Oh, Crowley. I want you. I always want you."

He began to move again, watching Crowley as he arched and moaned, shivering with the overload of sensations washing over him, and it was more than Aziraphale's self-control could withstand. He moved faster, burying himself deeply with each thrust, and he allowed himself to just take . It wasn't long before he broke, emptying himself deep within Crowley's body as Crowley whispered nonsense into his ear. 

They stayed that way for a long time, both of them gasping to catch their breaths, before Aziraphale remembered the pressure he was putting on Crowley's body, and how Crowley had told him that neither angelic nor demonic miracles could ever quite divest him of all of his aches and pains.

Crowley protested when Aziraphale moved to reposition them, Aziraphale gently shushing him and reassuring him that he wasn't going anywhere, he was merely making them more comfortable. He'd almost thought Crowley had nodded off when his voice cut through the silence, small and uncertain.

"Was that all right?" Crowley asked.

"I should be asking that of you, my dear." Aziraphale leaned back to look at Crowley, who avoided his eyes. "This was for you, after all." But then he thought better of that response, wondering if Crowley might feel safer to discuss how he felt if Aziraphale shared his own thoughts first. "For my part, I found this very enjoyable. It was wonderful to experience how utterly compelling I find you in a new way."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. I love every moment of being with you, and this afternoon was no exception. I would have no qualms about doing this or something like it again in the future, or never doing it again if it wasn't something you enjoyed."

"Angel," Crowley growled, "for fuck's sake. Are you sure that isn't just your nice non-answer so you don't have to tell me—"

"Look at me, please, my dear," Aziraphale interrupted, and then he waited patiently for Crowley to comply. It would take a moment, he knew, as Crowley had spent so many centuries hiding behind dark glasses that direct eye contact still didn't come naturally to him. "I am not lying to you. I was telling you the truth when I answered your question."

"And you don't mind that…that I asked you to do something because I…" Crowley trailed off, unable to continue, but Aziraphale knew what he'd been trying to say.

"I think this afternoon may have led me to show you how I feel about you, and not merely that I love you, but how I see you , and I also believe that you needed to hear it. It wasn't wrong for you to want that, Crowley. If anything, the fault is with me, that I hadn't been able to show you that without you having to ask for it."


"I quite agree," Aziraphale said, giving in to the chuckle that bubbled up in his throat and hoping that Crowley wouldn't take offense.

"Wasn't your fault," Crowley managed. "Sometimes it helps to hear things a different way."

Aziraphale nodded, waving the sofa wider with an impatient movement of his hand, and then he shifted to the side and pulled Crowley back against him. Another wave had an impossibly soft, tartan blanket surprised to find itself underneath them and then pulled over and around them to circle them completely, and though Crowley grumbled about the pattern, he snuggled into it all the same.

"I'll get up and order us some food in a moment, angel, I promise," Crowley said, yawning so widely that Aziraphale knew it would have greatly unsettled any human who might have witnessed it. 

"Of course, my darling," Aziraphale said, and clasped Crowley closely to his chest as the demon fell into a deep, restful sleep. -