Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"The quarterly numbers are exceptional, but there is always room for improvement," Beelzebub's flat voice droned on. They gestured to Hastur, who startled so much, it wasn't hard to guess he had been dozing off until now.

Crowley couldn't blame him. It was almost 7pm on a Friday, of course his team was bleary eyed and exhausted. He was bleary eyed and exhausted. Although, for an entirely different reason.

The conference call hadn't even been his idea, he didn't hate himself quite so much as to insist on a quarterly meeting at this god forsaken hour. But Beelzebub, his CFO, had maintained it was the perfect time and then Aziraphale- Well, let's just say Crowley had been sufficiently motivated to attend, even if he hadn't contributed much.

"Listen, guys, how about we all just-" Crowley started before a violent shudder overtook his body. He gritted his teeth, confident he hadn't done anything quite as embarrassing as show weakness in front of his subordinates. It took him a few seconds to grasp the reins of his consciousness again. "It's late. Let's wrap this up."

His voice did come out rougher than it usually did but they had all worked for him long enough to assume he had been killing his afternoon with a bottle of scotch and a cigar.

If only they fucking knew.

Hastur nodded, but Beelzebub was quicker, "We are almost finished, sir. There's no point in having another call tomorrow just to wrap this up."

While Crowley did generally agree with the sentiment, well, so was he. Almost finished. And it was taking him more control than he had ever thought he was capable of to- Ligur was talking now, something about monthly quota and he knew it was important. Well fucking aware, thank you very much.

But Crowley's eyes were drooping, so heavy he could barely keep them open. In fact, his whole body felt heavy, weighted down and sluggish and he brought one hand from where he had been squeezing his own thigh to the point of bruises, to scrub over his face. That didn't help much, didn't chase the dreadful feeling mounting inside of him. His eyelashes fluttered, mouth falling open and he hurried to cover it with his palm.

From the video feed he saw a few other people stifle a yawn and he could almost gasp from the relief that surged through him. Well, he did gasp and his eyes flickered to the top of his screen. Blessedly muted, he noted, even as he tried to stifle another sound. No need to tempt fate.

"On that note, I believe it's high time we finally hear from our leadership."

Beelzebub smiled, a sharp, cruel thing. If Crowley had been a paranoid man, it would have terrified him. As it was, he was well-aware this was simply the way his CFO smiled. One of the reasons he had hired them, even.

He scrambled for the mute button, leaning forward, cautious of the way he was shifting his legs under the tiny desk. Swapping it for something actually usable was on top of Aziraphale's list and- Yeah, best not to think about his assistant right now.

"Yeah, well-" Crowley paused for a second, allowing for the rest of that sinful drag to wash through him, before he could even begin to gather his thoughts. "It's been fine. I've-" A stab of guilt, entirely his own, right in the gut and he shook his head slightly. "We've established an office here and Aziraphale has already contacted a few people on the list to schedule interviews. He has been a tremendous help."

He couldn't be sure, but it almost felt like the room was vibrating with warmth. On the screen, Beelzebub scoffed.

"Yeah, we are all so grateful you could give your pet the vacation he so obviously deserves. All on the company's dime, of course."

Crowley was just about to make a scathing retort when he felt another jab, this time very much real and piercing, to the inside of his thigh. Not nearly enough to stop him from tearing into his staff, but one that made him hesitate for a second. A second was all that was needed.

The warmth engulfed him again, making his thighs shake and his ears ring. This time, when he gasped, he wasn't entirely certain he had muted himself and had even less self-control to glance down and find out. Someone, somewhere was talking, and he nodded. Mostly, he let his head drop down and then he fought against gravity and God Herself to put it back into something resembling a normal position. The hardest thing he had ever had to do, when what he really wanted to look at, what he couldn't believe he wasn't marveling at right this second-

"Thank you, all," Beelzebub's voice cut through the fog in his brain, stilled his hand halfway through its journey underneath the desk. "We will continue this on Monday. Crowley, if you can-"

"Yes, yes." Crowley waved a hand in the air, not nearly strong enough to force himself to look up. "I'll report back as soon as the meetings have been scheduled. Goodnight, everyone."

His fingers were shaking as he slammed the laptop shut, even as 'Goodnight's were still ringing from the screen. He didn't care about that. Frankly, he wasn't going to care even if there was a wall of fire before him. And how was he expected to, when there was something so much more important for him to gaze at.

Crowley scooted back his chair, relief flooding his system as he was finally able to ogle the angel before him. Aziraphale, on his knees, soft cheeks flushed, lips red and abused. Fuck, but the jolt to his system felt like nothing he had ever suffered before.

"Holy Hell, Aziraphale, what are you doing to me?"

He was tired and he had been skirting the edge of pleasure for more than an hour. He told himself it was why the awe in his voice was so clear, why when his fingers ached, it was to bury themselves in those golden curls.

He didn't. Of course he didn't. It wasn't part of their deal, besides, Crowley could still remember the way Aziraphale had stiffened under his touch that one time he had been stupid enough to do it. Had refused to look at him for a whole week, eyes dancing away whenever Crowley sought him out.

The other man pulled off his cock, a sound so obscene Crowley knew he would never forget it, and smiled up at him.

"Whatever I need to, to get you to attend your meetings." And then, because he was a bastard, and because he knew exactly what he was doing, Aziraphale added, "Sir."

Crowley growled. There was no other way to describe the sound that ripped out of his mouth, vibrated against his teeth, echoed in the stuffy office. Aziraphale's smile only widened. Even now, with his lips precome slick and his eyes shining from the effort it must have taken to keep Crowley well and truly distracted during the longest meeting of his life, he still resembled an angel. An innocent, lovely, ethereal being, the most beautiful creature anyone had ever seen.

Crowley's fingers itched, and he could almost feel the ghost of that soft jaw cradled between them, the drag of stubble against his palm, the weight of a cheek underneath his thumb. So vivid, despite the fact he had never been allowed to experience this, to touch. Instead, he let his hands fall limp by his sides. Let his head fall back too, lest his desire was painted too clearly across his features. Finally let the moans he had been swallowing around, tumble out of his gasping mouth.

But it seemed now that Aziraphale had done what he had set out to, he was happy with not finishing the job. His hand was moving leisurely up and down Crowley's length, touch light enough to be tantalising, but not nearly enough to push him over the edge. Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, terrified that even one look at that gorgeous creature would unearth feelings that had remained buried long enough. He felt lost, this thing between them too new, too raw for him to know if it was just an act. A tease, not unlike the devious way his assistant would sometimes smile at him as he scheduled a meeting he knew his boss would hate. Or if Crowley was meant to-

He let his tongue run over bitten-red lips. Wondered how much it would sting, was he forced to drag himself to the loo to take business into his own hands. A far better prospect, still, than taking something not freely given.

The angelic bastard leant back, his touch turning even more fleeting. The demand, for it could be nothing but a demand, was more than clear. Crowley still hesitated for a few seconds, before peering down. Aziraphale was already waiting for him, a teasing flicker in those bright eyes and the tip of his tongue resting heavy between his parted lips. Crowley wanted to kiss him, the desire sudden and all consuming, a blazing fire inside his ribcage. He clenched his hands instead, felt his nails pierce the tender skin of his palms.

Thankfully, Aziraphale couldn't sense his struggle. The other man gazed at him, nothing but that same bastard glint in his eyes, that wicked pull of his lips. He hadn't left either, which was more than enough proof he didn't know what Crowley had been so close to doing.

"The meeting has been concluded, sir," Aziraphale said, voice as light as his breath, ghosting over Crowley's still twitching cock. "Would you require my services any further?"

That bastard. That horrible, beautiful bastard. When Crowley opened his mouth next, he wasn't even ashamed of the hiss that tumbled out of him. His hips twitched up, a desperate grind into thin air that Aziraphale put a stop to immediately, one bare forearm pinning down his thighs. And the sight of that, of pale skin, dusted with freckles and blond hairs was enough to make Crowley shiver. Make him desperate, make him beg.

"Please, Aziraphale, for fuck's sake," he groaned, voice managing to sound both demanding and pleading. His hands too, shook with both the desire to curl around soft flesh and the need to stay exactly where they were. Tight fists, limp on either side of his body.

Aziraphale tipped forward, mouth falling open, forming the shape of Crowley's leaking cockhead. A pink tongue peeked out, swiped over the sensitive skin, before darting back into that heavenly warmth.

"Please, what, sir? You do know I require detailed instructions to carry out my duties."

He didn't. He hadn't, not for years now. Aziraphale was brilliant at his job, capable and smart, an actual miracle worker. It was why Crowley had hired him. And had kept him, by his side, for six years now, despite all vicious rumours to the contrary.

But he was also looking demurely up at Crowley, tongue ghosting over flushed skin, not close enough to offer any relief but enough to make the other man want to weep and... Crowley couldn't even argue, couldn't fathom forming words that weren't exactly what was expected of him.

"Please, Aziraphale, I need your lips on me. Need to feel your heat, angel, need to fuck your mouth."

There was an underlying whine to his voice that he resolutely ignored. Didn't even want to touch the term of endearment, not a new development, but one that had started slipping out more and more often. Not now, not when the prospect of having that talented mouth on him again was about to become a reality.

Aziraphale's eyes darkened, storm clouds on a clear summer sky. And there was something almost shy to the pull of that dangerous mouth. There and gone, before the other man was leaning forward even more, swallowing Crowley's cock in one gulp.

The bastard had been teasing him all meeting. All day really, making sure to bend over just when he knew Crowley was looking at him, taking his lunch in his boss' office, despite knowing exactly what those noises did to the other man. And then there had been that moment in the storage room, Aziraphale against him, all soft tartan blazer and pressed beige trousers and hands, seeking the curve of Crowley's waist. Fingers hooking around the sharp of his hip bones, drawing him forward. Just a suggestion, a permission Crowley had been too weak to refuse.

Was always too weak to refuse.

It was no wonder why, then, he felt almost undone by that single slide of warm lips over his prick. Why that tongue, talented as it was, still had him moaning and trembling within seconds of Aziraphale finally taking pity on him. He didn't even bother trying to keep quiet, recognising a losing battle when he saw one. He did try to keep still, though, his thighs trembling with the effort it took to stop them from thrusting into that wet heat. Chasing after the illicit tingle caused by every drag against the back of the other man's throat. It was rude, Crowley reminded himself even through the heavy fog of desire. It was horrible and inconsiderate and it might hurt Aziraphale.

Aziraphale, who was whining softly, head bobbing up and down his length. Eyes squeezed shut and Satan preserve them both, he was gorgeous. This, now, felt like one of the few times Crowley was allowed to look at him. And look he did. His long eyelashes, moisture gathering at the tips, his cheeks, hollowing around Crowley's cock and yet still so round, so tempting. Like two halves of an apple and Crowley desperately needed to take a bite of them, taste them. Feel them jump underneath his lips as the angel before him chuckled freely. Aziraphale's lips- he felt his hips give a valiant try to break free at the sight of those lips wrapped around him. He stopped them, but couldn't even hope to control the words that managed to slither out of his mouth.

"Fuck, just look at you. You are gorgeous."

Aziraphale froze. Shifted slightly underneath that tiny desk. And then he was looking at Crowley, something almost vulnerable in the way he gazed up at him.

Of course, it was vulnerable. The man was on his bloody knees in Crowley's office. Had been, for way too long. His jaw must be aching, Crowley realised with a pang that did more to quell his desire than anything else that had happened that day. Aziraphale was probably hoping for this to be over. Willing him to hurry up and- And here Crowley was, aching for something that had never even been offered. Asking for more.

Shame was quickly washing away his desire, his fingers still shaking but in an emotion too ugly to be named. He opened his mouth, desperate for this to be over, one way or another.

Aziraphale seemed to be prepared. He slid off again, this time with a drag of teeth that seemed to ground Crowley, disperse the shadow of doubt momentarily. Luckily, that was all the time the other man needed.

That bastard of an angel let his head tip to the side, his curls, still perfectly styled, shifting with the movement.

"I do believe a mention was made of you fucking my mouth," Aziraphale noted, voice as even as if he was taking dictations from his boss and-

Crowley nodded, a wild and urgent thing, even as he refused to move. Refused to take what was so clearly on offer here.

Aziraphale waited for a beat, and when nothing changed but the urgency, sheer desperation, in Crowley's gaze growing, he rolled his eyes. How someone so prim and proper managed to look so deliciously sinful would always remain a mystery to Crowley.

"Well, I suggest you get on with it, dear boy. Pip-pip," was the last thing his assistant said, before drawing Crowley back into his mouth.

It felt different, somehow. The permission, the command, really, flashed through him, warm and insistent. His fingers curled around thin air, the ghost of feather-soft curls already tickling his skin. The sounds Aziraphale would probably make, those pleasant humming moans, already ringing inside his skull. Would he get to see those eyes darken with desire, Crowley wondered. Would he see his eyelashes flutter, dance across pale skin? He groaned, knowing that the decision had been made the moment Aziraphale had said the dreadfully unsexy phrase 'pip-pip'.

He still didn't let his fingers weave through the other man's hair. As tempting as that was, he knew the weight of those curls, how soft they were, it would haunt him for longer than these moments of indiscretion would last. Instead, he curled a hand over the side of Aziraphale's throat, felt it jump as his palm wrapped loosely around it. Felt it twitch with each breath the other man took.

It did occur to him, rather late, how much he had fucked up. Because this felt even more intimate, threatened to fill his memory with even more details of the man before him. And there were so many details, trickling inside his mind, unbidden. A barrage of soft and warm and heavenly and he made to snatch his hand back, unable to handle any of it. But Aziraphale was already curling his own fingers around his hold, squeezing slightly. Forcing his own head down, as he sunk further into Crowley's cock, a choked off little gasp escaping those bruised lips and- Crowley had always been a weak, weak man, when it came to the temptation before him.

He let his grip tighten around Aziraphale's neck, urged him forward until he could feel his prick drag against his assistant's throat. Pulled him back and did it again, when Aziraphale went limp in his hands. Muffled moans, drowned by Crowley's cock, and the flutter of eyelashes to attest to just how much he was enjoying it all. The occasional shiver, overtaking them both, its origins unknown but able to reduce them both to a panting, desperate mess.

It didn't take long for Crowley to find his release, the picture before him too sinful not to destroy him fully, the gasps that rung around them - the most devastating of all. He forced his hand to still, unwilling to risk losing control so fully. Not that it mattered, Aziraphale continuing the bruising thrusts without any help, his own moans turning high-pitched and wanton.

There was a moment, their movements losing their urgency, the air around them devoid of sound and oxygen, warm and stifling. Crowley was at a loss. He often was, when it came to the other man. Too scared to cross some invisible boundary, take more than was being offered. He knew what he wanted to do, could see it so clearly before him. His fingers, weaved through golden curls, his lips on those flushed cheeks. As sweet as the words that would fall from his mouth, free and-

He rolled his chair back, careful not to touch Aziraphale. Tucked himself back in, body light but heart too heavy. From the corner of his eye, he could see the other man crawl from underneath the desk. Heard him wince as his back popped and vowed to get himself a bigger desk. Not that- Not that he was planning a repeat of today.

He wasn't. He hadn't even-

Everything that they did, every dip into this lake of indecency was always at the behest of Aziraphale. He knew it wasn't an excuse, he wasn't an unwilling participant in any of this. That had never been the problem.

If anything, it was the opposite.

"I will have the minutes on your desk, first thing next week," Aziraphale noted evenly, not even bothering to look back at him as he gathered his things. "If there is nothing else, I will see you on Monday."

They shared a hotel. Their rooms were right next to one another. Yet, there the other man was, making it clear he wouldn't want to be disturbed during the weekend. Crowley really should have taken the hint.

"Aziraphale," he started, before he had even had the time to consider his words. Because above all else, he was an optimist. And optimism made him stupid.

His assistant turned to him. He looked the picture of professionalism, hovering over Crowley's desk, his jacket draped over one arm, his briefcase in the other. Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle on his clothes. Just his lips, bright red and shining, betraying what had occurred in the office.

"Yes?" And his voice, rough around the edges. Husky. Despite the dread pulsing in his veins, Crowley felt himself twitch in some leftover, confused desire.

"I'm feeling like Chinese, for lunch tomorrow. Say 2pm?" The urge to jump to his feet, wear a hole through the carpet as he worried himself silly, was overwhelming. The fact Aziraphale had frozen on the spot, something soft and raw shining in his eyes, was not helping one bit. Then again, the other man hadn't left, either, hadn't huffed, hadn't laughed in Crowley's face. It gave him the grain of courage he needed to add, "Could you book the table?"

Ever so subtly, Aziraphale's shoulders dropped, his face turning carefully blank. Crowley might not have even noticed, if he wasn't so used to the ramrod-straight way his assistant carried himself.

"Of course," Aziraphale said softly, tugging the jacket closer to his chest. "I will make the reservation tonight. Just for yourself, then, or will you have someone joining you?"

Crowley blinked. An unnatural type of frost was spreading through the whole room, pulsing between them both and he knew, he could fucking tell that he had messed up. He just wasn't sure how.

"No, I-" he tried still. He hadn't gotten to where he was without taking risks. He deftly ignored how it felt like this, now, was the most dangerous thing he had ever done. "Two people, please, Aziraphale. For me-"

"Certainly."

The other man nodded sharply, his hand already resting on the doorknob. And it was then Crowley realised that slowly, surely, Aziraphale had been inching closer to his escape. Away from Crowley. And his unwanted advances.

He was about to apologise. Make sure the other man knew it had been a simple misunderstanding, that he would never- He would never trample over boundaries Aziraphale had made more than clear.
 
He didn't get a chance.

"I hope you have a lovely time," Aziraphale said, a smile on his face that complemented his words, but only just. It must have been the light, fluorescent and harsh, that had turned the clouds in his eyes into a thunderstorm. "Good night, Crowley."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Crowley frowned as he scanned the email, before switching back to the attachment, something distracting and stupid, itching under his skin.

It wasn't even that the edits to the contract were wrong. Sure, some of the things he left for Aziraphale to deal with, like the formatting of the dates or the damn font had been left untouched. But that could have been explained away by his assistant being a bit more distracted than usual. An enticing, if completely unbelievable theory. But other than that, it was all there, all the corrections, laid before him in track changes.

And that was the problem, wasn't it? Aziraphale didn't use track changes. He knew well enough that Crowley trusted him to just change whatever he saw fit.

He pulled up the email again as if, somehow, those few seconds would have made the sender's name change. Muriel. He remembered them vaguely from before Aziraphale and him had left on their business trip. It had been Aziraphale, the one to insist they meet, something so eager in his eyes but also... hesitant. A little bit guarded. A soft smile on his face, as he had gestured towards the new junior assistant, singing their praise. But he had also been wearing that blue shirt he usually wore on Wednesdays, the one that made his eyes sparkle, and Crowley hadn't registered a word coming out of his mouth. Besides, he already had an assistant, what did he care about this one.

Only, now, this assistant had dared to email him. Had dared take over a task he had assigned to Aziraphale and Crowley felt irrationally angry over what he saw as an intrusion. How dare this person deny him- But no. He took a breath, focused on the problem at hand. Aziraphale would never just give someone access to his emails.

Something must have happened.

An emotion, darker and even more shameful, squeezed around his heart.

His assistant wasn't in the office but that wasn't unusual. Crowley never cared whether he came in or not. At least, not from a professional standpoint. He knew the other man could do his job just as perfectly, perched on a park bench with only a pen and a napkin, so he never questioned him. He did miss him, of course he did, but- That wasn't allowed, was it? So he told himself that he didn't care whether he saw his assistant or not.

It only then occurred to him to go over his other emails. And right there, underneath the mountain of useless reports and emails he had been CC'd in on, that had nothing to do with him... Aziraphale's email. Sent at 3 am, subject - "Terribly sorry". The apprehension climbed up, wrapped around his throat as he read the email, eyes lingering on the missing punctuation and contractions Aziraphale would never use.

Crowley had a lot to do, an interview in about an hour, a meeting with a supplier in the afternoon. He had been hoping to send a few people he had already spoken to their contracts. It took him less than a minute to decide. A few more to send a list of what needed to be postponed to Muriel, they would have to do, and then he was off.

It was only when he was raising a hand to knock on Aziraphale's hotel room door that he hesitated. The other man hadn't asked him over, hadn't even said he was that unwell. It was Crowley, who had got it into his own head that his assistant was borderline dying. Which, in all fairness, he would have to be, to use that terrible grammar in his email. Still, Crowley had to wonder. This... this wasn't him stomping over boundaries, was it? Throwing his weight around, using his position-

But no. He didn't want anything out of Aziraphale. Would never. He just-

Crowley nodded to himself. Yes, yes this was fine. He would leave the supplies he had brought, would make sure Aziraphale had everything he needed. Would press him into the sheets, not like that, don't think about that, simply because he knew that the other man would still be up, trying to work. And then he would leave. Yes. He resolutely ignored the contract he had hastily printed, to work on while he watched over Aziraphale. It didn't mean anything. Crowley never went anywhere without something to work on.

He knocked on the door, before he had had the time to think, and, therefore, realise how stupid and irresponsible he was being.

And then he waited. And waited some more. Silence from the other side, not even the sound of footsteps. Aziraphale was probably sleeping, he thought, and tried not to dwell too hard on the disappointment pulsing in his veins. Sleeping was good. It was when the healing happened. Sleeping was-

The door opened and there Aziraphale was, the most beautiful man Crowley had ever seen. Blond curls around his head like a halo, dishevelled and slightly flat on the left. Eyes bleary and fever-scarlet, heavy bags underneath them. His shirt, a work shirt, Crowley couldn't help but notice, a button undone. Right there, over the swell of his stomach, revealing the slightest sliver of pink skin.

"I'm sorry," he squawked, desperately hoping Aziraphale was too sick to notice his vile ogling and- Satan, what was wrong with him to even think that?

Aziraphale shook his head. Slowly, as if each minute movement was too painful, before shifting to the side.

"It's okay. Wasn't sleeping."

Aziraphale’s voice was hoarse, deep in a way Crowley had only heard in very specific situations. He bit the inside of his cheek. He was being disgusting and he needed to stop. Now.

He followed Aziraphale into his room, gaze carefully fixed on those golden curls. And Aziraphale was... He was moving strangely, gait too top-heavy, legs wooden. Just like that, any leftover stray desire still burning underneath Crowley's skin was banished into the ether, to be replaced by terrifying, all-consuming concern.

His palms itched as he watched the other man collapse into a chair, his laptop, as expected, open before him. He had been working, the stupid, irresponsible bastard. Crowley was going to scream at him, if he wasn't certain it would only worsen the headache Aziraphale was clearly sporting.

"How can I help, Crowley?" the mad idiot asked, eyes, sickness-hazy, peering up at him and- God, Crowley was going to strangle him.

"Feels like I ought to ask you that question," he said instead. Anger wasn't going to help anyone and he had better things to do. An angelic moron to take care of. "Have you had anything to eat yet?"

Aziraphale just blinked up at him. His cheeks were flushed, his whole face was, and for once it wasn't temptation that singed all of Crowley's nerve endings. And unlike all the other times, he knew exactly what he needed to do.

"Have you?" he insisted again, after a few seconds of confused silence.

Aziraphale's head twitched, before he seemed to think better of it.

"No."

And that was that, Crowley supposed. He knew what to do.

On the table, he dumped the contract and the bag of various medications, too many, far too many, but it never hurt to be prepared. Even when the pharmacist had looked mighty suspicious of him. To the kitchenette, he brought all of the food he knew Aziraphale would enjoy. Their rooms were the same, he had insisted upon it, even when Accounting had tried to banish his assistant into the tiniest room they could find. So it wasn't hard to navigate, almost felt like he had been there before. He tried desperately to ignore the sense of belonging that had so rudely taken over half of his heart.

He was just helping out an employee. He would do it for anyone, really. Well, not anyone, he would certainly never do it for Ligur. Or Hastur. Or Beelzebub. Didn't matter. None of it did.

Just being a good human, him.

Just a good human, he reminded himself, as he heated up the soup and sliced up the sourdough rolls he had bought from that bakery Aziraphale always eyed wistfully. Nothing but a good boss, he vowed to himself, as he spread the butter over the still warm bread. Nothing to see here, he repeated as a mantra, as he plated it all, a warmth inside of him that he desperately ignored.

Unsurprisingly, Aziraphale didn't look up when Crowley returned with the food. He was also, even more unsurprisingly, working on the contract Crowley had brought along.

The sound that he made when Crowley dragged the document out of his hands, a startled little huff that had no right being this adorable, was slightly surprising, though.

"Eat," Crowley ordered, an edge to his voice. One that he rarely, if ever, used against the other man.

Not that Aziraphale seemed at all bothered by it. That irresponsible bastard raised an eyebrow, lips pursing slightly as he prepared to retort something vicious. And then he must have smelled the soup. Caught a peek of the buttered roll. Wordlessly, he tugged the bowl closer, before tucking in. The glare he shot Crowley, enough to let the other man know that they weren't done discussing this.

Oh, but they were. Crowley wasn't used to people not following his every order, if those people's names weren't Aziraphale. Now, he was ready to add another caveat to that rule. The only person who got to escape his overbearing, domineering personality was Aziraphale, when he was healthy.

It was his turn to narrow his gaze at the one who decidedly did not fit that description, just to let him know that, yes, they were very much done discussing this. Before he returned to the kitchenette to sort out the rest of the groceries he had brought. Took the contract too, just in case. Aziraphale's groan was more than enough proof that he had made the right decision.

When he returned, the soup was gone and Aziraphale was already looking a little bit better. Alluring pink having replaced that sickly feverish hue on his cheeks, the mist over his gaze slightly subdued.

"Thank you, my dear. That was scrumptious," Aziraphale said, dabbing at the corners of his mouth. His voice soft, gentle. A whisper of a caress in the suddenly sweltering air between them.

They had worked together long enough for Crowley to know what was happening. To recognise when he was being handled like a child, that needed to be tricked into eating his veggies. And, sure enough, following the display of that soft mouth, just when Crowley would have been too tempted to know what was happening- Aziraphale reached out, palm open and demanding. Wiggled his fingers, too, for good measure. As if Crowley would be stupid enough, horny enough, to give in.

He rolled his eyes with a snort.

"Not a chance in Hell, Aziraphale." He made sure to leave the contract out of arm's reach, before he even thought about approaching the mad moron. "Come on. We are going to bed."

All at once, Aziraphale stilled. His shoulders tightening, drawing in, as if to protect the soft of his ribcage. The grimace on his face, one that Crowley had never seen before.

"I don't think-" the other man stammered, the scarlet on his cheeks poisonous. And that was another thing, wasn't it? Aziraphale never stammered. "I'm not sure if I can-"

Crowley growled. He growled, because if he hadn't, he would have hit something instead. Most certainly himself, for the way he had phrased that.

"To sleep, you idiot. You look twice dead," he said, still too much anger in his veins, burning under his skin, that it came out in the form of a hiss.

Enough, still. Aziraphale tipped his head back, his gaze soft and searching as it swept over Crowley's face. And Crowley let him, of course he did. Stayed perfectly still under that warm scrutiny. Didn't even notice the way the other man's throat glistened, damp with sickness, shivering with each laboured breath. That damn button, still undone, still gaping ever so slightly. Offering him a glimpse of tantalising flesh that would haunt him forever.

Finally, Aziraphale nodded. Even let Crowley help him up, merely grumbling when the other man's hands snuck around his ribcage. Tugged him upwards, one arm drifting to his waist, the other - splayed over solid chest, to stop him from toppling over.

And all Crowley had to do was not memorise any of it. Not the way Aziraphale felt in his arms, the pleasant weight of him against his own body. His warmth, his scent. Aziraphale's breath, as he twisted his head, to rest on top of Crowley's shoulder, and it had tickled, that warm gust of breath. At least, that's what Crowley told himself was the reason why he had tripped over his own feet, making them both sway dangerously close to the ground.

15 steps. That's all it took to go from the bed to the table. Crowley had counted them, on the mornings when the bed had its warm talons sunk in his flesh and he was too weak to get away. 15 steps of having Aziraphale in his arms, all warm and soft and pretty. A few minutes, even with the careful way they both moved. Enough for him to know that he had fucked up, know that he would never be the same. And, yet, he couldn't bring himself to care one bit.

"Thank you," Aziraphale whispered, when they finally made it to the bed. This time, there was no agenda, nothing but sweet gratitude and Crowley was horribly, disgustingly weak.

Fuck, but he wanted Aziraphale. Not in the way he was used to, the way he was allowed, both by that insufferably tempting man before him, but also by himself. And it was hard to deny the need now, the urge to draw him close, nestle Aziraphale in his embrace. Press his nose against those golden curls, breathe him in.

Refuse to let him go, until he was better. Until he felt the same-

"Don't mention it," he said instead, avoiding Aziraphale's gaze as if his life depended on it. Because it did, didn't it? Everything that they had built between them, everything he had worked so hard to maintain, on the precipice of the hungry maw that was his selfish yearning. One look, enough to tip them both into the abyss.

A hand pressed against his chest, shivery and clammy. Crowley's brain dutifully filed away the sensation, to torture him with, when all of this was over.

"I mean it, Crowley. You didn't have to." Aziraphale's voice was low, hushed, as if carrying a secret.

There were a lot of things Crowley could say. A lot of things he wanted to say, the words tearing at the seams of his mouth, eager and violent.

'Of course I had to. You are my-'

'I care for you. I will always-'

'I'd do anything for you. I-'

He shook his head instead, teeth leaving indents into his lips with the force it took to keep them tightly shut. None of that was allowed. And, besides, how could he say any of it, especially now, when Aziraphale still looked feverish and dazed. When he had been too weak to support himself, still was, clinging onto Crowley as if he would tumble down without his support.

"Do you need anything else?" Crowley finally managed to ask through gritted teeth, all of his energy focused on keeping at bay, other, more dangerous words.

Aziraphale shook his head. He looked small and wretched, almost shrinking under Crowley's blazing eyes. It was the sickness, Crowley told his aching heart, and absolutely forbid it from reaching out, like it was begging to.

He was going to leave, was the thing. Aziraphale was an adult, a terribly smart and capable adult, who would certainly be horrified to discover Crowley's urge to baby him. Aziraphale didn't need his boss hovering over him, watching him, while he tried to relax. Crowley, uninvited and unneeded, sitting there while, what? Aziraphale slept?

What was he thinking?

He wasn't, was the answer. Hadn't been, for a very long time. Six years, to be precise.

He was going to leave. And then Aziraphale tipped his head down. Not in the way Crowley had almost grown used to. The way that, even now, made a dull pang of desire vibrate through his bones as golden curls swirled before his vision. As he watched Aziraphale's fingers wrap around the buttons of his shirt, shaking and uncoordinated, and Crowley should have left. He should have and now it was too late because Aziraphale needed him and he could never leave now.

His own fingers felt like clumsy slabs of granite as they pushed Aziraphale's hands away. Crowley begged them to stay this way, begged his mind too, while he was at it, to not commit any of this to memory. Not the way Aziraphale's breath had hitched, nor the soft give of his stomach just under Crowley's fingers. The warmth of his bare skin, inches away and yet distant, forbidden.

It would have been so easy, nothing but a stray finger, an errant touch, and Crowley could have pressed his fingertips into that soft skin. Could have branded it with his mark, if only for a moment, if only in the confines of his mind.

Crowley fixed his gaze to the top of Aziraphale's still bent head, fingers making quick work of the buttons before them. Not one touch out of line, not a graze of a fingernail. Nothing lingering or unnecessary. And when Aziraphale's shirt fell open, all that pale skin on display, a siren's call and the rocks had never looked more inviting- Crowley turned around.

He had never seen Aziraphale naked, never more than was strictly necessary, and he wasn't going to do it now. If Aziraphale ever let him, it would be because he wanted to, not because he was too fever-drunk to stop Crowley from taking it by force.

Clothes rustled, like the leaves of the most enchanting forest. Followed by a soft thud that he desperately wanted to follow with his gaze. A murmur. That, he tried to pay attention to that. He turned to the bundle of blankets on the bed, all safely tucked away from view.

Aziraphale had folded his shirt, had left it on the bedside table, still so prim and proper, even when half-dead. But as Crowley's gaze traced the lines of the blanket creature, formerly known as his assistant, his eyes lingered. Then widened. A moment of hesitation, a few more to ponder whether this was crossing a line. Before deciding that it probably wasn't and, besides, Aziraphale might possibly murder him the next time they were alone if he let him fall asleep like this.

"Honestly, who wears shoes in their room?" he still grumbled, as he uncovered the other man's legs. There was a faint whine coming from somewhere underneath the blanket, that he ignored. Tried to ignore the way Aziraphale's calves felt in his hands, too, as he lifted them, one after the other. "And who the Hell wears Oxfords specifically?"

Another whine, this one a lot more appreciative as he tugged the shoes off. Placed them neatly on the side of the bed. Hesitated for a second, before he was fetching a glass of water and some paracetamol, to leave on the bedside table.

And that was him done, wasn't it? He had no other reason to stay. Aziraphale was already asleep, his adorable snores, making the covers rise and fall rhythmically. A tuft of golden hair and the top of his forehead, the only visible parts of him.

Crowley still spent way too long watching him, before he managed to gather the strength to leave.

Chapter Text

"How fucking dare he?" Crowley snarled. 

He was pacing around his too-empty office, had been ever since that fucking asshole had left. Had dropped off the desk, the only thing inside said office, had smirked, a vile excuse to show off his teeth and, oh, Crowley had wanted to knock them out of his mouth. Would have done it too, except Aziraphale had laid a hand on his shoulder, had squeezed, ever so slightly. 

"Crowley," Aziraphale said softly and even now, his assistant's calm voice was enough to soothe something deep inside of him, pave over the rage bubbling in his veins.

For only a moment, before Crowley was turning around to find the other man, standing there in the middle of the room. Everything that had led to that particular turn of events, flashing before his eyes, and he was growling again. 

"I will give the company a call," he said through teeth, so tightly clenched together, they were making his skull hurt. "Will get him fired, will get him blacklisted."

Somewhere, in a dark and private recess of his mind, he regretted never making any unsavoury connections. The threats he would have been making in that case, a lot more colourful. And plenty more satisfying.

"Crowley," his assistant tried again. His voice was clear, sounded closer, and steered by some inherent craving, Crowley turned to him again. Even allowed himself to note the way Aziraphale's eyes sparkled as he gazed at him, the flush on his cheeks, noticeable only due to their proximity. 

"I'm sorry."

It would remain a mystery whether he meant to apologise for ogling the other man or failing to protect him. At least, to him. Aziraphale would, of course, think he meant he was sorry for not standing up for him to the delivery driver. And just the memory of that asshole, his grimy chuckle as Crowley had demanded to know where the other desk he had ordered was. Those vile eyes, sliding over Aziraphale's figure, lingering, before he was shrugging. Before he was implying that Aziraphale didn't need it anyway, that he could stand to move a bit more. And, oh, Crowley should have hit him. 

He wasn't a violent man, never had been. Always had preferred to resolve his issues with a quick wit and sarcasm. But at that moment, he had been ready to pounce, fingers clenched into fists, vision filled with the blood he was going to draw. It might have ended with him in prison, Aziraphale forced to visit him to make sure the work got done. But it would have been worth it.

Here, now, his assistant shook his head. Reached forward to curl a hand around the side of Crowley's throat, thumb resting over the sudden flutter of his heartbeat. 

They had never touched before, certainly never like this, and Crowley's first reaction was to pull away. The touch like a live wire, burning through him and he took a step back. Or, tried to. Aziraphale's grip tightened, just slightly, just for a moment.

Enough to keep Crowley from moving, the desire to do as he was bid, as natural as his need to breathe.

"It is no bother. The desk is big enough, I am certain we can share," the other man said, voice only slightly shivery and Crowley tried to focus. He did, he really did. In a strange way the touch was almost helpful, that connection grounding him, calming him in a way that only Aziraphale could manage.

And then, Aziraphale swayed forward. Lips that Crowley had never stared at, had never allowed himself to stare at, parted around a sigh before they were pressing against his own. 

It wasn't particularly romantic. It wasn't even, strictly speaking, a kiss. Just... Aziraphale's plush, warm, perfect lips, brushing against the corner of his mouth. Making Crowley gasp, twitch into the caress, blindly chase after a particular temptation he had been fighting for five damn years. His heart beating so fast, he might have been afraid it would leap out of his chest, if he wasn't already half convinced he was dead.

"Was that okay?" Aziraphale whispered. His head was bent slightly, eyes avoiding Crowley's searching gaze. But he was still touching him, his thumb on Crowley's pulse pressing lightly and- 

He should have known.

But there was hope, trickling inside his veins, warming up his body. The parts of his soul he had resolutely ignored for so long and- How was he supposed to know? 

He nodded, let his own fingers wrap around soft skin, fingers digging into Aziraphale's sides as if they had done this for millennia. They had, in a very private, very shameful corner of Crowley's mind and he tried not to think about that. The liberties he had allowed himself, even if only in his fantasies. Instead, he swayed closer, until his nose was almost buried in golden curls. And Satan, but the way Aziraphale smelled. It made something inside him tremble, ache, a yearning pit of desire, uncovered by the softest of gestures.

Aziraphale tilted his head back, something raw and vulnerable, hidden in the corners of his eyes, the pull of his mouth. Something wretched.

"Did it help?" Aziraphale's voice shook, but only barely. Noticeable, only by someone who knew him well. Someone, like-

He should have known.

But how could he? When he believed that he was getting everything he had never allowed himself to want. Everything he had dreamed of, laid before him, stark in the way only reality could be.

The words still took him by surprise, made him blink. His head too empty, his body too full of a vicious sort of hunger, to let him process them fully.

"Are you feeling better?" Aziraphale asked again. The bastard glint in his eyes that Crowley was so used to, barely shining through the shivers in his voice.

He should have known.

The fingertips on his throat, branding his skin, the other man's warm breath, tickling his cheek... It was all making it hard to think and, besides, he wasn't entirely sold on the idea of thinking as a whole, when he had Aziraphale in his arms.

He nodded. Better couldn't even begin to describe it. He was ecstatic and he was hopeful and, above all, he was- Satan, but he was happy. The joy bubbling in his chest, in a way he had never thought he would get to feel. Had never let himself indulge in the mere idea of it.

Aziraphale smiled. It wasn't his normal smile, not the ray of sunshine Crowley had felt warm his being for five years now.

He should have known.

"I'm glad," that beautiful creature mumbled and made to move away. Except, Crowley's hand was already darting up, fingers curling around a burning, dancing pulse.

"Should we-"

He hesitated. Not because he didn't know what he wanted, Satan, he had known ever since he had seen that halo of golden curls and that cutting smile. Had spoken to that clever bastard and had dismissed all the other candidates for the position of his assistant, with barely a glance in their direction. No. He hesitated, because he didn't know what he was allowed to want. What Aziraphale was willing to give him.

Not that he was above begging. Not when it came to the gorgeous man before him.

"Should we talk about this?" he finally managed, voice just as faint as the hope, flickering in his chest. Body hollow but for the desire that seemed to shimmer between them both.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. Such a familiar gesture and yet, there was something new to it, something almost electric, and despite himself Crowley shivered. Pressed closer, body searching for something warm and soft and so very perfect. Something very specific.

"We can," his assistant drawled. Shifted closer too, until his chest was pressing against Crowley's, the buttons of that damn waistcoat dragging against the other man's shirt with each desperate twitch of their bodies. "Or we can do this?"

He should have fucking known.

But Aziraphale was so impossibly close, soft, plush lips finding Crowley's and there were no thoughts left inside his brain. Nothing left inside his whole body. Nothing but a scorching, yearning need, and his hands were wrapping around Aziraphale's waist again, fingers digging into soft hipbones he had stared at for way too damn long. And Aziraphale was pressing into the kiss, just as hungry, just as vicious. The noises he was making, the most delicious of all and Crowley was sipping from them, swallowing around them, letting them melt his very core.

"Fuck, Aziraphale," he hissed, when the lack of oxygen threatened to leave him more dazed than the way the other man was drinking from his lips. Only just barely, and after the few obligatory sips of air, he was descending upon Aziraphale's neck. Desperate and hungry, mouth sinking into the warm flesh he had coveted for years.

And, fuck, if Aziraphale didn't taste as lovely as Crowley had dreamt of, had fantasised about. The skin pinking under his searching mouth, blond curls tickling his forehead, as the other man tipped his head to the side. Surrendered himself to Crowley fully, did nothing more than gasp and whine and sigh. The most perfect of creatures, and with a dreadful sort of pang, Crowley realised he needed more. Needed Aziraphale completely, utterly, wholly.

But there was something else he needed to do first.

Drawing back was the most terrible thing Crowley had ever done. His mouth, his fingers, his very soul, screaming for more, begging for soft and warm and plush. He told them to fuck off. This wasn't the time to give in to primitive urges. Aziraphale might have been the one to take the first step, the one to reach over the abyss Crowley had always been so careful to maintain between them- But it didn't mean he could simply take. He would never.

"Are you certain?"

His voice, low and raspy. Aziraphale's eyes hazy with need, mouth and neck pink from the hunger still roaring in Crowley's veins. Both of them, trembling and desperate. He still asked. Still waited until Aziraphale nodded, until he smiled. Not like his usual smile, but getting closer now.

When Crowley let his fingers sink into velvet skin, he did so slowly, carefully. When he leant down, it was to press a kiss, soft and lingering, to the other man's temple. His hunger abated, for a moment.

They had time. He knew that now. The spark of hope that filled his chest, bright and life-giving and he chose to believe it. Enough time to kiss and to hold Aziraphale, the way that he had always- He wasn't going to fuck it up, not this, not him.

How could he have known?

Aziraphale didn't seem to agree with his slow pace, however. Desperate hands were wrapping around Crowley's neck, dragging him close. Hungry mouth searching, devouring, everything in its path. Almost as if Aziraphale thought it might be taken away from him, and Crowley felt his heart ache at how familiar that fear was. Tried to press as much of the tenderness in his heart into the other man's skin, into his mouth, into his hair. Each place, bared for his lips and for his touch and for his lo-

"I need you," Aziraphale gasped. And if that wasn't enough, he also hissed a word. It wasn't Crowley's name, not really, not outside the few times the other man had used it to tease. It still almost brought Crowley to his knees.

And then Aziraphale did it again.

"Sir. Please."

Crowley whined, a pained, almost painful sound, as his fingers tightened around the piece of divinity he had hoarded all for himself. His teeth, dangerous and sharp, flashing in the fluorescent light, before he hurried to sheath them away.

"Can't say that, angel," he hissed. Unaware of the endearment he had used, just the way it had felt, slithering out of his heart and straight out of his mouth, warming everything in its path.

"You don't like it?" The bastard raised an eyebrow, a devious smile marring angelic features and, Satan, he was beautiful. Had always been so beautiful and if Crowley didn't fuck this up, if he took it slow, he would be his.

A strange thrill danced down his spine. His. He had never allowed himself to even consider the possibility of this, of how Aziraphale would feel in his arms, beneath his mouth. His to treasure, to take care of, to-

"Like it too much," Crowley allowed himself to say, the words as sacred as they were shameful.

The smile twitched in the corners, brightened. The eyes didn't.

How did Crowley not know?

But then Aziraphale was walking backwards, ushering them both towards the desk, and it was true that Crowley wouldn't have noticed a flaming car, if it had driven through his empty office. Aziraphale hit the desk with a soft thud, his features twisting ever so slightly. Enough, still, for Crowley to dip down and lay a kiss on every wrinkle that had formed, every muscle that had twitched.

There were words, crowding his chest, and he swallowed around them. Not yet. Don't chase him away yet.

A subtle shift of the most tempting body and Aziraphale was perched on the desk. Another, and his soft thighs were opening. A drag, and Crowley found himself nestled between them, his fingers still hooked around soft hips. But there was so much to discover now, so much and so close and so perfect and, with a groan, he let his hands dip lower. Traced the lines of Aziraphale's pressed trousers, fingers sinking into soft flesh, pushing at the muscles just beneath it. Tentative and exploratory and just a tad proprietary. He couldn't help the last part.

But it was when spider-fingers crept upwards, when curious fingers wrapped around the waistcoat's buttons and tugged at them in frustrated greed- It was then, that Aziraphale curled his own fingers around Crowley's, tugged his hands away, only to press them against the surface of the desk.

"What would you like, sir?" Aziraphale asked, voice as smooth as gold. And just as cold. Dipped his head down, mouth finding the sensitive spot on Crowley's neck, teeth sinking into the give of flesh. Face entirely out of view.

It tickled Crowley something funny, would have made him second-guess what was happening. If he had been in the possession of enough brain power to even first-guess this turn of events.

As it was, he simply shook his head. Let the shivers dance freely down his body as he gasped into the other man's insistent caress.

"Anything- anything you want." His fingers curled around the wood, pleading, screaming, to touch. He shook his head again. "Fuck, Aziraphale, just want you. You don't know how long I've-"

Aziraphale mumbled something. Something almost arctic in the sweltering heat between them. But his words were followed by a particular vicious lick to Crowley's collarbone and- And all Crowley could focus on was staying upright. Staying still, too, every part of him yearning to curl around the man before him, smother him in his arms and in his-

A hand dragged down Crowley's chest, over his stomach, bypassing pesky buttons and trembling muscles to press against the front of his trousers. A surprising, but not an unwelcome development, and Crowley was wiggling even closer, whining. Nothing but clothes and stupid atoms keeping him from sinking, body and soul, into the lovely creature against him.

Soft fingers made quick work of the buttons of his trousers. Fingers, he had stared at for years, while trying not to imagine- Well, imagine this, and there was a warmth inside of him, a pulsing weight inside his ribs and Crowley let his lips part. Tried to set it free.

"Aziraphale, I-"

That was as far as he got, before a palm was wrapping around his heated flesh, fingertips ghosting over where he was eager and dripping. His own hands, still pressed against the wooden surface, his body caged between soft thighs and he could do nothing but lean forward. Mouth searching for absolution in the soft body before him and finding it when Aziraphale tilted his head closer. Let him in, nothing more than a whimper to attest to his pleasure.

Aziraphale tasted like Heaven, felt like it too, the give of his body, the warmth of him, pressed so close. It was probably what made Crowley feel so bold.

"Can- Aziraphale, please, can I touch you?" The plea tumbled out of his lips, unbidden and desperate. His hips stuttered with it too, pressing into maddening pleasure. And yet, it was the idea of touching Aziraphale, of being the sole reason for his desire, that made him whine, made him shiver and groan. That almost threatened to bring him over the edge.

A moment of hesitation, nothing more than the flutter of a hand, the hitch of a breath. Enough, still, to give Crowley his answer, even before Aziraphale was slowly shaking his head. 

A part of him, a small but frustrating part that had helped him get to where he was now, was almost... Angry at the refusal. Couldn't help but growl and thrash at being forbidden something, so rudely dangled before him. But Crowley was used to controlling that part of himself. Had been, after all, ever since he had seen the other man.

No, it was the other part of him that caught him by surprise. The strange thrill that danced down his spine, burned through his nerve endings. The part that not only revelled in Aziraphale taking control so swiftly, but actively yearned for it. For that soft voice telling him what was expected from him, what Aziraphale wanted. Those blue eyes narrowing, as Crowley submitted himself to divine judgment. If it had been anyone else, Crowley would have found his reaction unbelievable, borderline absurd. Not with Aziraphale though. Not with the only person, able to bend him to his will with but a glance. 

But Crowley, as a rule, was also an optimist. And a tiny bit relentless.

"Could you?" he asked, nothing more than a gasp. The desperation ringing clear in his trembling voice. "Please, angel, need to see you. Need to feel you against me."

Later, Crowley would learn how to control the yearning, dripping from his voice, sweet and sticky. Would teach himself how to reign in his desire, how to weed out each desperately affectionate thought and feeling from his heart and his mind, before they had managed to take root. Later, he might even learn to believe the lies he told himself. He would have no choice.

But here, now, suspended in this sweet kind of hope, he could do nothing but watch as Aziraphale dipped his head lower. Didn't nod, didn't indicate he had heard Crowley's plea. Except, those fingers were letting go and Crowley would have whined. He would have, if he wasn't too busy staring at beige slacks opening before him. 

Aziraphale wiggled slightly, lifted himself to reveal the slightest sliver of flushed skin and Crowley wanted to help. Could almost see himself hooking fingers into belt loops, tugging that horrible material that had been teasing him for too long, it was okay, he could admit this to himself now. Wrapping a shaking hand around that gorgeous cock, thick and long, and, oh, but he wanted it. Wanted to touch it, taste it, feel it. Wanted to make sure this was real.

None of that was allowed, the thought slithered into his mind, a traitorous thing. Made a home for itself inside his ribcage. Would have made him flinch, too, if Aziraphale hadn't chosen that moment to wrap his heels around the back of his thighs and draw him closer. Impossibly closer, until Crowley could feel every twitch of Aziraphale's chest. Every breath, every shiver. And if that wasn't enough to drive him off the brink of desperation...

Aziraphale wrapped a hand around him, around them both. Crowley made a sound. It wasn't an elegant sound, certainly nothing coherent, and for that at least, he had to be grateful. He didn't want to think what he might have said, had he more control over his body.

Instead, he tipped forward, captured Aziraphale's mouth in a hungry kiss. Tried to steal his breath, the way the other man had stolen his-

"You are gorgeous," he finally managed to pant against scarlet lips, eyes searching those lovely features. Features, he had stared at and had admired and had never even allowed himself to dream he would be able to see, twisted in such visceral pleasure. And, Satan, but Aziraphale really was so beautiful. Had always been, even when that knowledge had been denied to Crowley. 

Was beautiful as he stared Crowley down, strict and severe as he nagged him about his driving or the fact he had skipped dinner yet again. As he smiled, both that bastard smirk that Crowley secretly adored, even if it always preceded something he knew he would hate. But his genuine smile too, the one that pulled gently at the corners of that soft mouth, made wrinkles appear over full cheeks and Crowley had imagined tracing them with his lips so many times. Pressing against them, tasting the happiness, perhaps even... Perhaps even being the cause of it. 

Silly dreams and yet, there, in that moment- His reality.

He swayed forward, his lips aching to taste, to explore the skin before him. Aziraphale moved away. Subtly, a twitch of his head but- He moved away. And there was an itch, underneath Crowley's skin, a slash of something sharp and poisonous to the inside of his throat, even as Aziraphale reached up. Curled a hand around the side of his neck, dragged him into a vicious kiss instead. 

Not what Crowley had wanted. The only thing he was allowed, still.

Perhaps, it would have bothered him more, if it wasn't for the fact that all around him, all that surrounded him was Aziraphale. Legs, hooked around his thighs, every move- a delicious drag. Chest, pressed against his own, that stupid waistcoat rubbing against Crowley's ribcage and sending shocks of frustrated pleasure through his whole body. He was going to take it off, next time. Was going to reveal all that soft skin, worship it, the way it deserved. Aziraphale's hungry mouth devouring him, his moans and his whimpers. Aziraphale's fucking taste and his smell and his-

Crowley groaned, couldn't help himself. That feeling overflowing, running over the walls of his heart. The one he had been fighting for so long and he was weak.

"Angel, I- I lo-"

The words stolen from his mouth by Aziraphale's sweet moan. And the other man was throwing his head back, eyes squeezed tightly shut, full cheeks, flushed and delicious-looking. Lips falling open around the most wonderful sounds Crowley had ever heard. His body tensing, before it was trembling and, oh, but the visage of him. Crowley almost didn't notice his own orgasm, the way it seeped into him, swept through him. Ecstasy, he had never before experienced, and yet nothing compared to seeing the way Aziraphale looked, in pleasure's embrace. 

How could he have fucking known?

They didn't talk about it. Aziraphale smiled, a gentle, almost polite smile, as he cleaned them up. Half-heartedly joked about being correct that they could share the desk. Even said, "You can consider this part of my regular duties." 

And Crowley had to turn away. Had to nod and smile, because he wasn't allowed to respond in any other way.

They didn't talk about it, but Crowley still learnt the rules. Found out, slowly, carefully, what was expected of him. What was allowed. Mapped out the line in the sand, and then made sure to stay as far away from it as possible. He had never been a patient man but for this? For a chance to see Aziraphale like this again, to have him in his arms, to kiss him? He would have done anything.

He told himself that one day, one day, he would even learn how to be content.

Chapter Text

Surprisingly, opening a new branch of his company was actual work.

Unsurprisingly, Crowley didn't exactly mind. Would have, he was sure, if it hadn't been for his assistant. His horrible, bastard of an assistant, currently sitting across from him. Making sure that Crowley did finish all the paperwork, deemed essential enough to make its way to him.

It could have been worse, he supposed, even as he signed the hundredth invoice, that should have been sent to Beelzebub, if anything. He could have been alone. Even if Aziraphale didn't do anything but push the piles of documents into Crowley's hands, not even raising his head from his laptop.

Crowley couldn't imagine being alone.

Aziraphale had split the paperwork into two piles, mindless admin and work that required his actual attention, and seemed to be alternating between the two. It was while Crowley was dealing with the former, that he let his mind wander. He had arrived at the office at 7 am, eager to deal with this as quickly as possible. Aziraphale had already been waiting for him, a polite smile on his face and black coffee in his hands, that he had hurried to thrust in Crowley's eager grasp.

It was lunchtime now, had been for a while. Neither of them had left the office in more than 6 hours.

Aziraphale leant over the desk to nudge the quarterly budget proposal closer. Their eyes met.

"Is something the matter, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, voice careful.

And the thing was, Crowley's leg was cramping. He had lost all feeling in his hand around the 3rd hour and he was starving. And, yet, he wouldn't have traded the time spent with Aziraphale for anything. Would have suffered through so much more, for even an hour with the other man.

But there was something bothering him.

It had been a week, since he had found Aziraphale borderline dying in his hotel room. The other man had returned to work the next day, claiming that he was fine, and turning those arctic eyes on Crowley, every time he tried to fuss over him. Not that Crowley let the need to do so overwhelm him, too much. He knew he wasn't supposed to, knew what was expected of him.

Still, the other man didn't look... well. Oh, he was just as lovely, just as gorgeous. But the circles under his eyes still held remnants akin to bruises, his cheeks more hollow than Crowley would have ever wanted to see them. He was still not perfectly recovered and Crowley, desperate, yearning idiot that he was, had failed to realise.

Misunderstanding his silence, Aziraphale smiled. It was a tired smile, a little dull around the edges, yet sharp enough to pierce through Crowley's heart.

"Not long now," his assistant promised, as if that was the problem. As if it would banish the anxiety, thrashing in Crowley's ribcage.

"Have you had anything to eat at all?" Crowley asked instead. Now, that, that was crucial. Feeding Aziraphale, making sure that he was well, that he was happy, had always been one of his priorities. Even before- Before all of this, before he was able to channel his need to dote on the other man in other, less obvious ways.

A judgmental brow arched over gentle features. Tempting lips pursed together.

"I have been in this office, with you, since this morning," came the curt answer. Except, it was no answer at all and did nothing to soothe Crowley's ache to protect and care.

He nodded, a plan already forming in his head. He was almost done with the work, didn't need Aziraphale anymore. Hadn't needed him at all today, truth be told, and the knowledge of that, the realisation that the other man could have been resting instead of sitting beside him, scratched viciously inside his throat.

"Let me take you out?" Crowley asked, a faint hope that the tremor in his voice would not be detected by the one creature that knew him best. Even went so far as to avert his eyes, focus instead on the budget report. Anything, to stop Aziraphale from seeing through his plan, from realising what Crowley was trying to do.

Not that there was a plan. This was not a date. Simply, simply a boss, thanking his hard-working employee with all the sushi that he, the employee, could eat. Nothing nefarious about that. It really was the least that he could do.

Strangely overwhelmed by the righteousness of his actions, he even let his gaze meet Aziraphale's.

"Let's get you sushi, all you can eat. Let me thank you for everything you have done for me. Always do for me."

Aziraphale remained frozen. Mute. His face, a mask of careful professionalism, the one he wore when he didn't want Crowley to know what he was feeling. Only his fingers, still there, over the desk, trembled ever so slightly. He probably wasn't even aware.

Crowley only noticed because the urge to lay his own hand over them, gather them, press them to his heart seemed to smother him.

"And then we can do something fun," he added, the need to caress and to care escaping in the worst way.

"A play?" Aziraphale asked, slightly faint. Withdrew his hand from the desk and Crowley would have probably done something stupid, like let a whimper or a whine escape his suddenly dry throat. Would have, except Aziraphale chose to get up instead, round the desk until he was so close Crowley could touch him. He wouldn't, of course not, he hadn't been asked to. Still, the proximity seemed to quieten the greedy monster in his chest, seemed to drain the anxiety right out of his veins.

He tipped his head back, smiled at the other man. When he said, "Anything," his voice held too much honesty for his comfort.

Which was probably why he decided to follow it with, "Even if it's one of those gloomy ones you love."

Aziraphale's lips twitched into a smile. Satan, but he was beautiful, every line and curve of him, as if etched into marble by a master sculptor. Crowley couldn't believe he got to admire him.

His words shook around the edges, as he continued, "And then, I will walk you to your hotel room-"

Aziraphale leant into the desk with a laugh. The most gorgeous of sounds and Crowley hadn't realised how long it'd been since he had last heard it.

"Which is right across from your hotel room," the bastard teased, a glimmer in the ocean of his eyes that Crowley wanted to drown in.

He paid him no mind. Mostly, because the reminder of how close their rooms were, was not helping him assure himself this was not a date.

"And then I am going to insist you take Friday off to rest."

Aziraphale dipped down. For one terrifyingly beautiful second, Crowley almost thought the other man was going to kiss him. Could almost feel that soft mouth, sliding over his own, and let his lips part in anticipation. His chest, too, fluttered with a phantom ache as his heart bruised his ribcage.

Aziraphale didn't kiss him. Of course not. That's not what they did. Kisses always led to intimacy, a particular kind of intimacy that- That didn't fit what Crowley had just proposed. Instead, the other man had simply swayed forward. Close, yes, but no closer than he had been before all of this had started. His gaze sweeping over Crowley's face, searching for something and more than likely finding it, judging by that soft smile.

"Very well." Aziraphale nodded before straightening up. Before pushing himself off the desk and Crowley had to sink his teeth into his lips to stop himself from whimpering at the loss of warmth. Again. "I will make all the reservations while you finish your work."

Strangely enough, Crowley felt something deflate in his chest. Of course, Aziraphale would make the reservations. Of course, he would plan this, this non-date. That was his job.

Only, he had wanted to-

"No need," Crowley was saying, before he could even notice his mouth had opened. "Go home, rest, freshen up. Whatever you want to do. Have a snack maybe, you haven't had anything all day. I'll finish this and come pick you up."

For a moment, he almost suspected he had said the wrong thing, the way Aziraphale blinked at him, muscles, whole body - stiff. But then the other man was nodding and he was smiling and, Satan preserve them, he was laughing.

"You did say all the sushi I can eat, Crowley," Aziraphale drawled, as he reached for his things. "I'm not ruining my appetite with snacks."

And Crowley had to fight very hard not to say anything about that.

Crowley ran a hand through his hair, before realising... He had probably ruined his carefully tousled locks.

This was stupid. He was being stupid.

For fuck's sake, he had known the man for 6 years. Aziraphale had accompanied him on more business trips than Crowley could remember. They had taken their lunch together, once a week at the very least, since the moment they had met.

But it was different, wasn't it? They had never gone out before, all the lunches they had shared, strictly in the confines of whichever office they had been working in at the time. Crowley had never even walked him home, the temptation bright but the fear of overstepping boundaries, even brighter.

That feeling of strangeness, of a world, slightly fuzzy around the edges, turned even sharper when Aziraphale opened the door. Crowley hadn't even knocked yet, but then again, he supposed, he had been standing there like an idiot for the last five minutes. And the other man looked... Fuck, but the way he looked. Crowley had never seen him outside of his work clothes, the realisation of that scorched his very bones, even as he tried to learn how to breathe again.

Aziraphale's waistcoat was missing, it was the first thing Crowley noticed. The curve of that soft stomach, all there for him to see. All that skin so close, guarded by one flimsy layer and Crowley's fingers were burning, were shaking. The desire to touch so strong, he could feel it scratching at his throat. A regular white shirt and Aziraphale had opted for black pressed trousers, nothing so out of the ordinary as to warrant the quickening of Crowley's heart, except- Except he had never seen the other man in something quite so dark and, fuck, if the whole ensemble didn't suit his pale skin and golden hair so perfectly well.

Aziraphale smiled at him, a dazzling, gorgeous thing and Crowley fought the urge to cover his eyes. He was good at that, had learnt how to stifle instincts, older than the universe. Still swayed closer, though, body eager for the warmth that could only be found in the vicinity of the other man.

"You look good," Crowley said, hadn't learnt how to shut up apparently. Tried to limit the damage to his dignity by rushing to clarify, "Healthy. Like you've slept, for once."

Satan, what was it with Aziraphale that always managed to reduce him to a stuttering, nervous mess? Crowley was the CEO of a multi-million pound company, not a horny teen on his first date. Even if he did very much feel like the latter, stood there, picking Aziraphale up from his room, a fucking present in his hands.

Aziraphale ducked his head, cheeks taking on a soft hue. Shuffled slightly to the left, before straightening his shoulders. It almost looked like he was the one nervous and, despite how absurd the idea was, it burrowed deep inside Crowley's chest. Refused to leave.

"I did rest, thank you," Aziraphale murmured, avoiding his gaze. A slight tremor to his voice, mirrored in the way he held himself. And Crowley had to fight every atom in his body that wanted to gather the other man close and never let him go.

Which, truthfully, was most of them.

For a long moment, all they did was stare at each other. Crowley, too awestruck and anxious to say anything, Aziraphale perhaps too polite to break the silence. Some strange sort of electricity, dancing in the space between them.

Yet again, Crowley hesitated. This had been a bad idea, he realised dimly. If he could, he would have turned around and left. Would have thrown away that little brown bag in his hands too. Pretended it had never existed. Except, Aziraphale was so very subtly eyeing it, something curious and soft swimming in his gaze and there was a reason why Crowley had brought it along.

He thrust the bag into Aziraphale's hands as if he hadn't spent more than 10 minutes picking out the contents of it, making sure it was all perfect. As if it didn't matter to him if it ended up on the floor. He even growled out something that could have charitably been called a sentence, but only by those familiar with the way Crowley tended to communicate.

Judging by Aziraphale's smile, he did understand. And judging by the little gasp that followed a peek into the bag, Crowley had picked the perfect one.

"Oh, Crowley," the other man gasped, pink lips falling open. Teasing Crowley, making him unable to think of anything else but leaning forward. Licking the delight and surprise off them, tasting their sweetness.

Crowley shrugged, instead. When he raised a hand to scrub at his neck, he had to curl his fingers into a fist, to hide the fact they were shaking.

"I know you said no snacks but-" Crowley was sure his cheeks were burning. He hadn't decided yet whether to be grateful for the fact that Aziraphale saw nothing wrong with the way he was acting, or deeply concerned. "I thought- We can walk to the restaurant, it's no more than a few minutes away and- Well, I know you like something sweet before your sushi, so-"

From the corner of his eye, he could see Aziraphale's smile. Could feel the way it shone upon him, warming him up from the inside. His own face, now nothing more than a pulsing void of embarrassment and pride, the colour stark enough to rival his hair.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, the stars in his eyes startling in their brightness, and Crowley hurried to shake his head. Hurried to turn away, gesture for the other man to follow him.

"Shall we?"

He never dealt well with gratitude, especially not when it came from that sweet, lovely bastard. Words too syrup sweet for his famished heart and they would achieve nothing, he knew, other than stoke his appetite for more.

That hunger, the deep sort, the one that he wasn't allowed, still felt overwhelming as he watched Aziraphale reverently reveal the pain au chocolat that Crowley had bought him. Lush lips wrapping around it, Aziraphale giving an appreciative hum as his eyelashes fluttered.

And Crowley was fucked, wasn't he?

Watching Aziraphale eat was always an experience.

Every bite treasured, savoured, the particularly good ones eliciting a pleasant wiggle and Crowley leant back into his chair, unable to take his eyes off the vision of delight before him. Entirely conscious of how creepy he was being too and he forced his nails into his thighs. A much needed distraction in the form of sharp pain.

Had it always been this hard, he had to wonder. He had watched Aziraphale eat dozens of times before- Before. And it had been an exercise in patience, true, all those soft noises, the way those full cheeks had shifted and trembled in enjoyment. The smiles Aziraphale would sometime send his food, entirely unconscious and all the more lovely for it.

But it was worse now. So much worse, now that he had something to compare these sounds to. When he saw Aziraphale's flushed cheeks and remembered all the times he had been the cause of the picture of ethereal pleasure before him.

Aziraphale turned to him, a grain of rice stuck to the crease of his smile, and Crowley reached across the table. Wouldn't have been able to stop himself even if he had realised what he was doing. And when he swiped a thumb over warm skin, when he felt that mouth jump beneath his touch, form a gasp so familiar, it was seared into his memory- He couldn't help but make a sound too, deep in his throat.

"Thank you," Aziraphale whispered. Swayed closer, let that gorgeous mouth fall open as he chased after Crowley's thumb. A swipe of a skilled tongue, a move designed more to tease, than pursue the morsel of food, Crowley was sure.

And as Crowley tried to gather his scattered thoughts and non-existent self-control, Aziraphale laughed. No, that insufferable, teasing, gorgeous bastard giggled. The sound just as beautiful as the way his mouth twisted around it, the way his eyes twinkled in mirth. Just as beautiful as that feeling, inside Crowley's chest, crowding his organs and threatening to choke him, unless he set it free.

Luckily for him, he was prepared. He had ordered a plate for himself, had filled it with Aziraphale's favourite rolls. And as he pushed the food towards the other man, as he watched that smile widen, those eyes turn into stars. It felt easier to breathe, somehow. The hunger inside of him losing its teeth, if only for a moment.

"What about you?" Aziraphale asked, even as he eyed the delicious spread.

Crowley shook his head. The idea of eating even a crumb, even a stray rice, almost sacrilegious, when it could be Aziraphale, the one to enjoy it.

"Don't worry about me. I'm fine." He waved a hand, tried to keep his voice light. Keep the desperate urge to take care of Aziraphale buried deep within.

Aziraphale's chopsticks froze in mid-air. When he turned to face him, there was a softness to his eyes that Crowley couldn't quite place. Something hesitant in them too, something almost painful and it stung, for a moment.

Before the other man was leaning forward, placing a hand on top of his and Crowley couldn't think about anything other than warm and soft and perfect. Everything that he had worked so hard to get used to. But had never enjoyed, like this. In the light, in the open, for everyone else to see.

"I do worry about you. You hardly seem to take care of yourself, Crowley," Aziraphale hissed, oblivious to his struggles.

A squeeze of the hand, a lingering look. Bidding Crowley to focus, unconsciously or not, it didn't matter. Crowley shook his head, slipped his hand out of the piece of Heaven it had stumbled upon, if only to make it easier to think.

Even then, all he could come up with was, "That's why I have you here."

He knew it was unfair to say, knew it was borderline taking advantage of the power he had over Aziraphale. The man was his assistant, his work assistant, he wasn't his babysitter nor his parent. Certainly not his partner, despite how much Crowley- But it was also true that Aziraphale was often the one to remind him to take a break or have something to eat. And Crowley was used to it now, almost, almost craved it.

This pseudo attentiveness, that tasted enough like affection to soothe the hunger in his soul.

Aziraphale didn't seem to like his answer, either. His shoulders twitched up, an almost protective gesture, like Crowley had dealt him a blow. Sighed, a deep and overwhelming sound, and Crowley was about to apologise, he was. This had been going so well that he couldn't imagine marring their first, fuck, their first outing, with careless comments.

But before he had managed to wrap his lips around anything too coherent, Aziraphale was already holding a sushi roll in front of his mouth.

"Then let me take care of you," the other man said and refused to meet his gaze.

Pleasantly round on shared sushi, they made their way down the high street. Aziraphale had tried to head for the hotel before Crowley had shared, somewhat shame-faced, that he had something else planned. That he was sure Aziraphale would like it but he didn't mind leaving it for some other time, if the other man was tired.

Oh, but the wiggle that had overtaken Aziraphale's whole body, even before that blinding smile had taken residence on his face. It had been answer enough.

It had also made something wiggle in Crowley's own stomach. The urge to make Aziraphale happy pleasantly sated, if only for today. Might have been the reason why Crowley felt so light, all of a sudden. Like he could do, like he was allowed to do, anything he wanted.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," Aziraphale gasped, cheeks an alluring pink. Caused by the cold, and yet tempting enough that they almost made Crowley reach out, cradle them in his hands, warm them with his lips. "Beelzebub scheduled a meeting for next Monday, 7 pm. I have added it to your calendar, but I know you tend not to scroll that further down."

Crowley laughed. Too much joy in his ribcage, happiness at being known like this, delight at being here with Aziraphale, for him to react any other way.

"No shop talk, Aziraphale," he chided gently. His hand bumped into Aziraphale's, nothing but a playful touch. He even let himself imagine what it would feel like, letting his fingers weave through soft skin. The weight of Aziraphale's palm against his own, his thumb brushing against a dancing pulse, pressing slightly where he knew the other man was most sensitive.

It was no wonder why, then, his voice was slightly strangled when he asked, "Do you have any plans this weekend?"

Beside him, Aziraphale stiffened. Ever so slightly and yet, enough to make Crowley wonder if he had done something wrong. They used to have conversations like that, in the beginning. He remembered trying to take interest in his assistant's life, his hobbies, like any other normal colleague would. But every time, Aziraphale would stammer out that he had no plans, his cheeks so flushed and tempting, sending decidedly non-collegial urges down Crowley's spine and he was forced to stop.

He wondered, how long had it been since he last asked.

"I will be going back to London," Aziraphale finally answered, voice mute and careful. As if he expected some sort of retribution, for what? Having dared make plans? A theory, almost entirely confirmed by the other man's next words. "Only for a day and I will make sure to be available if you need anything."

And it was that hesitancy, that slashed at the soft of Crowley's chest. That made the ache inside of him almost unbearable.

"Let me drive you," he offered, tried not to wince at how dangerously like a plea it sounded.

Aziraphale froze. Completely, utterly stopped, in the middle of the street. Turned to stare at him, eyes wide and incredulous.

"You have never offered that before," the other man said. It almost sounded like reproach, felt like it too, in the suddenly chill air.

And it was true Crowley had never offered. The desire, the self-preservation instinct, really, to maintain his distance from the other man too inherent to let him even consider offering Aziraphale a ride. That was not to say he had just abandoned the other man, of course. Aziraphale had always been given a first class ticket on the most comfortable and quickest train Crowley could find. His luggage taken care of, already waiting for him at the hotel.

It was, in all aspects but one, better than travelling with Crowley, in his cramped vintage car. For hours. And even then, the only perk that could be found in that arrangement- the time spent together. Something, he was sure he would put a lot more emphasis on, than Aziraphale ever would.

Crowley shrugged, tried not to show his guilt, irrational as it were. "I know. Doing it now, aren't I?"

Aziraphale just stared at him. For a moment, it felt like he would give in, that he would accept the invitation and Crowley could almost imagine them. Together in the Bentley, thighs pressed so close he would be able to feel the warmth of Aziraphale's body seep into him, warm him fully. They would be able to talk, Crowley might even stop somewhere so they could grab a bite. And he could pretend, in some deep and dark and shameful corner of his soul, that they were just two people, going on a trip together.

It was no wonder why he had never offered.

Finally, Aziraphale shook his head. Turned away from him, nothing but the flutter of his hands to show how close he had been to saying yes.

"It is a private matter," he explained, even though he didn't have to. Certainly didn't owe it to Crowley. "I would much prefer to go alone, if that is possible?"

It was the way his voice wavered, that made Crowley nod quickly. That gave him the courage, the stupid bravery, to reach forward, curl a hand around the other man's wrist. Tug, ever so slightly.

"Of course, a- Aziraphale. And if you change your mind, I'm here." There was a smile, on his face and in his voice. Slowly tugging on the corners of Aziraphale's mouth too, as their eyes met. Satan, but he really was breath-taking and Crowley could barely stand the urge to dip down and kiss him. Couldn't even begin to fight the shiver that slithered over his tender skin.

It was plain luck, the thing that saved him.

"We are here," he said, tilting his head towards a dingy looking entrance. Nothing but a poster to mark its existence.

Aziraphale's eyes lingered on the poster, before delight, blinding and warm, turned to shine on Crowley.

"You- you didn't," the other man gasped. His smile, like nothing Crowley had ever seen, his cheeks scarlet, his eyes round.

Crowley turned to the poster too. It was slightly faded, frayed around the edges. In block capitals, it advertised the magical prowess of the 'Great Jamini'. Despite the more than cringy name and the modesty of the venue, the magician had been one of the best rated ones he had been able to find on such short notice.

But, of course, Crowley had a reputation to maintain.

He rolled his eyes with a groan, "Don't make me regret this, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale appeared to be barely listening. Too busy peering at the poster, as if it held all the secrets to the universe.

"Oh, I do hope he does more than simple card tricks," the other man mumbled to himself, even as his shoulders, his whole body was wiggling in delight. And Crowley could reassure him, of course. Could tell him exactly the sort of magic tricks that were in the magician's repertoire.

But what would be the fun in that?

"I am already regretting this," instead, he teased. Resolutely ignored the smile stretching his lips that very much contradicted his words.

Aziraphale didn't even respond. But that was fine, seeing as instead of saying anything, the other man took him by the hand. Fingers slotting together so easily, just like Crowley had known they would, his palm so soft and warm against Crowley's.

And dragged him inside.

The night was busy, the street even more so. All around them, people rushing to get home, chatting happily, excited about the upcoming weekend. And none of it mattered. Truthfully, none of it even registered in Crowley's mind as they strolled down the street.

Not hand in hand, but close to it. The ghost of that warmth enough for Crowley to be able to imagine it. No, remember it, recall each individual sensation with such stark clarity, he might as well have been holding Aziraphale's hand again.

The other man laughed, honey-sweet and just as sticky. "Oh, and that trick with the interlocking rings? Simply delightful!"

He was smiling, hadn't stopped smiling and the warmth pulsated in Crowley's chest. Seemed to seep out of him, swirl around them both.

"Aziraphale," he groaned. It would have been a lot more believable, he knew, if his own mouth wasn't hurting from mirroring the pure delight, shining around the other man, like a halo.

Aziraphale huffed. More demonstrative than truly chastising. Deliciously tempting, still.

"You are simply jealous that he didn't pick you to be his assistant," Aziraphale teased, swaying to the side until their shoulders brushed together.

Crowley couldn't help it, he laughed. There was something so light in the air, playful and joyful, that wormed its way between his atoms, filled him to the core. Besides, he would have never even considered being jealous of such a thing. Especially not when it had been Aziraphale, the one the magician had picked to help with his illusions. And how could Crowley be anything other than delightfully smitten, when he remembered the way the other man had smiled on the stage. Had wiggled happily, had dropped everything handed his way, almost ruining the trick. Had giggled, still, the most adorable of sounds, and Crowley's heart had ached and ached and ached.

So wrapped up in the affection warming his ribs, Crowley didn't even notice when they made it back to their floor. Not until Aziraphale smiled at him, the edges of it, dulling ever so slightly.

"I had a wonderful time, my dear," the other man said, keycard already in hand. "Thank you so very much."

Crowley nodded. It almost felt like Aziraphale was waiting for something, body braced for- For what? And despite the inherent truth that Crowley would give it to him, would give him anything, he just-

He had no idea what was expected from him.

"Course," finally, Crowley said, when the silence turned stifling. "You deserved it. Rest up, Aziraphale."

He turned to leave. He did. He didn't, hadn't expected anything, any other ending to this lovely outing of theirs. A hand, wrapped around his elbow, stopped him in his tracks.

"Perhaps, you can come inside?" Aziraphale's voice came from behind him, hesitant but hopeful. "We can find a way to rest together?"

Chapter Text

Crowley was nervous. Despite the fact that it had been Aziraphale, the one to invite him in. Aziraphale, who even now was holding onto his elbow, gently steering him into the room. A wickedly lovely smile on his face, his eyes sparkling mischievously and- And he was so beautiful and Crowley was so weak.

He still didn't let himself assume anything. Terrible thing that, to expect any sort of intimacy, following a friendly outing. To think he would get to spend time with Aziraphale, unwrap him like the gift that he was, press him into the sheets as he kissed every part of that soft body, slowly revealed to him. Just because of some sushi and a magic show? So stupid of him.

It would hurt so much, he didn't let his mind linger on that part, when it was denied to him.

"I believe a shower is in order," Aziraphale noted as he tugged off his shoes. Crowley nodded. See, if he had let himself assume, he would have been so disappointed right now.

Not that spending any time with Aziraphale would ever lead to disappointment, and he tried to focus on that. Tried to think in terms, filled with gratitude and relief, joy that he was even here, even allowed in the other man's space.

It didn't take long, before he was smiling. Before he was nodding again, a lot more enthusiastic.

"Let me make you tea, while I wait?" he asked, mentally going over the extensive collection of teas he had in his room, even though he couldn't stand it. Tried to recall what Aziraphale tended to have at the end of the day, when he was attempting to unwind and got it, almost immediately. "Chamomile, maybe?"

Aziraphale's smile, somehow, brightened even more. One, two, three steps, before he was pressing close. So close that Crowley could taste the frost of the outside world on his breath, could see midnight in his eyes.

"Or you could join me?"

The temptation, for it could be nothing but a temptation, washed through Crowley, filled his chest cavity and his lungs and his throat. Almost threatened to drown him. It was the only explanation for the sounds that fell from his lips. The fact he was suddenly unable to breathe. And all the while Aziraphale just continued to smile at him, so close and so beautiful and so fucking tempting.

Crowley must have nodded. Or the noises spilling out of him must have, at some point, turned affirmative. Because, next thing he knew, that wonderful mouth was pressing against him. Thankfully stoppering all that desperate yearning right at the source. And there were arms, circling his waist, tugging him closer, and he let himself be manoeuvred. Let his own mind go startlingly blank as he sank into warm and soft and perfect, a veritable Eden, there in his arms.

It was no wonder then, that when Aziraphale whispered something into his mouth, he missed it completely. Still hummed, still tried to respond in some way. The desire to acknowledge Aziraphale's wishes, to make him happy, stronger than the urge to sink into the other man's embrace and never let go. A chuckle was pressed into his lips, warm and heady. And then Aziraphale was letting go, swaying backwards. Just slightly, not even a breath of a distance between them. Enough, still, for Crowley to whine something pitiful.

"You cannot expect me to take a shower with my clothes on, can you, my dear?" the other man teased.

Both his voice, underlined by a deep and searing desire, and his words, light and teasing, would have been able to bring Crowley to his knees. But coupled with the fact Aziraphale chose that moment to reach up, tug at the buttons of his shirt? Oh, but that was the end of Crowley. Truly, there was no hope for him after that clever attack on all his brain power.

Resigned to his brainless but certainly happier future, he watched as that soft shirt fell open to reveal even softer skin. The curve of that round stomach, unprotected by layer upon layer of clothing. All there for him to see. Those rosy nipples, a tuft of blond hair around them that Crowley could imagine running his fingers through, could almost feel tickle his own chest as he pressed the other man close, as he gasped and moaned into his mouth and-

"Crowley," Aziraphale giggled, and Crowley knew that tone of voice. Knew it from all the other times he had let the beauty of the man before him enchant him to the point of distraction.

Oh, but it was different now. Aziraphale was smiling at him, pearls of laughter clinging to his lips even as he pressed them into Crowley's and- And he was going to get addicted to the taste of them, wasn't he? Get addicted to those breathless chuckles too, while he was at it. The same way he couldn't get enough of Aziraphale.

Wasn't that a thought?

He wasn't sure how he had managed to get his own shirt unbuttoned, wasn't entirely certain that he had, truth be told. Especially not when those soft hands, those curious fingers, wiggled underneath the garment, wrapped around every inch of exposed skin, the moment it became available to them. The hunger in Aziraphale's movements so stark and so- so familiar, it made a strange sort of longing echo through Crowley's empty body.

For only a moment, before he was distracted by those sinful lips, gliding over his chest. Golden curls swaying before him, as Aziraphale dipped even lower. Lips and teeth and a tongue, running over Crowley's suddenly fluttering stomach and the only reason he was still upright, he was sure, those fingers hooked around his hipbones. But as lovely as it felt, and it did, pleasure unlike anything he could have imagined... It still, it still wasn't enough. All that skin, finally revealed to him, so close and yet, denied to him.

He must have shown his disapproval, his desperate desires. Or it might have been Aziraphale's innate ability to know exactly what Crowley wanted, and his propensity to give it to him immediately. Not everything, not all the time, the thought snuck between his ribs, a frost-tipped harbinger of pain, and he chided himself for it. Here Aziraphale was, against him, that talented mouth pressing hunger constellations into his skin and- What more could he want?

This, his body responded as Aziraphale shifted closer with a laugh. Those soft fingers letting go of Crowley's hips, to curl around his limp hands instead. Tug until Crowley was the one holding onto something sturdy and warm, until his own fingers were sinking into plush skin. Marking it the way he had been dreaming of for so long, fantasising about even longer. He growled, couldn't have stopped himself, even as he hurried to bury his mouth in the expanse of beauty before him.

He didn't know, had no way of measuring how long he stood there, surrounded by Aziraphale. How long he spent, was allowed to spend kneading desire-shaped bruises into round shoulders, into firm biceps, down soft arms. Only knew that it wasn't enough, couldn't ever possibly be enough.

He would have cried when Aziraphale's head snapped up. When the other man growled, "Off." And Crowley hurried to stop, hurried to let go. Couldn't have dared not to, despite everything in his soul begging him to keep holding onto all that soft skin.

But Aziraphale didn't appear angry. Oh, those eyes were the colour of a thunderstorm, cheeks flushed deliciously scarlet. But it wasn't anger, Crowley quickly realised, and felt almost feral with the same type of hunger that seemed to radiate from the other man.

"Your clothes. Off, all of them," Aziraphale ordered, waved a hand in a gesture that should have been ridiculous and yet- And yet. "Now, my dear, before I have lost my patience."

Crowley had to wonder what that would entail and then had to swiftly stop himself from wondering, when images of that prim angelic being tearing off his clothes, assaulted his every sense. Satan, they hadn't even started. He had to get a grip lest he embarrass himself.

Oh, but how could he? When there Aziraphale was, naked and soft and perfect, stood before him. When, possessed by an uncharacteristic sort of impatience, the other man reached forward. Pushed the shirt off Crowley's shoulders, undid his belt, swift and eager, but so incredibly gentle too. Undid his trousers too, thankfully taking a step back afterwards to allow Crowley the dignity of pushing them down himself. Crowley didn't know whether he would have been able to handle those lingering fingers undressing him fully.

Aziraphale didn't kiss him as he led him to the bathroom. A small mercy, even if it meant Crowley had an incredible view of that soft backside, those strong thighs, and he had to bite his tongue to stop the moans threatening to spill out of his very soul. Still made a noise when the other man pushed him into the shower, leant closer. So close, they were sharing the same breath, the same heat and Crowley let his lips fall open in anticipation.

Aziraphale just smiled, as he reached behind Crowley. To turn on the shower.

"You bastard," Crowley growled, but how strange, he was smiling too.

Said bastard shrugged, the picture of innocence. "If only there was a way to make me see the error of my ways."

And what a disgrace their five-star hotel truly was. The shower so tiny, Crowley had no other choice but to crowd the other man close, arms curling around the soft of his hips.

"Could slam you against the wall. That might be a lesson." His voice shook at the mere idea of it, even as he tried to exude as much confidence as possible.

Aziraphale laughed, damp curls dancing in the light, as he tipped his head backwards. Throat open and vulnerable and what was Crowley to do, but take a bite out of it.

"And what lesson would that be?" Aziraphale asked, breathless and shivering, in between sinful gasps. Still way too damn composed for Crowley's liking. "That shower walls are cold?"

"Could slam me against the wall," Crowley suggested, having completely lost the plot the moment he had been allowed a taste of that flushed skin. The only thing deemed essential, that soft body against him. Aziraphale's warmth, his touch, his breath.

And, oh, but Aziraphale liked that idea, judging by the way he moaned, shuffled closer. His cock twitched, trapped between their bodies. Caused Crowley to groan too, made him shiver and want. He shifted backwards, until he was pressing against the wall, and fuck, it really was cold. Thankfully, Aziraphale was on him in seconds and it didn't matter, nothing did.

Nothing but the way the other man felt against him. The way nimble fingers danced down his body, warmth and lust and soap, sliding over his skin. And Crowley tried to help, tried to return the favour, but the soap kept slipping from his too lax grip. Mocking him. And Aziraphale kept laughing, but it wasn't a cruel sound. It was joyful and warm and perfect.

Crowley almost felt drunk with it. Or maybe it was those kisses, pressed against his lips, down his throat. Maybe it was the fact that everything around him, inside him, the fucking air in his lungs, was composed of nothing but Aziraphale.

It was probably why he barely noticed when the suds were washed off his body. Off both their bodies, and the realisation of that did feel like a hot knife in the gut. Had missed his chance, hadn't he? Too dazed and too stupid and now he would never get to touch Aziraphale like that, would never-

"Bed," the other man whispered against his mouth, as he dragged him out of the shower.

A towel, swiped quickly down his body. Leaving him wet and dripping still and oh, they were going to ruin the sheets, weren't they? How would Aziraphale be able to sleep afterwards?

And then Crowley was thinking about other ways to ruin the sheets and then, even worse, his mind was whispering nonsense about inviting Aziraphale back to his room, of sharing Crowley's bed. The idea so outlandish, it made his brain stop working for a few seconds. Made his lungs cease to cooperate too, his legs, nothing but a pair of useless sticks.

Aziraphale sank into the bed, all that pale skin so stark against the black sheets and the abyss in Crowley's chest was a hungry, boundless thing. His fingers ached to sink into everything, so temptingly on display. He could almost feel the ghost of that lovely skin against him, could taste the phantom sting of desire as it brushed against his lips.

"What would you like, my dear?" Aziraphale asked, an almost indulgent smile on his face, even as he dealt that final blow.

It wasn't even that he hadn't called Crowley that before. Ever since their first business trip together, more than 5 years ago, it had been a rare but treasured visitor to Aziraphale's vocabulary. But never in a moment of intimacy, never when Aziraphale was so naked and vulnerable. So fucking damn beautiful.

It might have been why the question managed to uproot truths Crowley had always believed were buried too deep to pose any danger.

"Want to kiss every inch of you, angel," he whispered. Managed to stifle the reverence in his voice, but only just. Couldn't help the one in his gaze, on the tips of his fingers, sloshing inside his ribs. It was just his luck that Aziraphale wasn't looking at him, gaze lost somewhere in the distance instead. "Let me taste you, let me devour you."

Aziraphale nodded, hesitant. Barely a dip of the chin, really. Not the enthusiastic response Crowley had expected, no, had hoped for.

His heart, nothing but an aching, bloody thing, as he crumbled to his knees before Aziraphale.

"What do you want?" The desperation clear in his voice and yet, he couldn't bring himself to care. Not when those lovely features had shifted into what was so clearly distress.

Aziraphale's hands curled around one another in his lap, fingers twisting together, a mesmerising dance. Crowley tracked the movement with a hunger, that had nothing to do with the state of undress of the ethereal creature before him.

Finally, Aziraphale seemed to make a decision, his shoulders straightening in a way Crowley had always adored seeing. "That. I would like that."

And when their eyes met, there wasn't a drop of hesitancy left. And when Aziraphale nodded, oh, but the bolt of desire it sent through Crowley's body burnt like lightning.

Even then, when Crowley finally managed to climb to his feet, crawl after Aziraphale- There was nothing else in his body, except for sickly sweet devotion. When Aziraphale laid down against the pillows, all that perfection like a feast before Crowley. And when he took Crowley's hands, placed them on his hips, where Crowley had always dreamed of touching him, just like this. When Crowley let his fingers sink into soft, flushed skin, it was an act of exaltation he couldn't ignore any longer. His mouth, his tongue, his lips as they mapped out everything that had been once denied to him, worshipping at the altar of the angel before him.

And how gracious, how divine, of Aziraphale to let him taste all that lovely skin, every scar and freckle alike, every slope and plain. Make all those lovely sounds that washed through Crowley, cradled his body, nothing but a vessel for the divinity, pouring out of Aziraphale.

Crowley knew he was playing a dangerous game, that whatever this was, it wasn't allowed. Didn't know the consequences of Aziraphale realising what was happening, only that they existed and that they would be severe enough to hurt. Oh, but how could he stop himself? Aziraphale was gorgeous and perfect, lying there underneath him. One hand over his gasping mouth, the other over his heaving stomach. His thighs open wide enough to accommodate the width of Crowley's body, shaking and still slightly damp. His whole body flushed and trembling.

Gorgeous and perfect and Crowley's. If only here, in this room. If only for now.

Crowley slid even further down, his teeth leaving marks. Light enough to keep, for a few seconds. Centuries, still, in his mind. His touch reverent as he curled his hands around plush thighs, tried to memorise the way they fit in his grasp, the weight and shape of them, before he hooked them over his shoulders.

From above him, Aziraphale gasped. Wiggled, ever so slightly in what could have been delight. Could have been discomfort too.

"This okay?" Crowley decided to ask, his hunger stark and all-consuming, but his need to respect Aziraphale's wishes even stronger.

"Shouldn't-" Aziraphale's voice, nothing but a wisp of dark desire as it curled around them both. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"Oh, angel," Crowley gasped. His own need, forgotten until now, blazed through him. Left him a ruin. "I'd do anything for you, if you just let me."

And then, because that sort of talk was dangerous, was forbidden, he hurried to lower his head. Bury it in the other man's lap instead, mouth pressing against the underside of Aziraphale's cock. The noises falling out of Aziraphale's lips felt barely human. The most beautiful thing Crowley had ever heard, still.

Suddenly, there were hands in his hair, blunt nails scratching at his scalp. And it was that urgency guiding each movement, that was threatening to unspool the threads of Crowley's sanity. That careful control Aziraphale maintained, peeling away like the petals of a flower. Each time Crowley let his tongue trace heated flesh, let his mouth sink deeper and deeper until his mind was an empty, burning abyss. Pulsing with yearning, vibrating with the need to soak up each gasp and shiver and bitten-back sob Aziraphale chose to grace him with. His own lust forgotten, the ache in his heart so much more important, all-consuming.

"Oh," Aziraphale gasped, head thrown back, flushed throat on display. So gorgeous, it took Crowley's breath away. And then, if that hadn't been enough, there were his next words. "Oh, Crowley."

Crowley froze. Mostly, he tried to remember how to do things his body had suddenly deemed non-essential, in order to focus on the picture before him. Things like breathing and blinking and making sure his heart hadn't stopped in his chest. What a waste that would have been.

Aziraphale, too, froze. When he tipped his head up to look at Crowley, it was the shade of crimson shame.

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't-" the other man babbled, flustered and quite panicked about it. "I didn't mean-"

A growl rang in the room and it took Crowley a few moments to realise it had come out of his own mouth, had made his own throat vibrate. He hurried to shake his head, hurried to place a kiss on the soft of Aziraphale's thighs, first the one, then the other. A way to placate the other man, as much as to sate the wild famine in his own heart.

"Say it again," Crowley couldn't stop himself from saying, from begging. "Please, angel, say it again."

And so Aziraphale did, again and again, until Crowley's name was nothing but breathless vowels and need. Until Crowley himself was shaking with it, each heady puff of air that held his name, making him groan and shiver. The way Aziraphale tended to refer to him during their trysts, that had always felt sinful. Intimate, but in an illicit sort of way. But seeing those plush lips form his name, hearing it, on the high end of a desperate sob? It made this feel real. Made Crowley feel real.

He could have stayed like that forever. Would have, too, nothing but a warm and soft mouth, there for Aziraphale's pleasure. His mind all warm and soft too, too occupied with preserving each moment in time, like pressed flowers, to care about anything as trivial as his own pleasure.

But Aziraphale's grip tightened, something desperate but of the rotten kind in the way he pulled on Crowley's hair.

"Stop. You need to- Crowley, you need to stop." Aziraphale's gasps, almost as if punched out of him and- Crowley did as he was told, of course he did.

"What's wrong?" Still couldn't help but question it, stupidly desperate thing that he was.

Aziraphale shook his head. When he tugged on Crowley's hair again, it was gentle instead. And when he dragged him up and into a kiss- Satan, but it almost felt like Crowley could taste his own feelings on that flushed mouth. What else could be as sweet?

"Nothing, my dear," Aziraphale said, more smile than words. "Nothing, at all. It's only... I'm terribly close."

It was unfair that Aziraphale was still able to construct full sentences, even when he looked so flustered. So beautiful and tempting, the very picture of sin. Crowley, on the other hand, could barely move, could barely think, with how enraptured he was.

It's why it took him more than a minute to finally blink at the other man. Shake his head.

"Don't care." His fingers curled underneath a soft chin, tipped Aziraphale's head until their eyes could meet. Amber caught in a blazing storm. It's how Crowley felt too, all hot and twisted inside. "Come in my mouth. Allow me to taste you."

Aziraphale whimpered. And it really was fortunate that the other man also chose to tug him back down, because Crowley wasn't completely sure he would have been able to find his way. Or move, on his own, come to think of it.

He did remember how to bring Aziraphale pleasure though. Now that, he was sure, he would need to be actually brain-dead to forget. More so than usual. His tongue curled around heated flesh, fingers digging into the soft of a thigh. Greed and hunger and something else, something even more dangerous, swirling inside him as he took Aziraphale's cock in his mouth. As he focused on every soft sigh and moan, falling from the angel before him. Before today, he had never been allowed this and he hated it, hated how lovely those sounds were, the way Aziraphale's thighs tightened around him, all warm and plush and constricting. Hated it because he couldn't imagine anything better, and he knew-

He was ruined. Had been, he supposed, since the moment he had met Aziraphale.

The fingers in his hair tumbled down, soft fingertips brushing against his forehead, his cheekbones, tracing his wet lips. And Crowley's own cock was nothing but a torturous ache, even as he canted his hips up. Away from any friction, away from temptation. It was too much and it wasn't nearly enough and he closed his eyes, hummed into the caress.

The worst mistake of his life, he knew.

Aziraphale gasped, back arching off the bed, heavenly thighs tightening their grip. Crowley snapped his eyes open, hurried to look, but it was too late. He had missed it, had missed that terribly lovely expression. The way Aziraphale's eyes would always squeeze shut, how his face would crumble, almost as if in pain. The way that lovely mouth always fell open around a sigh, pink tongue darting out to wet red lips. Crowley knew that expression in a way he had never known anything before. Could paint it with the waves of his affection, could trace it with each ghost of a caress he hadn't been allowed. It never stopped him from wanting to see it, though, again and again.

He made sure his disappointment would not shine through as he dragged himself up, wanting to press his lips against each flushed, heaving part of Aziraphale but knowing that- Well, it was over, wasn't it? He just hoped Aziraphale would allow him a moment to hold him, before chucking him out of his room.

Aziraphale tipped his head to the side as he blinked up at him, curls swirling against the pillow in a devious maze. "What about you?"

Crowley shook his head. Suspecting that he had forced himself on Aziraphale would, without a doubt, hurt even more than being asked to leave.

"Fine, me." His throat was raw and his voice was hoarse and it was true. He was fine. He had gotten to touch and kiss and taste Aziraphale. What more could he even ask for? When he smiled, it felt real. "Don't worry about me."

Eyes, still hazy with pleasure, narrowed at him. Before Aziraphale smiled, a slow and luxurious thing. Like an early-autumn sunbeam, a little lazy, but just as warm.

Aziraphale's fingers curled around his jaw, tipped his head into a kiss that had Crowley trembling in long-fought desire in seconds. And then that bastard decided to tease him.

"The next time I come, on this bed, with you on top of me," Aziraphale said, words as light as a sigh. Even as he pinned Crowley down with his gaze. "Next time, I'll have you inside me."

Crowley blinked. Undoubtedly, the prolonged lack of blood in his brain was causing him to hallucinate. But how sweet of his subconscious to reward him like this. He had never expected such a treat, could only bask in this illusion-

Aziraphale patted his cheek. Crowley wondered what he was actually saying. He could only hope it wasn't too important, it would be horrible if he was missing something, actually-

"Can you be a dear and fetch the condoms and lube from my work bag, please?" Aziraphale said, a bastard smirk twisting his lips. "I'd very much like to have you fuck me now."

And, oh, but. This was real, wasn't it?

Crowley almost fell off the bed and then did actually stumble, once he was standing on his shaking feet. Aziraphale laughed. It would have probably stung a lot more, if it hadn’t also been the most beautiful sound Crowley had ever heard.

"What were you planning on doing to me today?" he half-heartedly grumbled instead, as he fished out the decidedly non-work-related items out of Aziraphale's work bag.

The bastard just shrugged at him. But he did also draw him into a kiss the moment Crowley was in grasping distance and, honestly? Did it really matter how his horrible assistant had planned on teasing him today, when it was Crowley, the one about to do the teasing? Or, at least-

His fingers curled around a soft hip, as he peered down at Aziraphale. Aziraphale, who was most probably still a little too sensitive and raw, on account of just having had an orgasm.

"You sure, angel?"

The other man nodded. Fuck, but he was still so flushed and soft and glowing with the pleasure Crowley had given him. And Crowley would never forget the way he looked, underneath him, he was sure.

"Just go slow, please. Let me indulge in your touch."

And, oh, but Crowley could do that. Could absolutely do that. It had been everything that he had ever dreamed about, and, besides, he had a feeling. It wouldn't be Aziraphale, the only one indulging.

He dipped down, his own lust not sated, not at all, but leashed tightly, for the moment. His whole existence narrowing down to warm skin and the kisses that he laved on it. Sounds and taste and touch, all swirling around him, nothing but pieces of the mosaic that was this lovely creature. Aziraphale, gorgeous and warm, shifting underneath him. Mouth open and searching and Crowley dipped down again and again, to taste it. Taste every inch of him.

He let his hands run over soft skin, let his lips follow right behind them. Over shoulders and chest and stomach. Down ticklish sides, making Aziraphale squirm and giggle, over sensitive hips, eliciting the loveliest of moans. Every inch of divinity, kissed and treasured and memorised. To warm him when the nights turned cold and lonely again.

At some point, he must have coated his fingers in lube, must have teased Aziraphale with them. The memory of the other man begging softly, pressing against him so stark against the fuzziness of his surroundings. He knew that at some point he had also dipped down, had let his tongue slither alongside them. Had bathed in the way Aziraphale had fluttered all around him, those gentle fingers carding against his sweat-slick hair, tugging him closer. The warmth of him, the taste of him, the only thing he could think of as he let Aziraphale fuck himself on Crowley's tongue and his fingers. Gasp and moan and beg, ever so softly. His own voice just as ruined as Crowley's would have been, had he allowed anything more than needy groans to escape his lips.

Self-preservation, he realised later. The reason why it all felt so dream-like, so light and bright and tattered around the edges. Surely, nobody would be able to handle the scene before him in its absolute, in all its glory. Even just the pieces that managed to squeeze through the fog in Crowley's mind, even they were too much. The way Aziraphale moved, his taste and his sounds, each one devastating and Crowley took to them in turn. Focused on each piece as the whole picture would leave him in ruins, he knew.

Soon enough, Aziraphale's sobs and pleas were turning high-pitched, something almost desperate behind each one of his movements. Desperate enough to make Crowley pay attention, snap out of whatever reverie had been blanketing him until now, protecting him.

And, oh, but that had been a mistake.

He swayed backwards, almost sick with the longing that suddenly crashed into his chest.

"Crowley, please," Aziraphale whined, had been whining for so long and he was so very beautiful and Crowley was nothing but flesh and bone and desire.

He nodded. Must have looked half-crazed with it, he thought distantly. And then Aziraphale swayed to the side, made to turn his back on him, and Crowley's grip on his hips was going to leave bruises, he was sure.

"Don't," he barely managed to whisper, his throat sore and abused, his heart even more so. "Stay."

Something dark and hungry shadowed Aziraphale's features before he was moving. Before he was splaying on his back, opening his legs even wider and, oh, but his thighs were shaking. Crowley's whole being was shaking, too.

He groaned as he sank into Aziraphale, so soft and pliant from the centuries, millennia of- of affection Crowley had pressed into his body. So desperate for it, too, both of them and Crowley knew he wouldn't last long. His body too intent on reminding him of just how mortal he was, just how in l-

He hurried to wrap a hand around Aziraphale's cock, already hard again, already flushed and dripping. Aziraphale batted it away and when Crowley tried to question it, tried to whine, fuck it, was ready to beg, the bastard captured his mouth in a bruising kiss. Nothing but teeth and lips and hunger. And so much need, so much that Crowley would have wondered how it could possibly be all his. If he didn't know any better.

This time when Aziraphale made that sound, when his body tightened and his eyes squeezed shut- This time, Crowley was ready.

"Beautiful," he couldn't help but whisper as he shivered through his own orgasm, clutched that warm body tighter against his chest. Madness flexing its tendrils around him, as he considered never letting go. As he pictured himself falling asleep, waking up, just like this.

He couldn't, of course. Aziraphale wasn't his to keep. Aziraphale wasn't his at all.

It didn't take long for the other man to wiggle slightly, no doubt the mess on him, in him, itching something terrible. Crowley let him go. Of course he did. Tried to pretend away the ache in his heart, too, even as he smiled, even as he accepted the kiss Aziraphale pressed to the side of his mouth.

"I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail," that ridiculous man whispered against him and then he was climbing out of bed and heading for the bathroom and Crowley was suddenly so very cold.

It had been a lovely day, he reminded himself. Even a better evening. He got to touch Aziraphale, got to taste and enjoy and, fuck, lo- And he didn't want to leave. He couldn't possibly imagine leaving.

He tugged off the condom, more to occupy his brain and his hands, than a desire to remove any trace of Aziraphale quite so soon. And when he got up to dispose of it- He couldn't possibly imagine returning.

What would Aziraphale do, he wondered, if Crowley just snuck into his bed and refused to leave? If he took a shower too, maybe borrowed a pair of pyjama bottoms, and curled right there, next to him. Would Aziraphale tell him to leave, would he be able to? Or would he just squeeze his eyes shut and endure it? Not invite Crowley into his bed but not chase him out of it, either. Could Aziraphale chase him out?

Of course not, that rotten part of his soul, the one more than happy to take advantage whispered. Aziraphale's entire job was to care for Crowley, make his life easier, he wouldn't dare-

Crowley didn't leave. That would have been cruel and horrible and fucking rude, besides. He would have never done anything that insensitive. But by the time Aziraphale was emerging from the bathroom, looking all soft and rumpled and comfortable in his white robe, Crowley was already dressed. Standing stiffly beside the table, trying to look busy as he surveyed all the takeaway menus Aziraphale had amassed.

There was a smile on Aziraphale's face. One that didn't waver, even as his eyes rested on Crowley's anxious features. But his tone was flat, voice careful as he asked, "You are leaving, then?"

Crowley nodded, lunged forward, arms outstretched before him. In benediction or an apology, he didn't know. Aziraphale shifted backwards, rejecting either. Both.

"Busy day tomorrow, need to go back. Still have those reports to finish and all the meetings- But I meant what I said, don't bother coming in. Rest. Please," Crowley babbled. Everything hazy again, but as if covered by a poisonous smog.

Aziraphale nodded. Didn't say anything else, as he watched Crowley leave.

That smile still held firmly in place.

Chapter Text

There were a few things that Crowley knew for a fact about his assistant. Speckles of information he had hoarded over the years, had tucked right there, in the warm of his heart. 

Things like his favourite food and his favourite author. How much he enjoyed the theater and despised new technology. How he would do all his work with a notebook and a pen, if he could get away with it. That when he had been younger, all he had wanted to do was open a bookshop. 

That he never got angry. It was almost infuriating, the way the other man could face situations that would make Crowley growl in frustration, with nothing more than a smile. Could shrug and wave away infractions that would have had Crowley begging to have a word. And, sure, Aziraphale did get flustered sometimes and he could certainly be a fussy bastard, especially when things were not done correctly. 

But he did not get angry. And he especially did not get angry at Crowley.

Yet, as a whole week ticked by and Aziraphale had yet to come to the office, had yet to contact him... Crowley had to wonder.

He tried an email first, certain that he was overreacting. Aziraphale had, after all, told him that he had some private business to attend to in London. Perhaps he had gotten delayed. Perhaps he had needed to stay.

Maybe Crowley could offer to pick him up?

The email went unanswered. By Aziraphale, that was. Only a few minutes later, he received a cheerful, and worst of all, correct answer to the inane question he had sent. From Muriel.

Aziraphale never got angry. Except, apparently when he did. And Crowley still had no idea what he had done.

The most logical explanation was that Aziraphale hadn't wanted him to leave so soon, that night. Everything else so lovely, borderline heavenly, even for the impiety in Crowley's soul. But why would he mind that, Crowley couldn't help but petulantly grapple with the idea. They didn't do that, they didn't cuddle, they didn't- Fuck, they didn't linger, afterwards. A stolen kiss, a whispered praise, at most, when Crowley had been pushed closer to his limits. Never more than that.

It would have been the same that night, he knew. He wouldn't have been allowed to stay, wouldn't have been allowed in that plush bed with that plush angel. 

It would have only hurt, being asked to leave.

Was that the problem? That Crowley hadn't let Aziraphale chase him out, had denied him the opportunity? But no, no, that was even more ridiculous. Aziraphale wasn't that cruel. 

He wasn't cruel at all, come to think of it. It was Crowley, the one who asked too much, the one who kept ignoring firm boundaries and then getting frustrated when it only led to pain.

He didn't send any more emails. A week later, Aziraphale returned.

"I will be at my desk," was the first thing the other man said to him and Crowley let a spark of hope flutter in his chest. Aziraphale wasn't sitting in Crowley's office, no, but he was there. He was close, Crowley could-

The only thing the other man said to him all day, too.

Crowley almost felt like he deserved it.

It didn't get any better. In all fairness, Crowley hadn't expected it to. 

His assistant had always been one stubborn bastard and, in any other circumstance, Crowley would have found it just as delightful as he found all his other qualities. 

Crowley knew what it meant, though. Knew that nothing would get any better until he- Until he apologised. Which really wasn't a problem, he was willing to do a lot worse, grovel and beg, if it made the other man finally look at him. But he also had no idea what he was apologising for and Aziraphale, perceptively horrible creature that he was- He would know. He always knew. 

It didn't stop him from trying. Of course not.

The opportunity came later than he had expected. Aziraphale was avoiding him, limiting all time spent together to what was strictly necessary. Completely putting a stop to all non-work-related conversations, with nothing but a glare and the slightest pursing of lips, that still managed to instil terror in Crowley's soul.

Finally, he managed to corner Aziraphale in his office, when the other man came to bid him good night. Couldn't help but shudder at how slimy those words had felt, even if only whispered in the confines of his mind.

"I will be going home, if there is nothing else," Aziraphale said, half hidden behind the door. Almost as if the mere idea of being in the same room as Crowley was revolting to him. Or maybe he knew. What Crowley was about to do.

"There is, yeah. Could you come in, please?" 

Crowley tried to ignore the anxiety pulsing in his stomach, tight around his throat. It was going to be okay. He was going to apologise and Aziraphale was going to see how desperately sorry he was for, for whatever he had done. Because it ultimately didn't matter, did it? It only mattered that he had hurt the other man and he had never wanted to do that, would never forgive himself that he had.

Aziraphale blinked at him. And when he did enter the office, shoulders slightly hunched, it almost looked as if he, too, was bracing himself. Somehow, that felt even worse than Crowley's apprehension. The fact that everything he had done, everything he continued to do, brought nothing but pain to the other man.

"I'm sorry." Crowley's voice wavered, just the once, before he forced himself to breathe, to steel his nerves and his hands. "I hurt you, I know that and I'm so- I'm so sorry."

Silence stretched, long and stifling. The space between them hollow, devoid of anything, even the breath that they were drawing. Finally, Crowley gathered enough courage to look up. 

Their eyes met, the frost in Aziraphale's gaze scalding. 

"Do you know why you are apologising?" the other man asked. Simple, voice even. 

His expression hadn't changed, not a muscle twitched, not a wrinkle out of place. Perhaps that was the worst part, how easily Aziraphale was able to mask his emotions. How hard it was for Crowley to read him, to know him, the way the other man had always been so prone to. 

"Y-yeah." Crowley shook his head, straightened his shoulders. "Yes."

A lone eyebrow climbed over gentle features. Prompting Crowley further. But Crowley had nothing left to say. There was nothing left to say.

How did you apologise when you had no idea what you had done wrong?

Centuries later, Aziraphale nodded. Slowly raised himself, gently tucked his chair against the side, Crowley had been referring to as Aziraphale's for as long as they had been sharing this office. Each move measured, deliberate. When he was done, he finally looked at Crowley. His eyes had never looked as empty.

"I will be taking a week of annual leave, starting next Monday," he said. 

Crowley opened his mouth. He knew what he was about to do, he knew it and he hated himself for it. The one thing he had promised himself he would never do. Had told himself he would never take advantage of, would never abuse. 

The disgust wiggled under his skin, even as he said, "I will need you. Next week."

Aziraphale's expression flickered, if only for a moment. Almost made it look like he was about to cry. Or it might have been Crowley, the one on the verge of despair. 

"Muriel can answer all your questions. They need to learn anyway," Aziraphale answered smoothly. His voice didn't waver. His hands didn't shake. He even smiled at Crowley and it hurt.

Fuck, but it hurt.

Crowley couldn't even use the pain as an excuse for his next words. 

"Why would I care whether they learn or not? I already have an assistant."

Aziraphale's smile as he shrugged, as he turned to leave, wasn't an answer. And yet, Crowley realised with the type of poisonous certainty befitting the situation. It was. 

Crowley thought about those words for a while. He thought about them on his way to his apartment in London and back. The hour he had, before having to go back to the office, as he scrubbed the filth of a 10-hour car drive from his body and the grime from his soul. He even thought about it as he tried to catch Aziraphale's eyes, as he handed the other man his tea. 

He considered why Aziraphale had been so intent on him meeting Muriel, just before they had left. Why he had insisted on the juniour assistant being trained. He dwelled upon how ominously vague his words had sounded. 

He even thought about the fact that Aziraphale had spent 5 years by his side before he had decided to kiss him. Before he had started this game of cat and mouse, where the only thing caught in a steel-tooth trap was Crowley's heart. 

He wasn't a stupid man, not usually, not unless it concerned the delightful creature, sitting outside his office at a desk that was officially his. Even if Aziraphale had never chosen to use it, until now. 

Finally, Crowley called them. Told himself that they were his employee, too, that he had a right to their time and to their knowledge.

"This is Muriel speaking, how can I help?" 

Satan, Crowley had forgotten how damn cheerful they were. He resolutely ignored how much that hadn't bothered him, up until now. 

Instead, he tried to school his voice into something polite, something soft even. No need to worry them. "Hi, Muriel. This is Crowley. Just wanted to double-check, are you taking over Aziraphale's duties?"

A moment of hesitation, before an enthusiastic, "Hello, sir! Not yet, but do let me know if there is something I can do for you. I am so thrilled to be of assistance."

The fear inside Crowley's veins seemed to burn brighter with each word coming from that excited person on the other side. 

"What do you mean, not yet?" There was frost in Crowley's voice, a serrated edge hidden behind each sound he made. He couldn't quite help it.

Made him feel even more horrible when Muriel gasped.

"Oh, no. As in during his annual leave, of course. I didn't mean-" They laughed, the cheer in their voice momentarily flickering, before coming back in full force. Measured, still, somehow. As if an exact science they had to keep an eye on. "I am happy to help with anything you wish, sir, I truly am. Unfortunately, right now, I need to-"

"Do you know where he is going?" he asked, before the junior assistant had managed to babble their way out of the conversation.

When the silence heaved around them, it held all the weight of Muriel's stolen breath. 

Crowley almost thought they had hung up on him. He couldn't even be angry. The dread inside him, spilling all around him, too dark and heavy to allow for anything else. 

"I do need to go," finally, Muriel noted. They didn't even bother feigning the cheerfulness in their voice anymore. "I hope you have a good evening, sir."

Crowley really doubted that.

When Crowley had first bought the books, he had done so for a lark. At least, that's what he had maintained to himself, all these years.

It had been still early in their relationship, their work relationship, and he had still been eager for Aziraphale to like him. Desperate for it, a less charitable person would even say. 

There had been a client. He couldn't remember her name, could vaguely recall the waves in her hair or the colour of her eyes, behind those thick glasses. She had talked about prophecies, about the book her great-grandmother had written and-

Oh, but the way Aziraphale had lit up. That, that, Crowley would never forget, could still picture with a startling clarity. The way his assistant had sat there, pink-cheeked and smiling, so bright he almost looked like he was on fire. Crowley had been attracted to him before, of course he had, he had eyes. But that moment had been when-

A day later, Crowley had gone out and purchased every single book of prophecy he could find. Almost every one Aziraphale had mentioned that day, branded onto his skull, written on the tips of his fingers. Had even brought them to the office, had stuffed them in a drawer, alongside his foolish dreams and his even more foolish heart. 

An hour later, Aziraphale had smiled at him, as he had come into the office. Had greeted him with a cup of coffee and some inane remark about their schedule. Had been so beautiful, starry eyed and eager, scarlet mouth forming words Crowley had been too smitten to recognise, even then. His golden hair like a halo around him, making him resemble an angel, and Crowley had been so in-

A day later, he had moved the books back into his apartment. Had told himself that he wouldn't jeopardise the best thing to ever happen to him with foolish gestures. That he would never put Aziraphale in a position, where he had to choose between his comfort and his career.    

And as he stared at the books now, having gathered them from his home in a moment of sheer panic. Five years later, alone and lonely in his office. As he looked at them, tucked in a drawer again, he realised nothing had changed. Not the feeling in his veins, pulsing with each beat of his heart. Certainly not his resolution to never pressure Aziraphale. 

Giving him the books now would be vile. Would taste like bribery, would burn like betrayal. Even if he prefaced it with all the promises he could cram into his mouth, without letting anything else slither out. Aziraphale would still feel the need to be grateful, to not be angry, not be hurt.

Crowley was almost glad he hadn't tried. The next day, when Aziraphale crashed into him just as he was entering the office. Face the colour of rage, eyes twinkling and slightly hazy. So like the way Crowley was used to seeing him and, yet, startlingly foreign and terrifying.

"You do not harass Muriel," the other man hissed, finger coming to prod at Crowley's chest. The touch brief, barely there really, not even a graze of a perfect manicure. Enough, still, to make Crowley flinch. Or had it been the venom in that voice, in those eyes. 

"Aziraphale," he tried to say. Didn't know what to say, either.

But Aziraphale wasn't done. "And next time you have a personal question you just have to know the answer to, I suggest you come to me about it. Sir."

And something truly must have been wrong with Crowley that even when he had this force of nature before him, threatening to tear him to pieces- Even then, that word still caused a smidgen of stray desire to wash through him. And, oh, but Aziraphale could tell. Aziraphale knew.

His face scrunched up, ashen now, the colour of a dying garden. His whole body shaking as he took a step back, as he tried to put some distance between them and, Satan, how did that hurt more than his anger?

Crowley should have let him go. Shouldn't have done any of the things his soul was screaming at him to, was begging him to. But he was, had always been, hopeless and hopeful and he reached forward. Fingers curling around thin air, palm open, hanging between their bodies. Enough, he hoped, to show he wasn't going to try and touch Aziraphale, would never, not without permission. 

That all he wanted was to be close.

Aziraphale didn't move closer. He didn't leave either, his eyes narrowing at the dangling, shaking hand between them, but in no way pushing it away.

"I'm sorry," Crowley said and hoped that neither of them would comment on how much like a sob it sounded. "I would never- Just tell me what to do, Aziraphale, and I'll do it."

He hesitated, for a moment. That ancient, deep-set part of him mortified at what he was about to do. Everything else inside of him screaming that it didn't matter, as long as it stopped Aziraphale from looking so wretched. 

"Please," Crowley whispered. 

It was Aziraphale's turn to flinch, as if that gasp-light word had dealt him the heaviest of blows. He stumbled back, hesitated. He was going to leave. Crowley knew that with the same conviction that told him he had ruined it all. Had destroyed everything and didn't even know- 

A hand curled around his own, still shaking between them, tugged, ever so slightly. Enough to reveal Aziraphale's wish, enough to make Crowley follow it too. He lifted his head, met the icicles peering back at him.

He knew he needed to offer something. That if he didn't, that if he failed, Aziraphale would leave.

He had nothing to offer. Nothing but the broken remnants of his soul, each imperfection shining brightly. His greed and his hunger and his desire, all swirling together, all laid bare for Aziraphale to see. And Crowley was- Satan, he was fine with that. Oh, he knew it would devastate him, could feel anguish curling its cold tendrils around him even now. But he would know that he had tried. That he had not hidden away, he had not lied.

It was him and it wasn't perfect. But it was him.

"You truly don't know, do you?" Aziraphale asked, voice soft. His hand fell away, curled into a fist by his side instead.

Lying didn't even cross Crowley's mind. The repercussions too severe, the pain he had already caused Aziraphale too vast, for him to even consider it. He shook his head, hurried to open his mouth to explain. To plead.

He didn't get a chance.

Aziraphale tipped into him with a sigh, all that warm weight pressing against his chest. And for once, Crowley didn't even think. Didn't fight instincts as inherent as the one driving the beating of his heart. Couldn't have, he supposed. His arms wrapped around the figure before him, tugged him closer.

Aziraphale felt so lithe in his arms, so wretched. Shaking, ever so slightly, as he buried himself deeper into Crowley's embrace. As he lifted his own hands, fingers coming up to burrow underneath Crowley's suit jacket, curl around the curve of his waist.

"You don't know what you did," Aziraphale mumbled, his breath scalding against Crowley's neck. The teeth of those words sinking deep into vulnerable skin, drawing blood. His next words lapping it gently, soothing the wound. "It's okay, my dear. It's perfectly okay."

Aziraphale's fingers tightened their grip. So did Crowley's, truth be told.

"Will you tell me?" The plea tumbled out of his mouth, unbidden. Not as vile-tasting on his tongue as Crowley had assumed it would be.

Aziraphale nodded. His face, pressed against Crowley's neck, twisted into a grimace. 

Crowley told himself it was a smile. Nobody had said he couldn't lie to himself.

"I will," Aziraphale said, soft, almost a caress. "I will tell you, some day soon. I promise."

Chapter Text

First

Crowley hated clutter. Could not stand it, went a little demonic, as a certain bastard would say, if there was something in his office without an explicit purpose. Every surface in his office had to be clean, each drawer in meticulous order.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, seemed to have nothing but clutter. It seemed that everything Crowley had deemed unnecessary or just plain rubbish, really, tended to migrate to the other man's desk. Where, ultimately, a use for it was found. Crowley tended to forget that last part when he grumbled about the state of Aziraphale's workplace.

But no, apparently, his assistant had a system. A pretty stupid one, if you asked Crowley, who had just spent the last ten minutes going through three drawers, in order to find one contract.

"Aziraphale," he yelled out, when frustration won over pride. 

It was late, everyone else had already gone home. Not Aziraphale, though, he would never leave without saying goodbye. Not even after recent events.

Yet, silence.

"Angel!" he snapped, letting the drawer shut with a squeak. "Damn it, where the Hell are you?"

He raised himself, only to come face to face with his assistant. His scarlet-cheeked, wide-eyed, panting assistant.

"Did you run here?" Crowley asked in suspicion. What had Aziraphale been doing that it had left him looking like this?

"No, I- I was in the kitchen, just making some tea." Aziraphale's words tumbled out of him in the shape of gasps, each word a very distinct, very clipped sound. Crowley eyed him strangely. What was with him today?

"Aziraphale, are you-"

But the other man was already opening the first drawer, the same drawer Crowley had gone over at least 5 times, and pulling out the exact thing Crowley needed and-

Fuck, but the urge to kiss him was suddenly so overwhelming, it made Crowley's teeth ache.  

He settled for something just as soft, but hopefully not as incriminating, "It's late. Walk you home?"

It took him until the next day to realise what he had said. The first time he had used that stolen endearment, outside of very limited circumstances.

Not the last, though. Not in the slightest.

Last

Aziraphale was at his desk. Crowley told himself he didn't care.

Aziraphale was allowed to be at his desk, of course. That's why he had one, why Crowley had ordered him one, all those months ago. Even if his assistant had never used it before. Even if having Aziraphale away from him, not sharing Crowley's space, still felt like a punishment. And, worst of all, one he knew he deserved. 

So he didn't whine. He didn't ask Aziraphale why he had chosen to sit outside Crowley's office instead of sharing their desk. Certain that if he did, anyway, he would be given some line about the office having more people now. How apparently, it was unseemly for them to be holed up together all the time, that Aziraphale had to be seen doing something, had to lead by example. 

And Crowley would have to work hard not to mention how just a month ago, when all those people had still been there, Aziraphale had pushed Crowley into the sofa in his office. Had sunk to his knees and had sucked him off for an hour. Just because Crowley had remembered to bring Tania a vegan cake for her birthday. 

But that sort of argument wasn't one that Crowley was going to win very soon. Certainly not by talking about what Aziraphale had been willing to do for him, before. Quite frankly, he didn't want to, either. He wasn't going to harangue and logic Aziraphale into spending time with him. That would probably taste worse than the loneliness, currently crowding his chest.  

So Crowley stayed in his office, worked through his paperwork without once letting himself imagine the treats Aziraphale would have offered him for doing so, had the circumstances been different. He was a grown man, a man who had been doing this particular job for decades. He could certainly keep doing it, without the offer of sex to tempt him.

He lasted 2 weeks. It wasn't even the sex that he was missing. He just... he missed Aziraphale. Missed laughing together, missed the shared camaraderie. Missed it when Aziraphale was a little tired, a little loose around the tongue, and how that always made him talk about the books he was reading. About characters and lands Crowley had never heard of, but memorised instinctively, about moral themes that the other man did not always agree with. That led to them having heated conversations over piles of paperwork and steaming mugs of tea and coffee, respectively.  

He even missed it when Aziraphale wasn't tired at all, sharp-tongued and thunderstorm-eyed, nagging at Crowley. 

Fuck. He missed his best friend. Still couldn't decide if that made it more pathetic than if it had been purely physical. 

"Aziraphale," he called his assistant into his office, heart shivering in his throat at the mere idea of having that lovely creature close to him again. He could probably fabricate a work emergency, he thought desperately, could claim that he needed Aziraphale here with him, to help him fix it. 

Oh, who was he kidding? He had bid his dignity farewell the moment he had gone and fallen in-

It took Aziraphale a few minutes to come into his office. Even then, he was hovering close to the still-open door, arms folded neatly behind his back.

"How can I help?" he asked, voice soft, even. Placating. Like he was expecting a fight.

Funnily enough, it was exactly what wrestled all the fight out of Crowley. He hesitated, fully aware of what he had been about to do and hating himself for it, even more now.

"Could you order everyone some lunch, please?" he asked, the first thing that popped into his mind. After all, Aziraphale hadn't had lunch yet. And this way, he could never say no to Crowley trying to take care of him.

Not that he was doing that, of course. Just being a good boss, him.

Aziraphale's shoulders sagged in what, Crowley realised with a sharp stab below the breastbone, was undoubtedly relief. He had to wonder what the other man had expected and then had to quickly stop himself from wondering. The pain far too sharp and searing, caused by the scenarios blooming behind his eyelids, like bruises.

"Of course. Any preferences?"  

Aziraphale didn't smile at him, not even that polite twist of tempting lips that usually met Crowley's requests. But his voice sounded normal now, more relaxed. He was even leaning against the door, his hands curled over his stomach instead.

Crowley shook his head. "Just for you guys. Don't bother with mine."

And, oh, but that had been the wrong thing to say. Aziraphale's features twisted into a grimace, lips thinning into a line. There was even a judgmental eyebrow being raised at Crowley, the ultimate threat.

Or maybe not. Because right after, Aziraphale stepped into the office. Let the door close behind him. Even chose to come closer, lean over the desk, palms splayed over the wooden surface and, coincidentally, so close to Crowley's own. His shirt tightly buttoned, that ridiculous bowtie firmly in place. Crowley still couldn't stop himself from imagining, from remembering, the soft throat that hid underneath it, the dip of a collarbone, the curve of a shoulder.

He hurried to raise his head. Meet that blazing gaze instead.

"You do need to take care of yourself, Crowley," the other man noted, a frost to his voice but not one born out of anger. Crowley knew what that sounded like, now.

"I know," he said, soft. The worry on Aziraphale's features, in the set of his shoulders, doing funny things to the tender insides of his ribcage. "I am, I promise."

Aziraphale just shook his head. He didn't look disappointed, not yet and Crowley, stupid, greedy creature of habit that he was, curled his fingers around the other man's wrist. Held him, nothing but a tether to a touch that had used to feel so innate. Before.  

Underneath him, Aziraphale's fingers curled into a fist. But he didn't pull away. That had to mean something.

"You aren't," Aziraphale whispered, leaning ever so slightly closer. Close enough that he was hovering above Crowley, a twitch away from- "You are barely eating these days. And don't think it has escaped my notice how late you have been working. You can't keep doing this."

Crowley shrugged.

"Lots of work to do," he said.

"The emptiness of my hotel room reminds me of what I've lost," he didn't say. 

Aziraphale was there, in his office. Talking to him, even enduring his touch. Willingly and without the need for any deception. It was enough, Crowley told himself and vowed to himself and argued with himself. It had to be enough.

"I miss you too much to be alone," he didn't have to say. 

Not when something grim and sorrowful fell like a shadow over features, not made for such anguish. Not when Aziraphale gasped, unsaid words hanging between them, threatening them both and Crowley made to shake his head, made to take it all back. It wasn't Aziraphale's burden to bear.

The smile already firmly plastered on his face, almost reaching his eyes, the best he could do. The words, resting heavy on his tongue. Words to diminish what his eyes had betrayed, mocking and severe, laughing it all away. Promises to do better, to be better, to bind the hurt to the hollow of his bones, where it had already made a home for itself. Where it couldn't bother Aziraphale. 

Pleas, for one more chance. He hoped everything else would have chased Aziraphale away, before he got to that point.

It didn't matter, in the end. One swift move, a simple turning of the hand underneath Crowley's, so their palms could press together. Fit together so perfectly. It was enough to render Crowley mute, render his brain vacant.

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. His fingers fit perfectly between Crowley's. 

"Please." 

And perhaps it was the urgency in his voice. Perhaps it was the fact that Crowley had never actually denied the other man anything. Crowley felt his head move in assent, his fingers squeeze back in a promise. The fact that, despite everything, Aziraphale still cared about him. Cared enough to notice, to nag, an insufferable bastard. It made something glow in his chest, something soft and raw and, worst of all, hopeful.

"I could go for some ramen," Crowley offered, an olive branch. 

Aziraphale smiled at him. And when he pulled his hand back, it didn't hurt quite as much as Crowley had expected it to. It stung, of course, the claws of loneliness sinking into the meat of him like a dear friend. But Crowley smiled back and knew that he meant it.

An hour later, Aziraphale offered him his lunch and a radiant smile. Crowley didn't have to wonder which one would taste sweeter, even as he sat there, in the quiet of his office. Having lunch all on his own.

A day later, when he called on Aziraphale with the same request, but made sure to include his own order without being asked- That smile he was sure, would sustain him for the rest of eternity. And so would the image of Aziraphale, sitting down on the other side of the desk, quietly having his lunch in Crowley's office. 

They didn't talk. Didn't have to. Aziraphale smiled over his bowl, and Crowley tried not to choke on whatever meaningless piece of food he was chewing on at that moment. Hurried to smile, too, hurried to smother the spark of hope in his heart. 

Bonfire, by the second time Aziraphale wordlessly took his side of their desk. 

A wildfire, when it happened again. And again. Aziraphale chattering happily about the latest book he had borrowed from the local library. Crowley smiling and surrendering to the flames.

Countless

Laziness, Crowley had found, was always something to strive for. It meant that he had done all he had set out to do and could now sit back and enjoy the peaceful freedom that followed the sense of achievement. It was, without a doubt, the most satisfying part of the process.

And as he watched the newly staffed office buzz happily around him, as he noted it had been more than a day since anyone had bothered him and about a week since he had needed to sign anything for this place- He knew. He was done. 

Give it a week or two of lounging around, just to ensure everything was working perfectly. And they could finally leave. Return to London, back to their regular lives, where Crowley could finally-

Well, Crowley was going to do something. Give voice to the nameless, unnamable feeling in his chest in some way. Of that, he was sure. The rest of it, more an outline of an idea, a glimmer of hope, than anything solid. More than enough, still, to make his heart flutter in his chest, every time he gazed at Aziraphale. 

And he gazed at him a lot. Mostly, because the man would not stop poking his head into Crowley's office and asking him whether he needed anything. Because, unlike Crowley, who delighted in having nothing to do, Aziraphale seemed downright allergic to it. 

And Crowley found him adorable when he was fretting like this. Could think of nothing but taking those anxiously wringing hands into his own and pressing them to his chest. Pressing a lingering kiss to those flushed cheeks too, while he was at it. Ushering Aziraphale into the cage of his arms, holding him tight until all the anxiety had no choice but to bleed out of him.

Altogether dangerous instincts. Ones he was finding harder and harder to fight, still. 

"Are you absolutely certain-" 

Aziraphale's head popped up from behind the door again. His once perfectly styled curls, a mess from all the times he had run his fingers through them. Those lovely lips open in something that looked like desperation, but tasted a lot sweeter. A lot more familiar, too, and Crowley really had no excuse for his next words.

"Get in, angel," he sighed, pushing himself up. 

Aziraphale snuck into his office, something so adorably enthusiastic playing over his features, that Crowley felt the urge to kiss clean off. "Is there something you need from me?" 

The poor bastard was vibrating on his feet. Crowley adored him so much. Instead, he schooled his face into a put-upon expression, leaning against the desk with a groan.

"There is, yeah. Something very important."

Aziraphale hurried to nod, hurried to step closer. It was almost surreal, how just a month ago, he had completely refused to be in the same room as Crowley and now here he was, eager and so damn lovely. It proved how much things had changed, how much Crowley had worked to redeem himself. It also hinted, ever so slightly and only as loud as a whisper- That Crowley might still have a chance. That he hadn't ruined this, this thing between them. The fragile relationship they had built. And their friendship, the most important thing.

Crowley reached into his pocket for the tickets he had been saving for a day just like this one, perfectly aware that Aziraphale would be close to snapping, the moment they ran out of things to do. 

"Could come to a play with me," he said. A grin, just this side of devious, as he waved the tickets in the air, tempting the angel before him. Could almost laugh at the way Aziraphale tracked the movement, almost hypnotised. Gasped, the moment he realised what Crowley was holding.

"Oh, you are teasing," Aziraphale grumbled, even as he failed to fight his own smile.

Crowley raised his hands in defence. "Absolutely not. Best behaviour, me."

Aziraphale pouted, gaze downcast, before peering up at him. Eyes, wide and round and pleading and, oh, Crowley knew that look. Usually, it meant tempting the other man to yet another cup of tea or the last biscuit in the tin. But Crowley was nothing if not creative. Especially when it came to this.

He sidled closer, so close their chests were almost brushing together. So close he could feel the ghost of Aziraphale's touch against his body, curious fingers painting his skin in desire and need. 

"It's Hamlet. You'll love it, I'm sure." 

His voice was slightly deeper, shivery around the edges, body no doubt reacting to that lovely creature so close to him. Not that Aziraphale seemed to mind, or even notice, come to think of it. 

The other man looked at him, instead, searching for any sign of mockery or deception. Eyes wider now, betraying true shock, pink mouth open around the start of a gasp.

"Oh, Crowley," he sighed, when all he found, all there was to find in Crowley's gaze, was indulgent exasperation. "You didn't have to. I know you cannot stand Will's gloomy ones."

Crowley could point out he would endure anything, if the prize that awaited him was that shy smile, those beautiful wrinkles, adorning Aziraphale's twinkling eyes. That it was Aziraphale's happiness, the thing at the helm of his world, the driving force of his life. 

Or he could laugh, could smirk, a wicked thing. Could drawl, eyebrows slithering up and down his forehead, "It's a students' production. Imagine the chaos."

He chose the latter, of course, even though it didn't seem to matter. Aziraphale still smiled at him, spoiled rotten and quite smug about it.

"You will not be heckling anybody," Aziraphale noted and Crowley knew that tone. Knew that he was allowed to push, a tiny bit more. He wiggled his eyebrows, let his grin take on a teasing edge. The effect was immediate, a hand wrapped around his elbow, tugging ever so slightly. "I mean it, my dear. The poor darlings must have put quite the effort into this, it is quite the play."

Crowley sighed a put-upon sigh. As if his only reason for wanting to see the play had just been denied to him. "Sure, angel, no heckling."

They shared a smile. Crowley hadn't been this happy in so long.

The play wasn't as bad as Crowley had expected it to be. He was on the verge of being disappointed, after all, he had been looking forward to the mess a group of Uni students would make, trying to put on such a play. Except, Aziraphale was so damn happy, gasping and crying out and giggling as he followed along. 

Crowley was almost certain he heard him mutter, "Come on, Hamlet! Buck up!" during one particularly dramatic scene. The urge to laugh, a tough opponent to conquer. The urge to drown the other man in his embrace, tuck him inside his ribcage, even harder to ignore. But insistent in a way that Crowley was so used to, that all it managed to do was fill his heart with something warm and intoxicating, until he was almost drunk with it. An altogether familiar affair. 
 
He took Aziraphale to that Italian restaurant the other man had mentioned once. Told himself it wasn't a date, even as he watched that gorgeous creature enjoy his pasta with a dazzling smile. Even as he accepted the bite dangled before his mouth. As he grumbled and scoffed as Aziraphale insisted on how heavenly it was and that Crowley had to try it. Ordered one for himself too, so he could take it home, could forget it with Aziraphale, perhaps too dazed by the heady softness between them.

They shared a bottle of wine and a tiramisu. Crowley wondered which one he would be able to taste better on Aziraphale's mouth. One day, he thought, heart fluttering. One day, if he was lucky, he might even find out.

Aziraphale didn't invite him in again. Arms laden with the leftover food Crowley had ordered but hadn't even touched, he smiled at him. Leant closer, pressed a kiss to Crowley's cheek.

Somehow, it felt even more intimate.

Chapter Text

Crowley should have been bored. He should have been spending his last day in this office, staring at his already packed few personal belongings and wondering what to treat Aziraphale for dinner.

He certainly was not supposed to be staring at his phone, the tail end of a bout of arousal singeing all of his brain cells. 

He picked up his office phone and dialed the one extension he knew by heart. 

"What the actual fuck, Aziraphale?" he growled into the receiver, voice as sharp as the razor-blade need in his belly.

"Good afternoon. I trust that the delivery has been successful, then?" 

Crowley blinked at the shaking picture in his hand. At Aziraphale, pale thighs on display, pressed together. His cock, heavy and flushed, curving above them. Head glistening and Crowley remembered the taste of it, craved it like air in his lungs.

Jesus fuck, it wasn't just his hand shaking. The tremors coming from his very core, making each cell of his being tremble, shiver desperately.

"Delivery?" he asked, more a squeak than actual words.

Aziraphale hummed into the receiver. Crowley could almost feel scalding breath ghost over his ear.

"Of course. I could arrange for more, if you found it insufficient?" Aziraphale sounded normal, a little bored even. How was that even hotter, making it even worse for Crowley? 

So much worse, in fact, that he couldn't even respond. Could do nothing more but whimper and hope Aziraphale understood.

Fortunately for him, Aziraphale understood. Crowley's phone buzzed a few times, a harbinger of wicked temptation.

Unfortunately for him, Aziraphale understood. Because those pictures, oh, they were even worse. Crowley's insides, his flesh, his very bones liquified, until there was nothing left of him, nothing but a swirling quicksand of desire. Swallowing him whole, filling his lungs and his heart, the space between his atoms.

There, picture-Aziraphale knelt. On a bed that was painfully familiar to Crowley, and at least that provided an answer to the question he had been desperate for, as if an eternity ago. His back to the camera, arse round and slightly flushed. Fingers gripping soft skin, holding it open for Crowley's hungry gaze, revealing something solid and black. Nestled where Aziraphale was already glistening with lube, where Crowley was desperate to follow. 

He whimpered again, couldn't help it. Wasn't sure he would ever be able to do more than that.

"There is a wide array of choice," Aziraphale's voice came from the receiver, slightly sharper now. A little hushed. He was still sat outside, Crowley realised even through the fog of desire. Still in the middle of a busy office, people all around him. Was he fighting his own blush, his own arousal? Fuck- Fuck, but he had that inside of him, didn't he? That wicked toy, nestled deep inside, waiting for Crowley to-

He swiped to the next picture, an almost instinctive curiosity, a twitch of a thumb he hadn't quite bid to move. That one had Aziraphale's fingers around the toy, tugging it out. Or maybe pushing it in, fuck, maybe capturing the moment he had fucked himself onto it and- Oh, but the toy was big. The last one Crowley had seen, had pried out before replacing it with his own cock, before fucking into Aziraphale, right here on this damn desk. It had been a simple plug, a fancy little silver end to it, but nothing- Nothing like that thick, curving phallus currently inside his assistant.

"Aziraphale," he managed to grit out. Everything else gone from his brain, obliterated completely. Everything but the other man's name, his bastard smirk, his devious wickedness.

"I do hope it is to your satisfaction," Aziraphale replied smoothly, and his voice was back to that professional, almost dull cadence, and Crowley needed him so much he could barely breathe around it.

"It's-" He tried, he really did, but all he could manage, all he could rely on was, "Aziraphale."

A light chuckle that glided over Crowley's heated skin. "Would you like me to send you the contract, sir? Once you have had sight of it, if it is to your satisfaction, I am sure we can reach a mutual agreement."

Another ping. Words instead of pictures and Crowley blinked at them, had to force his eyes to focus. It took an embarrassing amount of time, his capacity for language, both written and not, stolen from him by soft fingers around flushed skin.

The form before him, it was- He blinked again, tried to focus on each word individually. Test results? Why would he- Oh. 

It had been before, before that night in the hotel. Aziraphale, something devious but also shy in his eyes, asking him if he wanted to- If he had ever considered- And Crowley had, of course, would have given his left lung to feel the other man fully. And that was before he had seen the eagerness in Aziraphale's eyes, the faint hope that tasted so much like his own, as the other man leant down and captured his mouth in a hungry kiss. 

And all the while, Aziraphale stayed quiet, nothing but his breath coming from the other side. The subtle sound of keys clacking, too, and he was working, the bastard. Keeping the office running while Crowley was pretty sure he was about to have a heart attack.

"Come here," he whispered into the phone. A command, he told himself, even if it sounded like a plea.

Aziraphale sighed, put-upon and quite gleeful about it. "I'm afraid I am unable to schedule a meeting without prior notice. Would later this evening suffice?"

Crowley really didn't think he would make it that long. Wasn't entirely sure he would make it the next five minutes, truth be told.

"Please, Aziraphale," he whimpered, abandoning any hope for his dignity. What was the point of it, he wondered, if it meant suffering here. Alone. "Need to have you, angel, need to fuck you."

"Unfortunately, I'm quite at capacity," Aziraphale said, an amused little note to his voice. Delighted at his own joke and Crowley couldn't stand the burn of how much he- 

Couldn't stand a lot of things, and he pressed a hand against himself. Hard, already half-soaked through his underwear and so fucking close he would have been embarrassed by it. If he wasn't so damn turned on. His cock pulsed against his hand, undeterred by how humiliating it would be to spill inside his suit, barely touched. And, oh, but the idea of that, it made him moan, deep in his throat. Made him tremble.

Aziraphale's reaction was immediate.

"Don't you dare."

Crowley wasn't sure what was worse for his sanity, the sharp drop of pretences, Aziraphale's demeanour calm and commanding, sending shocks of arousal through his whole body. Or how quickly Aziraphale had taken control, gentle but firm, not a wave of hesitancy to his voice.

He hung up. Spent a moment to take stock of his body, another to realise there was no way he could leave his office in his current state. Thankfully, his suit jacket was on the long side today, and he tugged it over his erection. Not quite all the way but he was desperate and shaking and he didn't fucking care anymore.

Besides, it didn't take more than a few seconds for him to pry the door open. To growl, "In here. Now." Before he was stalking inside, letting Aziraphale follow after him.

And, oh, but he did. So quickly, too, as if he had been expecting it. Or maybe he was trying to hide his unfortunate reaction to his own devious teasing. 

Crowley slammed him against the door. Fingers curling around the front of that horrifying tartan sweater, one leg worming between plush thighs, and, oh, Aziraphale liked that. He let his legs fall open, twitched into the strict lines of the other man. His own fingers coming to curl around sharp hipbones, press Crowley closer until it was obvious exactly how much he had been enjoying it too.

There was hunger in the kiss that they shared. The one to lean in first, uncertain, but they more than made up for it. Crowley being the first to let his tongue slither inside the other man's mouth, devour his moans and his gasps, right from the source. Aziraphale, the one to let his fingers wiggle underneath pesky clothes, to let hunger-tipped hands brand pale skin. Crowley, the first one to reach for Aziraphale's trousers and-

The other man twitched backwards, plastered against a solid door and unable to go anywhere and yet- Crowley knew what it meant. Forced his hands to still, to fall away. Tried to force the hunger in his soul to quieten, too. A lot less successfully. 

"When everyone else leaves," Aziraphale whispered against his mouth, before pressing those pink lips against the corner of it. "Then, you can fuck me." 

He tipped his head to the side, those beautiful curls catching the light. "On that sofa, if you wish."

Crowley whimpered. Knew better than to argue, though, even when his whole body was thumping with need. Instead, he pressed lingering kisses to Aziraphale's flushed cheeks, couldn't quite help himself. And went back to his desk.

A few minutes later, Aziraphale entered his office again, his laptop and a teasing smile in tow. And as he watched his assistant set up on the other side of the desk, Crowley told himself it would be okay. It was just two hours until 5, and he had always been very clear about working longer than necessary. 5:30, at the latest, until everyone else had left. 

He was a grown adult with self-restraint and tenacity, he could take the teasing of his tempting assistant for a few hours. Even if said assistant was doing nothing more than quietly working on his laptop, not even bothering to look at him. 

But the damage had been done. Those images kept playing in front of Crowley's eyes, only, now they were being supplemented by his own wicked imagination, by his own memories. He could picture Aziraphale rocking back onto the toy, little gasping sighs falling from his open mouth. His thighs shaking as he struggled to keep himself up, as he had to force himself to draw back so he could sink into it again. Greedy thing that he was, he couldn't stand being empty, would whine whenever Crowley hesitated, whenever he was too slow, too overwhelmed to thrust in.

Only, now his fantasies had him in the place of that toy, his hands wrapped around soft skin. That familiar bed replaced by that damn sofa in his office and Crowley knew why that bastard had chosen to be so specific. His eyes kept being drawn to the unassuming piece of furniture, as images of Aziraphale pushing him down, climbing on top of him, kept assaulting his every sense. 

All the while, Aziraphale worked. Entirely unbothered. How fair was that?

Crowley leant forward, intent on rectifying that grave injustice.

"Do you know what I would like to do to you, Aziraphale?" he asked, voice as calm as he could get it, even underlined by the frantic beat of his heart. 

The other man hummed, unbothered, "And what is that, sir?"

Oh, but that wasn't going to stop Crowley. He was on a mission.

"I'd like to unwrap you," he whispered, hand coming to rest between them on the desk. Palm open and eager. "I'd like to undress you completely and sit you down on that fucking sofa. Kneel at your feet."

It was his hand, that first caught Aziraphale's attention. Before the other man raised his head to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and slightly hazy. He didn't say anything, but that was fine. Crowley was prepared.

"I'm going to open your thighs, those beautiful thighs, angel. Going to touch and kiss and suck on that soft skin until it's pink all over, until I can see my fingerprints all over it. Until nothing but my mark remains."

Aziraphale's hips twitched, an involuntary movement Crowley was sure. Only, it must have shifted that toy inside him and he did it again. Gasped and moaned as he rocked back into his chair. Those thunderstorm eyes piercing through Crowley's soul. 

"Want to suck your cock too," Crowley continued, undeterred. His own need thumping inside him but easily ignored, in the face of such heavenly beauty. "Feel you in my throat. Will you hold me down, I wonder, or do you want to use my mouth? Do you want to fuck my face, angel?" 

Aziraphale whimpered. It wasn't hard to guess the answer to that particular question. Crowley only had one more.

"I just want to know," he said and waited until Aziraphale had stilled, had taken control over the rocking of his body. So much more delightful to know he had caused a fresh bout of arousal, without relying on any leftover aftershocks. "Do you want me to fuck you with that toy of yours while you fuck my mouth?"

And, oh, it might have been too much. Aziraphale made that noise, that very specific, very beautiful noise that always caused a sympathetic rush of endorphins to wash through Crowley's body. That almost made him spill inside his trousers, knocked the breath out of his lungs, washed away any traces of propriety. 

Not that Aziraphale was handling it any better, shaking and gasping and so close, Crowley knew that expression, he could tell. His fingers wrapped around the edge of the desk, white under the strain. Fuck, Crowley couldn't wait to have him in his arms. 

Finally, the other man seemed to overcome his momentary slip of control. Tremors subsiding until he was blinking dark eyes open, slowly, almost lazily. 

"Are you trying to tempt me?" Aziraphale asked, the playfulness buried under his words making it more than clear that not only did he know the answer. But he didn't mind it one bit.

Crowley let himself collapse back into his chair. "Not at all. Angels can't be tempted, can you?"

Aziraphale's response was a little snort of laughter. But when he turned back to his work, he did also keep sneaking glances at the other man, so it hadn't all been in vain, Crowley supposed. He wasn't the only one flustered and desperate. Although, as the minutes ticked by, punctuated by the pressing of keys, Crowley realised. He was still the only one desperate to do something about it. 

He tried to do some work, but there was only one thing that kept capturing his attention. He tried to stare blankly at a wall, but there was that sofa, in his peripheral vision. There was that wall Aziraphale had pressed him against before sinking to his knees. That chair Aziraphale had sat neatly into as Crowley towered over him, fingers buried in golden locks as he fucked the other man's mouth. 

Looking at his desk was fucking beyond the question.

Finally, it was after five, and Crowley could hear movement in the office. He had said his goodbyes already, had even had a going-away party and had promised to come visit in the next six months to make sure everything was running smoothly. He could only hope that nobody decided to come bid him farewell again, because he was not decent enough for any sort of company but the one he was currently keeping.

Alas.

Red hair in a tight up-do poked from behind the door, followed by a shark smile. Crowley hadn't liked the woman, too sharp for his taste, but she had so much experience and, hey. Sometimes you needed people like that as your Branch Managers.

He forced himself to smile.

"Anything I can help you with?" he asked, while mentally praying to whatever deity would listen to him that he wouldn't need to get up.

"Um-" The woman, Shax, hesitated. Eyes dancing between Crowley and Aziraphale, very obviously wishing that the latter would leave. Aziraphale, very wisely, chose to stay exactly where he was. Didn't even look up from his laptop. 

Shax seemed to give up on getting some private time with the boss. Crowley couldn't be happier, he had no idea how he would have explained his current state. 

"Just wanted to wish you luck in all your future endeavours," Shax said and revealed more of her teeth. 

Crowley nodded. "Thanks. I'll see you in a few months."

As good a dismissal without being rude, excessively so, at least, as Crowley could manage. By the time Shax had closed the door, he was already on his feet. 

Aziraphale glanced up from his laptop, eyes sliding over the other man's shivering form, slowly, like a caress. Their eyes met. Crowley didn't like that smile.

"Not until she's left," the bastard said, voice even. "But you can wait on the sofa, if you wish."

Crowley didn't trip as he hurried to obey, shedding his suit jacket on the way. But it was a very near thing. 

The moment he had sat down, Aziraphale's voice drifted to him. Heady and deep and so fucking hot, he could barely breathe.

"Unbutton your trousers," the other man said, the click-clack of his keyboard underlining each word. "And don't even think of touching yourself."

Crowley's fingers shook as he reached for his buttons, each move, slow and deliberate. Too terrified to overstep, to disobey. Too terrified that a stray tremor would make a fingertip graze him where he was already straining.

There was a wide wet patch at the front of his boxers, and he whimpered when cold air ghosted over it. Just one touch, he couldn't help but beg in his head, a perfectly manicured finger pressing against it. All he would need to-

Aziraphale was already looking at him, the hunger in his eyes so stark, so feral, it only seemed to stoke the one in Crowley's heart. 

"Down, around your ankles," the other man whispered, before his breath hitched. "Pants, too."

Almost in a haze, Crowley hurried to tug everything down. The soft material gliding over his sensitive skin and he moaned, tried to fight the urge to fuck into the sizzling air around them. 

He needed to get himself under control. Aziraphale was going to be there soon, was going to sink into him, all warm and slippery and tight, and Crowley would need to be able to move. To touch and to kiss, to bring that beautiful creature as much pleasure as he could. He was not going to disappoint the other man. 

Shallow breaths were where he started, fingers squeezed into fists on top of his thighs, blunt nails almost piercing the skin. Warmth blanketing his mind, a sort of serenity cradling him whole. 

To be replaced by want, searing and all-consuming, the moment he heard Aziraphale get up from the desk. As he forced his eyes to open, as he found the other man already hovering above him. Smiling softly, still perfectly professional, even as he reached for Crowley's cock. Pressed an open palm against the curve of him, clever fingers dancing over the weeping head. Crowley gasped, squirmed at the touch. So good, so heavenly, it was borderline painful and he tried to get away. Tried to press into it, too, chase after it when Aziraphale took his hand away, a look of understanding in his eyes.

"You've been so good," Aziraphale whispered, words like hooks, sinking into raw skin. "Not long now."

The warmth swirled around Crowley again as he watched the unbuttoning of those pressed trousers. The tartan boxers, pushed down to reveal that thick, angry red cock. And Aziraphale was turning around, nestling himself between Crowley's limply open thighs, solid back pressed against a quivering chest.

It was good, Crowley told himself. He had been waiting so long and it was good, he could still feel Aziraphale's warmth, his weight against him. His arm even weaved around a soft hip, to rest over a round stomach, covered by a tartan blazer. Fingertips splayed over a heaving chest, over a faint pulse. It was... it was good.

Only, he had been learning to ask for more. To ask for things that he wanted too. Aziraphale's pleased smile as Crowley expressed a preference, almost more of a reward than getting what he wanted. And this, it wasn't what he wanted.

His fingers curled around Aziraphale's wrist, tugged ever so slightly. Enough, for the other man to let his head tip backwards until their eyes met. Satan, but he was so very beautiful that it took Crowley a few seconds to look past those round cheeks, that tempting mouth and that adorable nose, to whisper his request.

"Could you? Facing me?" His thoughts all jumbled up, his words too, he was sure, but enough for Aziraphale to understand him. To smile, a dazzling, proud smile. To press a kiss to his cheek before he was getting up again.

And, oh, but this was even better. Aziraphale hesitated for a moment before he was tugging that tartan sweater over his head. Unbuttoning that shirt and then he was naked, he was naked and soft and there and Crowley reached forward, intent on indulging in all that soft skin on display. 

With a laugh, Aziraphale took hold of his hand, so shaking and uncoordinated it could achieve nothing but bump clumsily into the empty air. Climbed into Crowley's lap, before he placed it on his chest. Crowley's hand seized, needy with greed, knead into soft skin. Fingers burrowing into those blond curls, his other hand coming to wrap around a round hipbone. The desire to steady himself overwhelming, even though he was the one pressed between a soft couch and an even softer angel. 

Aziraphale's own hand rested against the side of Crowley's throat, and he tipped his head up without being asked to, offered his lips and his mouth and his own hunger, and moaned when Aziraphale devoured them all. 

The proximity wasn't helping though, not at all. Each desperate kiss, each caress. Each time his own hands ran over soft perfect skin and pressed their own mark into that pale flesh. Bringing him closer to the edge and he knew that- He had to hurry. 

"Let me fuck you, angel?" he whispered on the tail end of reprieve, in between kisses. 

Watched carefully for any sign he had overstepped and when he found none, when nothing but a whimper and a frantic nod met his words- He let his fingers dip down, curl around that toy that had been haunting him for hours. Tugged it out, before thrusting it back in with prejudice.

Aziraphale collapsed against his chest with a sob. 

"Don't tease," the bastard had the nerve to scold him as if he hadn't spent all of today doing exactly that. 

Crowley still pressed an apologetic kiss to his gasping mouth. Swallowed around his moans as he did tug the toy out, no delays, no teasing. Reached blindly towards the side table to dump it carefully, and by the time he had turned his attention back to Aziraphale- That tempting creature was already hovering above him, one hand squirming between his thighs to hold himself open, forearm brushing against the heft of his cock with each twitch of his hips. 

Aziraphale looked at him, expectant and eager. Desperate, but a different flavour of it than Crowley was used to, and it took him a moment before he remembered he needed to show his assent, needed to do more than sit there, staring blankly at the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

He nodded. Aziraphale sank into him in one swift move and- Oh, but that feeling, after millennia of teasing, it was unlike anything Crowley had ever experienced. Tight, so warm that it was scalding. Pulsing all around him, the same frantic beat as Crowley's own heart. Aziraphale's body, pressing him into the sofa, all that delicious weight heavy against him. His skin and his warmth and his scent, fuck, but his scent. 

Crowley gasped, limp fingers seeking refuge on top of plush thighs. Blond hairs tickling his fingertips and he tried to focus on that, the most innocent of things currently happening around him. But even that wasn't enough, was too overwhelming. Each time Aziraphale lifted himself, Crowley could feel the shifting of muscles underneath his touch. Each time Aziraphale bottomed out, an almost electric shock to the system that could be ignored as easily as death itself. And those noises, fuck. Crowley couldn't even imagine disregarding each sweet sound falling from that devious mouth, each moan and whimper and, Satan, each time scarlet lips formed Crowley's name? No, he would rather perish in the fire of his desperate desire than ignore those.

But it was getting harder to control it, to stop himself from just taking. His eyes hazy, his mind even more so. His whole body sluggish and heavy, and all he could do, all he was able to do was gasp into Aziraphale's mouth, meet every kiss with desire, if not finesse. Try to ignore how it felt, all that soft skin sliding against him, burning his flesh and his bones and his soul, every time Aziraphale fucked himself on Crowley's cock.

And then there were hands in his hair, tipping his head up, and Aziraphale was peering into him, his beautiful mouth twisting around words. But he was also moving even more quickly now, each time he pressed into Crowley's lap, followed by the sweetest of groans and Crowley couldn't- He couldn't possibly-

Something twisted on Aziraphale's face, and there was fear in Crowley's heart. Not disappointment, please, he wouldn't be able to handle disappointing him. 

"Oh, my dear," Aziraphale whispered, and Crowley only understood because he had also stopped moving. "How desperate you are. I overdid it, didn't I?"

Crowley hurried to shake his head, hurried to soothe Aziraphale's worry. Couldn't really talk, his brain in a puddle somewhere underneath the sofa, so he twisted his head instead. Pressed a kiss to the other man's hand, still buried in his hair, to the thundering pulse in his wrist.

Aziraphale's body twitched, bringing another wave of unparalleled pleasure. Making them both groan, too lost in the shared moment. Then, the other man leant forward, pressed a kiss to Crowley's cheek, surprisingly gentle. 

"Come for me," he whispered, holding Crowley's gaze. Eyes like a summer storm, dark, but so very warm too. Crowley tried to shake his head again, but Aziraphale held him in place. "I want you to. Fill me up, darling."

It was an offer, a command, really, that Crowley couldn't disobey. He let himself sink into each feeling. Enjoy and revel in the way Aziraphale felt above him, all around him, instead of trying to escape it. Let all those lovely sounds wash over him, let himself sink into Aziraphale's pleasure, the flush on his face, spilling over his throat and scattered over his heaving chest. His beautiful expression, the scrunched up nose, the puffed-out cheeks. When he leant down to press uncoordinated kisses all over that soft skin, Aziraphale let him. No, leant into it, twisting his head every which way, moaning and squirming into the caress as if he was enjoying it just as much.

It didn't take long. It didn't take long at all, before Crowley was moaning, as he found his release. As he shook and trembled, fingers digging into flesh, mouth greedily lapping at any part of Aziraphale he could reach.

All the while, Aziraphale held him through it, milking him dry, petting his hair. Whispering, "You did so well for me." And, "How beautiful you are, my dear."

And Crowley was sobbing, unsure if the pleasuring wrecking his whole body was just an aftershock of the most delicious orgasm he had ever had or a new one, entirely.

Just before the pleasure had turned sharp, had turned overwhelming, Aziraphale stilled. Tipped into him instead, all that welcoming weight calming the wild flutter of Crowley's chest. And Crowley wished he could focus on the moment fully, could truly appreciate it- But his body was weak, his mind even more so, and all he could do was enjoy it. Wrap loose, cotton-heavy arms around the angel in his lap, sink into his warmth and just... Enjoy it. 

Centuries later, Aziraphale tried to wiggle free. Crowley's hands tightened around him, completely unbidden.

"Where you going?" he whispered and had no energy to wince at how drunk he sounded. Felt like it too.

Aziraphale twisted his head from where it had been tucked, just underneath Crowley's chin. "I need to clean up."

Something akin to horror seized Crowley's body. His voice, a lot clearer as he asked, "What about you?"

"It's fine, my dear. My fault for teasing you all day," Aziraphale said with a smile and, no, that wouldn't do. Wouldn't do at all.

Crowley shook his head. "Give me five minutes and I'll take care of you, angel."

And when Aziraphale opened his mouth to argue, Crowley stole his words away with a kiss. Tightened his grip too, just in case the other man tried to break free again. Finally, Aziraphale giggled.

"Very well. Could you at least pass me the toy, please? I'd hate to stain the couch."

Crowley hummed, already able to feel his release dripping around his slowly softening cock. Didn't mind the mess, not at all, but knew better than to argue with the other man. 

The toy was long and thick, with a bulbous, curved head. It wasn't hard to guess what the purpose of that last part was and as Crowley watched the other man slowly push it into himself, his hole loose from Crowley's cock, with Crowley's come as his lube... As he watched that beautiful face twist in pleasure as that round head found his prostate and pressed...

Well, what else was he to do but growl, "Yeah, won't need those five minutes. Come 'ere."

And Aziraphale did come, breathless and giggling, suffering through Crowley's brutish manhandling bravely. Let himself be pushed into the sofa as Crowley gazed at him, desperate to follow through on his promise. 

But first, he tugged off his shirt, offered it to the other man to sit on, conscious of the mess they were making. Not that he minded, not at all but Aziraphale did. Aziraphale would fret about how undignified it was, how much the poor cleaners suffered as it was. Finally got rid of the trousers and pants around his ankles too, before sinking to his knees.

Aziraphale seemed to realise what he was about to do just as he curled his hands around those plush thighs. The other man smiled, a gorgeous, easy, breathtaking smile. But then again, weren't all his smiles like that?

And, oh, but Crowley couldn't help but marvel as his fingers sank into soft skin, as his mouth mapped out freckle-constellations. As his tongue tasted salty sweat and something else, something uniquely Aziraphale. This was where he belonged. This was what he had been born to do. 

Aziraphale was breathing heavily above him, softly rocking against the toy inside of him. His fingers weaving through Crowley's hair, desperate and urgent as they tugged him closer to where he really needed him. And he was gorgeous. Gorgeous and perfect. He was everything and Crowley had been in love with him for so long, it felt almost silly to deny it any longer. 

"I can do this forever, you know," he whispered, lips inching closer and closer to the epicentre of Aziraphale's pleasure.

From above him, the other man scoffed. Still, something light and teasing in his voice as he asked, "What? Tease me?"

Crowley couldn't stop the laughter falling from his lips, could only press it into warm skin. He shook his head, raised his eyes. Satan, Aziraphale really was so perfect.

"Worship at your feet."

Aziraphale made that sound, as he came, completely untouched. His mouth fell open, tongue peeking out to wet dry lips. Face twisting into something so euphoric it almost appeared painful. 

His eyes stayed open. For the first time since they had started this, his eyes stayed open. Trained on Crowley's face, on the reverence no doubt painted over sharp features, on the devotion in those amber eyes. And Crowley couldn't look away, no matter how dangerous it was, how utterly world-destroying it could be. Aziraphale too lovely, too ethereal, Crowley's heart too viciously full of all that love, for him to look away. 

Instead, he saw the other man through his orgasm, lingering kisses pressed to every inch of skin he could reach. Dutifully lapping at each drop of pleasure, hungry fingers chasing each shiver of desire. Sat back on his haunches when the tremors subsided, when Aziraphale started breathing a little bit easier. A demon on Judgment Day.

But no judgment followed. Aziraphale smiled at him, somewhat dazed and dizzy, almost drunk. Swayed like it, too, as he got to his feet, trembling unsteadily. Pressed a hand to Crowley's shoulder as he stumbled past him. And Crowley wanted to help, he did. Wasn't entirely certain it would be welcomed, still. 

So he did what he had always wanted to do, before. He gathered Aziraphale's clothes, folded them neatly and left them in front of the bathroom door. And then, then he got dressed and stepped out of his office, to give the man his privacy. But also to order them dinner, bribe the man on the phone with an amazing tip if it could be delivered in ten minutes. And by the time he was back with their food, Aziraphale was fully dressed, just stepping out of the bathroom. 

Crowley smiled at him, lifting the pizza in his hands as if spoils of war. Aziraphale's smile was a little stunned, a little wild around the edges. 

No less beautiful, though. 

Chapter Text

"You got everything?" Crowley asked for perhaps the tenth time, as he took in Aziraphale's empty hotel room.

Aziraphale just laughed, sweet and carefree. He had been doing that a lot lately, and Crowley let the sound wash over him, like summer rain.

"Believe it or not, I have packed my own luggage before," the other man teased, swaying into him slightly. "Most times successfully, even."

"Most times?"

Aziraphale hummed as he wrapped a hand around his elbow. Seeing as Crowley had two boxes, which weighed suspiciously like they were filled with books, obscuring his vision... He had no problem letting the other man lead the way. Or touch him, soft and lingering, for that matter.

"I lost a book once, on one of our earlier trips," Aziraphale shared in a hushed whisper. Almost mournful, and Crowley had the insane notion to invent time travel just to prevent him from ever feeling that way. "It must have fallen under the bed, I remember reading it just before falling asleep the night before we left."

Crowley made a sympathetic, if slightly mocking sound. Some things you just couldn't change.

But also, tried to sound as nonchalant as he could, when he asked, "Which one was it?"

As if he wasn't getting ready to make a note of the book, to add to the growing collection, currently tucked underneath the backseat of his car. As if the love in his heart, and how wonderful, how freeing it was to call it that, wasn't vibrating in anticipation.

But Aziraphale just chuckled, minutely letting go of Crowley's elbow to, presumably, wave the question away.

"It has been 5 years now, my dear. I can hardly be expected to remember."

And that was fine too. It just meant that Crowley would need to get him anything, any book, any food, any item he desired, to make up for it. He couldn't imagine a better fate.

A soft squeeze to his arm, and even softer, "Careful, there is a step here." And the feeling, the love, was so overwhelming that Crowley couldn't help but grin at the other man. Didn't even bother hiding the stupidly smitten look on his face, when Aziraphale moved the first box, revealing it to the world.

"Oi, be careful with that," still grumbled, when Aziraphale heaved it up and into the backseat of the car in one graceful move. Fuck, but he was strong.

"Don't fuss, darling," came the teasing, lilting reply. And that was new, wasn't it? Crowley wasn't sure he would have been standing here, if he had heard it before.

He wasn't very sure he would continue standing here, having heard it now. His legs shaking as the affection in that word washed over him. Through him, filling in every crack and spare smidgen of space within his soul. He had even made a sound, he was sure. Could only hope it had been a good one. But when the other man smiled at him, hesitant, almost shy- There was no doubt in his heart that it had been.

"Are you certain about this?" Aziraphale asked, for perhaps the tenth time, as he took in Crowley's pride and joy.

Crowley turned to his car too. It was a compact one, but could still comfortably fit two people, if they were pressed together. Maybe a bit uncomfortably, now, with all their possessions in the boot and spilling onto the backseat. But they didn't need much space, did they? And it wasn't like they hadn't touched before.

He turned to Aziraphale, gaze lingering on his fluttering hands, on his wide eyes. He wouldn't forgive himself if he made him uncomfortable.

"You don't have to," Crowley said, gentle and soothing. Laid a hand over Aziraphale's still nervously entwined ones, tugged, until the other man faced him. "I can still get you the train, Aziraphale. Bring all your belongings to London while you take the scenic route? Come on, what do you say? You love trains."

Aziraphale shook his head. "It's not that. I just- I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Make me uncomfortable?" Crowley's voice came out a lot higher than he was used to. He couldn't help it, not in the face of such utter rubbish. "Angel. You are about to spend 5 hours with me. Packed together, in a tiny car. It's not me I'm worried about."

Aziraphale's mouth fell open around a gasp. Any other time Crowley would have been accosted by lewd thoughts within seconds of that sight, but now, he barely even noticed those perfectly pink lips. Which was saying a lot about how concerned he truly was.

"Did you not know how long the drive is?" Crowley was pretty sure he had mentioned it when he had offered to drive them both back to London. He would have never omitted such an important fact, especially when the fear of disappointing Aziraphale again was dangling above him still. Its teeth sharp and ravenous. Or maybe it was the car? Crowley had driven them before, short drives, to client meetings and the occasional bakery. Had Aziraphale been unable to gauge how crowded it was? "Is it-"

But Aziraphale was already shaking his head, stepping closer. His eyes, wide and dazed. His voice hushed, almost- almost quivering as he asked, "Is that why you never offered?"

Crowley could do nothing but shrug. It hadn't been a secret, why he had never offered to drive Aziraphale on their business trips. Still, he wasn't exactly thrilled with the other man knowing how much he cared. Or at least, he reminded himself- That had been before. He was making an effort now. He was trying to be more open.

"It's a bit cramped," he finally acknowledged, if a little gruff. "Never wanted you to feel pressured to accept."

Aziraphale giggled at him. The sound, so dazzlingly bright, before he was slapping a hand over his mouth and putting a stop to it. His eyes so wide, twinkling in an entirely different emotion now.

But the damage had been done. Crowley's head fell back, as he laughed. Reached forward, hands coming to perch on round hipbones, so perfectly shaped, as if solely for him. Bravely bore Aziraphale's still-shaking body as it tipped into him, all that solid warmth pressing so close to his chest, he could feel it melting his ribcage.

Silly, he thought to himself. He had been so silly.

Life really was so much different when the feeling inside your chest finally had a name.

It would have been a lie if Crowley said he had never imagined sharing his car with Aziraphale. If he tried to claim that he hadn't spent this exact drive, almost half a year ago, picturing his assistant in the passenger seat. So close, Crowley could feel his heat, could taste his scent on his lips. He hadn't known how sweet it would be, before. But now- Now, it was taking all his self-control to stop him from reaching over, drawing the other man into a kiss.

Actually, it wasn't even that, the thing keeping him on his side of the car. The fact Aziraphale would not like that, would not like that at all, a much more efficient deterrent. The other man had, in fact, already scolded him twice about his driving. Even though Crowley was going as slowly as he could bear, the thought of the car drive ending, able to override instincts he had previously considered too deeply embedded into his very psyche.

Still, he couldn't help but reach over, wrap a hand around Aziraphale's thigh. Nothing more than a tender touch, a reminder that they were here. Together.

The response was immediate.

"Watch the road," the other man hissed. A wildness to his eyes that Crowley wouldn't have noticed, if he wasn't so intent on staring at that lovely face, instead of paying attention to the road. In his defence, though, the completely empty, stretching before them in a straight line, road.

But when he went to take his hand away, he received a pat to his fingers. A light squeeze, even. That had him grinning like a lunatic a lot more than the frankly ridiculous way Aziraphale was acting.

"Tell me, my dear," the other man said, a certain note to his voice that told Crowley he was going to be a bastard about it. "Have you ever crashed into someone?"

Crowley let his grin take on a sharp edge. The way Aziraphale had phrased that, he was begging for a reply like, "No. Some people have crashed into me."

Aziraphale gasped. Crowley was sure that, were he not driving, he would have even received an admonishing pat on the arm.

"But I could be more careful?" he hurried to say, hurried to offer, before it had become a thing. He felt Aziraphale stare at him. Resolutely didn't turn to meet his eyes.

This was, he believed, what was commonly referred to as personal growth.

Apparently, Aziraphale didn't share the sentiment. "You are not a child, Crowley. You do not get a reward for not killing us," the other man scoffed.

But Crowley knew that tone of voice. Knew exactly how much he was allowed to push, what he could get away with. He glanced at the other man, an altogether brief affair, that still earned him a yelped command and a, frankly adorable, flutter of hands. Even though, as established, straight road, moving as quickly as a slug munching on a lettuce leaf. He would never endanger Aziraphale.

Something, he hoped the other man was aware of, even as he wiggled in his seat. Especially as he wiggled in his seat.

"How about this," the horrible bastard started, so very pleased with himself. Even lovelier than usual, with that smug grin on his devious face. "If you get us safely to London, I'll let you buy me dinner."

Crowley opened his mouth to argue. That was hardly a reward for him, was it? Treating Aziraphale to dinner, sitting across from him, without hiding, without worrying that someone might see them. Watching as he enjoyed his food, as he wiggled in his seat. Gasping around each bite and so very happy.

The flutter of his heart, silly and yet entirely sufficient to assure him that, yes. Yes, it was a reward.

"Sure, angel," he said, the indulgence in his voice so sticky sweet, he wouldn't have been able to hide it even if he had tried to, he was sure.

He even slowed down even more, until it was actually borderline illegal, how slow they were going. Aziraphale hummed, appeased. He had won, the bastard, and he didn't even have the decency not to be smug about it. Satan, Crowley adored him so much.

"Oh, look, my dear! Lambs!" that lovely asshole that owned all of Crowley's heart gasped, pressing a palm against the window.

Crowley turned to look at them. And look at them. And continued to look at them. That was how slowly they were going.

But it was all worth it, he knew, for the happy wiggle overtaking Aziraphale's whole body as he leant back into his seat. As he continued to gaze out the window, happily pointing out all sorts of wildlife. Random trees. That one person, reading in a field.

And Crowley followed them all with his gaze, his heart aching in the most beautiful of ways. He hadn't thought it possible, for that feeling to persist, without once being accompanied by the pain he was so used to.

It took Crowley embarrassingly long to realise he had to ask.

In his defence, Aziraphale had never looked lovelier. There, tucked in the passenger seat, happily humming an old song. The light of the city, woven in his hair, playing over the curve of his mouth. Like he belonged in Crowley's car. Like he belonged in Crowley's life.

"Where do you live, angel?" he asked, no more than a whisper, almost hoping that if he said it quietly enough, Aziraphale might not realise he didn't know.

No such luck. The gorgeous creature next to him gasped, before he was smiling, before he was giggling. Crowley felt the tips of his ears turn red. Still let that lovely sound wash through him, shine over the garden of affection, blooming in his chest.

"You have never asked before, have you?" Aziraphale murmured, but it didn't sound like an accusation, didn't hold the frost it perhaps should have. And Crowley must have shown his guilt somehow, because next thing he knew, a hand was reaching for his leg, soft fingers curling around his knee.

The only reason he didn't veer off the street, the fact he would have been unable to stand the "I told you so" look from Aziraphale, no doubt more deadly than an accident in Central London.

"It's perfectly fine, my dear," Aziraphale said, soft and reassuring. Squeezed Crowley's leg as if he had no regard for either of their lives. "How about I input the address in your little machine here, I don't want you distracted on the road."

Even disregarding the whole touching-his-leg thing that was miles more enticing and brain-damaging than operating his satnav... The mere fact Aziraphale had called it a little machine did not fill Crowley with too much confidence.

"I can pull over," he suggested, even as he glanced at the lovely technology-challenged man, poking at the touchscreen.

"Nonsense," Aziraphale gasped, sounding and, judging by the light flush on those tempting cheeks, looking so very offended. "I shall not be bested by a vintage car. I am quite good with old technology, you know."

And while the car was vintage and close to a century old, it had also been retrofitted with all the latest technology. The fact that Aziraphale couldn't even tell was... worrying. Crowley was just eyeing the side of the road for somewhere to park, not that he needed to, but he knew Aziraphale would moan about it when-

"Aha!" the other man exclaimed before waving his hands in what was the worst approximation of jazz hands Crowley had ever seen. Also, the most adorable one. There was even a happy wiggle, to celebrate Aziraphale's triumph over the car. Satan, Crowley was going to hold him so tightly, once they were safely parked somewhere.

"I told you, I could do it! As neat as ninepence," the silly creature noted, so giddy, Crowley could barely stand it. Or maybe it was the love, so warm in his chest. But in no way burning, not the fire of destruction Crowley had always seen, outlining that forbidden feeling.

He groaned. "You are ridiculous."

Yet, there was a smile on his face. One, perfectly mirrored by the gorgeous man next to him, when he turned to show his disapproval.

"You love it," Aziraphale huffed, light and teasing.

And what was Crowley to do but agree, without even a second of hesitation.

"I do."

It did occur to him, quite suddenly. This was the closest he had ever gotten to uttering those words. And yet, they didn't weigh the way he had thought they would, didn't fill his lungs with dread, didn't taste like the dregs of a poison, intent on ruining everything important in his life. He wondered, what it would feel like, if he said them without humour to diminish their meaning. If he said them and meant them.

When, half-dazed, he thought. When he said them. Because he knew it was coming, that moment in time when he would be unable to bind his love to the strict confines of his being. The adoration, sheer reverence, too vast, too all-consuming, not to blanket him whole. Not to stretch technicolour wings until all he could see, all that was left of him, was his devotion to the other man.

Beside him, Aziraphale had stiffened, had turned quiet. Thoughts, perhaps turning in a similar direction and, Crowley could only hope, drawing similar conclusions.

Objectively, he knew the other man found him physically attractive. What they had, it wasn't something you could fake. Wasn't something you could build a whole relationship around, either.

"Perhaps we should talk," Aziraphale said. His voice was mute, tentative and small, and Crowley hated it. Hated the idea of having a life-changing conversation at that moment even more.

For the first time in so very long, there was hope in his chest, pulsing in time with the beating of his heart. Turning everything bright and lovely, and he didn't- He couldn't squander it, not so soon.

He reached over, wrapped a hand around soft fingers, currently fraying nervously at Aziraphale's waistcoat buttons. Tugged gently and when faced with no resistance, nothing but a shivery gasp filling the warm air, he brought them to his lips. Placed a lingering kiss on each knuckle, the tip of Aziraphale's thumb.

"Later. I promise," he whispered, as much a vow as it was a plea. Could only hope it would be enough.

"Of course, my dearest," Aziraphale said, just as soft.

They drove in silence, but one filled with camaraderie and shared understanding. Even, Crowley shuddered at the thought, even affection. Love. Warm tendrils filling the car to the brim, and yet, not stifling, not at all. And Crowley wanted to take that moment, encase it in amber. Place it over his heart to keep, treasure, until it had stopped beating in his chest.

How different everything felt now, he couldn't stop marvelling.

Aziraphale's home was an unassuming semi-detached house, in the outskirts of London. Crowley wondered what the inside of it would look like. Could only hope he would find out, some day.

"Let me help bring your luggage in," still couldn't help but offer, the moment he had parked the car.

Aziraphale shook his head with a smile.

"That's fine, Crowley. I will be okay."

As the person who had been in charge of taking the two boxes of books into the car, Crowley knew it could be done. Would much rather not see the other man struggle with them, still.

He opened his mouth to argue, but Aziraphale was already climbing out of the car. When Crowley followed suit, he did so slowly, leisurely. Leaning against the roof as he tried to imbue as much nonchalance into a body, vibrating with the need to help. Not that Aziraphale paid him any mind, bending over to gather his things from the backseat and Crowley had to clear his throat, had to look away.

"Seriously, angel, it's no bother-"

"Oh, look what you've done," Aziraphale fussed, cutting him off. Crowley would have suspected it was on purpose, except he knew how the other man got when it came to his books. "You've made my books spill under the backseat with your horrible driving."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "If by horrible, you mean going 20 miles per hour on the motorway, then yeah. Horrible driver, me."

From somewhere within the car, Aziraphale scoffed. Crowley only heard because he was painfully familiar with all of the angelic bastard's little quirks. Had almost expected the reaction, couldn't help the little shiver of pride at the fact he had been correct. He watched, more interested than he supposed he should have been, as Aziraphale's lower body twisted as he dipped even lower, gathered what Crowley had caused to fall with his "horrible driving."

And then he froze. An eerie silence followed, one caused by the lack of words, the lack of breath, heartbeat. Any sign of life. Crowley, too, froze. Unsure of the reason, only knowing that whatever was about to happen, he wouldn't like.

He was right.

Aziraphale's head popped up so quickly, Crowley was certain he had banged it on the car. He was flushed, eyes wild and wide. Whole body trembling in some desperately frantic emotion.

"Are you alright?" Crowley asked, tracking each movement with a strange mixture of concern and dread. There was something there, at the back of his mind, nagging at him. Faintly whispering that there was a reason why Aziraphale had reacted this way. Something he had overlooked.  

Aziraphale just blinked at him.

"Perfectly, yes. Tip-top." Each word undercut by a breathless gasp, as Aziraphale gathered his belongings. Grabbing at random, trembling fingers curling around books without any finesse and, Satan, if that wasn't the most concerning part. "Tickety-boo, my dear."

"Aziraphale-"

But the other man was already disappearing inside his house with one of the boxes. And Crowley, feeling all of a sudden so empty and cold, could do nothing but watch his retreating back. Wait for Aziraphale to come back for the remainder of his luggage.

"Angel?" Crowley's voice barely a whisper, trembling, just as much as the body of the man before him. Still, he reached forward, curled loose fingers around a soft wrist, a wild pulse.

Their eyes didn't meet. Aziraphale was too careful for that to happen. But when the other man shook his head, curls dancing in the air. When he smiled, a tentative, private quirk of his lips. It soothed something in Crowley's soul, made the pain he hadn't even realised had been pulsing in his veins, finally quiet down.

Even gave him the strength to ask, so very hopeful, "Dinner?"

Softened the sting of rejection when Aziraphale shook his head again. Refused to meet his gaze again.

"Later. I promise," the other man whispered, his voice scratchy and, oh, so shivery.

And then he was gone.

And Crowley suddenly felt so alone.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale was off sick.

Aziraphale had been off sick for two weeks now. Despite the fact he had never done that before. Despite the fact he had the tendency to work even when he was borderline dying. 

Crowley had an inkling as to what had happened. It had only taken him getting back home and sorting through his own belongings to see those prophecy books, spilt underneath the backseat. And for his heart to seize, frost creeping into his veins.

He had tried to tell himself that maybe Aziraphale hadn't seen. Maybe it was going to be fine. Except- Except, there were some of Aziraphale's books, mixed in with what had always been intended as a gift for the other man. And it was books. Of course, Aziraphale had noticed.

A million and one lies had crossed his mind, urgent and desperate. Not his books, he didn't read. Leftover books from someone else he had given a ride to. Just a joke, how funny, spending thousands of pounds on something he had stuck in his safe for 5 years. Had tucked inside his heart for just as long.

All of them hollow like the space in his bones, where fear currently resided.

It didn't matter, anyway. Aziraphale had seen. Aziraphale knew. And now he was off sick. 

Muriel had been appointed his unofficial replacement and they were- Satan, they were surprisingly good at the job. Crowley hadn't even needed to show them where things were, how he liked everything to be done. Day one and there they had been, scorching black coffee in hand, an enthusiastic smile on their face and Crowley's schedule already highlighted in the same way Aziraphale tended to. Already accustomed to his little quirks, already aware of all his hang-ups, as if specifically trained for him and-

Yet another reason to tumble down, feed into, the maw of fear at the bottom of his stomach.

And it was why, the Monday of the third week of Aziraphale's absence, when he walked into his office and found waiting for him, a shock of gold curls and a piece of paper, laid on his desk. He knew what it was, could recognise the shape of it from every nightmare he had been too slow to wake up from, for close to a month now. 

He wasn't even surprised. Oh, it hurt. It burnt, the creases of his eyes, the edges of a mouth he had to force closed. His lungs, desperate to breathe in air he couldn't afford them, not when he was sure it would transform into a sob, on the way back. His mind, wishing it was all a dream, but knowing- 

He wasn't going to wake up from this one, not this time. Nothing was going to save him.

"When did you decide?" he asked, careful not to look in the other man's direction. He was glad when he made it to his chair, when he managed to collapse into it, just before all his muscles had given up on being solid.

"Just before our last trip," came the answer, soft and slightly muted.

Crowley nodded. Of course. He had suspected, had known it was coming. And yet, the knowledge speared him through, cut him open, revealed all his tender insides to the world. 

It made sense. Muriel, already prepared to step into the role of his assistant. Everything that had happened on their trip, everything that he had thought, had hoped, really, would become reality. A last goodbye, for the other man instead.

Even that last day in the office, what he had assumed was a sign things were getting better, that their relationship was getting better. That he had a chance. While Aziraphale had, what? Seen it as a parting gift? A last chance to fuck Crowley, give him everything he had ever wanted, before he left?

The best thing to ever happen to him, and Aziraphale had treated it as a going-away party.

There was bitterness in his soul and he shook his head, tried to dispel every last dreg of it. Tried to fight the tears too, while he was at it.

And yet, couldn't stop himself from asking, "Do you-" 

He hesitated. Did he even have the right to ask? Was he even allowed, and that word, it nestled at the bottom of his throat. Choking him. But, he argued with himself, he wasn't asking as a boss, but as a friend. As someone who cared. That was, if they were even friends anymore and, oh, better not go there. 

"Do you have any plans?" He said the words quickly, strung closely together, before doubt, like rot, had managed to permeate more of his soul. 

"I'm opening a bookshop, in Soho. I purchased the building a few months ago," Aziraphale answered, voice a little more emotive now. Glimpses of happiness, pride and joy, all swirling together and how dare Crowley try to ruin this for the other man? How dare he sit here and feel sorry for himself when Aziraphale had done something he had been dreaming of since childhood? 

He nodded, met Aziraphale's gaze. 

"I am happy for you," he said and meant it. Because it didn't matter that his heart was breaking. It didn't matter that the moment the other man left, his soul would turn into a vacant, inhospitable ruin. Nothing did, nothing but Aziraphale's happiness.  

Aziraphale smiled at him, one of his more controlled smiles. A little strict around the edges. Gentle, still.

"You really are, aren't you?" And there was wonder in his voice, a certain lightness that Crowley had gotten so used to. So quickly, too, far too quickly. 

He was going to miss him, the thought burnt through him, a slow and painful affair. An inescapable, unbearable torture. 

Crowley nodded again, dragged the resignation letter closer. Effective immediately, but he hadn't expected anything else. Each word, like an icicle through his heart and yet, he focused on them all, one at a time. Hoped that by the time he turned to look at Aziraphale, he would be gone.

And when the other man shuffled out of his chair, he couldn't decide whether to feel dread or relief. Or that emptiness, descending upon him, swallowing around him. But protecting him too, the pain less sharp, not as scorching hot, with indifference forcibly blanketing him whole.

Aziraphale didn't leave. Rounded the desk, instead, until he was there, next to Crowley. Leaning against the wood, the position so familiar it made Crowley's heart sting, like something rubbed raw.

"You never asked where I live."

It took Crowley a few seconds to realise he hadn't imagined those words, falling from tempting lips. Too engrossed in the other man's proximity, his scent and his warmth, fuck, but he was going to miss that warmth. 

He already was.

And even when he managed to parse through the words, he found the meaning behind them lacking. Or it might have been his mind, already collapsing in on itself, the cause of his struggle.

"I'm sorry?"

Aziraphale didn't seem to mind, though. He shook his head, made himself more comfortable against the desk. 

"We have been working together for 6 years. And you never asked where I live. Never invited me out for lunch, never tried to touch me." 

The words were sharp and admonishing. The voice was not. Crowley still tried to protest.

"Well, yes, I-"

Aziraphale appeared not to have heard him, gaze lost somewhere in the distance. "And I figured, you never will."

"I am your boss," Crowley hissed. Resolutely did not think about all the times he, himself, had ignored that one basic truth. The fact that just 3 weeks ago, he had even held on hope to be something else, something more to the other man. 

Aziraphale shrugged. And when he smiled, it was a sharp one, a drop of that lovely deviousness Crowley couldn't get enough of. Even now. "You'd find that's no longer the case. Sir."

And, oh, even with his heart half-broken, with his flesh and his bones and his very soul half-liquid with grief... That word still made something seize in Crowley, made him shiver, made him want. His eyes snapped to Aziraphale, wide with apprehension and shame, mouth already forming wordless apologies, as he gathered the strength to call on his voice.

Nothing but a smile met his wild panic. Eyes, soft and gentle, like the breeze in your hair. Kind, too, kinder than Crowley deserved, he was sure.

"How long have you wanted me?" Aziraphale asked, almost flippant. Like he was discussing Crowley's schedule, like he had just asked whether the other man wanted his lunch before or after his 1 o'clock meeting.

His words still felt like a punch to the chest and Crowley gasped, almost doubled over from the pain of it.

"Because you were never very subtle about it." Aziraphale tilted his head to the side, as if considering his own words. "You know, I don't think you even realised it. How, every time you looked at me, it was obvious you were thinking about bending me over. Having your wicked way with me. Over your desk, against a wall. Anywhere you could have me, isn't that correct?"

Shame and dread were drowning every thought in Crowley's mind as his heart stuttered to a stop. The realisation, like fire ants on his skin, that everything he had done, everything he had tried to do, had been in vain. That, despite his best efforts, Aziraphale had felt pressured, had felt like he had to give him this. That everything Crowley had thought a gift had been taken by force, instead. Oh, but he was going to be sick.

When he shook his head this time, desperation soaked his every movement. Hope that Aziraphale would believe him, that he wouldn't-

"It's not like that," he whispered and he hoped and he dreaded. "I would have never touched you."

Somehow, that seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Aziraphale's face darkened, lips pursing, ever so slightly. Crowley was so horrified, he didn't even stop to think about the way they looked, pink and inviting. 

"Oh, I don't doubt that," the other man hissed and that, that sounded like reproach. 

If Crowley had been able to think, he might have wondered why this was what had made Aziraphale angry. But he couldn't think. Didn't have time for it, either, not when he could feel his whole world collapsing all around him. 

Driven more by instinct, than any conscious desire, he reached forward. Hesitated. Unsure whether his touch would be welcomed, given the circumstances. It was Aziraphale, the one to bridge the distance, to curl soft fingers around his wrist. Tug Crowley's hand in his lap, cradle it in both of his. The anger gone now, replaced by that infinite softness, the one Crowley certainly didn't deserve. Had probably never deserved.

It was nice, this. He beseeched himself to remember it, to treasure it in the deepest parts of his soul. For after.

"And how long have you been in love with me?" Aziraphale asked, voice hushed and just as gentle as his touch. It still pierced through Crowley, made him gasp for breath, made him try and wrestle free. The urge to get away, to flee, as intrinsic as the need for air in his lungs. But Aziraphale just held him tight, kept on smiling at him. 

He had never been vicious, never hurtful or vengeful and, yet-

"You are being cruel, angel," Crowley couldn't help but say. His heart beating again, but only so it could spread the dread, thick in his blood. 

His eyes had begun stinging too, and he hurried to lower them, hurried to hide his pain. He had done more than enough, for years now, apparently, to harm Aziraphale. It wouldn't have been fair to put that on him too. 

Above him, Aziraphale gasped, something almost painful and- Good job, your idiot, Crowley couldn't help but scold himself. Managed to turn their last memory together just as wretched as all the rest of them. A fitting end, he supposed.

When his hands were released, to lie limply on top of soft thighs, he couldn't even bring himself to be surprised. Or angry, for that matter. The emptiness, like a shadow, falling over everything around him.

It did startle him, though, when Aziraphale reached for him. Those clever fingers surrendering to the flames of his hair, willingly and almost, Satan, almost eagerly. His head was being tipped back, a single tug, a suggestion he was too used to following. Too weak to resist, anyway. 

"Oh, no, my darling," Aziraphale whispered, each word like an anchor to the present. Reeling Crowley back, forcing that empty, hungry feeling back into the pit of his stomach. "Please, don't think-"

The other man hesitated, lovely, beautiful lips twisting around unsaid words and Crowley wanted to soothe him. Wanted to say the right words, to do the right thing. The terror that he would be unable to, causing him to do nothing more than blink emptily, instead.

Aziraphale steeled himself, smiled. A gentle, if not entirely easy smile, that still made fire burn in Crowley's chest. 

"Because for me, it was at the end of our first business trip together. After everything had been set up, the way you looked, Crowley. You were- Goodness, but you were radiant. It was when I knew, I would do anything to see you smile like that."

Aziraphale's voice was hushed, slightly trembling. Words slow and stilted, as if coming from somewhere so very deep. It was what made Crowley listen, shone a speckle of light over the doubt, still pulsing in his veins.

"But you never tried anything. Kept your distance, always remained professional. And I- Well, I had to admit defeat at some point, didn't I? Accept that all you wanted from me, all you wanted but would never allow yourself, was my body." 

A startlingly blue thunderstorm swept through Crowley again. No accusations, not yet. Only pain and, fuck, if that wasn't worse.

"I am-" Crowley tried to defend himself. 

Only made the other man snort, a humourless little puff of dejection. The fingers in his hair twitched. "My boss, I know. How long, Crowley?"

Crowley hesitated. There was safety, a sort of familiar comfort, in the fact Aziraphale didn't know the depth of the well of affection he had built in his heart so long ago. Fine, sure, he knew Crowley was attracted to him, had known apparently for just as long as Crowley had been trying to hide it. But this was different. This was tearing your heart raw from your chest and presenting it for inspection. And Crowley couldn't, couldn't imagine the pain it would cause, when it, and he in tow, were found lacking.

Could imagine saying no to the other man even less.

It was the way Aziraphale was looking at him, that ultimately did it. The hope in his eyes, the caution. The barely there wonder like he still didn't, couldn't possibly, believe Crowley's feelings. And it was Crowley's urge to wipe trepidation and fear he was more than intimately familiar with, from features far too lovely to be twisted in such a way. From a creature, far too lovely to be feeling this way.

"Years, unconsciously," he said, finally. His voice was shaking, his whole body was, but he forced himself to face the other man. To put as much of his heart into his voice, into his gaze as he could bear. Paint his words with the colours of his devotion, fuck, with his love. "Only realised it on our trip. Always, always knew you were special, but- I couldn't. Would have never forced you into something you didn't want, Aziraphale. You have to know that, angel. You have to believe me."

Aziraphale's smile told him that he did, he did know. And when he swayed forward, when he brought those soft lips to the corner of Crowley's mouth- Fuck, but it almost felt like he believed him too. 

Which was a lot more than Crowley could say about the current situation. Everything around him still a little hazy, still mucky around the edges. Like a dream he couldn't believe he was having. A dream he had yet to wake up from. 

There was desperation, in his veins, deep underneath his skin, an urge to make certain this was real. That it wouldn't slip through his fingers. The same one driving him to wrap Aziraphale's hands in his own. Bring them to his heart, hold them close. Share the beat of his love. And, oh, but Aziraphale's eyes could grow wider, could fill with even more of that syrup-sweet feeling that had replaced most of Crowley's blood almost six years ago.

"That's when I realised you did too," Aziraphale said, with a smile. Eyes dazed, words filled with so much wonder. "I felt it before, only whispers of it, but I always thought- Wishful thinking, I suppose. But the way you looked at me, that last night in your office. You cannot fake love, reverence, like that." 

Crowley shook his head. Fake it? He had done everything he could to hide his love, even from himself. He would have never even considered- 

"And those books in your car? Goodness, Crowley, I must have mentioned them once almost six years ago. And yet- there they were, underneath the backseat of your car. Waiting for me. I dare not think how long ago you must have acquired them."

Crowley shrugged, an almost instinctive reaction, now that he was intent on answering all of Aziraphale's questions. "About six years ago."

Aziraphale gasped, gorgeous lips fluttering, before he was giggling. And Crowley laughed too, relief and something else, something giddy giving the world around him a light hue. It almost felt appropriate, the fact that the books were what had revealed how long Crowley had been in love.

Far too soon, Aziraphale was getting his bearings again. And with that same gentle smile, delivering the last blow to Crowley's sanity.

"And yet, you did nothing about your feelings. And don't, no, my darling, do not give me that look. I understand, I do."

Crowley wasn't entirely certain what sort of look Aziraphale was referring to. Could only speak of the way his throat had tightened at those words, the thorns of them hooking into exposed flesh. Aziraphale knew, of course. Aziraphale could tell. 

"So let me take you out to lunch? To celebrate my new bookshop," that lovely bastard whispered, the kindness, the sheer love, on those gentle features warming Crowley's bones in an instant. Like a home, he had never been allowed into, a hearth he had only caught glimpses of through frost-bitten windows. 

Aziraphale had realised he would never overstep and just like with everything else in Crowley's life, had already found a way around it. And had accomplished a lifelong dream, while he was at it, too.

If there was a way for Crowley to fall in love even more, now would have been the time for it. His heart already bursting, overflowing with the amount of affection he held for the other man. 

"Let me take you to lunch," he offered, smile just as bright. Tightened his grip around the other man's fingers, gratitude flowing easily with all the affection, already painting his touch. "To celebrate my new, far less distracting assistant."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes with a huff. But he did also sway towards Crowley, the moment the other man crowded him against the desk. Kissed him, ever so gently, hands coming to rest on the column of his throat. The touch, as familiar as it was scorching, and Crowley couldn't believe it had taken him this long to recognise the affection, in everything Aziraphale did.

Even when he asked, gorgeously cheeky thing that he was, "And then I can have those books in your car, yes?"

It was strange, Crowley realised.

As he pulled Aziraphale's chair. As he smiled at him from across the table, soft and indulgent, and listened to him babble about the food he was going to order. As he offered his hand, in the middle of the meal and didn't flinch in wonder when it was accepted. When Aziraphale entwined their fingers together, rested their joined hands right there, on the table. For everyone to see. 

It was strange how familiar it all was.

Towards the end of their business trip, it had almost turned into a tradition. Going out together, seeing a movie or a play or simply walking around the park. Hand in hand. Always hand in hand. That feeling, dancing in the air between them now, vibrating in their very lungs, present just the same.

Crowley had thought, had assumed, it was only his- his love. But how could it be, he had to wonder now. So warm and all-encompassing, fitting in the space between them so perfectly. How could it be anything but the shared affection between them, Aziraphale's need for him, his devotion, the same scarlet tint as Crowley's?

"I love you," Crowley said, as that delightful creature smiled at him. Held his hand. Loved him. Too.

Only realised this was the first time he had uttered those words, when the ocean in familiar eyes drowned him in reverence, that tasted so much like his own.

"And I, you, my darling. So very much," Aziraphale said, with a smile Crowley had seen thousands of times. Could paint from memory, every wrinkle, every line. And when he smiled too, let himself relax in the simple joy of being here with the other man, he knew. His smile, just as familiar to Aziraphale, he was sure.

And when he leant over and captured that delighted giggle, swallowed around it and felt it warm its way to his soul. It wasn't regret that washed over him. Not sorrow, caused by the years that had passed them by.

Gratitude instead. For having spent them with that wonderful man by his side. Hope, too, to never part from him again.

And love. So much love.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale lingered at the doorway, something ancient and boundless burning at his throat. 

There was nothing more peaceful, more calming for the ever-present turmoil in his heart, than standing here, watching Crowley. Nothing that quite managed to keep all his fears at bay, banish all the doubt in his chest, than being in the presence of the other man. 

Crowley lifted his head, honey-warm eyes widening, first in shock and then in something softer. Stickier and far too enticing for its own good. And maybe there was something better than passively regarding the beauty of the other man, to quell the hunger in Aziraphale's soul.

"Hello, my darling boy," he said, smiling softly. 

The way Crowley looked at him, the affection blooming above the cracks in those sharp features. No longer restrained, no longer contained somewhere deep, and, Goodness, if Aziraphale had seen this before. If he had even let himself imagine the love, currently shining brightly upon him. Oh, he would have never doubted the other man's feelings. 

"Angel," Crowley whispered, reverent as a benediction. 

Hurriedly jumped off his chair, wrapped around Aziraphale. So quickly, too, a hurricane of long fingers, burrowing into curls. Warm lips, pressing against Aziraphale's cheeks, first one, then the other. Crowley slotting so very easily against him, and Aziraphale couldn't stop himself from melting into the embrace, letting all the stress and anxiety of the day bleed out of his body. His own arms tightening around a lithe waist, his head tipping into a round shoulder. A sigh, leaving his lips, scalding and insistent, from how long it had been left buried in his chest.

"Did I lose track of time?" Crowley asked, allowing no more than an inch between them to whisper the words into blond curls.

A quiver overtook the soft of Aziraphale's ribcage. It was still strange, vulnerable in the worst way, to allow words and feelings to flow freely from his lips. 

But Crowley had been so brave, he reminded himself. Had, after the initial period of disbelief, done nothing but prove to Aziraphale, again and again, how much he- How much he loved him. Was it not fair for Aziraphale to at least try to do the same?

"No, I-" He shook his head, careful to avoid Crowley's gaze. His cheeks were burning, he was sure. "I just missed you."

And there was that wonder, brightly sharp on Crowley's face, settling in the shadows cast by the fire in his eyes. Almost as if those words were still a surprise, were only acceptable, accompanied by a certain degree of suspension of disbelief. Aziraphale shifted closer, let his hand inch higher until it was pressing against tense shoulder blades.

"Do you have much left?" he asked, trying his best to guard the hope in his voice.  

Crowley shook his head, an almost instinctive reaction. Before he stopped himself. Shot a guilty look at the documents on his desk. And despite it all, Aziraphale understood. He did, truly.

He was more than an hour early, after all.

"It is perfectly okay, my dear. I can surely entertain myself."

He hadn't meant for the words to come out this way, husky and just this side of desperate. It was the way the other man fit so very perfectly against him, the warmth of his body melting all of Aziraphale's oh-so-carefully constructed ice walls. And it was that tender worship in those amber eyes, that made every atom of his being tremble in need.

Crowley's eyebrows danced across his forehead, lips falling open around a shivery sigh. And what was Aziraphale to do but lean closer, steal it right out of that tempting mouth? Replace it with his own moans, his own affection.

"Go back to work," he said after so very long, he might have forgotten about his plan, if it hadn't seared itself into his mind forever.

Waited patiently for Crowley's nod, sharp and desperate. For the untangling of limbs and mouths, a far more lengthy affair, but one he was used to. Fond of, even. Crowley, always so reluctant to part from him, even for a moment, even with the promise of something better dangled before him. 

Goodness, how had Aziraphale ever doubted him? Doubted any of his feelings? 

He watched as Crowley went back to his desk, dazed and flushed, wanton in the most delicious of ways. As the other man turned his gaze towards the paperwork, before glancing at Aziraphale again. Eagerly patient, waiting for clear instructions, and Aziraphale's heart ached from just how full it was.

"I suggest you sit down, sir," he murmured, dragging the other chair, his former chair, to the centre of the room.

There was a sound, a garbled little moan, before Crowley was crumpling down, all wild limbs and even wilder desire. And Aziraphale couldn't get enough of it, of the forest fire in those flashing eyes. Of the tremors overtaking long, graceful fingers. Of the way sharp teeth were already sinking into scarlet lips, and Aziraphale hadn't done anything yet. Hadn't even taken off his coat.

And yet.

Aziraphale had been planning on just waiting patiently on the sofa as his darling finished his work. Quietly observing that lovely man, content with simply being in the same space as him. Perhaps even perusing one of the books he had acquired for the bookshop today. But he couldn't deny this was a lot more fun.

Crowley's eyes flittered over his body. Darkened, with each article of clothing Aziraphale removed slowly. The coat, the first to be draped over the back of the chair, swiftly followed by the tartan cardigan.

"Angel," Crowley sighed, as Aziraphale's fingers danced over the buttons of his shirt. Hungry eyes taking in each morsel of skin revealed. "Please, sweetheart."

Aziraphale hummed, carefully straightening the shirt, before placing it somewhere far away. They had a dinner reservation at 8:30, and he would be damned if he appeared at the Ritz in wrinkles.

Only then did he turn to the other man. Fingers lazily resting over his belt, casual enough as to appear almost incidental. 

Not if you knew him, though, and judging by that smile on Crowley's face, he was not one to be fooled. Not that it mattered, not when the other man was devouring him so eagerly, gaze as heavy as a caress, leaving scolding bruises in its wake.

"What would you like from me?" Aziraphale asked, careful to keep his voice neutral. Cold. Pretend that the bottomless ocean of desire, swallowing him whole, was nothing more than a drop in a rainstorm. "Sir."

And, oh, but Crowley liked that. He always did, and Aziraphale would have claimed that was why he did it. He would, except- 

It might have started as just another way to guard his heart from harm, make sure Crowley didn't do anything that would render his sturdy walls a ruin. But... The truth was, he enjoyed the power he had over the other man. Delighted in each shiver and sigh as Crowley waited for the next request, the next order. The trust and sheer devotion, encased in the amber of those eyes, as the other man gave himself over, sure enough that Aziraphale would take care of him.

"Anything, anything you want." Crowley's voice trembling, the fingers around his pen even more so. His other hand curled around the edge of the desk, grip so desperately tight, it had turned his knuckles white.

The poor dear, Aziraphale mused, even as desire sloshed in his veins. Working all day, no doubt tired, no doubt itching for a release. 

But, no. He stopped that train of thought before it had even managed to graze the rails of his subconsciousness. It wasn't release Crowley wanted, not a simple, mindless tumble over a desk or against a wall. No. No, he wanted Aziraphale. Had wanted him, for more than 6 years now. 

It still felt strange, a sharp edge against the stifling wool of all his carefully crafted assumptions. And it would take time, he knew, before each devious atom of doubt and suspicion was incinerated by the burn of Crowley's love. But- Well, they had plenty of that, did they not? Forever, if they were so inclined. 

"Very well." Aziraphale smiled, nodded to himself. He knew exactly what Crowley needed. "I will entertain myself while you finish your work. But I suggest you hurry, my love, or we will be late for the Ritz and I will be very cross with you."

Crowley's eyes widened, before darting back to the paperwork before him. Even then, even with the threat of disappointing Aziraphale hanging heavy above him, he managed only a minute before he was glancing back up. 

Aziraphale was impressed. He had expected no more than 30 seconds of work, before his darling's curiosity got the better of him. 

Still, he did truly want to get to the restaurant on time. In a relatively decent condition, and with that in mind, he finally tugged off his trousers and underwear, before perching himself on the chair in the middle of the room. 

The sound that tore from Crowley's mouth was animalistic, raw and powerful, and Aziraphale was suddenly so very glad for his forethought. The way his cock pulsed in his lap, already flushed heavy, it would have surely left a stain on his clothes.

Speaking of which-

"I do need you to be mindful of your own clothes, too, sir." 

Just the idea of Crowley undoing his own fly, of letting that gorgeous cock spring free, flush against the underside of the desk. The other man trying to concentrate, when all he wanted to do, all he could think of, was touching himself. Devouring the filthy picture that Aziraphale made. Right there, in the middle of the office, pale thighs open, one hand resting over his chest. The other wrapped around his cock, pumping lazily.

Crowley whined, eyes squeezing painfully shut. Already so close to the edge. Beautiful and perfect and so desperate to please his angel that it made something itch beneath Aziraphale's skin.

"You don't have to-"

But Crowley was already shaking his head, hazy eyes boring into each one of Aziraphale's inhibitions.

"Want to. Want to give you everything, you know that," the other man whispered, his voice low and wrecked. "Let me, angel. Let me give you what you deserve."

Aziraphale nodded. Because there was something better than having that lovely man's trust and devotion, his very heart. Because there was nothing quite like offering his own in return, knowing that it would be guarded just as fiercely, cradled close just as ardently.

"Undo your trousers for me, my love," Aziraphale said, unable to keep the tenderness from soaking into his every word. Turning his voice honey-warm and just as sweet.

Crowley's eyelashes fluttered as one of his hands disappeared underneath the desk. A groan followed, deep and so full of relief, and Aziraphale let it wash through him. Let the tremors overtaking his body swallow him whole, let the moans crowding his lungs finally free.

It was those sounds, that seemed to snap every last one of Crowley's restraints. He whimpered, head tipping to the side. That certain look in his eyes that told Aziraphale he didn't have much time before his beloved was shaking apart. Undone by nothing more than Aziraphale's breathless sighs. By the sight of him, bare and flushed, so close and yet untouchable. 

And still, Crowley seemed so intent on doing exactly what had been asked of him. Fingers tight around the pen, he seemed to scribble something every few seconds, barely looking at the page. Wide eyes darkened by lust and something else, something so intoxicating that-

"Come here, my darling."

Barely above a whisper, nothing more than a single puff of air carrying his words. But Crowley heard, of course, he did. So in tune with everything Aziraphale wanted, everything he was. And Aziraphale loved him so much, couldn't believe he got to have him like this. Got to have him at all. 

Those nights branded into his memory, every moment he had thought he would never get this, would never enjoy anything more than Crowley's touch. Scalding and heady, yes, but loveless. Cursory and far too brief.

But having that lovely man kneel at his feet. Stare at him with so much love, so much worship that Aziraphale would have considered it blasphemous, before. What was he to do but crumble to his knees, too? Cradle that sharp jaw between his fingers, sink fingertips and lips into every inch of unmarked skin before him. 

Whisper, "I love you so very much, my dear boy." 

And know that the twinkle in amber eyes was not a trick of the light. The constellations of his love, instead, mirrored back at him.

Crowley kissed him back with just as much hunger, hands roving over Aziraphale's body with a desperation, more befitting a drowning man seeking salvation. Fingers digging into the soft of his waist, the round of his hips, the sensitive curve of his thighs and all Aziraphale could do was sink into it. Let his gasps be devoured, present them, just as he would anything else Crowley would ever want from him.

"Need you," the other man whispered, as if having read his mind. Not an unlikely turn of event, Aziraphale would concede, but the words far more likely driven by the precipice looming over them both. 

"You have me, my love," he still couldn't stop himself from teasing, even as he leant closer. Stole another bruising kiss, let the love in it swell around his heart.

"Bastard," came the expected growl. 

The hands around his hips, tugging him backwards, far less unexpected, and Aziraphale grumbled, confused. Not away, he almost whined, he didn't want to be away from that darling man.

"Get on the chair, angel, please," Crowley pleaded, and Aziraphale was moving, before he had even realised what had been asked of him. 

Of course he was. It had taken Crowley so long to share what he wanted, to reveal even an ounce of desire that was just his own. And every time, it made Aziraphale tremble in excitement, in that desperate need to give the other man everything he could. Just as Crowley had, time and time again.

Still, he couldn't stop the distance between them ache inside his bones. Crowley, on his knees before him, as Aziraphale towered over him. Naked and on display, and he didn't mind that, had stopped minding it so very long ago. Having the object of his desire look at him with unguarded lust, no matter the time of day or the degree of his dishevelment, would do that to anyone. Of course, back then, he had assumed that lust was all Crowley had for him. All he could offer him. Had even accepted it, a starving man with a crumb. Had cherished it, had tucked it in the hollow of his heart. In place of the part of it, he had given away so long ago. 

"This okay?" Crowley asked, palms splayed over the curves of Aziraphale's thighs, a comforting touch.

There was worry etched into that beautiful face. Aziraphale's silence, no doubt having been noted and misattributed to something else, and he hurried to nod. To place his own hands over those long fingers, cradle them close to his chest, before bringing them to his lips, laying a kiss on each and every finger. Smiling, a gentle, open smile.

"Worship me, my darling." 

It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a command. Soft and reassuring, it was nothing more than permission. 

Still, Crowley hurried to nod. As if worried it might be taken away from him in a single breath, and trying desperately to make the most of it. Aziraphale knew what that felt like, recognised the despair like a dear friend. The need to chase it away even more urgent, Crowley's pain just as bright as if it was his own. 

"How are you mine?" Aziraphale asked, breathless wonder. His hand already curling around Crowley's nape, thumb brushing against the sensitive spot beneath his ear. 

Crowley made another sound, a bit more insistent, a lot more needy. And then there were fingers wrapping around Aziraphale's cock, a hand weaving between his burning thighs, nudging them open. A flutter of eyelashes and yet another content sigh, before Crowley was shuffling close, swallowing around him. Something so profoundly grateful etched on his face that made Aziraphale tremble in need.

He wished, sometimes, to be able to bathe Crowley in his own adoration instead, in his own love. More importantly, for his darling to let him. But it was harder now, had been, ever since they had let their feelings flow to the surface, soak every touch and every word shared between them. It was hard to stop Crowley from always sinking to his knees, worshipping Aziraphale, the way he had wanted to for so very long. 

Aziraphale couldn't fault him. After all, didn't he also dream of doing the same? Of pressing Crowley into the sheets, of kissing and touching and loving him, the way he had always dreamt of?

Had even tried to, a few times. His darling always anxious and fluttering, instead, borderline guilty for not returning each caress with as much care and devotion. Unable to comprehend that he was the sole reason for everything good in Aziraphale's life. Would still be, even if he didn't spend every second of his existence caring for him.

"You are stunning, my love," Aziraphale whispered, unable to stop himself, as Crowley's gaze swerved to meet his own. As that darling, ridiculous man checked up on him, as if the litany of soft sighs and praises were not enough indication of how close Aziraphale was. 

Crowley shook his head, something sharp in his gaze, as clear as if he had said the words themselves, "You are."

He didn't deserve him, Aziraphale realised. He couldn't, there was no way he had done so many good deeds in his life as to be worthy of something as precious and lovely as Crowley's devotion. 

The thought, poisonous and sharp, dug its way to his chest, hooked its claws around his ribs. And like always, Crowley knew, could sense it. One hand already reaching up to wrap around the dip of Aziraphale's waist, fingers sharper and more insistent than anything Aziraphale's mind could torture him with. That wicked tongue curling around him again, nothing but blazing desire. 

It was that care, in the end. The delight of being seen so clearly and still adored, still treasured. It was Crowley's love for him, that brought Aziraphale to his untimely end.

His hips twitched up, despite his best efforts, a whimper that tasted like Crowley's name, tearing from his lips. The pleasure so intense, so warm, that it scorched each one of his bones. Before the lingering kisses Crowley pressed over his thighs, his stomach, every part of him on display, put him back anew.

Aziraphale's fingers lingered over that eager, hungry mouth. A thumb pressed against the sharp underside of a chin, all it took to have Crowley moving, raising himself. Offering more of his love, as Aziraphale coaxed him into another kiss. 

"May I?" Aziraphale asked, as his hand ghosted over Crowley's straining cock. 

An unnecessary affair, he thought, as he watched it jut lewdly, sway with every twitch of Crowley's hips. Goodness, but he wanted it in him, wanted to have Crowley press against him, push him into the leather of the chair as he claimed him completely. As he took his own pleasure from Aziraphale's soft and giving body. Gasping into his mouth, whispering all those sweet words and promises that now glittered all of their lovemaking. Wanted to be able to answer him in kind, moan about how lovely Crowley was, how gentle and perfect, too. 

Wanted everything.

An unnecessary affair, or so he had thought. Because Crowley was shaking his head, leaning away. 

"We'll be late, angel. And I'd hate for you to be cross with me," the other man teased, and didn't even have the decency to pretend he was sorry. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

Aziraphale should have been angry. Denied the opportunity to express how much he adored the other man, again, he should have perhaps felt the need to push the subject further. But like this, kissed-anew, his mind nothing more than a floating cloud of endorphins, he couldn't imagine arguing.

That had been, he suspected, Crowley's plan.

"I'll get my things." Another kiss, pressed to his cheek. Soft fingers running through his curls. "Will you be okay dressing on your own?"

He should be used to it by now, Aziraphale mused, even as he let his head dip in assent. This was his life now, spoiled rotten and cared for, by the only man he had ever loved like this. Adored and worshipped, every chance Crowley could get. 

"I ought to tie you up, next time," he said instead. Nothing more than a stray thought, the desperate need to show the other man how much he loved him. "It seems that's the only way you would let me take care of you"

Judging by the way Crowley flushed, hips twitching, cock seeking friction against the empty air around them. 

More than a stray thought, perhaps.

It still felt strange, being out with Crowley. Being allowed to be seen in the company of the other man, somewhere they could be recognised.

He knew that before, Crowley had been hesitant to ask him out as to preserve the necessary boundaries between them. To ensure that if Aziraphale said yes, it wouldn't be out of some misguided duty or, even worse, fear.

He knew it, now. It still did nothing to erase the memories of all those late nights, wishing that Crowley would ask to accompany him home. Wishing to be asked out, for a meal or even a drink. Anywhere, anywhere, as long as it was with the other man. Even if it was to the local chippy. Not that Aziraphale would have agreed, per se, but it was the thought that counted, the need to spend time together. And it hurt, still, ached an empty, vicious feeling. 

He tried to chase it away. It wasn't hard. 

Crowley, a palm against the small of Aziraphale's back, as he guided them to their table, right in the middle of the Ritz. Making sure to tuck the other man into his chair before pushing it closer. Pressing a kiss, slow and lingering, to the top of Aziraphale's curls before taking his own place, closer than strictly decent. 

It was plain to see that the moment the fear of overstepping boundaries and abuse of power had fallen away, so had Crowley's every restraint. 

Aziraphale tried to focus on that. Calm the wild beat of his heart that told him to grab this lovely man close, tuck him in his ribcage and refuse to let him go. Plead and beg, promise anything he had to. Stop him from ever leaving again. 

A warm palm rested over the back of his hand. Amber eyes burning in something so familiar, it made Aziraphale's throat close around a series of undignified sounds.

"The usual, angel?" Crowley asked, voice gentle. He knew, Goodness, of course he did. It only made Aziraphale's eyes sting, too. 

He nodded, unable to guarantee that he would be able to control the noises falling from his lips, if he chose to open them, and unwilling to risk it. Crowley's smile only turned even more precious.

Aziraphale loved him, the thought trashed in the cage of his ribs desperately. Adored him so very much, and he needed-

"Crowley. What a surprise!" A voice boomed in the distance, loud and American, and Aziraphale didn't know which part he hated more.

Discreetly, he tried to slide his hand away. An instinct, more than anything. Crowley's fingers tightened around him, a simple, reassuring squeeze, before his hold went lax again. Letting Aziraphale move away, if he so chose. 

Bravely, Aziraphale didn't.

"Gabriel." The corners of Crowley's lips twitched into something that probably resembled a smile, for anyone who didn't know him any better. "Fancy seeing you here."

The man shrugged, a rolling of muscles and visible entitlement.

"Client meeting, you know how it is. I wouldn't be caught dead here otherwise."

There was a smile on his face, clearly meant to soften the blow of his words. Crowley paid them no mind, not the poison in his voice and certainly not the feeble apology.

"Well, it was-"

"And who is this?" Gabriel's eyes, so blue they bordered on violet, snapped to Aziraphale.

Despite himself, Aziraphale felt his body sink into the chair. The last few months gone in an instant, every reassurance, whispered both in his own voice but in Crowley's soft and lilting one too, evaporated by the heat in those scalding eyes. A moment, just a few words, and he was back to being nothing more than Crowley's assistant. His loyal shadow, capable and smart, certainly trusted enough. But not worthy of ever being in his orbit. Certainly not worthy of sharing a meal with him, hand in hand. Sharing a life.

Aziraphale tugged his hand out of the other man's grasp. Or tried to, Crowley's fingers closing around him immediately, unwilling to let him go.

"My partner." Crowley shrugged too, even as those amber eyes searched Aziraphale's face. Wide and almost pleading, and Aziraphale was moving his hand, unencumbered this time. Free to withdraw if he wanted to. 

He didn't. With a smile, he laced their fingers together, turned to face Gabriel with all the polite force of someone who was Anthony J. Crowley's partner.

"Ah." Something unsettlingly close to admiration flashed behind the lilac of those fearsome eyes. The man pressed his hands together, his smile turning unnaturally wide. "You never rest, do you. That's why you are the best in the business after all. What-"

Crowley's face hardened.

"My romantic partner," he said, politely cold and dangerously even. "Who I am currently on a date with. So if you'll excuse us, Gabriel, it was nice seeing you."

One needn't be proficient in all things Crowley to understand how much of a lie his parting words had been. Even then, Gabriel hesitated, wide gaze flickering between the two men before him. Opened his mouth, perhaps to apologise. Perhaps, and Aziraphale shuddered at the thought and the way Crowley would no doubt respond, perhaps to suggest another meeting.

But Crowley was already turning to Aziraphale, the sound of his chair piercing as he slid even closer. Aziraphale's flush thumping high on his cheeks as that demon of a man, that inexplicably lovely creature, leant down and kissed him. 

A tame brush of lips. A claim still. An offer and a reassurance, and yet another reason for the fluttering of Aziraphale's heart.

Gabriel was gone, by the time they separated. Not that either of them noticed. 

"Was that-" Crowley started, licked his lower lip. His gaze drawn to Aziraphale's panting mouth for a moment, before he seemed to remember himself. "Used to do business with him, sanctimonious prick. I hope you- I know that we never- Sorry, if I-"

The other man shook his head, the words so clearly crowding his mouth, shame holding them back. And, all at once, Aziraphale understood. Saw his own hesitation of being unworthy of orbiting the bright of Crowley's sun, clear in those amber eyes. Could almost taste the fear, too, acid-sharp, on the other man's breath.

"I am your partner," Aziraphale said, and promised, and hoped, a little bit. Tightened his grip around the hand in his own, held Crowley's gaze. There was no time for his own insecurities now. "I will always be by your side."

There was so much more he wanted to say. So much love that his heart was aching to vow, for his lips to press into pale skin. 

He didn't need to. Crowley understood, like he always did. Smiled, leant close again to steal another kiss. A lot more indecent than the last, and one that made Aziraphale wonder whether it really was worth waiting for their order.

"I don't want to imagine my life without you," Crowley whispered, voice faint and frayed around the edges.

And Aziraphale knew, as he tugged them both upright. Crowley's love, far more delicious than anything that might await them here.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale didn't hear the door open, completely missed the sound of footsteps as someone entered the office. With Crowley wrapped so tightly around him, his darling's fingers digging into his thighs, his own hands buried in fiery locks... There was little else he could be expected to care about. 

It was only when Crowley's mouth left his neck, that he realised something must be wrong.

"What?" Crowley demanded to someone over his shoulder. Sharp, but not vicious. Someone he liked.

Aziraphale tried to wait until his blush had subsided, and then, recognising a losing battle when he saw one, rested his head against Crowley's shoulder. 

They were lucky to be caught mostly clothed and in a fairly uncompromised position. While, yes, Aziraphale had been perched on the desk, thighs gently pried open to accommodate Crowley's need to be as close as possible, heaving chests pressed together. And yes, Aziraphale's waistcoat was gone, half the buttons of his shirt undone... It could have been much worse, he realised.

In their defence, it was much too late for anyone to be in the office.

Anyone, apart from...

"Sorry, sir," came Muriel's slightly squeaky voice. "Sirs. I just need your signature."

Crowley shifted, ever so slightly. Nothing more than a sway of his body, and yet enough to make Aziraphale tip into him further. A raised arm across his back, a comforting touch and an attempt to hide him from view. Almost possessive. No. Protective. Goodness, but how Aziraphale adored him.

Even when Crowley growled, whole chest shaking, and Aziraphale hurried to press a hand against a hammering heart, to placate the other man. In warning, too. Muriel hadn't done anything wrong, they didn't deserve this.

Crowley's eyes flickered to his face, softened at once. The anger in them dimming, leaving behind only the fire Aziraphale was much more accustomed to.

He would never get used to the way Crowley surrendered to him, fully, without reservation. Could imagine nothing worse than making his love regret that trust. 

"Leave it on your desk," Crowley said, eyes still not leaving Aziraphale's. "Why are you even here? It's almost 9pm. Go home."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. Crowley's lips twitched, his smile amused, but indulgent still.

"And take tomorrow off," he called out after the retreating figure of his assistant. 

To Aziraphale, he murmured, "Ruining my reputation, you are."

But he did also press a kiss to Aziraphale's cheek, another, just below a soft jawline. A hint of teeth, against the suddenly shivering column of his throat. So he couldn't have been truly angry at his partner.

Aziraphale needed to put a stop to this, he realised, if they were to make it home any time soon.

Oh, but Crowley's mouth was warm and insistent against his collarbone. Long fingers making quick work of the rest of his buttons, the offending garment tugged carefully to the side to reveal even more skin his love could brand and... Aziraphale knew, without a doubt. Unless he wanted Crowley to have his wicked way with him, right there, on top of the desk, they had to stop. And while it was a tempting offer, and far from the first time it had happened- Well, they had plans tonight.

He didn't even have to say anything. The moment his body tightened, freezing against that delicious onslaught, Crowley was moving away. A fond smile on his lips, even as an apology tingled Aziraphale's. Or perhaps because of it. 

"Dinner, angel?" Crowley asked, ridiculously indulgent and all the more precious for it.

Aziraphale shook his head. There weren't a lot of things that would make him refuse a lovely meal out, with the love of his life. But tonight, there was a different type of hunger swirling in his veins, guiding his every move. 

"I would like us to go home, my love. We can order something. After."

Crowley's eyes twinkled in mirth, an unfair tease, considering the state of him, too. But he was smarter than to put words to it, choosing to show his assent with another kiss to Aziraphale's chin. To his nose. To his forehead. The urgency abated for but a moment, leaving behind only tender adoration. Aziraphale turned his face towards it, a flower bathing in the warmth of affection. Plenty spoiled with it and yet, still hungry, still needy.

"Let me get my things, and we can go," Crowley whispered against his mouth, the incorrigible tease. Aziraphale suspected he would have been far more affronted by the cheek of him, if he didn't taste quite so sweet.

A few moments later, far too long to be considered decent and yet not as long as Aziraphale had thought they would need to finally separate, Crowley leant back. A sigh falling from his lips, as if the distance a physical ache in his soul. And Aziraphale knew how that felt, could taste the same void pulsing in his ribs.

"Not long now," he whispered, one hand coming to cradle Crowley's cheek. 

They were being ridiculous, of course. They were still going to make their way home together. Make their way to bed together. They weren't putting a stop to this delightful affection, simply a delay, until they had made it somewhere more appropriate.

Crowley nodded. Turned his head to lay a kiss on Aziraphale's palm, before he took a step back. Always so smart, his lovely demon of a man, he knew exactly where every kiss and caress would lead them. Yet, unable to resist offering Aziraphale his hand. An act of chivalry, as touching as it was unneeded. Dangerous, even, and Aziraphale shook his head with a smile. 

The hand fell away quickly, an answering smile pulling at its owner's lips.
 
"Could you-" Crowley hesitated, eyes flickering to the door. 

Aziraphale understood immediately. Despite having worked as his assistant for a year now, Muriel was still terrified of Crowley. Aziraphale couldn't blame them. After all, he had spent years being on guard around the other man, even if for entirely different reasons. 

"I'll speak to them." He let his body slide off the desk, even if it meant putting himself in reachable distance to someone who looked like they wanted to devour him whole. And Crowley would, he knew. Very soon. "I did tell them never to stay in the office as late as you do."

Crowley's laughter was sharp. 

"Worried they might walk in on us, were you?"

It was rare for Aziraphale to feel that ache, as if from millennia ago. To remember the hopelessness that had used to swallow him whole, blanket him completely. Why would he dwell on such things, he always reminded himself, when every night, in his arms, he had the most precious of creatures?

And yet, Crowley's words, well, they had managed to cause a pang of sorrow. The shadow of a memory of a time when he had believed he would never get this, would never discover the weight of the other man, the heat of him against his body, the taste of his love. When the idea of being here, in Crowley's arms, protected and cherished- Had been nothing more than a silly fantasy.

And there might have been a tinge of something mournful in the way he had smiled at Crowley. It might have simply been his darling's innate ability to just know. Crowley stepped closer without hesitation, strong arms wrapping around Aziraphale and drawing him into comfortable affection.

Damning them to yet another delicious delay.

The rope was soft under Aziraphale's fingers. Crowley's skin even more so. He stared, flustered, but for the wrong reasons. 

"You are sure?" he asked, again, even as his eyes feasted on the dark of the bounds against pale skin. "We don't have to, my love."

"Aziraphale-"

Underneath him, Crowley smiled. A hungry thing with too much teeth. Aziraphale paid it no mind, the anxiety too tight around his throat to allow for temptation. 

"It's only- I know it has been a while since I first mentioned it. You could have changed your mind. You can change your mind, you are aware, yes?"

"Angel-"

"And if you are considering this an anniversary gift, you must know that I would never force anything on you, my darling. I would like-"

Crowley laughed. Sharp and joyous, his whole body shaking, stoppering every drop of unease, running down Aziraphale's throat. 

"Come here, sweetheart," the other man whispered, mouth pink and twisted in amusement. 

What was Aziraphale to do but simply obey? Lean forward, palms resting on either side of Crowley's head. A smart decision too, as the moment his darling was allowed closer, he struck. And Aziraphale had to be grateful for the added support when those soft lips descended upon his own. The kiss gentle and needy, a touch desperate already. Making Aziraphale shake and whimper, quieting that ever-present voice in his head. Nothing but a whisper these days, but still vicious enough to drip poison in his veins.  

"I know it's been some time," Crowley whispered when they separated, voice husky. "I have been waiting for you to bring it up again for way too long, sweetheart."

Aziraphale opened his mouth. Crowley, always so indulgent, so kind, despite the front he was desperate to put in front of others. It made Aziraphale worry sometimes. How many of Crowley's desires were truly his own?

He was prepared to argue. Crowley far too precious, to let want guide Aziraphale's actions. He would have, except Crowley's next words made nothing but want seize his body.

"I would like nothing more than to have you, on top of me. Using me, however you desire." 

Aziraphale whimpered, body pressing closer. The proof of just what he desired obvious, with the lack of a single stitch between them. And Crowley was grinning, that horribly tempting creature. He knew exactly what he was doing.

But that was the point, wasn't it? An Arrangement, far sweeter than the one they had initially crafted, built with the scraps of affection they had been too soft to conceal. 

A simple twist of the head, a parting of lips, slight enough to be considered a sigh. And Aziraphale knew what his love wanted, too. 

He leant down, capturing those soft lips into another kiss. His palm cradling a sharp cheekbone, fingers pressing against a soft cheek. Each dip and curve carved into his very psyche, and yet he dutifully filed away each sensation. As reverently diligent as the first time he had held his love.

That teasing glint in Crowley's eyes didn't disappear when they drew apart. Aziraphale hadn't expected it to. But he did watch, smitten beyond belief, as it softened, shadowed by something just as sweet as the devotion in Aziraphale's own heart.

"I love you," that gorgeous man in his grasp whispered, a vow. And he must have seen the way Aziraphale's own eyes had softened, must have tasted the adoration on his lips, because he hurried to tease, "And if you think I didn't have your anniversary gift picked out 11 months ago, you must not know me very well, angel."

Aziraphale blinked. Any other time, words like this would have sent him into a spiralling wonder. But not today, not when he had this wonderful man tied up under him. Soft and beautiful and just as warm with need as Aziraphale's heart. 

"Foul fiend," Aziraphale still grumbled, stealing another kiss. Behaviour like this needed to be properly addressed, lest the other man had any foolish notions of ever stopping.

Whatever cutting remark Crowley had been ready to hiss out, shuddered on his lips instead, as soon as Aziraphale's fingers sank into flushed skin. His palm fitting perfectly around a sharp jaw, before dancing down the already trembling column of his love's throat.

Crowley did not mind his venom being stolen, it seemed. He pushed into the touch, instead, eyelids fluttering. And, oh, but the way he looked. Vulnerable and soft, entirely at Aziraphale's mercy. Yet, capable of so much devastation, most delicious of ruin, right there inside Aziraphale's ribcage.

"The first moment I saw you," he mumbled, and only realised he had said anything when Crowley lifted his head to look at him. 

His darling's gaze already blurry around the edges, molten in the middle, and yet he tried to pay attention. Hang onto every word that dripped from Aziraphale's mouth. Oh, but how lovely Crowley was, how breathtakingly his.

"You were wearing that red tie, do you remember?" Aziraphale's fingers traced the imaginary tie, just as he had wished he could, so many years ago. "Goodness, I could barely take my eyes off you. I still have no idea what I said during that interview."

The ribs under his touch shook. The skin flushed and gorgeous, and he dipped down, couldn't help himself. His lips tracing that invisible outline. 

"Neither do I, angel," Crowley gasped, voice still so gentle, even as it shook with need. Aziraphale shifted, suddenly feeling a tad self-conscious. Despite it all.

"I thought you said it was when you purchased the books for me. When-" He hesitated. A year later, and it still took him a moment, sometimes, to face the boundless ocean of affection his darling had for him. "When you fell in love."

The movement of Crowley's shoulders was jerky, restrained by the rope holding his arms up. Yet it still managed to convey that specific flavour of smug nonchalance that Aziraphale was always starving for. 

"I was beyond hope by that point, it's why I bought the books. I have- have loved you for years, angel. Since the first day I met you, I'd wager. Pretty slow on the uptake, me."

Aziraphale's gasp was a loud, startling thing. The flush on his cheeks, he presumed, even more so. 

It was ridiculously petulant, but- Well, he had wished to be the one spoiling his partner, showering him with all the affection and reverence, overflowing from his own heart. But, of course, his darling would still be the one, getting him all flustered. 

And, of course, Aziraphale would be unable to retaliate in any other way but by leaning down, drinking from that self-satisfied smirk until it was blooming in desperate hunger. Making the lovely man underneath him shiver and moan. Hips twitching up, seeking friction in the sizzling air around them. 

Oh, but Aziraphale was too careful for that. Hovering above the other man, legs on either side of his body. Close enough for Crowley to feel the heat of him, but providing him with nothing but the ghost of a touch. For now. He knew it would be hard to resist, already was, the long expanse of soft skin, the hard desire. Aziraphale wouldn't be able to keep himself away much longer.

He pressed his palm against that narrow chest, against Crowley's heart, wild under his touch. The skin there already warm, burning with the same liquid desire sloshing in Aziraphale's veins. 

"You are stunning, my love." 

The words tumbled out of his mouth, unbidden. Oh, he had meant them, of course. Had even planned to say them, idly, every time his darling had stolen them from his lips, in a moment just like this. They shocked him with their intensity, still. The sharp undertone of truth cutting in the most delicious of ways. 

Crowley blinked slowly. As if a foreign language he had only ever heard in passing. One Aziraphale was desperate to teach him. Every vowel of reverence, every word that tasted like a benediction.

"Everything about you, it takes my breath away. Has done since I met you. Your lips, the embers in your eyes. Every line of you, strict and hard and dangerous. You are a work of art, my love, you truly are."

How many times had he thought these words, their ridges woven into his tongue, into his very soul? How many times had Crowley smirked at him, vibrantly smug and so very stunning, and Aziraphale had needed to force his teeth together, lest they let slip how much- How much he had adored the other man, for so very long. 

And it wasn't even the man's body, gorgeous as it was. Still, nothing but a vessel for everything Aziraphale held precious. 

"It's not even why I love you," he whispered, reverent fingers tracing burning, scalding skin. With every word, it was getting easier. He knew. It wouldn't be long until he was unable to stop himself. 

Crowley's collarbone twitched under his palm, with each sharp breath the other man took. He was squirming too, ever so slightly. Gaze liquid in a way that spoke of too much, too quick. And Aziraphale was leaning down before the conscious thought had even had time to form, laying soft, soothing kisses all over his beloved's face. Nothing but a warm slide of lips, over sharp cheekbones, a forehead creased in the effort to stay still. A mouth, soft and gasping, and Aziraphale hesitated. 

"You need to tell me if it gets too much, Crowley," he said, searching the other man's gaze. The use of his name pointed, deliberate, and he could feel when those words managed to soak through the fog around his love's mind.

Crowley shuddered again, a whine stealing from his lips. His eyes fluttering shut too, he looked overwhelmed enough for Aziraphale to consider the need for a break. Yet, he still nodded, still leant forward until he was kissing Aziraphale. Breathlessly desperate and viciously hungry. And so lovely, too. 

"Touch me, sweetheart," Crowley begged. Not at all what Aziraphale had been planning, but, Good Lord... With his flushed lips and molten eyes. How could Aziraphale refuse him anything?

Slowly, he shifted backwards, until he was hovering above Crowley's lap. Where the other man was ready for him, his cock hard and flushed. Pressed against the line of his stomach, so wet already, begging to be touched. It almost tempted Aziraphale out of his original plan. He could see it now, the way Crowley would look, as Aziraphale took hold of him, guided him inside his own warmth. The noises he would make, those desperate little whimpers he no longer tried to cage behind his teeth. 

But no. No, because this wasn't about what Aziraphale wanted. Or rather, not about what he needed. 

It was Crowley, the one who needed to understand how loved he was. How utterly treasured. 

Aziraphale's touch was slow, lingering, as he pressed his palms against Crowley's sides. Slid them down the length of him, until fingers were digging into sharp hips. Did it again, when Crowley whimpered, thrashing wildly from side to side. Caught in the need to lean into Aziraphale's hands, but unable to decide which one. Oh, but Aziraphale should probably grant him that one wish, shouldn't he? He should touch him, shouldn't he?

"Aziraphale," his love hissed, when he did just that. His palms running down narrow chest. The touch fleeting but more than enough to make Crowley twitch up, chase after those fingers on his collarbone, grazing his nipples, digging into the space between his ribs. 

"I am touching you, my sweet," he said, like a bastard. Had to stop himself from giggling at the way Crowley's eyes narrowed, obviously very much thinking the same. 

Another run down the banquet of temptation before him, and he decided to take pity on his love. Carefully, he lowered himself. Watched with naked hunger the way Crowley tracked each of his movements, his chest both frozen mid-gasp and wild, with the hammer of his heart. 

One touch, and they both groaned. Aziraphale's cock sliding against Crowley's, just as hard, just as urgently desperate. His hand dipped down to wrap around them both, an almost unconscious decision that had Crowley panting, whimpering. Tempting hips pressing close, stealing Aziraphale's breath too. 

"It's your smile," Aziraphale whispered, his eyes unable to relinquish the sight of the two of them, pressed together. But, no. No, because there was nothing more beautiful, more important, than Crowley right now. 

He lifted his eyes. Crowley was already looking at him. Of course, he was. His gaze desperation-hazy and yet fixed on Aziraphale's face, on his flushed cheeks and ruined mouth. Aziraphale could hardly breathe around the affection, crowding his lungs. What was he to do but try and share even a petal of it?

"It's why I love you." But that wasn't completely true, was it? He shook his head. "It's how kind you are, too. With me, yes, but with everyone else too."

Crowley's head lolled back, a groan thundering from his lips. It could have been the words, could have been Aziraphale's warm palm around them both. It made Aziraphale freeze, still, anxious that it had been too much, that it had served to tip his love over the edge of overstimulation. 

"No, no," Crowley gasped, shaking his head with an urgency that tasted so sweet in the air between them. "Just give me a moment, I want to- Want to pay attention."

Something warm spilt down Aziraphale's throat. How kind his darling was, how lovely, to ensure he was actively participating. Indulging in the reverence, spilling out of Aziraphale's every move.

So he waited. Still and patient, humming a wordless, soothing tune. Waited, until the other man finally nodded, his burning gaze caressing Aziraphale's skin once again.

Aziraphale leant over, first. The desperate need to touch Crowley again burning in his very core, yes, but nothing like the desire to place his lips on that bitten-red mouth. Those flushed cheeks, that sweet throat. 

The hunger in him abated, if only for a few moments, he said, "I love how ruthless you are, too. I probably shouldn't. Terribly rude of me, I know. But I do. Especially when you are trying to protect me."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. Even half-mad with desire and something else, something softer, and far more delicious. Even then, he managed to look smug.  

It suited him, Aziraphale thought. It was high time for him to realise that Aziraphale adored every single part of him. 

"Oh, and I do love it when you are protective, my love. When you make it clear who I belong to," he whispered, voice curling breathless around the words.  

Now that, that admission made him shudder with the truth of it. Made him press into Crowley's lap, too, tighten his hold around them both. An answering shiver danced down the other man's body, the headboard groaning as Crowley struggled.

"Aziraphale, angel, I-" his love gasped, flush spilling down his throat, warming his chest. Stealing his words. "I can't- Let me fuck you, sweetheart, let me make you feel good."

Aziraphale almost laughed. And then did laugh, a happy, wondrous sound, as he leant down again. Kissed the anxiety out of that pretty mouth, tried to erase it from existence completely. 

When that didn't work, because, of course, it didn't. Of course, even now, even when this was supposed to be for Crowley, the other man wanted to please him.

He said, "Come for me, my sweet."

And then he kissed Crowley again, because he did know his love. He could tell exactly what he was thinking, exactly how he was going to argue. But there would be time to focus on Aziraphale, after. He knew that too, Crowley too smitten, too ardently insistent on lavishing all this affection on him, to be dissuaded.

A moan, that Aziraphale desperately devoured. Shivers he pressed into, allowed to overtake his own body, until he could no longer tell where Crowley's pleasure ended and his began. Lingering kisses, too, he couldn't stop himself, when Crowley gasped into his mouth, asking for more. Aziraphale's lips dancing over flushed cheeks, the tight set of a jaw, the trembling column of a throat. Goodness, but he loved him so much he could barely stand it. Could barely believe he got to have him like this, lovely and vulnerable, and so very precious, too. 

Only when Crowley had stopped moving, his whimpers reduced to nothing but sighs, did Aziraphale reach up, to tug on the rope around his love's wrists. The poor dear, Aziraphale was going to untie him, make sure he was cleaned and properly settled for the night, before he could finally wrap around him and never let him go. Perhaps even whisper how grateful he was for this gift Crowley had bestowed upon him, if his sweetheart wasn't feeling too flayed open to discuss feelings yet. 

"Not yet," Crowley mumbled, slurring slightly as if drunk. 

Aziraphale shook his head. "Darling, you can see to me after. Let me take care of you now."

He tugged once more. Or tried to, but Crowley swung his arms again. Still very much in reach, Crowley's movements limited, but it wasn't about that. Aziraphale would never do anything that was so clearly against the wishes of the other man. 

"What would you like, my sweet?" he asked, trying so very hard to sound put upon, even if the flame of desire was still simmering underneath his skin. He could hardly help it. Crowley splayed underneath him, the proof of his love cooling between their bodies. Still flushed, still shivering. Aziraphale was only human.

"Up." 

Nothing more, just a single word and the fire in Crowley's eyes, his gaze unwavering. Aziraphale knew that look, knew that he would be hopeless and helpless in ever resisting it. 

His legs shook as he pulled himself to his knees, legs taking their place on each side of Crowley's body. His hand coming to rest on his love's chest. To support himself, but mostly because he couldn't give up all that warm skin quite so quickly. 

"Closer, angel." Crowley's smile had already turned sharp and dangerous. Whatever he was planning, Aziraphale knew he would enjoy it far too much. "On my chest."

The weight of desire so thick in those words, they crashed into Aziraphale's ribs. Made him sway backwards. No. Surely not. 

"Come fuck my face, sweetheart," Crowley whispered, as if it wasn't the filthiest thing that had ever pressed against those lovely lips. Although, no. There had been far more tempting, far more sinful things that demon of a man had teased him with. 

Aziraphale still hesitated. It sounded irresponsible. Borderline dangerous. Crowley, too pliant with affection to consider this fully. Oh, but-

A sharp knee jabbed him in the back, prompting him to sway forward. He turned to confirm what it was, mostly to buy himself some much-needed time, before he was scowling at Crowley. 

"Stop this, or next time I might just tie your legs too." 

Crowley's smile only grew larger. Sharper. "Promises, promises. Come on, closer."

And, oh, it really was so tempting, and Aziraphale had never been too good at saying no to his love. Not that he would ever admit to this, he knew Crowley would only use it for evil. 

Perching himself on Crowley's chest, careful to lean his weight on the legs on each side of the other man's torso, and not his ribcage, he hesitated again. Up close, with Crowley's flushed mouth open and ready, with the naked lust in his darling's eyes... Oh, Aziraphale would never forgive himself if he ever hurt him. 

"Click your fingers for me?" Aziraphale asked. Palms running over Crowley's forearms, the touch tantalising enough to hopefully save him from mockery. 

No such luck. Crowley raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips curling into a smirk. But, surprisingly obedient, he did click his fingers. His left hand first, then his right, and then both, a mocking little tune. 
 
Aziraphale rolled his eyes, even if he did appreciate his love indulging him. 

"Now, was that necessary?"

Even then, he still swayed forward. One hand reaching behind Crowley's head to lift him up. His other, curling underneath his chin, thumb pressing against that tempting mouth. Crowley let his lips fall open, tongue coming to press against the tip of Aziraphale's perfect manicure. A sigh falling from him, eyelashes fluttering. The way he looked. So utterly tempting, so viciously devastating.

And, then, to make it even worse, he whispered, "You have no idea how much I've thought about this."

His voice scratchy and so lust-drunk that Aziraphale felt his own body sway closer. Just within reach, and Crowley was opening his mouth even wider, every whimper and moan, a physical caress against Aziraphale's heated flesh.

But there were more important things right now, than molten desire replacing each one of Aziraphale's atoms.  

"If at any point you want to stop, you need to tell me," he insisted, and when that didn't elicit any appropriate reaction, he tugged on Crowley's chin. Burning amber met his own darkened skies. "Please, my darling. I could not imagine hurting you."

Crowley shook his head, as much as he could, still caught in the other man's iron grip. His eyes hazy, but sharp enough to chip away at Aziraphale's worry. 

"I know. Please," he whimpered, the words so ragged, as if bitten away by millennia of need. 

And Aziraphale had always been too cautious. A ball of nerves and anxieties, especially when it came to the man before him. But even he couldn't imagine denying the vision before him this. 

He inched closer, palm leaving Crowley's face to wrap around his cock instead. Careful not to touch himself more than was strictly necessary, this was going to end quicker than he would have liked as it was... and then he hesitated.

"But if you are uncomfortable, you have to-"

Crowley clicked his fingers again, the sound somehow both exasperated and urgent. And swallowed him whole. 

It was wondrous. It was beyond wondrous. Crowley's mouth, burning hot around him, his tongue, his every whimper and moan pressed to Aziraphale's cock. And Aziraphale could do nothing but tighten his hold around the back of his love's head and hold tight. His body shivering with need, but his hips frozen. He couldn't risk-

Crowley leant back, before thrusting forward. Aziraphale's cock dragging against the back of his throat, before it was almost out, before lips were wrapping around his cockhead hungrily. Sucking and licking, desperation branded into every inch of his leaking prick. 

And all the while, Crowley's gaze did not falter. Eyes fixed on Aziraphale's face, drinking in the need surely etched onto his flushed skin, his trembling lips. Goodness, but how was that the most tempting part? How was it that the naked desire in the way Crowley was looking at him, the utter reverence, was what was surely going to bring Aziraphale to the precipice of madness? 

But not yet. No, because apparently Crowley had other plans. 

The other man pulled away, Aziraphale's hand softening its hold the moment he sensed his love struggling. 

"I need more, angel," Crowley drawled. His voice was rough, his throat well-fucked and raw, and it took a few seconds for Aziraphale to even decipher those words. He blinked. "Want you to use me. Hold my chin, sweetheart. Fuck my throat."

Aziraphale whimpered. He couldn't even manage words, could do nothing more than nod. Curl a warm palm under Crowley's chin, try to fight that sudden thrill that always accompanied the way the other man relaxed in his hold. Pliant and eager, letting himself be manoeuvred any way Aziraphale wished, and the need was pulsing in Aziraphale's veins. Drowning everything around him, but this delightful creature that adored him so. 

He still couldn't bring himself to be rough. His fingers holding onto his love gingerly, keeping him in place. His thrusts shallow and gentle. Crowley still whimpered with each movement, moaned, every time Aziraphale's cock caught on his spit-slick lips. And, oh, oh goodness, but the look of him. Eager and wanton, his mouth a scarlet ruin. His eyes dark, an abyss Aziraphale had tumbled into as if millennia ago. 

He looked wrecked and desperate. And so very lovely. It was the last part that caused the urgency in the snap of Aziraphale's hips. That made him shake and moan, ripped kind words, turned into incoherent babble, from his lips. 

And it was the trust in the way Crowley had surrendered himself to Aziraphale. Bound and helpless, and yet he had insisted on being held like this. Used, but no less treasured, and Good Lord, how much Aziraphale treasured him. 

"I adore you so much, my darling," he couldn't stop himself from mumbling, over and over again, as he pawed at Crowley's hair. His desire urgent and erratic, love pulsing in his veins, flowing into every cell of his body. Everything inside him, a live wire, every shock, the most intense of feelings. 

He gasped, when the pleasure crested. Whimpered, when Crowley's tongue, soft and gentle, chased each pulse of desire, wrecking his body. The moment it became too much, the other man drawing back, to place chaste kisses on Aziraphale's hipbones instead. The swell of his stomach. And he didn't try to say anything, not yet, not when Aziraphale's ears were ringing and his eyes were too hazy with the affection, thick in the air. Yet another way Crowley knew him, anticipated his every need and... Oh, Aziraphale needed him in his arms. Could hardly wait to hold him. 

This time, when he reached for the rope, Crowley didn't protest. Instead, he waited patiently to be untied, before curling his hands around Aziraphale's hips and sliding him down the length of his body. And Aziraphale let himself be manoeuvred, too exhausted to do anything more than giggle, too love-sick to try anyway. 

Mere seconds later, he was already tucked into Crowley's side, an arm wrapped around his shoulder, pressing him close. 

"Thank you for this," the silly creature murmured into his hair, so softly Aziraphale almost didn't hear. 

But he had. And sentiment like that, it could not go unaddressed. 

He pressed a hand over Crowley's heart, still wild under his touch. Pressed a kiss to it, too, far too precious to resist. 

"What you gave me, my darling. What you continue to give me, every day that we are together. There are no words that could ever express my gratitude." He raised his head. His eyes were shining, but so were Crowley's. "You are the most precious gift I could have ever asked for."

His heart ached with the raw wonder that still shimmered in those golden eyes. And when the arm around him tightened, he let himself be drawn closer. Tried to pour all the truth of his words into each slide of lips, each gasp and sigh. 

Crowley smiled at him in soft delight Aziraphale had tasted so many times. Yet still craved, still needed, as if air in his lungs. 

Aziraphale smiled back. Could not imagine anything more perfect than this moment, the warm serenity of having the man he had adored for so long, the one that had adored him, for just as long. In his arms, wrapped tightly around him. His every breath gently lulling them both to sleep. 

Aziraphale let his eyes drift closed, certain that there was nothing that could ever tempt him into leaving the warm cocoon of love around them. 

Well...

Crowley squeezed his shoulder, nose nudging into his curls. "So you don't want your anniversary gift then?"