[ As Crowley has him caught between slithering hips and a deft hand, he can do little but try to remain in this position, one hand now braced against Crowley's face and his entire body bowed over in his idolatry, mouth so close to Crowley's but so far, too gone to attempt at anything resembling a kiss. Sounds and shudders wrack through him vengefully, as close as he is to his release, each slick slide pushing into him a swell like a wave fighting against the inevitable. ]
Crowley, oh--
[ His little request seems to send firecrackers sparking through Aziraphale, and he comes without warning, for the first time in several hundred years shouting: ]
Fuck!
[ He gets he sensation of his whole body cresting and crashing, tension all leaving him at once through every spare inch of him as he orgasms. It feels like it lasts both too long and too short, all the love and light of him tinging just a little darker at the edges as ropes of seed streak across both their fronts and stain Crowley with his mark all the way up to his chin.
Though he feels run ragged, his senses return from where they've flared away from him, and he realizes quickly that he isn't done. His hips with renewed motivation crush wildly against Crowley's and he and bears down, constricts the muscles around him until it's almost too much for Aziraphale to handle in his marvelously addled state. ]
[ He thinks, this will ruin him, he won't be able to go without this for any length of time ever again, because he has never found anything he wants so much as Aziraphale shuddering and ecstatic above him, and so close, so beautifully close to his release--and at last Crowley watches him come, wrenched by it, everything about him so lovely and obscene, from the curse between his teeth to the way his cock spurts and stripes Crowley's stomach and chest and even his throat with seed. Oh--so hot, so beautiful, and Crowley longs to taste his seed, lick it from his fingers, but he's still driving his cock desperately into him, too close himself to stop now or ease off once Aziraphale's had his pleasure.
And his angel is with him, tightening marvelously around him and rocking hard against him, taking him deep--for an instant Crowley worries that he'll hurt himself, almost grasps his hips to slow him down, but all at once it becomes too much. Motion, the constriction around his cock, the unholy carnal delight of it all; Crowley shouts wordlessly, thrusting up, gasping for breath as his cock jerks and spills into Aziraphale. The intensity of his pleasures wrings through his body, wrenches him and leaves him spent, hips at last sinking back to the ground, his body nearly boneless against the floor. He caresses Aziraphale's thigh with weary tenderness. Looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes, he fights for breath, pleasure and love singing through him. ]
[ Aziraphale, too, enjoys immensely watching Crowley find his release, riding him until he's all spent, until he's lying on the rug ripe and plucked. He disentangles his fingers to place a steady hand over Crowley's heartbeat, listening to it for a little bit, lips involuntarily curving seeing the look Crowley's giving him. ]
Crowley.
[ Very, very carefully, he lifts himself off of Crowley's cock, wincing a bit towards the end, but folding his wings back into nonexistence and lowering himself to the floor to drape himself over Crowley's side. He stays in this moment, quiet except for the sounds of their hearts and their breaths intermingling. His pulse is still so very loud in his ears, and so very close to the surface of his skin. And he still has the phantom feeling of being filled, a pleasant thrumming like a purr spreading from his nether regions to his extremities.
Placing an arm over Crowley's shoulders, he turns his head and kisses him there, an arm which is closest to his mouth. He looks quite smitten, almost in a juvenile way, because what is more dramatic and life-changing than young love? Despite being over six thousand years, the angel does feel a youthfulness to being like this, nestled in the arms of a lover he dreams of romantic notions like eternity with. And though he knows that they can't be seen together in public, the satisfaction in his muscles lead him to wonder if that should ever be such a bad thing. ]
That was incredible.
[ He says this freely, truthfully, but also in remembering how much Crowley relishes in his praise. He scoots up a bit, closer to Crowley's ear, voice low even though there's no one around to eavesdrop on their secret. ]
I can still feel you inside of me.
[ He nuzzles in, leaves a little kiss underneath Crowley's jaw. ]
[ It all leaves him so overcome, so wracked with pleasure and the torment and beauty of Aziraphale above him, that he can do little more than hiss out a breath as the angel lifts himself carefully from his cock. His lids fall heavily over his yellow eyes, intent on Aziraphale's every motion, and in spite of the lassitude spreading through him Crowley reaches out to welcome his angel close, drawing him down into the crook of his arm with a hand resting possessively on his waist as Aziraphale stretches out against him. Pleasant, weary thoughts drift aimlessly through his mind; he caresses Aziraphale idly, and turns to him when he kisses him, drawing him up a little to kiss his mouth. Crowley couldn't imagine having more than this, needing any more contentment than that of Aziraphale in his arms after a good fuck, radiating love and joy at him.
Aziraphale's words stir in him, making him ache; just the praise is enough, but Crowley can't help the shudder that goes through him when the angel murmurs in his ear that he can still feel him inside him, in that soft beautiful voice. His throat works as Aziraphale nuzzles at him and kisses beneath his jaw. Who knew he could be so wicked? ]
The mouth on you, angel.
[ He breathes out the words, half teasing and half in awe. Aziraphale is--he's incredible, he's more than Crowley could ever deserve, but damned if he'll let him go. Crowley kisses him fervently, and then drawing back glances down at the pearly come striped across his chest; he trails a finger into it and brings it to his mouth, sucking it clean with a little groan of pleasure. ]
[ Generally a happy person and with having had many reasons in his life for joy, there are few instances as great and tangible as this, and any other memories that might contend happen to also involve Crowley. He melts into the kiss so deeply that he's still wondering what Crowley means to do with his finger when-- well, then he stares and blinks and feels a small coil of warmth unfurl in the pit of his stomach. He tempers it quickly but takes Crowley's hand when he's done, to kiss the back of it and then several of his knuckles.
He takes a moment to admire this hand, tracing fingers with the tips of his own, a light touch as he handles all precious and old things. How, he wonders, did they get to this point? And why had they not, sooner? Crowley's hands, the same ones that Aziraphale has known for thousands of years, were made to hold him. Knowing that now, he wonders how he could've thought to deny such a thing only an hour ago.
He doesn't give it back, instead interlocking his fingers. ]
We didn't even make it to the bed.
[ He laughs, amused at their combined singularity in thought. He has never felt so understood in the way that he does with Crowley, that any thoughts he might be having are passing through to him as well.
Well, maybe not all of them. ]
Would you like to relocate? I think you might be needing it.
[ He doesn't think it would be wise for him to miracle them clean, but he would, for once, not mind terribly much if Crowley didn't get around to it before falling asleep. ]
[ His head falls back when Aziraphale takes his hand and kisses the knuckles, Crowley watching him through intent eyes. A warmth steals into him as the angel compares their hands, toys with his fingers by drawing the tips of his along them, the kind of gentle, teasing little games that lovers play. It's charming, stirring, and it brings an unexpected sense of security, as though here while they are tangled so intimately together, there's nothing to fear and no provisions to make. They can just be with one another, as they've been perhaps been meant to be since the beginning of the world, and are only now just catching up to.
His fingers return Aziraphale's grasp. Crowley looks at him with devotion, with a wanting that will never fade; he's unaware that Aziraphale is thinking similar thoughts, but if he were he could assure him that he'll never let them be apart again if he can help it. ]
Didn't need a bed to do this.
[ He stretches out, languid, taking up a great deal of space across Aziraphale's already-cluttered floor. Perhaps there will always be a place for him now. A bed does sound nice, though--Crowley hates going to sleep anywhere less comfortable, and right now he feels as though he could sleep contentedly for a month. If Aziraphale were near him. ]
Yeah. Suppose we must do. [ With a groan he stretches expressively, working kinks out of his spine, and then gingerly sits up. ]
[ Aziraphale smiles as he watches Crowley stretch, all long lines and lean angles, elegant like written word. He traces a finger up his spine, lazily lifting his head to kiss his hip, curving around him to kiss his stomach and up his chest, and finally sits up and kisses him on the mouth, soft and sated and loving.
He does get up then, reaching out for Crowley to help him stand so they can go upstairs and get into bed. He might attempt a sleep as well, maybe not for a month, but just long enough that he can wake up next to Crowley. He'd never found the appeal in sleeping before that night that he'd fallen asleep in Aziraphale's arms, something about his dozing off had just been so soothing. But that night had passed so quickly, and this one was due to as well.
He's determined, this time, not to mess it up. He couldn't do it a second time and he doubts Crowley would allow a third - he would, Lord knows he would come crawling right back to Aziraphale, but his heart would always be waiting for the other shoe to drop, for that moment when the angel would decide it's too much and it's time to let go.
No, he can't do that to Crowley again. He won't. ]
What would you like to do tomorrow?
[ He asks, before he can stop himself. Now he can't take it back. ]
[ Taking the angel's hand, Crowley lets himself be hauled to his feet, wincing at the creaky little aches and pains in his long unfolding body which comes of being a millennias-old demon. A pity, not to be as young as he was in the Garden; if they had come together there, they might not have left for a thousand years. He smiles languidly at Aziraphale, looking him over with sleep-heavy eyes, finding him so appealing in all his warmth and softness. Falling asleep besides him sounds just as lovely, in truth. And he has that prospect here in front of him, after so long waiting. His fingers tangle with Aziraphale's as the angel leads him upstairs to his bed. ]
Mmmm.
[ Crowley pretends to think about the answer to his question, though really it's perfectly obvious. ]
More of this.
[ He indicates them, and ducks his head to capture Aziraphale's mouth in a long soft kiss, filled with wanting. It solidifies his happiness, that question--the implication that they will be spending tomorrow together as well as tonight, that Aziraphale won't change his mind in the morning. They'll be all right, Crowley thinks, willing it, like a prayer. No one will come looking for them, not for a good long while. When they do, they'll be ready.
Breaking away, he sinks onto the bed, looking up at the angel with a little bit of wistfulness, as much as a demon can feel, at least. ]
[ The bed seems so much more inviting with Crowley in it, now that he suddenly feels sleepy and Crowley keeps trying to make him weak in the knees, and Aziraphale finds himself tumbling in beside him. Oh, yes, it's like lying sandwiched in between cloud cover.
He reaches for Crowley underneath the blankets, stretches out to him and crawls closer when Crowley asks to be held. ]
Of course.
[ There is so much love and goodness coming out in his voice, coming out in his aura and overflowing at the edges. His arms now around Crowley, Aziraphale closes his eyes and as tired limbs often are, has never felt as strongly that this is exactly how his arms and legs were meant to fit. More of this, he murmurs as he starts to drift.
The dream starts pleasantly enough, though Aziraphale wakes up to an empty bed in it. He follows his nose to the unused kitchen where he finds Crowley, wearing one of his dressing gowns, fixing up American pancakes and charring one side completely. Aziraphale laughs and makes them both coffee to drink with them. Later, after they've decided not to continue politely eating, Crowley confesses they were supposed to be crepes, and Aziraphale can't stop laughing for ten whole minutes.
It goes like that, an entire timeline of happy moments where they're inseparable. But they grow bolder still, holding hands in public, coming together maybe a little too much. Crowley drops by with a bouquet and Aziraphale pulls him in quickly. Aziraphale drags Crowley to the opera, and he finds he quite likes it now that time has passed since he last saw one. He grows comfortable and Heaven finds them out, even having obtained a picture where he couldn't resist kissing Crowley out in the open air on what had been a lovely day. Without so much as a blink, he weaves up a story about how he thwarted Crowley's attempts to seduce the Prime Minister, and though it was at a personal sacrifice, entire countries were safe so long as Crowley was sufficiently distracted. They laugh about it later in bed and to their surprise, nothing happens.
Only in Aziraphale's imagined future, centuries later when Crowley has stopped wearing his glasses and has grown out his hair, does one day happen that demons come through the floorboards and haul Crowley out of bed. He struggles and screams at Aziraphale to run, but he stands his ground. They gain the upper hand until heaven descends upon them, and the voice of God angrily dissipates the remaining demons only to lift Aziraphale by his neck, high in the air, and he knows it's over.
He snaps awake in the dim twilight, and finds that he's back in 1967. Crowley has not gotten up to make pancakes. He breathes a sigh of relief but he's shaken, and he clings tightly to Crowley's sleeping form next to him. ]
[ Crowley wants very much to hold onto Aziraphale and be held, to fall asleep and have a good chance of waking still in one another's arms, the entire beautiful night still a reality in the morning, still solid in his memory and in the evidence of Aziraphale lying beside him. When the angel stretches out close to him and puts his arms around him, Crowley winds his own long limbs around him in turn, letting out a satisfied sigh once he's clinging to him possessively, miracling away the mess between them as an afterthought. There. Let anyone try to take his angel away from him.
His own sleep is heavy and blank and dreamless; he falls into it at once, with a mind all but stunned into exhaustion by everything that passed between them. He could probably stay asleep for some time, if not for an awareness that comes to him of Aziraphale stirring in his arms, shifting closer and clinging tighter to him. It brings him out of his own soundless sleep, slowly and by stages, Crowley's eyes at last opening to see the world faded by dusk, and hear Aziraphale breathing unsteadily beside him. Crowley nuzzles at his hair, shifting one hand up slowly to rub at the nape of his neck in rough, mindless comfort. ]
Angel?
[ His voice is thick with sleep, but he doesn't mind waking up for Aziraphale. ]
[ Aziraphale shakes his head no into Crowley's chest in answer to his question. No, sleep was too easy for Aziraphale, it was the problem. All of this was so easy now. He feels himself shaking, and very quietly he confesses: ]
I had a nightmare, that's all.
[ Nothing to worry about, just a fussy angel with an overactive imagination and too much worry in his heart. But Crowley is here, whole and intact and perfect, by his side with no intentions of going elsewhere. But that's how he had been in the dream, too. By Aziraphale's side until he was wrenched away from it, having spent his last efforts trying to warn Aziraphale away. And wasn't that just it, that it hurt so much because it felt like the truth? That Crowley would risk so much for him, even at the expense of his own life? ]
Promise nothing will happen to us.
[ It's one that Aziraphale knows he can't possibly make, because he can't predict the future. He has no power over it, and if he did, they wouldn't have waited so long to be like this; no, Aziraphale just wants to hear a lie. He wants to take comfort in it and stop this anxious feeling that has its icy vice grip around his heart and his lungs. ]
[ It’s easy enough to guess the kind of nightmare Aziraphale might have had, even before he asks for assurance. Crowley can envision it—something along the lines of the two of them being forced apart, their respective sides coming between them, perhaps after many long and happy years together, because that would be just like Aziraphale, to fear that the more time they spend together the worse it would be to be torn apart. Feeling him shiver, Crowley’s limbs tighten possessively around him—he all but wraps himself around him as he would in snake form, as close as he can manage while still staying man-shaped, and nuzzles at his hair. ]
Of course it won’t. We’ll be fine, angel.
[ He speaks as though it’s a given instead of a wish, as though by speaking the wish aloud he miracles it into being. What can Crowley do but believe it? Who other than God could know their future? She certainly won’t share it with them. So who’s to say that any grief will come to them? Perhaps they’ve earned a respite.
It’s what he tells himself, and caressing Aziraphale’s cheek, he tips his chin up so Crowley can kiss his mouth. ]
[ They haven't earned much of anything, Aziraphale thinks. Cast down to Earth, he'd been a cherub once, sitting at God's feet and devoutly offering all that he was to her aid. He'd led well in the celestial war, laureled by Her and She'd entrusted him with the guarding of Eden, Her great project, and it was an open secret that his remaining time on Earth had been meant as punishment, as demotion. So he doesn't believe that this is an olive branch from God, that Her meaning of this is to say that she accepts and gives them her blessing.
No, but he kisses Crowley back anyway, lips soft and supple and desiring so badly to just get lost in this, to indulge in this forever. He draws his arms around Crowley's neck and kisses him as if doing so he might taste some of the belief on Crowley's tongue, might swallow some of it and let it fill him with its innate happiness. ]
I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you.
[ He says into Crowley's mouth, sounding as if he might just fall apart at any second. But if not for how tightly Crowley coils around him, he might have done so already. He dives in again for another kiss, desperate as if it might be their last; he needs something to hold onto and anchor him back into reality. ]
[ He gathers Aziraphale closer, sensing the distress in him and willing to do anything to ease it. The angel's lips are soft beneath his and whatever his fears are, at least he's not pushing Crowley away--rather, it seems, desperate to remain here in Crowley's arms, his voice heartbreakingly close to devastation. ]
You should know by now I'm not going anywhere, angel.
[ He's not just speaking of now, of the agreement they reached together, but rather their whole history, their many years of encountering one another during the ages, spreading temptations or blessings, helping one another with more of the same, spending time together as old friends do. Surely Aziraphale doesn't think it was chance that brought them together, over and over again? Many of those times Crowley had sought him out--perhaps there were times that Aziraphale sought him out, too, even if he didn't know that's what he was doing.
By now they would simply be denying what is right, what is inevitable between them, by turning away. Crowley gives Aziraphale every kiss he seeks, a hand rubbing over his back in rough comfort. ]
[ Aziraphale kisses Crowley until he is breathless, and then when he is, calms down by resting his head in the crook of his neck. And feeling Crowley so solid in his arms, so tangled up in him, he tries so hard to remember that that is what's important. In this moment, he loves Crowley so much that he doesn't know how to handle himself, this demon who loves despite his own nature, who so deeply wishes for Aziraphale's happiness and safety. He really is a terrible demon, which is part of the appeal, really. He doesn't want to say so aloud, but he wouldn't be anywhere without his soft snake slithering in dramatically from wherever, just to put a smile on his face.
He wears one now, into Crowley's neck, knowing that he's the only one who could have such an affect on him. ]
Crowley.
[ It'd be a lie to say that he didn't seek Crowley out over the years, and definitely a lie to say that he never put himself in a dangerous or unsavory situation just so Crowley would show up and give him a helping hand only for Aziraphale to turn around and offer to buy him a spot of lunch. How else was he supposed to invited him out socially? Surely he couldn't do so directly, that would have been ludicrous. But he laughs a little thinking about it now. ]
Do you remember the time I went to Paris for some crepes in the Reign of Terror?
[ Only Aziraphale could get away with thinking of him as soft. Crowley might hiss at him for it if he knew, but then again it might not bother him all that much, truly. He’s been accused of worse things, and with Aziraphale it’s always hard to draw the line of how far he’ll allow any allegations of niceness--it gets confused somehow with the shivery feeling he gets when Aziraphale praises him.
He feels Aziraphale smiling against his neck, and this is much better than feeling him shivering in distress, pressing hard into Crowley as though he can't get close enough. They're so tangled together now as to be practically knotted, anyway, and no one is going to take his angel from him; that's the thought that contented Crowley as he drifted to sleep, and it stays with him now. ]
'Course I remember.
[ He speaks fondly, thinking of Aziraphale in that ridiculous getup, all the buttons and frills and stockings (rather becoming it had been too, not that Crowley will admit it, not that he still remembers it fondly as well), sitting there chained up and waiting to be rescued. Good thing he'd shown up in time, too, though Crowley used to wonder if Aziraphale hadn't engineered it so. ]
[ Aziraphale might have a streak for danger; after all, he'd been a warrior once upon a time and things were awfully boring now. He'd chosen a life of peace and he doesn't regret it. These days the only danger he might seek would be, well after things settle from the near-Apocalypse in a few decades' time, call Crowley nice and see if he might wind up with his back against the wall again, though perhaps with ample time and opportunity to confess he rather likes being pinned under Crowley.
He has a different confession to make, about a slightly more dangerous time. ]
Well.
I had happened to overhear a rumor you might be in the area. I really hadn't meant for it to get so out of hand, mind you.
[ He really hadn't meant to end up in a dungeon with his head about to be cut off, that much was real distress. He thought that maybe he'd just end up in a jail cell, get a bit rough around the edges and ask for Crowley to help him clean up a little, which was why he was actually upset at having thought that perhaps things were escalating too far. But he had been, well, dressing up so-to-speak. His dainty white shoes, the fancy little coat. It had all been brand new, custom-made as all of Aziraphale's things are, but highly fashionable at the time which was rare for him, and he had hoped that Crowley would notice the effort as he was wont to do.
Of course, Crowley, having shown up dressed like a peasant, who came to save his life instead of rescue him from a spot of dirt, sort of nixed the whole fantasy. ]
But I really was hoping you would come by and help me out with a little inconvenience just so I could thank you with lunch.
[ It sounds so silly, now that he says it out loud. ]
[ Crowley sees where this is going, and he's torn between amusement and outrage, leaning back from Aziraphale and propping himself up on an elbow so that he can study him with an arched brow. So he had engineered it, at least to some extent. And to think, while Crowley was worrying about him getting his head cut off, he'd deliberately gotten himself all dolled up like that and strolled into a revolution as though it was nothing, just an excuse to get an old friend's attention. Crowley narrows his eyes at him when he calls it a little inconvenience. ]
Tell me, angel, what would you have done if I hadn't shown up in time, hm? Or what if I'd been reprimanded for one too many frivolous miracles, helping an angel of all beings out of tight spots when I was meant to be helping him into them?
[ His voice is dangerously pleasant, and he trails a finger softly across Aziraphale's cheek, bringing it to his mouth and teasing over his lower lip. ]
And after all that, my thanks was lunch. [ Ah, there's the real rub. ] Don't you think you ought to thank me with a little more than that?
[ Well, if he had gotten discorporated, he would've gotten a new body and filled out tons of paperwork, which he's sure Crowley knows, having recently done it. He still feels guilty about not having been there to save Crowley from discorporation, since he never meant for him to disappear and since Crowley had so selflessly saved him from it so many times before. ]
If you got in trouble... Oh, I wasn't thinking very clearly, was I? I just thought I hadn't seen you for some time, and I expected you might be local and found out you were in France!
[ Which, technically is pretty local, but Aziaphale had to brush up on his French and everything. He hadn't spoken much of it since it was very old and when he'd slipped into it, several natives had mistaken him for German instead.
Anyway, it was a very dumb idea, and Aziraphale's cheeks color a little pink, particularly when Crowley suggests that his thank you had been insufficient, though it would have been if his original plan had come to fruition. He has half a mind to chide Crowley for trying to turn the topic around, but he could hardly be mad when Crowley was essentially rewarding him for his blatant and extreme stupidity. His voice lowers considerably. ]
My dear, I nearly got myself discorporated because I couldn't come up with a better excuse to pop over for a visit. I don't think I could've possibly worked up the nerve to thank you with more than that.
...Would you settle for one that's a hundred and seventy four years delayed?
[ With both his hands reaching for the one on his cheek, he guides the finger on his lip inward, eyes trained on Crowley's as he closes his mouth and sucks. ]
[ Having done it himself, he finds nothing to recommend about it; and if Aziraphale had disappeared for decades as Crowley did, he might have nearly gone to pieces with worry and anxiety before he found him again. Therefore it seems plain to him that his chiding is warranted, and Aziraphale ought to be a good deal sorrier for getting himself in a position where he could be almost discorporated--and not just during the French Revolution, either.
Anyway, Crowley always enjoys an opportunity to tease him, especially when the angel practically hands it to him on a silver platter. ]
Suppose I'll have to, won't I?
[ Crowley gazes hungrily at Aziraphale's lush mouth as he takes his finger between his lips. That's a lovely sight, lovely enough to make a demon forget any ill. The sweet warmth of Aziraphale's mouth is enticing, and he lets his other fingers tease at his lips as though demanding entrance. ]
[ In Aziraphale's defense, that spot of trouble with the Nazis was absolutely not planned, and his triple agent's backstabbing was actually a big shock, so naturally he'd assumed that Crowley had figured him out and had staged something equally as ridiculous in payback. In fact, he wonders if now he might get his comeuppance, that next time he should find himself in dire need of rescuing, Crowley might jump out of nowhere and say it was all a joke.
Aziraphale, after nearly discorporating from a heart attack, would find it terribly hilarious.
But that was for a later time, and right now all he wanted to worry about was loosening his lips to allow a second digit, taking them both into his mouth and drawing them in to the last knuckle, pressing his lips together and letting them pull out slowly and suggestively. All the while, he peers at Crowley with a great curiosity, trying to follow along his every expression like reading his thoughts. He always had such an expressive face, such lovely features; it's hardly much effort. ]
[ He's beginning to think he might lose this game he started, watching Aziraphale take another finger into his mouth, feeling the wet hot suction around them as Aziraphale's lips seal at the base of his fingers and stay tight around them as they slowly withdraw. His throat tightens at the sight, the sensation of it, the way it twists heat and aching desire into him until he feels a throb deep in his stomach. Maybe he will engineer some sort of scene in which Aziraphale is the damsel in need of rescue once again, that would show him. Or...maybe he'll just wait until the chance comes along, fate working of its own accord to place Aziraphale in trouble again and Crowley in the position to get him out of it...and then when he does, he'll demand proper recompense. ]
Would you have liked it, hmm? If I'd told you back then you ought to thank me properly?
[ Crowley's voice has gone unsteady, hot and a little breathless, as he teases Aziraphale's mouth with his wet fingers. ]
'Course you'd have refused, right? Given me a good scolding over it, too, I bet.
[ Leaning down, he steals a kiss from Aziraphale's lush mouth, fingers pressing down on his lower lip to open it for him. ]
[ Crowley will honestly be the death of him, but that's what he gets for starting up this game with a demon whose entire job is meant to tempt him into glorious sin. Yet, he can hardly complain when he's managed to get Crowley to saunter down into the purest and most enlightened of all things: love. Perhaps given enough exposure to Aziraphale, Crowley can also learn to love the things he hates about himself, the things he always tries to hide. That would make him feel as if he'd won this war of wits, even as he very quickly is losing this battle.
And yet he hears the breathlessness in Crowley's voice and smiles to himself, letting it show only in the twinkle in his eyes. ]
I would've said it was inappropriate.
[ And then, against Crowley's lips as he ends the kiss, Aziraphale barely registering the question until he says "tempted," eyes busy looking at that wicked mouth wondering why they're presently so far away. Ah, yes. ]
I would've asked you to clarify what you mean just to hear you tell me how you want me, and then it would've taken nearly all my self control not to let you have exactly that.
[ Grinning absolutely wickedly for an angel, he curls a finger into Crowley's hair and says in between pressing kisses to the length of his fingers: ]
Maybe all of it, if you'd come dressed up a little nicer.
[ He can't help but to steal a kiss, thinking about all the times he'd wished for Crowley and thought there'd never be a time he could give in. It had been a long journey of love and lust and a failed attempt at separating or ignoring the both of them, and chastising himself. He had prayed, not for forgiveness but for a numbness, to make all of this go away. And even last night, he hadn't been ready to acknowledge what was between them, not really. This was a feeling he'd had and he'd guarded for so long, so much safer and closer to his heart than anything before. He reveals it, finally, all of it, nipping at Crowley's lips again and again until they're kiss-reddened and have had their fill. ]
[ If a demon could be tempted, surely an angel’s love would be the thing to do it. Crowley can imagine falling more and more in love with Aziraphale as time passes, giving more pieces himself into the angel’s care, trusting him to keep them safe. In a way he’s been falling in love with him for millennia. If he ever realized the power he has over him...but then, Crowley's not sure they haven't already come to that point.
Watching Aziraphale intently, he sees him looking at his mouth after the kiss ends, the want he hears in the angel's voice and sees in his eyes bringing an answering ache. His smile is wicked, entirely a temptation itself; Crowley's own gaze drops to it, watching him kiss his fingers, while the words Aziraphale speaks seem as though they'll scorch with delight and desire. ]
Angel. Oh, you naughty thing.
[ He groans into the kiss, thinking of all the times he'd have liked to tell Aziraphale exactly how he wanted him. Or to tempt the angel into letting Crowley please him--surely that wouldn't have been so great a sin? But Aziraphale was so guarded, always so careful to--never to refuse, only to lead them into a position where he would not have to refuse, because Crowley would always hold his tongue.
His lips feel kiss-swollen when at last Aziraphale's had enough, his heart filled with his angel, beguiled by him over and over. ]
I wish I'd done it. Told you how I'd like you--in your silk shoes and your stockings--I'd have had to have you in a bed, wouldn't have wanted to ruin your fine clothes...
[ He asks, brief laugh erupting from him before he can quell it. He did have some rather nice stockings, remembered getting them new - the sheerest of silks they'd had to offer, where putting them on had been divine and wearing them around had felt like wearing nothing at all. His coat had been an old brocade, tailored to fit him, so long and cumbersome that they were meant not for eating but only for other socializations of high society. And his lace, oh his lace was so very fine. ]
Hold that thought one second, dear.
[ With a quick kiss to Crowley's nose, he climbs out of his touch and out of the bed, grabbing a dressing gown on his way and slipping it on because of course he would find something objectionable about walking around naked in his own house with not a soul around but the one that he'd actually be comfortable looking at all of him, and who he had been naked around for the last several hours.
There's a bit of cluttering going on in the next room, but after that it's relatively quiet, maybe for about five or ten minutes, until Aziraphale knocks on the door in case Crowley had fallen asleep again, appearing in the doorway again dressed in his jacket and breeches, lace all bunched up in his throat. He'd even managed to procure an old bottle of Mühlens 4711, a scent he hasn't worn since 1836. ]
Tell me again.
[ He looks so buttoned-up, and he stands up straight, he's fixed up his hair. He's even gone so far as popped on a bit of rouge, though that is slightly more modern in production, as his old cosmetics dried up a long time ago. Aside from that, everything about him appears just as it was back then, a perfect gentleman who might have (and was), only a few years prior, welcomed into the courts of Versailles. ]
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Crowley, oh--
[ His little request seems to send firecrackers sparking through Aziraphale, and he comes without warning, for the first time in several hundred years shouting: ]
Fuck!
[ He gets he sensation of his whole body cresting and crashing, tension all leaving him at once through every spare inch of him as he orgasms. It feels like it lasts both too long and too short, all the love and light of him tinging just a little darker at the edges as ropes of seed streak across both their fronts and stain Crowley with his mark all the way up to his chin.
Though he feels run ragged, his senses return from where they've flared away from him, and he realizes quickly that he isn't done. His hips with renewed motivation crush wildly against Crowley's and he and bears down, constricts the muscles around him until it's almost too much for Aziraphale to handle in his marvelously addled state. ]
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And his angel is with him, tightening marvelously around him and rocking hard against him, taking him deep--for an instant Crowley worries that he'll hurt himself, almost grasps his hips to slow him down, but all at once it becomes too much. Motion, the constriction around his cock, the unholy carnal delight of it all; Crowley shouts wordlessly, thrusting up, gasping for breath as his cock jerks and spills into Aziraphale. The intensity of his pleasures wrings through his body, wrenches him and leaves him spent, hips at last sinking back to the ground, his body nearly boneless against the floor. He caresses Aziraphale's thigh with weary tenderness. Looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes, he fights for breath, pleasure and love singing through him. ]
Angel. Aziraphale, oh...
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Crowley.
[ Very, very carefully, he lifts himself off of Crowley's cock, wincing a bit towards the end, but folding his wings back into nonexistence and lowering himself to the floor to drape himself over Crowley's side. He stays in this moment, quiet except for the sounds of their hearts and their breaths intermingling. His pulse is still so very loud in his ears, and so very close to the surface of his skin. And he still has the phantom feeling of being filled, a pleasant thrumming like a purr spreading from his nether regions to his extremities.
Placing an arm over Crowley's shoulders, he turns his head and kisses him there, an arm which is closest to his mouth. He looks quite smitten, almost in a juvenile way, because what is more dramatic and life-changing than young love? Despite being over six thousand years, the angel does feel a youthfulness to being like this, nestled in the arms of a lover he dreams of romantic notions like eternity with. And though he knows that they can't be seen together in public, the satisfaction in his muscles lead him to wonder if that should ever be such a bad thing. ]
That was incredible.
[ He says this freely, truthfully, but also in remembering how much Crowley relishes in his praise. He scoots up a bit, closer to Crowley's ear, voice low even though there's no one around to eavesdrop on their secret. ]
I can still feel you inside of me.
[ He nuzzles in, leaves a little kiss underneath Crowley's jaw. ]
I never want it to stop.
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Aziraphale's words stir in him, making him ache; just the praise is enough, but Crowley can't help the shudder that goes through him when the angel murmurs in his ear that he can still feel him inside him, in that soft beautiful voice. His throat works as Aziraphale nuzzles at him and kisses beneath his jaw. Who knew he could be so wicked? ]
The mouth on you, angel.
[ He breathes out the words, half teasing and half in awe. Aziraphale is--he's incredible, he's more than Crowley could ever deserve, but damned if he'll let him go. Crowley kisses him fervently, and then drawing back glances down at the pearly come striped across his chest; he trails a finger into it and brings it to his mouth, sucking it clean with a little groan of pleasure. ]
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He takes a moment to admire this hand, tracing fingers with the tips of his own, a light touch as he handles all precious and old things. How, he wonders, did they get to this point? And why had they not, sooner? Crowley's hands, the same ones that Aziraphale has known for thousands of years, were made to hold him. Knowing that now, he wonders how he could've thought to deny such a thing only an hour ago.
He doesn't give it back, instead interlocking his fingers. ]
We didn't even make it to the bed.
[ He laughs, amused at their combined singularity in thought. He has never felt so understood in the way that he does with Crowley, that any thoughts he might be having are passing through to him as well.
Well, maybe not all of them. ]
Would you like to relocate? I think you might be needing it.
[ He doesn't think it would be wise for him to miracle them clean, but he would, for once, not mind terribly much if Crowley didn't get around to it before falling asleep. ]
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His fingers return Aziraphale's grasp. Crowley looks at him with devotion, with a wanting that will never fade; he's unaware that Aziraphale is thinking similar thoughts, but if he were he could assure him that he'll never let them be apart again if he can help it. ]
Didn't need a bed to do this.
[ He stretches out, languid, taking up a great deal of space across Aziraphale's already-cluttered floor. Perhaps there will always be a place for him now. A bed does sound nice, though--Crowley hates going to sleep anywhere less comfortable, and right now he feels as though he could sleep contentedly for a month. If Aziraphale were near him. ]
Yeah. Suppose we must do. [ With a groan he stretches expressively, working kinks out of his spine, and then gingerly sits up. ]
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He does get up then, reaching out for Crowley to help him stand so they can go upstairs and get into bed. He might attempt a sleep as well, maybe not for a month, but just long enough that he can wake up next to Crowley. He'd never found the appeal in sleeping before that night that he'd fallen asleep in Aziraphale's arms, something about his dozing off had just been so soothing. But that night had passed so quickly, and this one was due to as well.
He's determined, this time, not to mess it up. He couldn't do it a second time and he doubts Crowley would allow a third - he would, Lord knows he would come crawling right back to Aziraphale, but his heart would always be waiting for the other shoe to drop, for that moment when the angel would decide it's too much and it's time to let go.
No, he can't do that to Crowley again. He won't. ]
What would you like to do tomorrow?
[ He asks, before he can stop himself. Now he can't take it back. ]
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Mmmm.
[ Crowley pretends to think about the answer to his question, though really it's perfectly obvious. ]
More of this.
[ He indicates them, and ducks his head to capture Aziraphale's mouth in a long soft kiss, filled with wanting. It solidifies his happiness, that question--the implication that they will be spending tomorrow together as well as tonight, that Aziraphale won't change his mind in the morning. They'll be all right, Crowley thinks, willing it, like a prayer. No one will come looking for them, not for a good long while. When they do, they'll be ready.
Breaking away, he sinks onto the bed, looking up at the angel with a little bit of wistfulness, as much as a demon can feel, at least. ]
Will you hold me?
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He reaches for Crowley underneath the blankets, stretches out to him and crawls closer when Crowley asks to be held. ]
Of course.
[ There is so much love and goodness coming out in his voice, coming out in his aura and overflowing at the edges. His arms now around Crowley, Aziraphale closes his eyes and as tired limbs often are, has never felt as strongly that this is exactly how his arms and legs were meant to fit. More of this, he murmurs as he starts to drift.
The dream starts pleasantly enough, though Aziraphale wakes up to an empty bed in it. He follows his nose to the unused kitchen where he finds Crowley, wearing one of his dressing gowns, fixing up American pancakes and charring one side completely. Aziraphale laughs and makes them both coffee to drink with them. Later, after they've decided not to continue politely eating, Crowley confesses they were supposed to be crepes, and Aziraphale can't stop laughing for ten whole minutes.
It goes like that, an entire timeline of happy moments where they're inseparable. But they grow bolder still, holding hands in public, coming together maybe a little too much. Crowley drops by with a bouquet and Aziraphale pulls him in quickly. Aziraphale drags Crowley to the opera, and he finds he quite likes it now that time has passed since he last saw one. He grows comfortable and Heaven finds them out, even having obtained a picture where he couldn't resist kissing Crowley out in the open air on what had been a lovely day. Without so much as a blink, he weaves up a story about how he thwarted Crowley's attempts to seduce the Prime Minister, and though it was at a personal sacrifice, entire countries were safe so long as Crowley was sufficiently distracted. They laugh about it later in bed and to their surprise, nothing happens.
Only in Aziraphale's imagined future, centuries later when Crowley has stopped wearing his glasses and has grown out his hair, does one day happen that demons come through the floorboards and haul Crowley out of bed. He struggles and screams at Aziraphale to run, but he stands his ground. They gain the upper hand until heaven descends upon them, and the voice of God angrily dissipates the remaining demons only to lift Aziraphale by his neck, high in the air, and he knows it's over.
He snaps awake in the dim twilight, and finds that he's back in 1967. Crowley has not gotten up to make pancakes. He breathes a sigh of relief but he's shaken, and he clings tightly to Crowley's sleeping form next to him. ]
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His own sleep is heavy and blank and dreamless; he falls into it at once, with a mind all but stunned into exhaustion by everything that passed between them. He could probably stay asleep for some time, if not for an awareness that comes to him of Aziraphale stirring in his arms, shifting closer and clinging tighter to him. It brings him out of his own soundless sleep, slowly and by stages, Crowley's eyes at last opening to see the world faded by dusk, and hear Aziraphale breathing unsteadily beside him. Crowley nuzzles at his hair, shifting one hand up slowly to rub at the nape of his neck in rough, mindless comfort. ]
Angel?
[ His voice is thick with sleep, but he doesn't mind waking up for Aziraphale. ]
What's wrong, hmm? Can't sleep?
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I had a nightmare, that's all.
[ Nothing to worry about, just a fussy angel with an overactive imagination and too much worry in his heart. But Crowley is here, whole and intact and perfect, by his side with no intentions of going elsewhere. But that's how he had been in the dream, too. By Aziraphale's side until he was wrenched away from it, having spent his last efforts trying to warn Aziraphale away. And wasn't that just it, that it hurt so much because it felt like the truth? That Crowley would risk so much for him, even at the expense of his own life? ]
Promise nothing will happen to us.
[ It's one that Aziraphale knows he can't possibly make, because he can't predict the future. He has no power over it, and if he did, they wouldn't have waited so long to be like this; no, Aziraphale just wants to hear a lie. He wants to take comfort in it and stop this anxious feeling that has its icy vice grip around his heart and his lungs. ]
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Of course it won’t. We’ll be fine, angel.
[ He speaks as though it’s a given instead of a wish, as though by speaking the wish aloud he miracles it into being. What can Crowley do but believe it? Who other than God could know their future? She certainly won’t share it with them. So who’s to say that any grief will come to them? Perhaps they’ve earned a respite.
It’s what he tells himself, and caressing Aziraphale’s cheek, he tips his chin up so Crowley can kiss his mouth. ]
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No, but he kisses Crowley back anyway, lips soft and supple and desiring so badly to just get lost in this, to indulge in this forever. He draws his arms around Crowley's neck and kisses him as if doing so he might taste some of the belief on Crowley's tongue, might swallow some of it and let it fill him with its innate happiness. ]
I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you.
[ He says into Crowley's mouth, sounding as if he might just fall apart at any second. But if not for how tightly Crowley coils around him, he might have done so already. He dives in again for another kiss, desperate as if it might be their last; he needs something to hold onto and anchor him back into reality. ]
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You should know by now I'm not going anywhere, angel.
[ He's not just speaking of now, of the agreement they reached together, but rather their whole history, their many years of encountering one another during the ages, spreading temptations or blessings, helping one another with more of the same, spending time together as old friends do. Surely Aziraphale doesn't think it was chance that brought them together, over and over again? Many of those times Crowley had sought him out--perhaps there were times that Aziraphale sought him out, too, even if he didn't know that's what he was doing.
By now they would simply be denying what is right, what is inevitable between them, by turning away. Crowley gives Aziraphale every kiss he seeks, a hand rubbing over his back in rough comfort. ]
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He wears one now, into Crowley's neck, knowing that he's the only one who could have such an affect on him. ]
Crowley.
[ It'd be a lie to say that he didn't seek Crowley out over the years, and definitely a lie to say that he never put himself in a dangerous or unsavory situation just so Crowley would show up and give him a helping hand only for Aziraphale to turn around and offer to buy him a spot of lunch. How else was he supposed to invited him out socially? Surely he couldn't do so directly, that would have been ludicrous. But he laughs a little thinking about it now. ]
Do you remember the time I went to Paris for some crepes in the Reign of Terror?
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He feels Aziraphale smiling against his neck, and this is much better than feeling him shivering in distress, pressing hard into Crowley as though he can't get close enough. They're so tangled together now as to be practically knotted, anyway, and no one is going to take his angel from him; that's the thought that contented Crowley as he drifted to sleep, and it stays with him now. ]
'Course I remember.
[ He speaks fondly, thinking of Aziraphale in that ridiculous getup, all the buttons and frills and stockings (rather becoming it had been too, not that Crowley will admit it, not that he still remembers it fondly as well), sitting there chained up and waiting to be rescued. Good thing he'd shown up in time, too, though Crowley used to wonder if Aziraphale hadn't engineered it so. ]
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He has a different confession to make, about a slightly more dangerous time. ]
Well.
I had happened to overhear a rumor you might be in the area. I really hadn't meant for it to get so out of hand, mind you.
[ He really hadn't meant to end up in a dungeon with his head about to be cut off, that much was real distress. He thought that maybe he'd just end up in a jail cell, get a bit rough around the edges and ask for Crowley to help him clean up a little, which was why he was actually upset at having thought that perhaps things were escalating too far. But he had been, well, dressing up so-to-speak. His dainty white shoes, the fancy little coat. It had all been brand new, custom-made as all of Aziraphale's things are, but highly fashionable at the time which was rare for him, and he had hoped that Crowley would notice the effort as he was wont to do.
Of course, Crowley, having shown up dressed like a peasant, who came to save his life instead of rescue him from a spot of dirt, sort of nixed the whole fantasy. ]
But I really was hoping you would come by and help me out with a little inconvenience just so I could thank you with lunch.
[ It sounds so silly, now that he says it out loud. ]
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[ Crowley sees where this is going, and he's torn between amusement and outrage, leaning back from Aziraphale and propping himself up on an elbow so that he can study him with an arched brow. So he had engineered it, at least to some extent. And to think, while Crowley was worrying about him getting his head cut off, he'd deliberately gotten himself all dolled up like that and strolled into a revolution as though it was nothing, just an excuse to get an old friend's attention. Crowley narrows his eyes at him when he calls it a little inconvenience. ]
Tell me, angel, what would you have done if I hadn't shown up in time, hm? Or what if I'd been reprimanded for one too many frivolous miracles, helping an angel of all beings out of tight spots when I was meant to be helping him into them?
[ His voice is dangerously pleasant, and he trails a finger softly across Aziraphale's cheek, bringing it to his mouth and teasing over his lower lip. ]
And after all that, my thanks was lunch. [ Ah, there's the real rub. ] Don't you think you ought to thank me with a little more than that?
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If you got in trouble... Oh, I wasn't thinking very clearly, was I? I just thought I hadn't seen you for some time, and I expected you might be local and found out you were in France!
[ Which, technically is pretty local, but Aziaphale had to brush up on his French and everything. He hadn't spoken much of it since it was very old and when he'd slipped into it, several natives had mistaken him for German instead.
Anyway, it was a very dumb idea, and Aziraphale's cheeks color a little pink, particularly when Crowley suggests that his thank you had been insufficient, though it would have been if his original plan had come to fruition. He has half a mind to chide Crowley for trying to turn the topic around, but he could hardly be mad when Crowley was essentially rewarding him for his blatant and extreme stupidity. His voice lowers considerably. ]
My dear, I nearly got myself discorporated because I couldn't come up with a better excuse to pop over for a visit. I don't think I could've possibly worked up the nerve to thank you with more than that.
...Would you settle for one that's a hundred and seventy four years delayed?
[ With both his hands reaching for the one on his cheek, he guides the finger on his lip inward, eyes trained on Crowley's as he closes his mouth and sucks. ]
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Anyway, Crowley always enjoys an opportunity to tease him, especially when the angel practically hands it to him on a silver platter. ]
Suppose I'll have to, won't I?
[ Crowley gazes hungrily at Aziraphale's lush mouth as he takes his finger between his lips. That's a lovely sight, lovely enough to make a demon forget any ill. The sweet warmth of Aziraphale's mouth is enticing, and he lets his other fingers tease at his lips as though demanding entrance. ]
More?
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Aziraphale, after nearly discorporating from a heart attack, would find it terribly hilarious.
But that was for a later time, and right now all he wanted to worry about was loosening his lips to allow a second digit, taking them both into his mouth and drawing them in to the last knuckle, pressing his lips together and letting them pull out slowly and suggestively. All the while, he peers at Crowley with a great curiosity, trying to follow along his every expression like reading his thoughts. He always had such an expressive face, such lovely features; it's hardly much effort. ]
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Would you have liked it, hmm? If I'd told you back then you ought to thank me properly?
[ Crowley's voice has gone unsteady, hot and a little breathless, as he teases Aziraphale's mouth with his wet fingers. ]
'Course you'd have refused, right? Given me a good scolding over it, too, I bet.
[ Leaning down, he steals a kiss from Aziraphale's lush mouth, fingers pressing down on his lower lip to open it for him. ]
But--would you have been tempted?
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And yet he hears the breathlessness in Crowley's voice and smiles to himself, letting it show only in the twinkle in his eyes. ]
I would've said it was inappropriate.
[ And then, against Crowley's lips as he ends the kiss, Aziraphale barely registering the question until he says "tempted," eyes busy looking at that wicked mouth wondering why they're presently so far away. Ah, yes. ]
I would've asked you to clarify what you mean just to hear you tell me how you want me, and then it would've taken nearly all my self control not to let you have exactly that.
[ Grinning absolutely wickedly for an angel, he curls a finger into Crowley's hair and says in between pressing kisses to the length of his fingers: ]
Maybe all of it, if you'd come dressed up a little nicer.
[ He can't help but to steal a kiss, thinking about all the times he'd wished for Crowley and thought there'd never be a time he could give in. It had been a long journey of love and lust and a failed attempt at separating or ignoring the both of them, and chastising himself. He had prayed, not for forgiveness but for a numbness, to make all of this go away. And even last night, he hadn't been ready to acknowledge what was between them, not really. This was a feeling he'd had and he'd guarded for so long, so much safer and closer to his heart than anything before. He reveals it, finally, all of it, nipping at Crowley's lips again and again until they're kiss-reddened and have had their fill. ]
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Watching Aziraphale intently, he sees him looking at his mouth after the kiss ends, the want he hears in the angel's voice and sees in his eyes bringing an answering ache. His smile is wicked, entirely a temptation itself; Crowley's own gaze drops to it, watching him kiss his fingers, while the words Aziraphale speaks seem as though they'll scorch with delight and desire. ]
Angel. Oh, you naughty thing.
[ He groans into the kiss, thinking of all the times he'd have liked to tell Aziraphale exactly how he wanted him. Or to tempt the angel into letting Crowley please him--surely that wouldn't have been so great a sin? But Aziraphale was so guarded, always so careful to--never to refuse, only to lead them into a position where he would not have to refuse, because Crowley would always hold his tongue.
His lips feel kiss-swollen when at last Aziraphale's had enough, his heart filled with his angel, beguiled by him over and over. ]
I wish I'd done it. Told you how I'd like you--in your silk shoes and your stockings--I'd have had to have you in a bed, wouldn't have wanted to ruin your fine clothes...
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[ He asks, brief laugh erupting from him before he can quell it. He did have some rather nice stockings, remembered getting them new - the sheerest of silks they'd had to offer, where putting them on had been divine and wearing them around had felt like wearing nothing at all. His coat had been an old brocade, tailored to fit him, so long and cumbersome that they were meant not for eating but only for other socializations of high society. And his lace, oh his lace was so very fine. ]
Hold that thought one second, dear.
[ With a quick kiss to Crowley's nose, he climbs out of his touch and out of the bed, grabbing a dressing gown on his way and slipping it on because of course he would find something objectionable about walking around naked in his own house with not a soul around but the one that he'd actually be comfortable looking at all of him, and who he had been naked around for the last several hours.
There's a bit of cluttering going on in the next room, but after that it's relatively quiet, maybe for about five or ten minutes, until Aziraphale knocks on the door in case Crowley had fallen asleep again, appearing in the doorway again dressed in his jacket and breeches, lace all bunched up in his throat. He'd even managed to procure an old bottle of Mühlens 4711, a scent he hasn't worn since 1836. ]
Tell me again.
[ He looks so buttoned-up, and he stands up straight, he's fixed up his hair. He's even gone so far as popped on a bit of rouge, though that is slightly more modern in production, as his old cosmetics dried up a long time ago. Aside from that, everything about him appears just as it was back then, a perfect gentleman who might have (and was), only a few years prior, welcomed into the courts of Versailles. ]
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we can switch this one over to prose too if you'd like!
sounds good!
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