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We Made a Garden of the Love We Found

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“You are certain no one is watching?” Aziraphale tried to keep his tone light, to hold the quiver back from making his voice shake. It wasn’t all nerves; he was almost unbearably overjoyed to have Crowley in his arms for the first time. Only, there was a worry nibbling at the back of his mind that he couldn’t ignore any longer.

They were in the flat above his shop, Crowley stood with him in his rarely-used bedroom for the first time. They had spent the afternoon laughing and toasting in the Ritz until at last they made their way home — and oh how nice it was to think of this as their home, to acknowledge to himself that Crowley belonged here with him. A few more hours of celebratory drinking and talking had slowly given way to more frequent pauses and gazes filled with heated passion, as they inched their way closer together. Somehow, eventually, Aziraphale had gestured to Crowley to move and led him, hand in shaky hand, up the narrow stairs.

Standing with his back to his bed now, coats discarded and their arms around each other, Aziraphale’s entire body felt fluttery with anticipation and uncertainty.

Could they really have this? Was it truly real, this moment — pressed so close together, his arms around Crowley’s neck, Crowley’s mouth hovering above his own? He couldn’t quite escape the age-old fear that if he closed the distance between them agents from Heaven or Hell might be upon them in a moment. That Crowley would be ripped away from him.

He had watched as they dragged away his beloved not twelve hours ago, and despite his faith in Agnes’s prophecy, and in their abilities to wear each other’s faces well, it had been excruciating to feel so helpless in that moment.

“I’m sure, angel,” Crowley said. He was so close Aziraphale could feel his breath against his lips. It would be easy to tilt his head just so, lean in those last couple, scant inches, and press their mouths together. He wondered, for the millionth time, what Crowley would taste like. He could know that night, that very minute, if he had the courage.

They had never been this close before. Not like this. Aziraphale had wanted this, wanted Crowley, in the past of course. Had entertained fantasies, flirted with the possibility of it. But he never could give in to his desires before. The first time he had stared at Crowley’s mouth and felt a pang of longing had been ages ago in Rome. He watched Crowley lift oysters to his lips and slurp them down. Watched a long thin tongue poke out to chase a drop of salty liquid. Aziraphale’s corporation had burned with a new and thrilling sensation in his loins as his mind supplied images of those lips wrapping around other things.

It had been great fun at the time, trading coy glances and light laughter. Over the centuries Aziraphale had derived great amusement from getting the two of them into sexually charged situations. He thought he had nearly succeeded in tempting Crowley in 1792. His ensemble had been great fun and he had been very put out over losing the clothes (particularly the shoes), and not in the way he had hoped to. At the time he had found teasing Crowley very diverting and supposed that if they ever ended up between bed sheets together, well, they could play it off as a forced situation. The denizens of Hell would probably even give Crowley a commendation for bedding an angel if they learned of it.

But Crowley drew back slightly. His hands, which had been on his back, circled around to his sides, and held him there with only a hint of pressure. “We can slow down. If you’re uncomfortable—”

Aziraphale tightened his arms. “Slow down? No, I want this.” Looking up into Crowley’s golden eyes, he could tell that Crowley didn’t fully believe him. He still looked ready to pull out of the embrace altogether.

“I don’t want to take this slow anymore. Only, I cannot help but think that if they knew about us, about our love, that that would be the end of this, of everything. That I cannot possibly keep this.”

He didn’t want Crowley supposing that he was too nervous to continue. He wasn’t some blushing virgin1; he had had his dalliances with humans. In the late 19th century he had been downright promiscuous. Those lovely young fellows at the clubs he patronized had taught him many exhilarating acts. They had eased the loneliness for a time. Eventually, however, he had realised there was a deeper need they couldn’t satisfy, an itch under his skin, deep in his bones, that made him ache with unnamed sorrow.

Only later, on the ruins of holy ground, did he realise what he truly wanted. He thought then that he could never have it. It was an impossible thing, so unthinkable it couldn’t even be said to be forbidden: he was in love with a demon. He had not understood, all those years before when Crowley handed him the note with a request for holy water, why he had been so filled with terror. He understood then. The idea of any harm coming to Crowley, to the one he loved, was too horrifying to consider. Even if they could not be together in the way his heart desired, the thought of losing Crowley permanently — it couldn’t be borne.

His epiphany also led him to understand why Crowley had never responded to his flirtations before. Lust could have been excused. Love, however. Love couldn’t exist between them. If Hell had suspected Crowley loved him half as deeply as Aziraphale knew to be true then, that would most certainly be the end of him. And he knew then that one night together, as friends, before going their separate ways wouldn’t be possible. It would have been thoroughly foolish to attempt to satisfy their physical desire in each other when their hearts could not be united.

“Aziraphale. Listen to me. They can’t touch us.” Crowley whispered. “But it's alright to be afraid, angel. It hasn’t even been a full day. I’m right here with you and I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes were full of understanding and Aziraphale knew he’d never push past his boundaries, even unstated ones. But Aziraphale saw his gaze drop to his lips for a moment. A flash of movement that he couldn’t conceal with his sunglasses left behind on a side table downstairs. Aziraphale didn’t want to keep either of them waiting another second, but he didn’t know how to take that step.

He squeezed his own eyes shut in frustration. “It isn’t alright. I don’t want—”

Gentle knuckles brushed over his cheekbone. Aziraphale shivered a little at the sensation. Crowley’s hand felt cool on his heated skin. “What is it you don’t want?”

Hardly even aware of what his body was doing, Aziraphale leaned into the touch lingering on his face, eyes still closed. “I don’t want to be held back any longer. I don’t want them to stop us.”

“They can’t stop us. Not anymore. We won.”

“I know.”

It was quiet for a long moment. Crowley broke the silence.

“Maybe if we — that is, I have an idea for something that might help you feel safer.”

Aziraphale nodded before Crowley finished speaking. Whatever it was, it couldn’t hurt. Crowley had never led him astray. Well, not in any way that was actually damaging to himself at least. He wasn’t sure what his status as an angel still was, but that mattered far less than being here and now with Crowley, forging their own side.

He felt Crowley take another couple steps back until they were no longer touching.

There was a tingle of power, prickling at Aziraphale’s ethereal-tuned senses, immediately followed by a soft whoosh.

Aziraphale opened his eyes. “Oh, Crowley.”

Behind Crowley enormous wings spread open as far as they could reach in the cramped space. Midnight black feathers gleamed in the amber light of the lamp on the nightstand. The wings filled the room, shrinking it as they seemed almost like another wall, dividing Crowley and himself from the rest of the world. Aziraphale felt almost boxed in by them, but instead of feeling trapped, it felt like protection. A promise of safety. A slight twitch, Crowley readjusting the position they were held in, made the feathers dip and rise a bit, and Aziraphale could see the power in those limbs. A blow from a wing of that size, from someone with Crowley’s abilities, could do serious damage. Crowley wasn’t a fighter, but Aziraphale remembered him standing with a mere tire iron in his hand, ready to defend Adam, the world, and an angel from Satan himself. There was no immediate threat now, beyond the fears Aziraphale couldn’t seem to shake off.

“Like what you see?” Crowley angled for a suave delivery with his chest puffed out a bit. Aziraphale could read the nervousness underneath, in his too-stiff posture. Wings weren’t something ethereal or occult beings brought out of the ether for any old occasion. Aziraphale had seen Crowley’s wings only twice in the millennia they’d coincided on earth.

Aziraphale realised he was leaning forward, one of his hands started to stretch out in front of him. Straining towards his love before he was even aware of it, longing to touch. He wanted to run his fingers over those feathers, trace the lines of the long primaries, comb his hands through the tiniest coverts at the back. He hadn’t thought of himself as an especially touch-oriented person before but the desire to bury himself in Crowley’s wings was almost too strong to resist.

Crowley noticed and huffed a laugh. His own hand reached out to meet Aziraphale’s, clasping tightly and drawing him close once more. Then — oh, Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat — those wings were wrapping around them. They folded into a loose circle around the pair of them. They didn’t quite touch behind Aziraphale, leaving the angel plenty of space to step away if he wanted. Aziraphale took another step closer, until they were almost pressed chest to chest.

“Is this alright?” came a murmur in his ear.

A hand squeezed tighter. Aziraphale wasn’t sure which of them it was, perhaps both. “Crowley,” he said again. There were no other words available to him. He looked up into Crowley’s eyes and hoped he could read the love and gratitude he couldn’t speak.

Crowley’s free hand came up to brush his cheekbone. It was a mere whisper of a touch and Aziraphale ached for more. He waited but Crowley didn’t move again. It was up to him. Crowley had made him as safe as possible and then put the decision in his hands whether or not to continue with where the evening had been slowly but surely heading.

Crowley, always circling him, ever vigilant, protecting him from every danger he could. Returning to his side after every argument. Forgiving sharp words spoken in fear. And all without any expectation that Aziraphale owed him anything.

Aziraphale let go of his hand, grasped Crowley’s face in both hands, and pulled him into a kiss. No more hesitating, he made the kiss deep and long, trying to pour decades and centuries of stifled passion into it. He felt Crowley’s surprise for a split second before he melted into the kiss. Crowley’s lips tasted like wine and felt like love and they kissed until he was sure he would burst with the fullness of it.

When they broke for air that felt somehow necessary, his eyes were closed again. His hands still cupped Crowley’s face. One of Crowley’s hands had made its way into his hair and that felt nice. The other one was firmly on his lower back, holding their hips flush, and that felt very nice. The heat and hardness between them spoke silently of their desire to take things further.

“Crowley,” he said, and this time it was more of a gasp, “take me to bed.”

Crowley groaned and leaned in to capture his lips again. Then he was stumbling backwards on shaky legs as Crowley slowly walked them to the bed. When the back of his legs bumped into the mattress, he collapsed back onto it, pulling Crowley by his lapels down on him.

The action turned out to be a little sexier in fantasy than reality; the resulting collision of their bodies made them let out simultaneous “oof”s and fight to keep their composure. It didn’t work and Aziraphale broke first, giggles overwhelming him even as he tried to catch his breath. Crowley joined him in laughter a moment later.

When they could speak again, Crowley said, “Maybe don’t go dropping me on top of you when my wings are out. Heavier than I look, y’know.” They were gazing into each other’s eyes again as Crowley brushed a stray curl on the angel’s forehead. Aziraphale felt that he could get lost in that mesmerizing stare, in all the love he found welling up there.

“Mmm I think I’d like to feel you pressing me down more,” Aziraphale murmured, hardly even aware of what he was saying.

“I think that can be arranged.” There was a gleam in Crowley’s eyes and a small smile tugged at his lips.

Then Crowley was repositioning them until they were more comfortable on the bed. Aziraphale was still on his back, with Crowley on all fours above him, but now he had pillows to cushion his head. Crowley’s wings arched above and around them, a cocoon of dark soft feathers hiding the pair of lovers. They dimmed the light, shrouding them in dusky darkness. The posture could have felt alarming — a predator hunched over his prey — but the shiver that ran through Aziraphale’s body felt less like fear and more like a thrill. This was what he wanted. To be Crowley’s, to belong to each other with no one else able to take them away from each other ever again.

With fingers he begged not to tremble, he reached up to undo his bowtie and slipped it slowly free. Crowley watched, unmoving, with sharp intent as it came undone and revealed the dip of his throat. Still moving slowly, Aziraphale kept his eyes on Crowley’s face, watching his hunger grow, as he undid each of the buttons of his waistcoat until it fell open. His belly expanded slightly as the gentle restriction eased. Then he raised his hands to his neck and began the path down again with his shirt buttons. After the last button had slipped through its hole, he spread the material fully open. Crowley’s pupils widened noticeably as he drank in the sight. His eyes lingered over his soft chest and softer belly. Somehow Aziraphale felt more naked than he had ever been. Even with so little skin showing, under Crowley’s gaze he felt laid out completely bare. Stripped and exposed and found beautiful. It made him ache suddenly, how badly he craved more of Crowley’s touch in that moment.

“Crowley, dearest,” he whispered, “I want to feel you.”

The spell holding Crowley still and silent broke. He made a sound with his mouth that might have been a “Yes, angel,” and might have been a moan. Then his right hand snapped and his shirt was gone, letting it be Aziraphale’s turn to sweep his gaze up and down his beloved’s torso, admiring the lines and curves, longing to kiss and bite at his skin.

Aziraphale’s hands made their way to Crowley’s shoulders and tugged. Crowley dropped down from his hands to his elbows, placing him in kissing distance and they took advantage of that for several long moments.

Then Crowley’s pelvis rubbed against his and it was like a jolt of lightning shot through his body. Their cocks brushed together through their clothes just enough to demonstrate that they were both hard. He jumped, too caught by surprise at the shock of arousal to stop his reaction, and Crowley jerked back.

“Wait, come back, I’m alright,” Aziraphale said, his words a jumbled bunch of phrases as he gripped Crowley’s shoulders tighter to pull him back down on top of him.

“Slow as you need,” Crowley reminded him with lips against his lips.

Aziraphale moaned and angled his head to deepen the kiss. Their tongues slid against each other. It took everything within Aziraphale not to leap again at the sensation, to reign in his euphoria. Crowley was above him and around him and pressing even closer. He was Crowley’s and Crowley was his, and he could still scarcely believe it. The tongue playing with his curled in a delicious manner and dragged Aziraphale once more out of his ruminating.

Crowley lowered his hips to make contact with Aziraphale’s again. The friction was slight but the hope of more had Aziraphale’s back arching off the bed. The kiss broke as Crowley chuckled, amused at his eagerness. The laugh faded to a moan, however, as Aziraphale began thrusting against him.

“Angel,” he said, “you feel so good.”

“You do too.”

Crowley’s mouth dropped to his neck where he licked and sucked along Aziraphale’s pulse. It was Aziraphale’s turn to moan at that. Clearly Crowley liked the sound because he continued, sucking marks into the skin there while Aziraphale angled his head to offer more of his neck to those infernal lips and tongue. All of the kissing and humping had heat building hotter in his belly, had him sweating and panting and closing his eyes once more to lose himself in the sensations. Aziraphale couldn’t think, he only wanted to feel more of Crowley.

His hands slid down from Crowley’s shoulders to trace the lines of his scapulas and the muscles flexing over his ribcage. His fingers brushed against something fluffy and it was then that he remembered the wings. It wasn’t that he’d exactly forgotten Crowley’s wings mantled over them. They were too large and offered too much comfort to slip his mind altogether. But he was reminded all at once of his longing to dig his hands into Crowley’s wings. There was nothing stopping him now, except perhaps himself, but he was too caught up in the soft slick heat of Crowley’s mouth, in the urgent push and shove of their pelvises, to spare a thought for any hesitating.

Aziraphale spread his fingers and slid them through the tiniest, silky coverts at the base of the joints. He felt mild surprise run through Crowley’s body before he hummed with approval and relaxed into the petting.

Assured that his touch was welcome, Aziraphale gave himself over to his impulses. For several long moments he indulged in trailing his fingers through the same area. Crowley’s breath came quicker, and so did his hips, as Aziraphale found a particularly sensitive place on the underside of the joints. He stroked there deliberately, pressing deeper, and Cowley spasmed and jerked, nearly climaxing.

A second later, Crowley raised his head enough to speak, “Hold on, don’t wanna finish yet. Can you move — yeah, higher up, there, that’s perfect.”

Aziraphale followed his instructions until his hands were combing through the feathers beneath the arch of his wing, as high as he could reach. Crowley sighed, clearly enjoying the attention there without being in danger of coming so quickly. Aziraphale didn’t want this to end too soon either, though he felt nearly as close to edge as Crowley seemed. Still, Aziraphale filed away the information about erogenous zones in his wings for later. For the future. They could do this again, as much as they liked. Aziraphale could learn all of Crowley's weak spots and make him fall apart over and over. The very idea of it had him smiling into more kisses until Crowley's clever tongue made him lose his train of thought once more.

One of Crowley's hands made its way into Aziraphale's hair. Those long, graceful fingers weaving through his curls, fingertips scratching lightly at his scalp, before winding the short curls around them. Crowley tugged then, sharp and sweet, and Aziraphale's mouth fell open in a shuddery gasp. It was Crowley's turn then to grin against him, even as his tongue licked deeper, tasting Aziraphale's moans. Aziraphale lost the rhythm of his hips in his distraction and Crowley's sped up in response, humping with reckless abandon, driving them higher.

It was messy and uncoordinated. Their movements lacked finesse as they tried to map each other's bodies and reactions. But it was the most erotic experience of Aziraphale's life solely because it was Crowley, in his arms at last, wringing pleasure from him.

Aziraphale hadn't known having his hair played with could be so arousing, but images filled his mind of Crowley using it to his advantage, directing Aziraphale with a firm fistful of his hair. Perhaps pulling him down, onto his cock, to use his mouth as he pleased. Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as if to block that scene from his mind's eye, helpless against the twisting want that exploded inside him at the very thought.

He must have whimpered because Crowley said, "I like that sound," nearly growling at him.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, trying to catch his breath so he spoke clearly, "Crowley, I need more, need you."

"You have me," Crowley said and the statement almost broke Aziraphale's resolve not to come until they were at least fully undressed.

"Please, clothes off. Need to feel you." All his words were coming out in gasps as he pleaded. Crowley nodded, which Aziraphale felt more than saw as Crowley leaned over to nibble on the other side of his neck. His hands slipped away from Crowley's wings to the skin of his back, slick with sweat and burning hot with his lust. Lower still and his hands were grabbing at the jeans Crowley wore like a second skin.

With a thought, he disappeared their remaining clothing and both of them groaned at the shock of so much naked flesh pressed up close. Crowley’s erection was digging into the dip between Aziraphale’s thigh and belly, painting him with his precome, making the way slippery for himself. Aziraphale’s own cock brushed against his and each sweep of their efforts rocking against each other felt like a new miracle. Aziraphale shivered and ached. His hands gripped Crowley’s arse as he fought between welcoming and resisting his rising climax.

Crowley slowed his pace and hooked his hands under the bend of Aziraphale’s knees to draw them up, spreading his thighs wide as he did so. He could feel Crowley’s cock slide down between his buttocks, the head prodding at his balls. It was a vulnerable position, being held open that way, but Aziraphale felt no apprehension. He looked up into Crowley’s eyes and found them studying his face, checking for any unease.

“Is this alright?” he asked, gentle despite the tension in his body as he held back.

“More than alright,” Aziraphale breathed. “Do you want to take me?” He was struck by a series of half-formed impressions of Crowley pushing his way in just like this, perhaps using a miracle to slick his way.

Crowley closed his eyes in a long blink. His forehead was lined with creases as he tried to keep control of himself. “No, ‘m too close for that. Fuck, angel, your arse is—” He cut himself off with another curse. He resumed his thrusting, more slowly than before, and his shaft rubbed against Aziraphale’s hole.

It was tantalizing, a delicious tease, and Aziraphale found himself pushing desperately up to meet Crowley on each thrust. If he weren’t so caught up in the moment perhaps he would have found it absurd, how these scant touches, almost innocent in their simplicity, had him on the edge. He clenched down on nothing, empty and longing to be filled.

“Next time,” he heard Crowley groan in his ear, “I’ll give it all to you next time. Wanna see you come for me right now.”

With that promise, he shifted his balance, planting one hand firmly on the bed to the side and grasping Aziraphale’s cock with the other. A thumb swirled over his crown, then spread the precome down until his entire erection was wet with it. He tightened his hand and pumped as Aziraphale bucked into the tight circle of his palm and fingers.

After that Aziraphale finished quickly, the direct stimulation too strong to hold out any longer. He came with a cry of “Crowley!” on his lips, and Crowley’s mouth crashed into his as his cock spurted between them. Aziraphale couldn’t manage to kiss him back, too overcome by his rapture to do anything but pant and shake and let the glorious high course through him.

Crowley followed soon after. His fingers trailed through the spend on Aziraphale’s belly as his thrusts grew more forceful once more. The mantled wings drew in closer until they were practically swaddled by the midnight feathers. Crowley’s breath came in fast sharp bursts, “angel” and “love” spilling out between gasps. Aziraphale watched in adoration as his orgasm overtook him and blissful agony contorted his face, forcing Crowley’s body to tense and arch over him. Then he collapsed onto Aziraphale’s wide torso, undone and beautiful.

The two of them laid together for several minutes, catching their breath and savouring the headiness and relaxation of a well-earned afterglow. They vanished the mess2. It was pure heaven in all the ways Heaven never had been - warm and intimate, full of love and joy. Being so close together in perfect ecstasy, sharing their bodies and minds and souls in this oh-so-human activity.

The canopy of feathers still covered them. Aziraphale amused himself by grooming a few stray feathers that had gotten twisted out of place in their lovemaking. Eventually Crowley stirred from his loose-limbed sprawl on top of Aziraphale. He nuzzled his face into his chest hair and said something too muffled to comprehend.

“What was that, dear?”

Crowley lifted his head, huffing in exaggerated annoyance. "Said I gotta get my hands on your wings, angel.”

Aziraphale shimmied, delighted at the idea. Aside from the precious few moments in the Sands of Time yesterday he hadn’t let his wings out since Eden. “Mm that sounds nice, my dear.”

Crowley made a grumpy noise at the word nice, and Aziraphale soothed a hand down his back. “Now, now, none of that. You were the one to show me there’s no more opposite sides between us.”

And Aziraphale knew it was true. Maybe he would still struggle to believe it at times, that Our Side was something they could keep. But he laid in the shelter of Crowley’s love, a love that felt like protection, like home, like softness and darkness and light and peace, and knew nothing could persuade him to ever give this up.

The room was quiet. The outside world was muted and distant from this small warm space. Crowley’s head was resting on his chest again and he was likely on his way to sleep, given his steady even breathing, his body rising and falling in sync with Aziraphale’s own slowed breath.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale murmured. He wasn’t sure if he would be heard.

“What for, angel?” came Crowley’s reply, his voice like treacle, thick and rich.

“For keeping me safe.” He wasn’t only referring to the wings covering them.

Crowley lifted his head once more and propped his chin on Aziraphale’s chest to look at him. His eyes were dusky gold in the dark room. Then he slithered forward and captured Aziraphale’s mouth in a deep kiss. They didn’t speak again for the rest of the night.

  1. Though the fantasy of it held a certain appeal, as evidenced by Aziraphale’s shelves of bodice rippers. He’d spent many a long night over the ages with a glass of scotch and well thumbed novels featuring damsels in distress and the dark knights who swept in to save them. If his favourite heroes tended to have red hair and a penchant for performing acts of service, well, that was his business. Perhaps someday he would raise the subject with Crowley. A bit of roleplay could be quite exciting. [ ▲ ]
  2. Or perhaps the mess vanished itself, having outstayed its welcome. [ ▲ ]