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The Sharpest Lives

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It would be inaccurate to call the noise at the door a knock . It was more of a hand suddenly slapping at the glass, trying to keep the owner of the hand from falling over, and then a couple bangs of the side of their fist on the wood of the door. 

It was cold at one in the morning in London's Soho, and Aziraphale had been reading, occasionally sipping at his cup of tea (which was polite enough to stay warm even though it should've gone cold 33 minutes ago). 

"We're closed," he called absently over his shoulder, relocating the line he was on after the slap-bang had driven his eyes from the book. 

There was a quiet rattle, the bell above the door dinged, and the angel looked up as Crowley stumbled in through the doorway, half-empty bottIe of whiskey loosely clutched by his side. He caught himself against the wall as the door shut behind him, taking a deep drink from the bottle in his hand.

"Hey, 'Zira," he slurred, hissing the name a bit. 

Now, this was not a particularly ab normal thing to happen on late nights and early mornings in the shop. It had happened with some frequency, if not consistency, over the last 200-some-odd years the bookshop had been open, that the demon appeared without warning, drunk off his arse. Of course, it wasn't a particularly normal thing to happen, either. Usually, when they got together and were drinking, it was together; they chose whatever they felt like drinking that night, they started drinking together, they went back to the shop to get very drunk together, and they sobered up together. Sometimes they even started drinking together again after they had sobered up, if they wanted to spend more time with the other without saying that out loud (they were both fairly good at avoiding certain topics). But, the point was, usually they started and finished their nights together. 

It was the particularly nasty nights that one of them--Crowley, usually--started drinking before the other and still came 'round to talk, or even not talk. 

Therefore, Aziraphale was worried. 

He stood up. "Crowley," he greeted, trying to smile but feeling that maybe it didn't look as genuine as he hoped. "What are you doing here?"

A shrug. Another drink. "Jusss' wanted to sssee you. You busy?" 

"Not particularly." His eyebrows furrowed together. "What's wrong, dear boy?"

A thunk as Crowley's head hit the wall the rest of him was leaning against. "There'sss nothing wrong. Why does there have to be sssomething wrong for me to want to sssee my--my best friend?"

A small, lopsided smile. "I'm not saying that." He approached cautiously, about a half a room length apart now. Sometimes, when Crowley showed up drunk with something on his mind, he didn't appreciate people--not even Aziraphale--coming too close. "You just look...upset."

Crowley shook his head, head turned to the side, eyes still covered and tension written into every line of his body that wasn't loose from the alcohol. He sniffed. "S'nothing, angel." 

Doubtful, but willing to let him keep his secrets for now, Aziraphale nodded. "I'll go make us some tea," he said, and left the room. He didn't necessarily want to leave the demon, not looking like that, but he needed a moment to review what he had seen and figure out what could be troubling Crowley. 

So far, there had been three distinct causes that led to Crowley showing up like this. 1), something had made him start thinking about Her and falling again. 2), he had lost a rare-made human friend. 3), it was a particularly rough night for the self-loathing he always tried to keep hidden behind the mask of snark. He did an excellent job of hiding the feeling from others, but when one knows another for 6 millennia, one should hope that they know quite a bit about what the other has hidden. 

These prompting events each had their own method for how the two dealt with them, without actually diving so deep into it as to create another chasm between them as Crowley tried to forget the vulnerability he'd shown. 

As Aziraphale left for the small kitchen in the back of the shop, he heard heavy footsteps and the airy scrape of fabric as Crowley staggered to his favorite chair, the clink of the glass bottle against the floor. "Why me, mother?" he heard faintly from the other room. Aziraphale miracled his steps silent, not feeling too great about eavesdropping on his friend's drunken prayers but feeling it might tell him a little more about what prompted this and what the appropriate course of action would be. "Why did you make me the only one"--a sniff--" the only one, in all of Heaven and Hell, who can feel like this. And to be--to feel this way-- fuckit --to love someone who could never stoop so, so low as to love me back. I can't even--I can't even tell him without de--dest--without breaking the only thing holding us together."

Oh, lord . Aziraphale barely caught the whistling of the kettle, so deeply entrenched in listening and thinking was he. He had... heard this before. Had suspected. Things sometimes come out when you're drunk, but both of them had the courtesy not to bring up such personal things when they were recovering from the vulnerability of saying such things nearly uncontrollably. He just hadn't realized that Crowley thought him incapable of loving him back. 

This was unprecedented, and there was no set-upon method for helping with these kinds of emotions and thoughts. 

Of course, Crowley was incorrect in his assumption. Aziraphale had spent the majority of the past couple weeks after Armageddon't contemplating his feelings toward the demon--toward his friend. He had realized that yes, he did feel...something he wasn't meant to feel toward him. Something he was still a little afraid to call love, something that made him tense and scrub a hand down his face and expect to result in his Falling. 

But, evidently, their thousands of years of carefully avoiding such topics had culminated in this. And the angel would be--well, he would be damned if he held on to his own insecurities when his friend was feeling like this. 

After a bit of silence from the front room, Aziraphale assumed that Crowley was done praying and took the mugs of tea back to the other room. As he approached, though, he spoke up again. 

"Is this my--my punishment?" Aziraphale was close enough to the door to be able to see the other being, and he watched as Crowley slid his sunglasses off, shaking them by his side--a few drops of water splashed onto the carpet from them--and put them back on. "Was it not enough that I fell , that I had every trace of Your love ripped from me?" He tried to stand quickly, fell back into the seat, and stood again, more slowly this time. "What did I do to You?" He was looking up toward the ceiling, narrowly escaping kicking the bottle over as he turned in a circle, hands open by his sides. Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, taking a steadying breath he didn't need. "All I did was, was ask , surely the punishment doesn't fit the crime. Surely I don't deserve to feel all this, all this love towards someone who can't return it. Just--just tell me what I did , how I can fix it." He collapsed back into the seat, hands pressing into his face. 

Okay, enough was enough. "Crowley," he said gently. He left the mugs on the table and knelt in front of the seat, clasping Crowley's hands in his own. "Crowley, no . This isn't a punishment . This is an opportunity , my dear boy." He hesitated for only a moment, casting his eyes to the side before sighing, letting go of his biggest secret across 6,000 years. "Your feelings are"

Crowley ripped his hands away, shaking his head and looking everywhere but at the angel. " Don't , Aziraphale. Don't--don't lie to me. Not about thisss ."

"I'm not lying, Crowley." He placed a hand on Crowley's cheek, drawing his attention back, eyes still hidden behind the glasses, but Aziraphale could tell he was looking into his eyes, searching. "I promise. Maybe I've hidden it--from Heaven, from you, from myself --for centuries, but I'm not lying ."

"Prove it." He tried to set his voice hard, but it shook a little, betraying him. 

Aziraphale's jaw was slack in thought and a bit of shock, not fully expecting the challenge. How was he supposed to--well, there was always that , but would he be welcome? Would it really show Crowley what he was looking for? 

Didn't hurt to try, he guessed. 

Aziraphale kept the hand on his cheek, stroking at the other's cheekbone, leaning in to press a closed-mouth kiss to his lips. An involuntary whimper left Crowley's throat, and he lifted a hand to cover the one on his cheek, threading his fingers through. After a few seconds, the demon tried to deepen the kiss, swiping his now-forked tongue hesitantly across his lips, and Aziraphale shivered, but pulled back nonetheless. 

"'Zira," he said, trying to follow after him. 

"Hush, my boy," Aziraphale replied, stroking his cheekbone again. "I want this, want you , I promise, but we can't take this any further tonight, not unless you want to sober up and think about it."

Crowley nodded, turning so that he could kiss lightly at the palm on his face. "Think I might run away if I tried to sober up tonight. I need to--I need to think."

"And that's perfectly reasonable, my dear. Would you like to be alone, or should I stay?"

"Stay, please. Stay with me." There was nearly masked desperation in his voice. 

"Of course, Crowley." A much more genuine smile crossed Aziraphale's face, feeling like a 6,000 year old weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Which, really, it had. He no longer had to conceal this feeling from everyone, including himself. "I'll stay." Crowley's lips turned up in a similar smile, even pressed to the angel's hand as it was. "Couch, as usual?"

He nodded, and Aziraphale took his hand away, stood up, moved the glass bottle out from in front of the chair. The tea--all three cups that were left out in various places--slowly went cold as the two beings settled themselves on the couch; the angel sat at one end, the book he had been reading miracled back into his hands and propped up against the couch arm; the demon sprawled across the rest of the couch, head pillowed on Aziraphale's leg. Seemingly absentmindedly (but actually very conscious that they had never done this before) Aziraphale threaded a hand through the other's red hair; there was a pleased sigh, and soon after, a snore. The angel smiled softly down at his relaxed--friend? date? who knew at this point--and went back to reading his book. 



A particularly loud snort woke Crowley up. His head was on something soft that didn't really feel like one of his pillows. His head ached like shit, his throat was dry from snoring, and his stomach felt like it was twisting itself into knots. What happened last night? 

He could hear the noise of the city quietly in the background, couldn't feel the familiar, terrified aura of his plants, and this did not feel like the couch or bed in his flat, so he must be at Aziraphale's. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember what they did last night that left him unable to sober up before going to sleep, but he drew a blank. Must have just drank a lot and passed out before he could filter the alcohol from his system. 

He couldn't remember the start of their evening together, though, or where they had gone, which was a bit of an anomaly. 

He buried his face a bit deeper in the makeshift pillow, probably the armrest to the couch he preferred when passing out at the angel's. 

The pillow-thing was a bit too warm to be the arm of a couch, though. And a different angle than normal. 

Then he registered the fingertips rubbing his scalp lightly and froze. 

This had never happened before. 

He concentrated on the energies he could feel. Regular humans outside, walking along the London sidewalks and driving their cars down the London streets; a few houseplants Crowley had convinced--tempted?--Aziraphale into keeping in his shop over the years; and the angel, much closer than his blurry brain had indicated to him before. 

Right beside him, in fact. 

Before he could control it, his whole body tensed and he bolted up, scooting to the opposite side of the couch. Oh, that was a mistake; his head pounded even harder, directly behind his eyes, and he had to take a few deep breaths at the sickening roll his sort-of-stomach made. His glasses were askew, and he fixed them, deliberately looking anywhere but at the angel reading on the other side of the couch. 

"Have a nice rest?" the being in question said. 

Now, he could never say exactly why this particular phrase was said. It wasn't the first time he'd used the phrase, but never at Aziraphale, too worried about offending and scaring off one of the only truly good things that had happened to him (the others being his procuration of the Bentley and the invention of sunglasses). But this time, the words just slid past his lips, in a rather grouchy tone (which made perfect sense, given his corporation's protests). 

"Blow me, angel."

In an instant, he felt the world spin around him--not in a dizzy way, but in a flying way--and found himself lying on a bed he didn't even know was there in the upstairs of the shop, Aziraphale looming over him, knelt between his legs. The headache and nausea were gone. Eyes ridiculously wide, he tried to sit up, move off this bed and away from the object of his hidden desires, but before he even realized that was what he was doing, there was a hand on the center of his chest, pushing him back down. The heartbeat and breathing he didn't need quickened yet again, to what he felt was an impossible level, and Aziraphale's unoccupied hand was reaching for his sunglasses. Now, he meant to turn his head away, shake it, something that would stop his defenses being taken away, but he was still frozen in place with shock and apprehension. Slowly, the sunglasses were pulled from his face, folded up, and set on the side table without even a momentary break of the eye lock the two beings had going on. That hand went to his face, stroking over his cheekbone a few times. A smile, a strange mixture of sweet and sly that Crowley had only ever seen on Aziraphale's face a few times in six millennia, spread across said angel's face. 

"If you insist."

At those words, the memories of last night came flooding in, and he could only gulp loudly, jaw slack, as he recalled watching the couple at the park sit cuddling together on the bench, laughing and talking--somebody had been planning on breaking up the two men, even looking around for something to throw at them, and Crowley had flashed his snake head at the person, sending him stumbling and running off--and immediately getting something like longing and loneliness in his chest. 

He hadn't seen Aziraphale since they stopped Armageddon two and a half weeks prior, avoiding him as he tried to figure out what to do with the feelings strangling his heart every time he thought about the angel. He had started drinking alone, wishing not for the first time that he had more than one real friend in the universe to go to, but apparently his drunk arse sent him to the bookshop, where he had started praying out loud, was heard by Aziraphale--which was so bloody embarrassing he could discorporate--and, after brief conversation, was kissed by Aziraphale. 

Oh, fuck

At Aziraphale's single raised eyebrow, he realized he had been gaping and panting for a solid 7 seconds while replaying everything in his head. He saw the question in the angel's eyes and nodded furiously, nearly making himself dizzy with it, quickly making sure an Effort was manifested (he found it rather difficult to be as androgynous as he liked in his skinny jeans while he had an Effort, and since bathhouses weren't around any more, there was really no need to keep one on hand, so to speak). 

A different smile cracked across Aziraphale's face, one with relief in it, and he leaned down for their second kiss in 6000 years. It was tentative at first, still a bit unsure about what this change allowed them to do with each other, but it quickly turned deeper. Aziraphale was first to reach for more this time, lightly licking across the seam of his lips, and Crowley contained a noise that tried to escape (he still prized whatever dignity he had left after last night) as he parted his lips for him. The hand still on his chest began soothingly rubbing against his sternum, still holding him down quite strongly. This went on for some time, tasting each other, learning the shape of the mouth each had stared at since Eden, just getting closer to one another, until Crowley felt Aziraphale draw a finger down his chest, the tingle-spark of a miracle so close to his skin preceding the cooler air on his torso. Suddenly, the hand holding him down was across bare skin, and Crowley pushed up a little just to feel the sensation. Aziraphale's free hand stroked down his ribs, settling him a bit more, then coming back up to thumb across his left nipple. Crowley broke the kiss, head turning to the side, letting out a pitifully soft whine. He'd never thought about doing that to himself before, and it felt fucking good

The angel took the opportunity to move down to his neck, kissing and licking at the thin, sensitive skin there, and Crowley let out another embarrassing whine, louder this time. Aziraphale followed up with a short, low moan, gently biting at his hammering pulse point. Crowley tilted his head back to give the angel more room as the hand moved from his nipple down to grasp and squeeze at his thigh, pulling it up and out a bit more as his jeans and pants dissolved. He shivered under the onslaught of lips and tongue on his neck, strong hands on his sternum and thigh, cool air raising goosebumps on sensitive flesh. 

Lips moved to the juncture of shoulder and neck, then collarbone, kissing and licking and occasionally nipping their way down. Aziraphale's mouth descended softly on his chest, and Crowley tried to push up into the sensations, found he couldn't, and instead grabbed at the wrist of the hand holding his chest down, just trying to feel like he wasn't about to fly apart. His other hand sank itself into maddeningly soft white-blond curls as the mouth moved from nipping around his pec to laving his hot tongue across his nipple. 

"Yesssss, ' Zira ," he hissed from between clenched teeth, shivering at the feeling. The licking turned to a suck, which turned into a nip, and immediately back to a soothing lick. His heels scrabbled against the sheets and another noise--a moan? a sob? neither of them could quite remember--broke from his throat. His Effort, soft when it first came into being, was definitely getting more and more interested in the proceedings. "Please, angel, please ," he pleaded involuntarily. "I need…" 

Aziraphale reluctantly left the demon's chest in favor of looking back into his face. The angel's pupils were blown wide with lust and something else he didn't want to name, and he was panting just the tiniest bit. 

"What do you need, my dear boy?" he asked softly, running his thumb across Crowley's bottom lip. "Say the word, I'll give it to you."

Crowley opened and shut his mouth a few times, searching for the right words, and settled on a shake of his head. 

"I don't--I don't know , I just want more ," he confessed. 

A flicker of a smile. "Be patient, darling, and you'll get what you want. Multiple times over, I'm sure." 

He nodded, not trusting his voice to not crack in his middle, and gasped when he felt hot, open-mouthed kisses on his hipbones. He knew that it was stupid to keep trying to move, to sit up and do something back--not that he knew what to do, but he could probably figure it out as he went along--but his body just kept trying to, squirming and straining against the celestially strong hand holding him down. 

It took what felt like forever before Aziraphale was satisfied with the little bruises and teeth marks he'd left on the wiry hips, and met Crowley's eyes intently as he finally dragged his tongue, slowly and steadily, up the demon's erection. 

The long, loud gasp that followed may have been overdramatic, but: 

1) this was the first time this particular part of him had been touched in probably a couple centuries, if not more. 

2) this was the first time a mouth had ever been involved in the proceedings (it had only ever been just a hand, Crowley's hand specifically, and only a handful of times since he'd come to earth--he may have watched with some curiosity at different times, but he'd never gotten involved with anybody). 

3) Crowley was pretty much always an overdramatic bitch, so it fit his style, at least. 

The hand holding him down tensed for a moment, almost as if the owner of the hand was trying to hold on, before they got their senses back and the hand still on his thigh gripped a little harder, slid farther up to just barely sit on the join of arse and thigh. Still staring intently up at Crowley's face (though Crowley was no longer making eye contact, having chosen to throw his head back and stare sightlessly at the little of the headboard he could see), Aziraphale repeated the lick, following with sucking just the head of his cock into his mouth, prompting a low groan from the being below him. Without warning, the hot mouth descended fully, taking Crowley's length all the way into his throat. The demon yelped and bucked his hips up involuntarily, hands moving to clench hard into the bedsheets so as to not yank the angel's hair too much, and the angel choked just slightly (he had kept a fraction of the gag reflex his corporeal form came with, having learned that his partners had enjoyed the feeling of a throat tightening around their dick, as did he; it didn't bother him too much, so he kept it on as a nice addition to his repertoire). Crowley slightly expected himself to be shoved away, having crossed a line when he forced himself further into his partner's throat, but instead the angel just moved the hand from his thigh to his hips, holding them down, hummed deep in his throat, and swallowed a few times around the head. Another long, loud gasp, a back trying (and failing) to arch with the overload of sensation, another scrabbling of feet at the mattress, a string of curses and nonsense syllables. 

Another few minutes passed like this, the demon trembling and making not-quite words as the angel used his ridiculously talented mouth on Crowley's cock. Crowley could feel his orgasm tightening in his gut and groin, and to be honest he was a little scared of it. He'd never orgasmed in front of someone before, and they made him feel rather vulnerable, and even though he knew down to his very essence that he was safe with Aziraphale, he still didn't like feeling vulnerable, in front of anybody. 

And somehow Aziraphale could tell that he was trying to hold off. He pulled off with a pop, replacing his mouth with his hand. 

"Come on, my dear, let go for me. Surrender."

Aziraphale dove back down, doing something with his tongue that the demon didn't even have words for, and he let out a sound too close to a sob for comfort as he came, hips trying to buck up further into the warmth. His vision whited out. 

When he stopped floating in nothingness (only a few seconds), there were two distinct things he noticed. Embarrassingly, there were tears tracking down the side of his face into the pillow; and Aziraphale had not left his cock . He was still gently licking and sucking sideways along the shaft, and his dick was yet to get soft. His thighs were shaking even harder on either side of the angel's head. Crowley moved one of his hands from the sheets to grasp at Aziraphale's hair again, and stared down at him, whose eyes were closed and eyebrows furrowed in concentration, moaning quietly and grinding into the bed. Then his eyes flicked up to meet Crowley's, he smirked as much as he could with a mouthful of cock, and moved to suck, hard and demanding, on just the head of his cock. 

" Ah !" came the short sharp cry, as his fingers tightened in Aziraphale's hair. His hips twitched, not sure whether to get more or get away. Subconsciously, he tugged at the angel's curls, trying to get the source of overstimulation away from him, but the angel simply quirked an eyebrow, reached up to remove Crowley's hand from his hair, and threaded his fingers through at his side. 

"'Zira, please ," he choked out, not even knowing what he was asking for. 

Aziraphale hummed a question, still looking up with that eyebrow raised, and the vibrations caused Crowley to squeeze at the hand around his. 

There was a part of him--his nerve endings, specifically--that wanted him to demand that the other stop touching him, let his body calm down a bit from the sensations, but a bigger part of him had wanted Aziraphale for so long that he just couldn't bear asking him to stop now, yearning for every bit of attention that the angel would be willing to give him. 

So, he settled for throwing his head back with another long moan, trying to give some of the overwhelming pleasure a way to vent itself. And then he couldn't stop. And neither did Aziraphale, not for another minute, at least, just doing unspeakably delicious things to the cock in his mouth, grinding steadily into the bed, and moaning and humming every so often. 

Just as he felt the stirrings in his gut again, Aziraphale popped off his dick--Crowley whined in protest, despite the overstimulation--and crawled up to his side, throwing a knee over one of Crowley's and propping himself up on his left elbow. Sharing the taste of himself, Aziraphale settled a hand on the demon's side, stroking up and down soothingly until his legs had stopped shaking and he was relaxing into the languid kisses. 

He lost himself in the feeling of plush lips at just the right angle, tongue tangling with his, and barely even noticed when the hand moved from his ribs down to his hipbones, past his cock, and down further to rub lightly at his perineum. Crowley broke the kiss to gasp into Aziraphale's mouth, eyebrows furrowing and hips bucking up as much as they were able (which wasn't much). As the angel moved to circle his entrance with a newly-slick finger, Crowley moved back in to nip at and suck on Aziraphale's bottom lip. Aziraphale groaned quietly, sinking a finger into Crowley down to the second knuckle, and the demon groaned back into his mouth, lips then travelling across his jaw to his neck, trying to pay him back for the sensations he was receiving. Aziraphale hummed in pleasure, pressing against Crowley's inner walls and tight ring of muscle, waiting until he relaxed enough to slip a second finger inside. Then, he stroked along something inside that made his legs tremble, his abs clench, and his head to fall to the side on the pillow with a loud gasp and moan. The angel did it again, smirking a little and pressing a little harder. Crowley wrapped an arm around Aziraphale and pressed his face into his neck, anchoring himself and muffling a whine. 

"You look so beautiful like this," Aziraphale murmured, and Crowley shivered. "So responsive, so good, falling apart under my hand." Crowley smothered a sob and would later be embarrassed about the tears he was leaving to crawl down Aziraphale's chest (at the moment, he didn't quite have the brainpower to think about it). The angel kissed the top of his head and scissored his fingers. "Do you like it when I praise you? When I tell you what I think about you?" Another full-body shiver, and Aziraphale proceeded to do just that, telling him everything he had ever liked (loved? nah, probably not) about the demon; later on, if there was ever a test about what he was told in this moment, he would not pass, but what he could remember was that it felt amazing, especially paired with the gentle strokes and presses over his prostate. 

By the time Aziraphale decided to finish (for now), Crowley's hips and breaths were hitching with every thrust and twist of the angel's fingers in him, and he was holding back his orgasm (more subconsciously than anything) with everything he had, not wanting this to end despite the evidence he had that Aziraphale wouldn't end this until he was good and ready to. And considering the way Aziraphale was still irregularly grinding on his hip, not really chasing his own orgasm as much as banking the fire in his gut for the time being, Crowley was sure he was going to end up getting fucked. 

Honestly, he hadn't really thought about how this was all going to end; he was a bit more concerned with absorbing all the--all the affection he could from this encounter and not focusing on making presumptions. But now that his whole brain had realized what this going to culminate in, he shivered, biting briefly and cautiously at the join between the angel's neck and shoulder (making sure he didn't accidently break skin with the fangs that had come out as he slowly lost control over his physical form) and growled in as fierce a voice he could manage, "Get inside me, angel."

Another kiss and a nuzzle to the top of his head, but he didn't move to do that, instead pulling his fingers all the way out and adding a third to rub teasingly against his hole. 

"I don't want to hurt you, darling--"

"I don't care if it hurts, Aziraphale, I've been through worse. I just want you in me."

For a few seconds, Aziraphale got a searching look on his face, like he was trying to find deeper meaning to his words. Crowley half wished he wouldn't find what he was looking for, and half hoped he would. 

"Well, I want to watch you come on my fingers first."

And I always give him what he wants, Crowley finished mentally. 

"Come on, lie down flat so I can see your face." Crowley pouted but unwrapped himself from the angel to stretch back out on the bed. "That's it, there's my good boy."

The demon whined and nearly put in the work to lock his orgasm down again, but remembered at the last second that he sooner he came, the sooner Aziraphale would start fucking him into the mattress, so he let it resume building up. 

To his minor surprise, the angel did not add the third finger that he was going to, and Crowley concluded that he figured out what he didn't want to say outright--that he was a bit of a masochist, and would probably not just tolerate but enjoy the feeling of being not quite stretched enough, at least a little bit. What did those humans say? The "mortifying ordeal of being known"? Yeah, he was feeling it. 

Didn't really put a damper on his impending orgasm though, especially when Aziraphale started rubbing those two fingers insistently against his prostate and just didn't fucking stop

Crowley's back arched (more than his spine probably would've let him if he were human), more moans spilled from his mouth as he panted, and his thighs started trembling again. He was on the precipice, almost tipping over, but something in his body just wouldn't let him. At least, until Aziraphale spoke again. 

"Come, Crowley, let me see it," the angel urged, and with a cry that broke in the middle, he did, making a mess over his stomach and chest. He didn't white out this time, aware of Aziraphale's continued strokes on his prostate, stretching out his orgasm, his low moan as he stared at Crowley's face. He had no idea what his face looked like in the throes of pleasure; he'd seen other people's o-faces throughout history and thought they looked pretty goofy, but apparently his-- the angel thought his was sexy, so. That was good. 

Finally, he pulled his fingers out, petting Crowley's inner thigh as he relaxed again. When his thoughts finally switched on again, he asked, "Now will you get inside me?"

Aziraphale chuckled and kissed his forehead, but shifted back over Crowley, half-boxing him in with a forearm right next to his head. It took a bit to figure out the best leg position for both of them, but eventually they ended up with Crowley's thighs hugging Aziraphale's torso, and went back to kissing. They were very good at getting distracted by each other's lips, it would seem. Good to know. 

They remembered their positions at the same time, Crowley pulling Aziraphale closer with his legs while Aziraphale lined himself up, the tip of his cock nudging at his hole and making them both moan into each other's mouths. Aziraphale pulled back from Crowley's mouth, blue eyes holding yellow as he pushed in slowly to the hilt. The angel's eyes fluttered shut as the demon's rolled back in his head, unneeded breath punched out of him at the sensation. The stinging stretch made his overwhelmed, slowly hardening cock throb, and his body couldn't even figure out what kind of sound to make to this, settling on something like a high keen. 

Aziraphale dropped his forehead to Crowley's, locking eyes hazy with pleasure, lust, and that same thing Crowley still didn't want to think about. They panted into each other's mouths, riding out the adjustment period as Crowley tried to stop reflexively clenching around the cock in his arse. 

Probably too quickly for most people's comfort (read: not too quickly for a slight masochist with a high pain tolerance), Aziraphale started moving, snapping his hips in and out to a slowly settled rhythm. Crowley gave up on trying to control his muscles right now--he decided he could work on it later--and just let the sensations flood him. 

Aziraphale was trembling finely, letting little high noises spill from his lips, and Crowley knew he was getting close. The angel drug a hand up Crowley's side, landing an unsteady hand over his nipple again and scraping a nail over it. Yeah, he definitely suspected/knew that the demon was a masochist. 

"Touch yourself for me," he panted out, speeding up his thrusts. Crowley didn't hesitate, his hand on his cock before he fully registered what was said to him. He stroked himself slowly but tightly, steadily building the fire up in his groin. “I’m not sure if I can hold back much longer, dear boy, can I--is it okay if I release inside of you?”

Yesss ,” he hissed, speeding up his hand. “Definitely do that .” 

A few more arrhythmic, jarring thrusts, and Aziraphale was coming, moaning loudly and other arm coming up to completely box Crowley in. A last-second harsh twist of a nipple and the swipe of a thumb around the head of his cock later, and with a shout, Crowley was coming too. Aziraphale pressed his forehead into Crowley’s as they panted together; Crowley reflexively clenched down on the pulsing dock, extending the angel’s orgasm a few more seconds. 

They remained like that for a few long moments, even after the aftershocks were done, then Aziraphale pulled out and gracefully flopped onto his back as Crowley did a handwavy motion to clear the mess on his stomach and the sweat from both of them. They spooned for a few minutes, relaxing in the closeness, until: “What do you want this to mean for us, my dear?”

Crowley tensed and reached for the shield of his sunglasses, really not wanting to be seen for this conversation, but Aziraphale grabbed his arm, keeping him from his goal. “Don’t. I want to see your face for his, dear boy, no barriers. Please.”

After a few moments of internal debate, Crowley sighed and dropped his arm. “I--I don’t know, angel. I don’t want to ask for more than what you want to give me--”

“That is exactly why we’re having this conversation, dear.“

“And I don’t want to push you away--”

“You should know by now how stubborn I am when I want something.”

“But. I don’t want this to end.”

“Neither do I, my love.”

“Now that I--”

Both of them stiffened as they registered what Aziraphale had said. Crowley flipped over to face him. The angel’s eyes were wide with shock and nervousness, staring up at the ceiling as though he expected God Herself to strike him down for his words (and he probably did). But after nothing happened for a few moments, Aziraphale looked him in the eyes, setting his jaw and reaching out to settle a hand on his cheek. 

“I may not have meant to say it, but it’s true nonetheless. I, uh. I love you, Crowley.”

He beamed after the words left him, leaning forward to peck Crowley on the lips. 

“I love you, too, angel. Have for a while now.”

They stayed there for another few moments, just smiling at each other like absolute dorks, until the moment was broken by a giant yawn from the demon.  “We can discuss anything else after you rest, Crowley. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You should try it, Aziraphale, might like it,” he mumbled, eyes already falling shut. The hand on his face moved to smooth across his eyebrow. 

“I may just do that,” he said, but the other was already asleep.