Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So…have you sorted out your plans for the Season yet?” Anathema asked, watching Aziraphale toss peas to a flock of eager ducks as she set down the picnic blanket.

Aziraphale sighed. “Oh, you know, the usual. I have plenty of food stocked, and alpha scent spray to ward off any…unwelcome visitors. Tracy’s a beta, she can check in on me.”

“No alpha, then?”

“I don’t need one.” He’d tried having one, long ago. Handsome American bloke. It…hadn’t ended well. Spending his Seasons alone was far preferable to having a selfish, callous partner who cared only for their own pleasure.

“Of course you don’t.” Anathema said, handing Aziraphale a sandwich. “I don’t think that stops you wanting one, though.”

Aziraphale sighed. She was right, of course. It wasn’t just the month-long burning lust for alpha cock, though that was certainly part of it. He wanted to feel cared for, tended to, protected. His ideal alpha would care what he wanted and needed, moving heaven and Earth to give it to him. He wasn’t sure such an alpha existed.

“You’re not…offering assistance, are you?” Aziraphale asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. He could certainly do worse, but the headstrong occultist was a bit young for his taste. Besides, she had a mate already, and she didn’t seem the polyamorous sort.

Anathema giggled and bared her neck to reveal her Mark. She’d allowed her omega to bite her as well in their unconventional mating ceremony. “I think Newt would tear you limb from limb if I did.”

Aziraphale laughed at the notion. Newt was nice, but hapless, and probably would struggle to tear apart a paper bag. “I’m sure he would.”

“There’s another option, though. Isn’t there?”

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Our research shows Crowley was an alpha…”

“Crowley? You can’t be serious!” The eccentric inventor was the only other occupant of Aziraphale’s mansion, inherited from his uncle. Well, “occupant” was a loose term. After many late night noises and mysteriously moving objects, Aziraphale hired Anathema to get to the bottom of things. They discovered that the source of it all was a ghost, tied to the mansion from a terrible betrayal. Aziraphale had never met his ancestor Lucian Morningstar, as he had died nearly two hundred years before, but he was beautiful, charismatic, and generous with his wealth. He’d sponsored Crowley, taking care of the inventor’s basic needs so he could focus on his inventions. But Morningstar’s fortune had been based on scam and swindle, so when he was found out and jailed, Crowley was left with nothing. He eventually died of typhoid, penniless and alone.

Morningstar’s siblings, Michael and Raphael, restored the family name, building wealth for generations, culminating in Aziraphale’s mother Frances and her much older brother Enoch. Aziraphale had met him once when he was small. The kindly-looking old man had offered him coffee, which seemed odd given Aziraphale’s age. He took one sip and found it terribly bitter. He still rarely drank it, preferring tea. Aziraphale didn’t know what his mother and uncle had discussed that day, but it ended with his mother storming out, Aziraphale in tow. They had never spoken again, so it was surprising to learn years later that, as Enoch had no children of his own, Aziraphale was heir to the estate. It had been quite a shock, becoming wealthy overnight, responsible for overseeing a large manor. It had been trying, but with help from Tracy and Shadwell and anyone else he could hire, things now ran fairly smoothly, aside from Crowley’s supernatural mischief.

“Think about it, Aziraphale. Tracy said he almost never disturbed the house before you moved in. And I’ve never seen any other ghost be so quick to respond in seances. I think he likes you.”

“I’m the descendant of his killer!”

“Morningstar didn’t kill him directly,” Anathema said. “And we’ve already asked him about that. He said he harbors no ill will towards you.”

“What could a ghost do for my heat, anyway? He doesn’t have a voice or a body.”

“We’ve seen him manipulate…various objects. And he has some sort of essence to make his presence known.”

“Would you spend your rut with a ghost?” Aziraphale asked pointedly.

Anathema bit into her sandwich, pondering the question. “If I didn’t have Newt, and they were as good looking and friendly as Crowley? I’d consider it.”

“This is absurd! Not another word!” The conversation moved to other topics, and Aziraphale tried to forget Anathema’s ridiculous idea.

Later that night, Aziraphale found himself lighting the candles in his familiar circle. He’d required Anathema’s assistance the first several times, but now he could summon the ghost on his own. Crowley was less destructive when Aziraphale talked to him daily, and Aziraphale didn’t mind having the companionship, odd as it was. This was, however, an entirely new sort of companionship Aziraphale was proposing. The more he pondered Anathema’s idea, the less absurd he found it. Would Crowley agree?

“Show thyself, spirit of the house!” His voice was loud and dramatic, as if opening one of his old magic shows.

The sudden chill in the room signaled that Crowley was there, present and listening. “Hello there, Crowley.”

Crowley’s essence knocked against the wall, using Morse code to return the greeting. They’d started communicating with the rudimentary “one knock for yes, two for no” system, but the frustrated noises Crowley made led Aziraphale to teach him a way to say words and short phrases. “HELLO,” the ghost tapped. “HAVE GOOD DAY?”

“Yes, I had a wonderful day. Anathema and I had a picnic, and she had an interesting suggestion.”

“DID SHE?”

“Yes, and it involves you. Us, really. Um…you know how the Season is coming up?” One sharp knock. “And I understand that you were an alpha in life?” Another knock. Aziraphale continued, wringing his hands nervously. “Well, I have no mate to share my heat with, so if you were so inclined…perhaps you could…um…assist me? If you’re not too busy, I mean.” Aziraphale chuckled at his little joke.

There was a long pause before Crowley tapped out a response. “HOW?”

“Well, I’m aware that you have no body, but you can move objects across the room without difficulty,” Aziraphale said. Crowley confirmed this by flying a book off the desk onto the bed. “And I can feel your essence when you’re close.”

A chilly invisible force wrapped around him, closer than ever before, but not quite touching. “I TOUCH YOU NOW?”

“Yes, please.” Aziraphale wasn't sure he’d be able to follow Morse code in the thick of heat, but he didn’t imagine either of them would be interested in deep conversation.

The essence pressed against Aziraphale’s arm. He looked down, expecting to see it as he never had before, but it remained invisible. It glided across his arm hair like a pianist’s glissando, making Aziraphale shiver in delight.

“FEEL GOOD?”

“It does,” Aziraphale replied.”Please keep going.”

The essence trailed along his collarbone and up his neck, forging a cool path. Then it grasped at his hair, cradling his head, gently caressing his cheek. Aziraphale’s heart pounded, his whole body tingling from the ghost’s soft touch. Finally, it pressed against his lips. It didn’t seem like this cold should feel good, but it did. Aziraphale opened his mouth, melting into the kiss. Tendrils of essence wrapped around his body like arms. Perhaps being embraced by a warm body would be better, but it had been so long since he’d been embraced at all.

“BED?” Crowley asked.

“Yes,” Aziraphale gasped. For a moment, he thought that Crowley might toss him onto the bed as he had the book earlier. But instead, he nudged Aziraphale on the small of his back, guiding him to the bed. He lay atop tartan bedsheets, anticipating all the things his ghostly companion might do to him.

The essence spread across Aziraphale’s body, approximating the sensation of a lover on top of him. A sudden breeze ran down his torso, unbuttoning his shirt. Aziraphale gasped from the sudden exposure, which made the essence pull away.

“OK? TOO FAST?”

“I’m perfectly alright. It was just a bit startling, that’s all. Please keep going.”

A single knock, then chilly tendrils tugged at the waistband of Aziraphale’s trousers, divesting them as quickly as the shirt. One more swift motion left him nude on the bed, his cock already hardening from the ghost’s attentions.

“GORGEOUS,” the entity tapped out.

“You really think so?” Aziraphale looked down at his painfully average body. He was hardly the sort of omega that got oodles of attention as the Season approached. Had anyone ever called him gorgeous before? Plus he’d seen images of the inventor in life, tall and lanky and exactly Aziraphale’s type. Surely he’d had better? There’d been rumors about him and Morningstar, despite both being alphas. What was Aziraphale in comparison?

“VERY,” Crowley replied. “KEEP GOING?”

“Oh, yes please!” Aziraphale’s heat might still be weeks away, but he was too aroused to want Crowley to stop now. He banished his insecure thoughts in favor of enjoying his ghostly partner’s touch.

The tendrils descended upon him again, this time encompassing him in a way no human hands could. One caressed his hair as another pressed against his lips. Another forged a trail of gooseflesh down his torso, another down his spine. Two more encircled his legs, spreading them apart as if tied by an invisible rope. Aziraphale groaned and writhed in response. He was being touched everywhere, all at once, except where he most wanted to be touched. His cock was rock hard now, his hole growing wet with slick.

“Touch me, Crowley! Please!”

The ghost ceased his ministrations, making Aziraphale whimper from the loss. It wasn’t for long though, as the essence etched a path along his sensitive inner thighs. Then, finally, Aziraphale felt a feather-light pressure on his cock, making him groan. How long had it been since anyone other than himself had touched his cock? Well before he moved here, that was certain.

Crowley’s essence surrounded his whole body again, making Aziraphale feel like a lightning rod. His heartbeat pulsed hot and quick, his body squirming as it sought out every sensation his ghostly lover saw fit to give him. Crowley’s hold on his cock tightened, and even better than that, a tendril plunged into his wet and ready opening. Aziraphale bucked his hips, chasing his pleasure from all angles.

“Alpha,” he whined. “Fill me. Knot me. Please, please, please.” Could a ghost knot him? He hadn’t thought to ask. This question was soon answered by the tendril of essence inside him swelling, stretching Aziraphale more than any human knot or dildo he had ever felt. That, in combination with the persistent stroking of his cock, brought him to an explosive release.

As he came back down, Aziraphale felt a breeze tugging a warm blanket around him. The tendrils of Crowley’s essence wrapped around him in an embrace, the fullness still inside him like a physical knot. It made his heart swell. Even lacking a body, Crowley could hold him in the way he desperately craved after servicing himself with toys.

I DID GOOD, ANGEL? Crowley tapped out.

“Oh, yes.” For the first time in years, Aziraphale found himself looking forward to his heat.

For the first time, I watch my angel sleep, gently holding him close as best I can. I may lack a physical body, but the alpha instinct to tend to my omega is far from dead. I can hardly believe what just happened. What I’ve done. Having never attempted physical intimacy in this state, I hadn’t known it was possible. I might not be able to feel sexual pleasure, but bringing it to my angel satisfies something deep inside me. And now, to have him for a whole Season? To protect him and cater to his every need in that vulnerable time? It’s all my alpha soul could ever want.

I know well the ache of spending a Season alone. I recall the sneer on Lucian’s face, his revulsion to the idea of spending a rut with another alpha. He had a gaggle of omegas vying for his attention. I had no one but him. I started dying when he was taken away in handcuffs, well before my illness set in. Aside from the blond hair and blue eyes, Aziraphale bears little resemblance to his ancestor. He lacks the false charisma, the undercurrent of arrogance, the haughty mannerisms. He is soft and sweet and genuine. How could I not want to give him everything?

I could have spent every night watching over him like this, having free rein of the manor as I do. I wanted to, having been drawn to him since the moment he moved in. But I wouldn’t dare enter his sanctuary without permission. I found it peculiar that he chose my old bedroom over Lucian’s massive quarters. Perhaps he was drawn to it as magnetically as I am drawn to him. Whatever the reason, I gave him his privacy, even as I prowled the rest of the manor in my frustration. An alpha denied a mate is a dangerous beast, many times resorting to physical violence, but I never wanted to hurt anyone. Instead, I took out my restless energy on objects in empty rooms, letting out mournful howls in the night. It was disruptive enough for him to introduce the alpha occultist, which led to him summoning me daily. Having my angel’s company soothed my agitation, granting me a peace I have not known since I became a spirit.

Still, there are limitations to what I can do, which I confess brings me great sadness. One might think I ache to draw my own pleasure from Aziraphale’s body. That would be nice, but it is a lesser concern. I know that I am cold, that I cannot warm him as a corporeal lover could. I can’t whisper sweet nothings in his ear—the system of dots and dashes allows for communication, but is tiresome for more than short phrases. How I long to converse properly! I also have no scent as a spirit; I know Tracy’s candles might approximate the woodsmoke, apple, and cinnamon scent I held in life, but would it suffice to soothe an omega in heat? I have no teeth to Mark him with. Not that he has expressed desire for such a thing yet, but the irrational alpha within me worries that someone living will claim him, keeping him from me forever.

I watch my angel toss and turn, muttering something unintelligible in his sleep. He must be dreaming. What does he dream of? Might he dream of me?

Chapter Text

A week into his heat, Aziraphale sunk into the bath his alpha had drawn for him, exhausted and yet deliriously happy. His every bout of desire had been tended to, the ghost’s lack of need for sleep or refractory periods very much appreciated. His desire sated for the moment, he was able to appreciate how tender Crowley was, despite lacking a physical body. The ghost had brought him food and water between rounds of sex, insisting he have at least a little when he could. The tendrils of essence never strayed far. It seemed Crowley never wanted to stop touching Aziraphale for long, which dovetailed nicely with Aziraphale’s burning need to be touched. Right now, Crowley’s essence was gently massaging shampoo into Aziraphale’s scalp, making him feel pleasantly tingly. How had he gotten so lucky?

“Alpha?” Aziraphale asked, sounding as drowsy as he felt.

A single knock.

“After this bath, I…I think I need some rest for a few hours.” He had slept only in brief spurts the last few days, his arousal too persistent to allow deep rest. “But when I seem…receptive again, could you try waking me up in that manner we talked about?”

A long pause. Then “R U SURE?”

“Quite sure.” It was a fantasy Aziraphale had had since his earliest heats, but had never voiced before. Being awoken by a lover’s touch, an alpha who would know exactly what he needed even when he wasn’t awake. He hadn’t entrusted Gabriel with this, nor anyone else. But he was confident that Crowley would do it right. Crowley had seemed hesitant when he’d brought it up before his heat set in, but his desire to please Aziraphale must have overridden whatever discomfort he felt at the notion.

“OK ANGEL,” Crowley said. After the bath was done, he lifted Aziraphale out of the tub and toweled him off. The display of supernatural strength delighted Aziraphale to no end.

Once dry, Crowley swooped him back into the bed. “SWEET DREAMS,” Crowley tapped out quietly before swooping the blanket over Aziraphale’s naked form. A gentle kiss from his ghostly lover was the last thing Aziraphale felt before he fell asleep.

The next thing he knows, he is in the Great Hall of Morningstar Manor, a sight familiar and alien all at once. The paint is fresh crimson and gold, not chipped and faded as Aziraphale knows it. He is in a ball, dressed in a light blue gown, dancing a cotillion as if he knows these steps beyond Jane Austen film adaptations. He raises his arm, meeting an alpha’s hand. He looks up to see a tall and slim man, hair red like fire, with warm honey brown eyes and a mischievous smile.

“Crowley?” he whispers as they twirl about each other. He’s only seen this version in paintings; Crowley was considerably older by the time he discovered how to print black and white images from a camera obscura. Even at that age, he looked striking, leaning against his cane, eyes covered by dark glasses. In this dream, however, he has evidently chosen to portray himself in his prime. Aziraphale is hardly complaining.

“Hi, angel.” The alpha’s hand presses against his own, fingers lacing for a brief moment before the steps of the dance break them apart. Aziraphale briefly glances around at the others, but the faces are all blurry except for Crowley’s. His alpha. Here with him in the flesh.

In a flash, they are in the drawing room, the grand piano in the corner gleaming instead of covered with a dusty tarp. Crowley plays it, his hands elegantly dancing along the keys. Aziraphale is mesmerized, wanting to feel those hands dance along his skin. Crowley looks up to see Aziraphale and stops, rising to meet him. Aziraphale runs into his embrace. He wants to feel his alpha, to hold him and touch him in a way he can’t in the waking world.

“God, angel,” Crowley says, his deep voice making Aziraphale shudder, “do you have any idea what you do to me in that dress?”

“Show me,” Aziraphale says, batting his eyelashes. Generally, he’s quite glad omegas are no longer forced to wear dresses, but if it pleases Crowley, he might wear them more often. As much as he’s been enjoying Crowley catering to him, his omega instincts have been longing to serve and please him in return.

With a growl, Crowley pulls Aziraphale flush against him, making his hardness apparent. Aziraphale embraces his alpha, eager to return all the touches and kisses Crowley has given him. Their lips collide in shared passionate hunger. Aziraphale slips his fingers under Crowley’s jacket, running his hands along the alpha’s slim torso to remove it. He wants to feel every inch of his lover’s body for however long this dream will last.

Now they are both naked and in a bed, the path to arriving there hazy and unclear, as dreams often are. Aziraphale is in awe seeing his lover naked for the first time, sprawled across the floral sheets, cock standing rock hard. Has Crowley been aching with arousal, satisfying Aziraphale for weeks with no way to relieve his own need?

“Fuck, angel,” Crowley exclaims as Aziraphale wraps his hand and lips around his alpha’s cock wanting to give Crowley as much pleasure as possible before the dream ends. He lets Crowley buck into his mouth, relishing the weight of his cock, the scent and taste of him. He is immensely grateful to have the most clever alpha, one who has found a way to overcome the limitations of time and body that have separated them. Aziraphale’s own arousal pools at his groin, but that’s not what matters now.

It isn’t long before Crowley finishes in Aziraphale’s mouth, the seed dribbling down his chin. The warmth between Aziraphale’s own thighs tingles with pleasure in tandem, and soon he realizes why.

He opened his eyes, feeling Crowley’s essence stroking his thighs, pressing something against his opening. In his barely awake state, he wasn’t sure what it was, and he didn’t care. He was wet and aching hard again, and he wanted something, anything, plunged deep inside him.

As his conscious thought slowly returned, he realized it was one of his dildos, a large red and black one. Aziraphale had taken great pleasure from Crowley using his toys, and this was sure to be no exception. “Crowley,” he whined, opening his eyes to make it clear that he was awake. “Please fuck me.”

Without delay, Crowley thrust the silicone cock inside. Aziraphale whimpered desperately, clenching around it. He imagined it was the alpha cock he’d just had in his mouth, that Crowley could bite him and fill him with his seed. Perhaps Crowley would oblige him in their next shared dream. Perhaps he could wake up every morning like this. He might ask later. For the moment, he closed his eyes again and lost himself in the bliss of being catered to on the edge of consciousness, the dildo slowly fucking into him, reveling in his alpha’s all-encompassing touch. He felt Crowley on his lips, his nipples, his legs, his cock. Even without a Mark, he felt like he belonged to Crowley, body and soul. What living alpha could compete with this? As Crowley brought him to his release, he briefly fell back into the dream, clinging to his alpha as he moaned his name.

“Did you enjoy me, alpha? In the dream, I mean?” Aziraphale asked afterwards. Crowley responded with a single knock. Aziraphale smiled, pleased with himself, as he drifted off to sleep again.

Yes, I say, using the limited words available to me in this form. Aziraphale probably thinks I mean that I enjoyed using him for my own pleasure, filling his mouth with my own cock instead of a silicone approximation. I admit, the force of lust that flowed into my body in the dream was startling in magnitude, the rush of sexual release for the first time in almost two centuries an indescribable sensation. But I wouldn’t have done such a thing if my angel did not want it. Dozens of times, as I have serviced him through this Season, he has lamented that he could not pleasure me in return. An omega in heat longs to serve their alpha. They’ll do almost anything if you ask it. Lucian’s words haunt me, but there is some truth to them, if not in the twisted way he meant it. Aziraphale’s omega instincts needed to bring an alpha bodily pleasure, and so I found a way for him to do so. Any benefit I drew from it is secondary.

On one side of my lover’s consciousness, he was on his knees for me. On the other, I was caressing his thighs, gently rousing him awake. I was hesitant when he first confessed this desire. I know well that some alphas would forge such a path to meet their needs during a Season, interpreting an omega’s biological signals as sufficient consent. Again, my omega’s trust in me is a precious gift, one I wouldn’t dare relinquish. As his scent grew ripe with heat, I touched him, but couldn’t bring myself to push the dildo inside him until he awoke and asked for it. It was an exquisite sight, watching him caught between sleep and arousal, serving his desires on both sides of that divide.

For me, the best part of this night has been the proof of concept. That I can occupy a physical form in Aziraphale’s subconscious is a delightful revelation. He can hear me, scent me, taste me. Once his heat has passed, perhaps he will let me into his dreams to do more than make love. We could talk properly. I could tell him of my life in more than short bursts. We could sit in the garden and enjoy a glass of wine as the sun sets. We might even be able to explore the world beyond the confines of the manor. Would we see the world as I knew it, as we did in tonight’s dream, or would it be through Aziraphale’s eyes, everything sleek and modern? For now, I can only imagine.

My angel awakes, squirming in my embrace. Clearly, I have been lost in my reverie longer than I thought; he burns with arousal again. I wrap my essence around him, once again giving him everything he wants. I have known no greater joy, alive or dead.