#but the knowledge I’ll see him again makes the promise of heaven all the sweeter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hecohansen31 · 4 years

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Hello! I don't know if you are taking requests but, if you are, could you maybe do some fluffy stuff about Bill calming someone from a anxiety attack?Just making them feel that everything it's ok and that she's not alone... I'm having a pretty bad day and I didn't started my treatment yet, so everything it's just so... loud and scary, you know? But if you're not it's ok, really. I also wanted to say that I love your work and that these stories really help go through most of my days. Take care

(A/N): Hey sweetie!

I just wanted to say that I am tremendously sad to hear that you had an anxiety attack and I hope that you are feeling slightly better or will soon and that your treatment will work out for you!

Just take a deep breath (although I know that it is difficult to say this) and just enjoy a bit of this reading!

I also wnated to apologize in advance if this sucks, I am not very good at writing for real people, since I am a bit uneasy about it, but I hope that you’ll like what I wrote, I honestly have to say that I tear up when you said that you love my work and that these stories help you go through you days, because if there is something that I want to do with these silly stories is helping you lovelies!

So I hope for the best and have a nice reading!

WARNINGS: Mention of Anxiety, Anxiety Attack, Awkwardness (also the first part is basically something that my therapist taught me to relax which is couting the parts of your body which touch, which is very helpful for me).

One, your lids.

Two, your lips.

Three, your…

A sob escaped your lips making them part immediately as you moved forward.

Your lungs on fire from the long tiring session you had been having, unable to properly breath as you felt the choking sound of your throat gasping for air.

And for a moment, you thought you couldn’t have made it.

For a moment everything closed around you and your arms moved around you to shield you properly from the reality crashing down onto you.

It had been all too much: the small change in the program, the acid comment of your boss and Bill’s text about how he’d be stuck on set for another week, after he had already been gone for three months to film his newest project.

And you had been left without a slight sniff of your tall boyfriend, with his gentle hands.

He had never witnessed an anxiety attack of yours, because as cheesy as it was you were always calmer with Bill.

It had always been this way, since he had first noticed how uncomfortable you looked in that small party your friend had dragged you to.

Everybody would have been glad that they had been invited to an Hollywoodian party, but you were just worried of dropping your glass of expensive champagne against somebody.

You had stood in your angle and suddenly this handsome man was in front of you, something similar in his eyes and you swore you had seen him somewhere… you just couldn’t remember when or where.

… and then all your knowledge of the net had made you realize that in front of you there was Bill Skarsgard and obviously your first reaction had been.

“… wait you are Bill Skarsgard!” because it was obviously the best thing to shout at a celebrity, even more to one as private as him, but he had simply replied gently.

‘Ah yeah that’s me’ he had seemed at unease and a myriad of thoughts had gone through your head, each one wanting to make you run away, but he had gently offered you an hand ‘… well since you already know my name, why don’t you tell me yours?’.

You had hesitated, more out of surprise than uneasy with the beautiful man, who had simply blushed and shaken his head as he had mumbled.

‘Gosh that was… moronic of me… I shouldn’t… Alex says that they work, but …’.

‘I am (Y/N)… (Y/N) (L/N)…’ you had shot back, breathing out your answer as you stumbled through the world, holding out your hand to grip his, as his face immediately went from nervousness to shock to a sweeter smile ‘… I am just surprised that a god like you wants to speak with a mere mortal like me’.

And then you had just felt awful, but he had just laughed it off embarrassed.

‘I actually think that you are the prettiest girl in the room, so…’.

And then you had blushed softly, biting your lips as Bill led you away from the crowd on the small front porch of the house, as you sat there, talking about how awkward you both felt at this kind of things.

‘… I don’t want to make you feel bad, but I was worried you’d crush the glass in your hands…’ he had joked as you blushed, softly punching him on the shoulder, your glass now empty, helping you with a bit of liquid courage.

‘You literally used the worst pick-up line after “did it hurt when you fell from heaven”?’ you had shot back and his cheeks had also turned a pinkish shade, as you both avoided each other’s eyes, too shy to confront the other.

For a kiss you had needed a bit more of wine, but it had been worth it.

And every moment with him had been worth it.

But three months without him were already too much, although you saw him through the skype calls.

But it wasn’t simply enough.

It wasn’t enough anymore when you had just the shittiest day and everything felt like it was too much to handle for you.

Your mind rushed through the most horrible thoughts as you tried to think what Bill would say to you.

His deep voice always helping you, even more when he did that cute giggle he owned, scrunching his nose in a way that was so so adorable that you had just promised to yourself to kiss it every time it happened.

But then a shocking thought hit you.

He’d think that you were a mess if he saw you like this.

Make-up all ruined form your tears and sweat and each time you had mindlessly touched your eyes to dry the tears and rub them, meanwhile your light lipstick was smashed all over your cheeks, since as soon as you had seen a reflection of yourself you had hated the color and wanted desperately to delete it.

He wouldn’t have stayed if he had seen you like that.

Maybe it was for the better that he wouldn’t be…

“Sweetheart, I am home!”.

For a moment you had thought that your brain had finally moved its endorphins and it was starting to work to distract you from the horrible feeling of tightness in your chest.

And then you heard the door closing.

And understood that Bill was for sure at home.

You shifted closer to yourself almost wanting to hide as you moved closer to the part under the sink, thinking that if you focused enough, you’d match the bathroom floor tiles.

Enough to hide yourself from Bill.

“Sweetheart?” he seemed almost sad that you didn’t answer him, and as a loud breath escaped your mouth, you slapped an hand over your mouth, as you tried to understand if it was all an hallucination or Bill had come home, before.

You didn’t know which one would have been worse.

“… shit maybe I should have told her…she hates surprises” your heart couldn’t help but awake at his serious concern for you “… maybe she is over at Christine’s”.

You hoped desperately that he’d just convince himself of it and maybe go away, because if there was one thing you were sure, hallucination or not, was that you wouldn’t have let him see you like that.

He’d have broken up with you, for sure.

“… I’ll call her” and before you could rush in to switch off your phone, the awful first notes of ‘Daylight’ by Taylor Swift started playing.

This brought you back when Bill had mocked your music tastes and you had pretended to be hurt, but you hadn’t cared in the slightest, singing offkey as he kept on preparing your dinner, and although he wouldn’t admit it, you had heard him sing the first few lines as he was getting ready for bed.

“… babe?” he asked, curiously and again a sob left your mouth, revealing further where you were, and as fast as you could you tried your best to hide yourself turning around a you tried to reach for your phone “…hey, lovely, is anything wrong?”.

Thankfully he hadn’t opened the doors, and gently knocked scaring you as you tried to calm your heavy breathing in order for you to appear as normal as you could with ruined make-up and a face that seemed the same someone would have after their pet died.

“… ahem I was just…” ‘please don’t say anything stupid’ “… pooping”.

“Oh” you could already picture Bill’s blushing face “… sorry sorry, sweetie, I’ll wait for you in the dining room, ok?”.

“Bill, what are you doing here?” you asked as you slowly got up, knowing that confrontation wasn’t avoidable and trying to make up whether hat awful voice that told you that Bill had just come back to you to break up was true or not “… aren’t you supposed to be filming the new movie?”.

“Ahem… yeah and no” his voice always wavered as it always did when he told you an half-truth “… we wrapped up a few days ago, but I wanted to make you a surprise, because today is our anniversary”.

Shit of a fucking shit.

You weren’t worried for the gift.

You had had that ready for a month.

Sometime anxiety had its perks.

But what worried you was the fact that you had literally looked at the day and hadn’t remembered it was your anniversary.

It was also the deadline of your project, which your boss had partially rejected.

The part that you had worked on desperately and almost on your own, which had resulted in the product being a bit imprecise but… it hadn’t seemed so bad.

You couldn’t help but hate the fact that you had been so stressed to have forgotten about it all.

“… sweetie, are you still there?” asked Bill from the other side “…or did the toilet seat swallow you?”

“Ahem no” although you felt that awful feeling of dreadful tightness in your lungs, you still let out a soft laugh “… I just… I don’t think that we should go out, you must be jetlagged…”.

“Actually, I got a bit of sleep on the plain… so… I am ready to dance all night” he mumbled softly, as he shifted closer to the door and you couldn’t help but be almost worried that he’d open it, but he stopped “… but if you aren’t feeling well… we could stay inside, order Greek food and watch whatever awful Netflix comedy you chose”.

He was trying to make you relax, he always used that deep soothing tone and tried his best to make you laugh.

‘You always look prettier when you laugh’ he smirked as he stole a kiss from your cheerful lips ‘…you also taste sweeter’.

“Yeah, I’d like that…” you commented softly “… work has just been crazy hectic and I just… ugh… don’t think that I could celebrate properly, but… we could go out tomorrow I swear that I’ll make it up to you”.

“Of course, sweetie” his tone was so soothing that it only made you feel guilty for having forgotten about it all.

If he broke up with you, you low key deserved it.

“… do you want to talk about work?”.

‘No, I want to set my boss on fire’ you would have wanted to mumble, but simply uttered:

“… wouldn’t want to annoy you, sweetie, you probably already had a hard…”.

“I have had a hard time not having you with me” he gently replied “… I don’t think that anything would be hard enough for me, if you stand by my side”.

A moment of silence made him waver and you felt him pushing himself back, doubting whether he had done the right thing or not.

“… if you feel like talking obviously”.

“The project…” you choked out “… it didn’t go well”.

“Oh sweetie” he almost seemed ready to rush in through the door, but he stopped himself, realizing that you needed this barrier, for a bit more “… you worked so hard for it”.

“Yeah… but Tara said that it had too much imprecisions, and I mean she is right… I should have worked on it a bit more! Gosh I just…”.

And then you were stopped as Bill pushed the door open, revealing your disheveled appearance and you immediately tried to hide yourself, but it was of no use, as Bill went through any resistance you had cradling you in his strong arms, raising you as if you weighted nothing more than a flower.

Touch usually made it all worst for you, but with Bill it felt like some kind of desperately nice sweater, the one that you wore on the rainy days as you cuddled a good book and a cup of hot cocoa.

It soothed you and made you cry even more, as you let all your tension ease through him, and he cuddled you closer gently adjusting you onto the counter of the sink.

He kissed your forehead tenderly releasing your hold onto him, as you instead brought him closer, needing to feel him.

In an almost desperate way.

He was such a grounding force to you right now that you just let yourself reveal to him your deepest side, the one that turned away everyone.

Except him.

He just cooed at you softly, as he kept you in his arms, pushing aside a few strands of drenched hair, as he kissed your neck, softly, a gentle touch.

“… whatever it is, you are not at work anymore, you are in our lovely home, the one that smells of those overpriced shit candles you like so so much” it made you snort a laugh “… you are safe, you don’t have to think about it”.

“The fact is…” and you could already picture his eyes having this shade of ‘what kind of psycho are you’ “… I can’t, I am just too anxious, and it makes me overthink everything”.

But instead Bill’s eyes scanned over your face before understanding settled in them.

“… you had an anxiety attack, didn’t you?”.

“I….” you breathed out all the air in your lungs “… how did you know?”.

“I have lived with you enough to know that you are a little anxious beastie” he commented softly “… you arrive always early, you always act so so stressed with deadlines, you panic badly if I leave you out to a party… I know that some things make you like that…”.

“And it doesn’t bother you?”.

“No” his breath was soft, and it hit your face in a way that warmed your cheeks “… I just… I just want to help you if I can”.

Everybody at this point always left you, no matter how much you promised to keep it under control or to change.

Nobody had ever asked to know how to make you feel better.

“Can… can you get my make-up remover…?” he stood a minute trying to internalize your phrase “… it is making my skin itch…”.

“Of course” and he turned, before sending you a quick look “…wait where is it?”.

And there it was your dorky boyfriend.

You just let out a laugh and told him where he could find it.

A few minutes and a Bill’s shirt later, you were indeed waiting for Greek food as you browsed through Netflix, and Bill joked about you rewatching ‘Hemlock Grove’.

‘… babe you can’t use your celebrity status to impress me, I have seen you in boxers with pigeons’.

‘Pigeons are cute’ he had mumbled as he had set beside you, pushing your head on his chest.

You had told him that his faint heartbeat was the perfect cure for your overworked body ‘… and I know that you are just nervous because you blush so so fucking much when Roman is on’.

‘… just because he is a dork’.

‘A sexy dork’.

‘Didn’t know you were a narcissist’.

And like that you quickly discarded your little banter in a more silent contemplation as you finally felt… at peace, calm, although you were mostly sweeping all your worry under your mug.

But with Bill you felt better, as he softly handled you, kissing you with the gentlest of touches, but not treating you as frail doll or looking at you like he was worried, he just had this natural nurturing way that made him so damnably sexy.

It made you bite your lips.

And it didn’t pass unobserved by him.

“… you, big cutie” he mumbled, a laughter making his chest raise softly “…stop being the most beautiful girl on Earth”.

As much as you loved silly Billy, you felt the need to set a few things straight.

“I am sorry for hiding it… all from you” you lowered your eyes, this time biting your lower lip for nervousness “… it is just…”.

“It’s ok” he spoke as if it was the most natural of things, as if you hadn’t just broken down as a mess in front of him “… I knew it… I mean I had my thoughts, but these are personal things, I wanted to wait for you to feel comfortable”:

“I didn’t want to hide it! It isn’t because I don’t trust you…”.

“I know” again that soothing tone, it made everything better, you swore it could cure world’s hunger “… I know that people didn’t make it easy for you, so I’ll make it as easy as I can”.

And with that he pulled you to look at him in the eyes, something that was difficult for you in that moment, overwhelmed by your senses.

But you pushed through, because you knew that whenever he needed to tell you something important, he needed to have your eyes in his, to make you know that he wasn’t lying to you.

“… when you need me, I don’t care if I am busy with shooting a movie or in the bathroom, pooping…” you smirked lightly “… you come to me and tell me what is happening and when you feel a bit better we can discuss what helps you and what I can do…”.

“Bill… I am sorry but I don’t want to bother you…”.

That was the wrong thing to say, because although Bill didn’t attack you, he stiffened lightly and grabbed your hands gently, turning them and bringing one and then the other to kiss your inner wrists.

“… you, little one, are never ever a bother” he spoke each word dauntingly meaningful “… you are the most precious things I have ever had in my life, anxiety included”.

“We are kind of package deal” you mumbled an awkward smile on your face.

“Then I got lucky, two for one” he joked, and you finally let out a soft laugh, punching him on his shoulder.

“You are a fucking idiot, my friend”.

“Don’t hit me, it’ll cost you, I am a miracle of nature”.

“Whatever you say Pennywise, the dancing clown”.

“Oh, don’t get me started”.

And as the tickling war started, the glimmering ring in Bill’s jacket just waited the right time.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow would have been a better day.

#Bill Skarsgard #Bill Skarsgard Reader #Bill Skarsgard x Reader #Bill Skarsgard Imagine #Bill Skarsgard Fic #Bill Skarsgard Ask #Bill Skarsgard Drabble #Bill Skarsgard Blurb #Bill Skarsgard Fluff #Fluff #Bill Skarsgard Angst #Angst #Bill Skarsgard Oneshot #Bill Skarsgard One Shot

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coloursflyaway · 5 years

Text

Then Strike Me Down

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.680

Tags: Porn with T O N S of fluff, light D/s, praise kink, body worship, dirty talk, blow jobs

Crowley is loved, always has been loved. Now he only has to show Aziraphale all the ways in which he loves his angel.

A sequel to A Bolt From The Heaven, but can be read as a standalone piece.

Read on AO3

Aziraphale’s fingertips are warm against Crowley’s skin even through the fabric of his shirt as they brush up his arm, just like everything about Aziraphale is warm. His eyes, his smile, his heart, his whole being is made out of warmth and light, and Crowley feels like a sunflower, tilting whichever direction Aziraphale wants him to. “- and I think it would really be very nice this time of year, don’t you agree?”, the angel asks, and Crowley nods, takes a sip of wine. He could answer, because he’s been in Florence a hundred times, and Aziraphale is right, it is lovely at this time of year, but he doesn’t want to interrupt the angel’s stream of consciousness, the flow of words spilling from him that Crowley likes so much. The soft touch of his fingers.

They haven’t spent a second apart since that first kiss, constantly wrapped up in each other’s presence, and Crowley has loved every moment of it. There’s no need to put distance between themselves anymore, after all, no Heaven, no Hell looking for them, no unspoken feelings that could make looking at Aziraphale too painful after a little while. No pretences anymore, nothing but love, but an understanding that goes deeper than Crowley ever imagined.

“We could find a little guesthouse, or even better, a nice hotel with a breakfast buffet, and just stroll around a bit. See the Arno, the Ponte Vecchio, the Uffizi gallery…” Aziraphale’s voice trails off, he takes a sip of wine, his eyes bright as he looks at Crowley. In the past, which seems like a century ago, Crowley sometimes wished nothing but for the angel to look away, lest he recognised the love bubbling under his skin, but now, there is nothing Crowley would like better than to luxuriate in Aziraphale’s gaze for the rest of his life. “You seem a little distracted, darling”, the angel tells him with a hint of a smile clinging to his lips, and Crowley wants to kiss him more than anything. So he does.

Aziraphale tastes like wine and like chocolate, parts his lips easily like he was expecting this to happen all along, and Crowley kisses him gently, licks into his mouth. One of his hands comes up to grip Aziraphale’s lapel, since, although there is no heat in the kiss, Crowley still needs something to hold onto. There is just something about kissing Aziraphale that feels like being swept away by the ocean, like an undertow is pulling at him, unwilling to ever let him go. It’s addictive, more so than any of the drugs humanity has come up with.

Even now, Aziraphale is still smiling, but after just a few moments, he adds a hint of pressure to their kiss, a clever tongue darting out to tease, and Crowley tilts his head without thinking, more than happy to let Aziraphale take the lead. It feels natural, always has, because now that they are finally moving at the same speed, Crowley enjoys not having to be the one in pursuit. So, he lets Aziraphale kiss him, suck on his tender bottom lip, put two warm fingertips underneath Crowley’s chin and tip it upwards. The angel’s teeth slide across his flesh as Aziraphale deepens the kiss, drawing a low moan from Crowley. It’s still slow, but with intent hidden in every drag of Aziraphale’s tongue, every soft sound Crowley makes and has the angel push right back into his mouth.

When they break apart, Crowley is breathing a little bit harder, and since his lips haven’t stopped being swollen since Aziraphale kissed his love onto them the first time, they sting just a little bit. It’s glorious, just like the bruises on his throat, his chest, are, which Crowley refuses to allow to heal, just like the ache Aziraphale’s cock left him with this morning is. The angel doesn’t quite understand, at least Crowley doesn’t think so, but there is nothing as addictive as wearing the marks of Aziraphale’s kisses on his skin.

“A little distracted, yeah, maybe”, Crowley answers, even if a few minutes too late, their lips still brushing. “Can’t blame me, though.” “Not at all.” The wine glass disappears from Crowley’s fingers, a minor miracle that allows him to continue to look at Aziraphale instead of breaking eye contact. He could lose himself in just this, the light shining from Aziraphale’s eyes, the angel’s breath on his lips, the tips of their noses brushing just so when Aziraphale rests his forehead against Crowley’s. “Have I told you how perfectly lovely you are today?”, he asks, and Crowley can’t help it, his chest constricts slightly, even as his heart is attempting to grow in size. “Several times”, he answers, although Aziraphale knows. “I suppose I’ll have to find another way to show you, then.”

There’s mischief in the angel’s voice, hidden behind that sweet promise, and Crowley doesn’t bother suppressing the shiver that runs through his body, from his toes to the tip of his nose. Most of the time they have spent together lately has been filled with touching, kissing, exploring each other’s mortal forms, so Crowley knows Aziraphale’s body with all his senses, can taste the angel on his lips when he just takes a moment to concentrate. And yet he longs for Aziraphale with his entire being, for Aziraphale’s arms holding him close and his hands holding him down, for Aziraphale’s taste and name on his tongue, Aziraphale around him, inside of him.

Two fingertips are still resting on his throat, and Aziraphale lets them trail down, across the myriad of marks he has sucked onto the pale skin, pushes them gently against the demon’s chest. The pressure is almost non-existent, less forceful than the way Crowley’s heart beats against his ribs, but it doesn’t need to be any more than this, the demon lowers himself down on the sofa anyway, his hands still clutching to Aziraphale’s lapels, half asking, half pulling the angel down with him. He’s heavy, settled between Crowley’s spread legs, warm and soft and solid, and it feels so right to have him close that Crowley can’t do anything but crane his head up and kiss the angel, a little bit more passionately now, the heat building in his chest clinging to his lips.

Almost as a response, a sign that Crowley isn’t the only one affected, Aziraphale buries one of his hands in Crowley’s hair, tugging lightly at the ginger strands. It makes the demon groan into the other’s mouth, part his lips wider so Aziraphale can kiss him deeply, slowly, the way that makes Crowley feel like he is losing his mind. The angel teases his teeth across Crowley’s bottom lip before he soothes the sting with another kiss, softer now, sweeter, and although Aziraphale is so close, their bodies pressed together, it doesn’t feel like enough. Nothing ever does.

Without thinking, without really being able to with Aziraphale drawing patters against his scalp with perfectly manicured nails, Crowley lets go of the jacket he was still holding onto, instead slides his hands across the angel’s shoulders until they come to rest between Aziraphale’s shoulder blades. Right where his wings would protrude, if Aziraphale wished them to be visible in this dimension, and for a short, mad second, Crowley wishes they were, would envelop him in brilliantly white feathers. However, it’s neither the time nor the place to ask for something like that, so Crowley doesn’t, instead does the next best thing and hooks a leg around Aziraphale’s waist to draw him even closer.

The motion causes their crotches to press together, Crowley’s cock already half hard inside his jeans, and there is nothing he can do but gasp into his angel’s mouth. With Aziraphale still kissing him, the sound never reaches the air, instead the angel drinks it up, smiles in response and sucks Crowley’s bottom lip into his mouth, drags his teeth across the tender flesh to maximise the sting. It’s so good and yet still not enough, so Crowley arches up against him, into the feeling, and Aziraphale rewards him with another kiss, gentler this time, almost a little soothing, before he allows his mouth to wander down the line of Crowley’s jaw.

His lips latch onto a random part of skin, which he has already left bruised and blue, a mix of a thousand colours it seems, and the suction is the sweetest thing Crowley can remember ever feeling, a dull pain mixed with pleasure, reminding the demon that he has been marked, claimed, owned. Tightening his arms around Aziraphale’s neck is nothing but an impulse, and with his mouth unoccupied, there is nothing to keep the sounds from spilling from Crowley’s lips, a jumble of his angel’s name and soft breaths, sharper hisses whenever Aziraphale uses his teeth, nips at his skin.

He gasps at every sensation, and over the past days, the angel has learnt the language of his sighs to the point where Crowley thinks Aziraphale might be able to read his body better than the demon does himself. Aziraphale uses the knowledge mercilessly, sucks, bites, kisses as many sounds from Crowley’s lips as he feels like hearing.

Only when Crowley is panting, chest heaving with almost-sobs, his cock heavy and swollen, Aziraphale pulls off him, the angel’s lips swollen and adorned with a pleased, heated smile. “You know, dear, at some point you will have to let those bruises heal”, the angel tells him softly, his eyes dark with lust and yet teasing; Crowley only shakes his head, unable to speak just yet. “Why ever would I do that?”, he finally asks, his voice hoarse, as wrecked as he already feels. He’s lightheaded in the best of ways, drunk on Aziraphale’s kisses, his warmth. “So I can put them on you all over again, of course”, the angel answers, and as if to make his point, brushes his lips across a particularly dark bruise, laves his tongue over it as if to soothe the abused flesh. Crowley can’t pretend that he doesn’t like the idea. “Don’t worry, darling, I won’t make you walk around without them, maybe not ever again. I couldn’t, not when you like them so much. And really, there is nothing sweeter than having my love written across your body for everyone to see.”

As if to prove his point, Aziraphale finds a spot that is still pale, still unclaimed, and kisses it a deep, beautiful red, teeth dragging and tongue swiping across the skin until Crowley is clinging to him, eyes screwed shut and the leg he has around Aziraphale’s waist keeping him close enough for Crowley to rub up against him. By now, his cock is so hard the demon can feel need pulse through his body with every beat of his heart, each of his breaths, and when he thrusts up against Aziraphale, he can feel that the angel is in just the same state. It’s maddening, feeling Aziraphale against him and yet not having the satisfaction of their skin brushing. Crowley whines, even as he thrusts up again, but there is no relief, Aziraphale just sucks harder on his neck, uses the hand he still has in Crowley’s hair to tilt back his head, give him better access to his oversensitive skin.

“Aziraphale-“, he gasps out, hands running up and down the angel’s back, unsure where or if to settle anywhere, when Aziraphale seems so intent to drive him insane. Not even Crowley is certain what he is asking for, if he wants Aziraphale to keep going, if he wants him to move on; he wants a thousand things at once, and the angel gives him all of them and none at the same time, he gives the abused flesh one last suck, makes Crowley moan loudly, before he presses a soft kiss to the next bruise and pulls away. The sudden lack of sensation is just as torturous as the onslaught just seconds before, but as soon as Aziraphale looks up at Crowley, it’s easy to concentrate on nothing else but the angel’s eyes, soft and yet burning with lust.

“I love you like this”, Aziraphale tells him, and Crowley’s hips thrust up once more in response to the slightly husky quality of his voice. “How you react to my touch, how your voice breaks when you moan my name, how you seem to forget everything around us the moment I kiss you. You truly are the most exquisite thing in the whole universe, and I feel so blessed every day, knowing that you chose to love me.”

For a moment, Crowley doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know if he ever will, but then Aziraphale leans down to press the softest, the sweetest kiss to his lips, and it’s so easy to forget about the desire burning in the pit of his stomach when his heart skips a beat because of how much it grows inside his chest, constricting his throat, his very breath. “Oh, angel”, he eventually breathes out, his voice impossibly low because he has forgotten how to do more than whisper. “It was no choice at all, it was – it was inevitable. I couldn’t have done anything but fall for you and if God should decide she wants to remake the universe with both of us in it, I’d do it again. And again. Forever.”

Aziraphale’s eyes are glowing, so bright it almost hurts to look at him, and there is nothing Crowley could do but kiss him, use the arms he still has loosely slung across the angel’s neck to pull Aziraphale down until he is pressed flush against him. The kiss is sweet, or at least that is what it starts out as, gentle and slow, until Aziraphale digs his teeth into the swollen flesh of Crowley’s bottom lip and makes him moan, arch off the mattress and into Aziraphale.

It’s the sting of pain that brings the lust rushing back into Crowley’s system, crashing over him with a renewed sense of urgency, and Aziraphale must know it, for he grinds down against Crowley, rubbing his clothed erection against Crowley’s own, aching cock. Of course, it’s not enough to sate his need, it’s not meant to do so, instead just fuels it, makes Crowley’s skin tingle, his stomach clench; he moans out the angel’s name, pleading for more and yet whimpering out his thanks, clinging to Aziraphale as if he couldn’t ever bear to let go again.

“Let me take you apart”, Aziraphale implores him, his voice a soft whisper against Crowley’s lips, his fingers drawing patters against his bruised neck, his chest. “I want to watch you lose yourself under me, my love.” Crowley wants to say yes, every atom in his body urging him to, but there is something he needs more, has needed since the angel kissed him the very first time. “Let me”, he answers, doesn’t even pretend he isn’t begging. “Please, angel, let me touch you. Let me show you what this means, how I love you – “

The angel’s hand still for just a moment, fingertips digging into the marks ever so slightly, and Crowley arches up into the touch, looking up at Aziraphale with bleary, pleading eyes. Ever since he can remember, it has been Aziraphale who has been better with words, so Crowley can’t do anything but hope that the angel understands. “Oh, my beautiful, precious darling”, Aziraphale mutters before Crowley had even time to take another breath, his voice so soft, so loving, it makes Crowley’s heart clench. “How could I ever deny you anything?”

One more kiss is pressed to the corner of Crowley’s mouth, then Aziraphale pulls away, sitting back on his legs and Crowley misses the weight of his body immediately. Still, this is what he asked for, this is what he wanted, so he pushes himself up from the sofa with weak arms, gets up from the sofa. Aziraphale is watching him, and Crowley’s mouth goes dry at the sight of him, blonde hair dishevelled, his lips kissed red, his eyes glowing with lust, with love, and all of it for him. He's beautiful, in every sense of the word, and Crowley loves him with an intensity that seems vaster than the universe, more eternal than their own lifespans.

“Stand up for me, please?”, he asks and watches Aziraphale unfurl his body. The angel isn’t graceful, not per se, no inherent elegance to his movements, but a confidence, a determination which ruins Crowley far more than any sort of grace could. He stands up slowly, brushes his hands down his front as if to make himself look presentable, and then just waits, perfectly happy to let the demon drink in the sight of him, bright eyes darkened with lust and cheeks flushed the prettiest pink. Crowley loves him so much it’s hard to breathe, let alone think.

“Now, darling, shall I undress myself or do you want to do that?”, Aziraphale asks after a few moments have passed in which Crowley hasn’t been able to do anything but look at him, trace his eyes across the lines of Aziraphale’s body, the slope of his shoulders and the softness of his stomach. There is no way in Heaven or Hell that he will ever forget a single detail about Aziraphale and yet it feels like he has to commit him to memory all over again every single time he gets the chance to just look at the angel. His angel. “I’ll do it”, he tells Aziraphale, but stands still for another moment before he dares to set one foot in front of the other. There is no doubt left in his mind about Aziraphale reciprocating what he feels, and yet every day has had the same dream-like quality to it, something too good, too beautiful to be entirely real. “I have wanted to do so for centuries. Longer than that, even.”

Something about his words makes Aziraphale smile, so sweetly that it takes all of Crowley’s willpower to not just kiss him again; instead he smiles back, raises a hand so he can brush his fingertips across Aziraphale’s cheek gingerly. His skin is warm, so warm it seems to heat him up from the inside, reminds him of his reptilian days and of the sun back in the Garden of Eden. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for waiting for me”, Aziraphale tells him, softly, gently, and without prompting; the words break something open in Crowley, flood him with bittersweet affection. “You don’t need to thank me”, he tells the angel, keeping their eyes locked, even as he lets his hand drop down, so he can grip Aziraphale’s bowtie, his fingers almost a little hesitant as he starts to undo it. “I would have waited longer. I would have waited forever, if I had to, because you’re worth it. You’re worth it to me.”

Crowley means every bit of it, would have waited an eternity at the angel’s side, and by now Aziraphale must know it too; yet it feels right to say it, to put a feeling has hasn’t been able to ever shake, no matter how hard he tried, into words. It’s like both of them have to make up for it now, for the millennia they spent next to each other and yet apart.

The bowtie falls apart easily beneath his fingers, although it is the first time he has ever undressed Aziraphale. Up until now, he’s always been too desperate for it, just miracled away the offending clothes so he could reach skin, feel the angel’s warmth underneath his palms. Still, there is something satisfying to pulling the bowtie from Aziraphale’s collar, feeling the silk brush against his fingers, before laying it down gently on one of the cosy armchairs nearby. It’s the same satisfaction he gets from preparing Aziraphale a cup of tea or bringing him freshly baked croissants for breakfast; it’s taking care of the angel, it’s serving him in the smallest of ways, and Crowley wants that more than anything, for the rest of eternity.

There are still so many layers of fabric between them, so although Crowley wants to savour every moment they have together, every little touch, it only takes a few moments until he has his hands on Aziraphale’s chest, sliding them underneath the crumpled jacket, so he can push it off the angel’s shoulders. It brings him a little closer to Aziraphale, maybe even more so than strictly necessary, but standing so near means Crowley can smell his angel’s cologne, a hint of citrus and bergamot, means that Aziraphale can brush a tender kiss onto Crowley’s cheek.

“You’re too good to me”, Aziraphale mutters, still so close, love dripping from every word, and Crowley smiles, even as he slides the jacket from the angel’s arms. Just a few weeks ago he would have told Aziraphale off for just suggesting anything could be good about him, but now Crowley takes the compliment, soaks it up greedily like all the other sweet little nothings the angel tells him, all the words of praise that make his knees go weak. “There is nothing that could be too good for you, angel”, he replies anyway, his voice just as soft; he finally pulls the jacket free but stays close for a little longer, breathes in Aziraphale’s scent, heartbeat quickening when the angel drags his lips across the line of his jaw, mouths at the still-bruised skin.

“Part of me wishes I still had you pressed down on the sofa”, Aziraphale confesses with his voice low and wonderfully heated, and all the reverence Crowley feels, all that pure, overwhelming love isn’t enough to keep him from shuddering, from wanting it too. “You underneath me, arching into my touch… I cannot get enough of it.” A whine falls off Crowley’s lips instead of an answer, but he steps back a little, just because he knows if he doesn’t, he’ll lose himself in Aziraphale’s words, his touches. Even if there is still so much more he wants, even if he still needs to show the angel that he can be so much better for him. Even if he still needs to show Aziraphale just much he loves him.

It’s what the angel has done for him the very first time, made Crowley understand with every kiss, every touch, every little sweet word, and although Crowley thinks that Aziraphale knows, he has to make sure. “When I slept through the nineteenth century”, he tells Aziraphale and starts to undo the buttons of his vest, fingertips occasionally slipping because Crowley cannot bear to look away from Aziraphale’s kind eyes, burning with curiosity, not even for a moment. “It was all I could dream about. Just you, angel, on top of me, holding me close. Kissing me, telling me that you felt that spark between us too, had felt it for the last few millennia. I finally woke up because I couldn’t take it any longer, dreaming up all these ways I could have you when I thought that the real thing was impossible.” “Oh, darling…”

The words seem to spring from the angel’s lips unbidden, as if Aziraphale could not hold them inside his chest any longer, and Crowley leans in, kisses him softly to tell Aziraphale that none of that pain matters any longer, not when he has the angel right here now, loving him. “I don’t think you’ll ever understand how much of me is the way it is today because of you”, Crowley finally continues, still against Aziraphale’s lips, because tearing himself away would be too painful. His fingers undo another button, then another, until the angel’s vest is finally open. “I don’t think you can, because not even I do. Which is why you don’t have to thank me for waiting, not when there is nothing else I could have done but that.”

A moment passes, in which the world seems to hold its breath, then Aziraphale’s hands are on his hips, pull him closer until the angel can kiss him. It’s a kind of kiss they have shared before, but different still, another meaning hidden behind each touch, with Aziraphale’s lips on him both an apology and a reassurance, with the hands sliding around his waist nothing but an anchor, a token of love. Crowley kisses back with almost the same fervour, draws his oath onto the roof of the angel’s mouth with the tip of his tongue, makes Aziraphale taste his love.

They don’t break apart; there is nothing violent about it, just their kisses’ passion turning gentler, the burning in Crowley’s stomach turning into glistening coal as they part, Aziraphale’s taste still on his lips. “Oh darling”, the angel whispers another time, and for a moment, Crowley can see every version of him in front of his inner eye, from the wall in the Garden to Aziraphale standing up against God and Satan and everything between, next to Crowley’s side. He loves all of them with a fierceness that makes it difficult to breathe. “Don’t for a second think that you did not change me inside out.”

The words wash across Crowley like a warm summer rain, wrap themselves around him like the angel’s wings would. It’s something he has always known, but hearing it is so much sweeter still. They stay like that for a little while, wrapped up in each other, noses brushing occasionally, Aziraphale’s breath soft on Crowley’s lips; it’s only when Aziraphale slowly pulls his hands away from where they are clasped around Crowley’s back that the demon manages to take the half-step back he needs to give his hands room to continue their work.

He pushes the vest off Aziraphale, hands sliding along the angel’s arms, from the shoulder to his wrists, fingers brushing across his hands, and a small part of Crowley wants nothing but to kiss Aziraphale once more, the larger one recognises the desperation rising in his chest again, the need to feel Aziraphale’s skin against his own. Quickly, he continues to undo the buttons of the angel’s shirt, tries his best not to get distracted by the little kisses of warmth against his fingertips as the shirt falls open, only lets his eyes worship every sliver of freshly exposed skin, the softness of the blonde hair on Aziraphale’s chest. It’s difficult, but it’s necessary, because every molecule in his body aches for this, crying out as if it was only Aziraphale who could breathe new life into this mortal form of his.

A thousand things should still be said, Crowley knows that much and yet cannot think of a way to put them into words, so instead he lets his fingers brush softly across Aziraphale’s chest as he takes off his shirt, breath catching in his throat when he finally feels skin against his, then whispers a kiss to the angel’s cheek before he steps back to fold the garment, place it gingerly on the armchair. Never before has he been this careful with any piece of clothing, but it feels right to smooth out the wrinkles in the cream-coloured cotton, even more so when Crowley looks back at Aziraphale, sees the angel watching him with tender, heated eyes.

“Is this what you always want?”, Aziraphale asks, and the tone of his voice makes the lingering thoughts of affection take a backseat to Crowley’s still hard cock, his never-relieved desire. It’s the calmness of the angel’s words, it’s the teasing curiosity, it’s the thinly-veiled heat and the fact that maybe Aziraphale truly understands what Crowley needs. He nods, shakily, and watches Aziraphale tilt his head, as if adding another stroke to the portrait of Crowley he has painted in his mind. “Come here”, he eventually tells Crowley, and although it’s hardly a command, spoken with the utmost tenderness, it’s enough to set him aflame.

Without thinking, he makes his way back to the sofa, back to Aziraphale’s arms. The angel settles one hand on Crowley’s hips, the other one finding its way to the demon’s cheek, holding him steady. Aziraphale eyes are searching for something in his gaze, and there is nothing Crowley can do but wait with bated breath, try to keep himself from leaning too much into the angel’s touch, turn his head to press a kiss to his beloved palm, the cherished tips of his fingers. It’s impossibly difficult, and maybe Aziraphale can see that, for he drags his thumb across Crowley’s bottom lip, reminding the abused flesh of the sting Aziraphale’s teeth left there just minutes ago, the curiosity slowly melting away, turning into breathless wonder.

“It really is”, the angel breathes out, pushes his thumb between Crowley’s lips, gaze dropping to watch the demon open his mouth willingly, sucking around the digit. It’s the smallest of gestures, but just Aziraphale’s thumb pushing down on his tongue, the taste of his skin, is enough to make Crowley moan softly, heat rushing down to his cock. “You want this all the time, not just when we are in bed together… you want to submit, you want to serve.” He breathes out the last words like a prayer, and Crowley whines around the angel’s thumb, tries to suck more of it into his mouth; he can almost feel his pupils widening, his cheeks flushing, because truly, Aziraphale understands. “Oh, my darling, what have I ever done to deserve your devotion?”

Crowley could answer, could tell Aziraphale, everything, nothing, there’s no reason to this, I don’t understand it either, but there is nowhere I would rather be, but at your feet, but Aziraphale’s thumb is still pressing down onto his tongue, maybe even without the angel noticing, and so instead of putting an answer into words, he swirls his tongue around the angel’s finger. Their eyes are still locked, Aziraphale’s half-lidded with desire, and Crowley makes sure to hold his angel’s gaze when he lets his mouth fall open, slowly lowers himself down onto the ground.

The floor is cold, hard against his knees, but it couldn’t ever matter, not when Aziraphale looks at him like this. It’s as if Crowley has stripped away all the millennia of self-control within a second, left only pure desire; the mere look in Aziraphale’s eyes makes him shiver, makes him feel vulnerable, exposed, and yet safer than ever before. His cock is throbbing in his jeans, and by Someone, Aziraphale is beautiful, looks like the warrior he first was created to be, wild-eyed and powerful, yet so full of love that Crowley feels it fill his own heart until it overflows.

“What a beautiful creature you are”, the angel mutters, almost more to himself than to Crowley, who still feels the effect of the words, the new wave of desire, the satisfaction of having been good for his angel. “No wonder Hell would rather have destroyed you than seen you leave… I don’t think I could bear the thought of you being anything but mine.” Mine. It’s just a word, and yet it makes Crowley moan, hips twitching with need, even as he fights against the urge to close his eyes. Listening to Aziraphale is almost as pleasurable as being touched, as touching the angel, and yet he craves the taste of Aziraphale’s skin on his tongue, the weight of his cock on his tongue.

“Please…”, Crowley asks, begs without even thinking, moans out the word as if it was a prayer, and Aziraphale puts a single finger under his chin, tips it upwards. His eyes are loving and full of lust and so obviously overwhelmed by this; they are the most beautiful thing Crowley has ever seen in his long, long life, and if he hadn’t lost his heart completely to the angel millennia ago, he would do so now. “Don’t ever doubt that I feel just as strongly for you, my love”, Aziraphale tells him, swipes his thumb across Crowley’s bottom lip another time. “But for now, darling, show me. Show me how much you want to serve me.”

The words knock the air from Crowley’s lungs, leave him reeling. His heart is pounding, his skin feels too tight and his cock is so hard that every motion gives as much pleasure as it does pain. Trying to show just how much he loves, how much he belongs, seems impossible, and yet it is what Aziraphale wants from him; it is what he will do. Bright, blue eyes are watching him, and Crowley can’t look away, even as he slides his hands from Aziraphale’s shins up to his thighs, feeling soft linen and softer flesh. His palms seem to prickle with the touch, with the electricity of it, and Crowley can’t help it, he leans in, leans his head against Aziraphale’s hip for just a moment. The angel’s hand comes to rest on his head, confident fingers weaving into Crowley’s hair, who lets out a breath that feels like he has been holding it for centuries.

“It’s always been you”, Crowley utters, lets the words sound like the prayer they are. His eyes flutter shut, his entire being focussed on the fingers carding through his hair, the warmth of Aziraphale’s body. “Ever since the Earth was created, it has been you. Through every century, every era, every second of my life, it’s been you.” Speaking is easier like this, when he’s been given a task, when Aziraphale’s hands are holding him steady, and Crowley lets the words spill from his lips freely. “I don’t remember much about Heaven, but I don’t need to, to know that I’ll never regret Falling, because if I hadn’t, we might never have met. And nothing in the world you ever be worth taking that risk.”

The fingers in his hair still for a moment and Crowley takes his chance to press a kiss to the skin just above Aziraphale’s trousers, feels the blood pulsing under it. “Oh, my love…”, the angel breathes out, his voice just a whisper, and Crowley kisses him again, and again. “A Heaven, no matter how beautiful, couldn’t ever have been complete without you.” No words could do the feeling blooming in Crowley’s chest justice, so he does not even try to find one, just kisses half a sound onto Aziraphale’s stomach. Wherever Crowley is hard, harsh lines and flat surfaces, Aziraphale is plush, soft curves and inviting warmth, and Crowley loves it, revels in it, breathes in the scent of soap and expensive laundry detergent, and presses an open-mouthed kiss to his angel’s skin, even while he starts to undo the button of his trousers.

It would be easier without his fingers shaking, his eyes still closed, and his mouth still pressed against Aziraphale, but Crowley manages anyway, lets the trousers fall to the ground before finally pulling away from the angel. The lingering warmth of Aziraphale’s touches feel like a blessing, a benediction from the only God he is willing to call his own.

And he’s beautiful, Crowley has thought it a thousand times and will think it a thousand more, he’s beautiful the way a sunrise is, bright and undeniable, and Crowley loves him, has loved him, will love him for the rest of his life. It’s not a new feeling, in fact it’s close to the oldest one Crowley knows; what is comparatively new is that the same emotion shines out of Aziraphale’s eyes as he watches him, that Crowley can bask in it, taste its sweetness, let it unfurl from deep within his heart to touch every molecule of his tiny mortal body, every part of his much larger soul.

Around them, night has fallen, making Aziraphale glow even brighter as Crowley hooks his fingers into the elastic of the angel’s underwear and pulls it past his hips, no teasing, no pretence this time. One of the angel’s hands has settled on his shoulder, warmth seeping into Crowley’s skin, and he’s glad for the touch, that little point of contact that anchors him, reminds him where he belongs and what Aziraphale asked of him. Because if there wasn’t, Crowley just knows he’d forget everything within a moment, would know nothing but how much he needs to feel the weight of Aziraphale’s cock on his tongue, how much he craves the taste of the angel’s skin, the scent of him.

Knowing that Aziraphale is just as affected by this as he is, is almost as beautifully absurd as the first, the second, the third time, but there is no denying it, not when Aziraphale is hard, precome glistening at the tip of his cock. It’s thick, just enough to make Crowley feel the stretch of it when Aziraphale only uses three fingers to prepare him for his cock, so large that Crowley feels speared open on it whenever the angel stills his thrusts inside of him, instead lets both of them feel how they have become one.

There is nothing Crowley wants more than to wrap his lips around the head, take Aziraphale so deep into his mouth that the angel’s cock blocks his airways, makes it impossible to breathe, to do anything but pleasure Aziraphale. And it wouldn’t even be selfish to give in to the desire, not when Crowley can tell that the angel must long for his touch, but it isn’t what was asked of him. He loves Aziraphale like this, carnally, wildly, but he loves him in a thousand other ways as well.

So, although his body is screaming at him to just give in, Crowley tears his eyes away from Aziraphale’s cock, looks up at his angel’s face, mouth dry and making it hard to speak. “Sit down for me, please?”, Crowley still rasps out, watches Aziraphale’s eyes widen in surprise. His answer takes a moment, but then he nods, the hand on Crowley’s shoulder sliding up over his throat so Aziraphale can cup his cheek, even if only for a moment. “Of course, my dear. Anything you want.”

The hand leaves Crowley’s face and he misses the touch immediately, but there are more important things to concentrate on; there’s Aziraphale sitting down, spreading his lovely thighs just enough that Crowley would fit right in between them, his soft stomach folding, the blonde hair on his chest looking perfect to run his hands over. There is the angel’s cock, blood-dark against his pale skin, so close that Crowley could just lean in, press the first of a million kisses to the head, drag his lips down the shaft.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are right now”, Aziraphale tells him, and his voice is dark, raspy with lust, echoes all through Crowley’s body, makes him tremble. “I never would have asked it from you, but you look perfect like this, right where you are.” It feels perfect too, looking up at Aziraphale like this, and Crowley hopes the angel can see his answer in his eyes, because he cannot find the words to speak. For a few more moments, Crowley allows himself to just look at Aziraphale, before he lowers his gaze to the floor, to Aziraphale’s feet. He is still wearing his shoes, his socks, and Crowley feels a bolt from the heaven strike him, leave him momentarily disoriented as he reaches out, pulls one of the angel’s feet closer to him.

His fingers are trembling, worse than when he undid Aziraphale’s bowtie, since this is what he needed to show the angel, this is what he wants. Blood is pounding in his ears, his heart is racing, but there is a gentle calmness that slowly settles over his mind, drowning out everything but them, but the coarse shoelaces between his fingertips, the soft gasp of realisation coming from his angel when Crowley starts to undo them. His cock is leaking precome, staining the fabric of his jeans, aching with the subtle friction of every motion, but Crowley ignores it, ignores everything.

Slipping the shoe off Aziraphale’s foot is easy once he has undone the laces, the brown leather still supple; Crowley sets it down carefully next to the armchair holding the rest of the angel’s clothes, before sitting back on his legs, resting Aziraphale’s foot on his own knee. He can’t risk looking up at the angel’s face, so instead he focusses on peeling the sock off Aziraphale’s foot, revealing another bit of blessed skin, warm against Crowley’s palm when he places it back on the ground, keeping his own hand between the sole and the wooden floor for another moment, as if to protect the angel’s skin.

Aziraphale makes a small sound that Crowley cannot quite place, something softly broken, almost fixed, a sort of sound that Crowley feels travel through his entire body, setting him aflame. Slowly, he pulls his hand from beneath Aziraphale’s foot, just so he can pick up the other, pull it closer. It is as if Aziraphale had forgotten how to speak for the first time since his creation; sounds fall from his lips, low, beautiful gasps and sharper hisses, but none of them intelligible, none of them anything but desperate. They are the only noises that penetrate the fog that has settled over Crowley’s mind, and no celestial harmony, no Hellish tune could ever compare to the choked off groan he draws from Aziraphale when he undoes the laces of the angel’s other shoe, picking up his foot so he can gently slip it free.

Again, he places the angel’s foot on his thigh while he puts away the shoe, setting it down neatly next to the other. Crowley’s fingers linger on them for a moment, brushing across the intricate design, because every piece of clothing that belongs to Aziraphale holds the angel’s love, has his care woven into it, the mere fact that Aziraphale’s skin has touched it adding to its worth. Another sound drips from the angel’s lips, and this time, Crowley can’t do anything but look back up at him.

Aziraphale’s eyes are half-lidded, the blue of them swallowed whole by his desire, but there is a heat to them, almost hotter than hell-fire, that seems to wreck through Crowley’s body, leaving him mindless. They seem to claim him, his eternal soul, just like Aziraphale’s lips claimed his body, and Crowley lets him, offers up his entire being for the angel to take.

Crowley doesn’t know how long he just looks at Aziraphale, but it doesn’t matter, the sun has not yet risen when the angel tilts his head ever so slightly, curls his toes against Crowley’s thigh. “Finish it, darling”, Aziraphale tells him softly, but firmly, and Crowley whines at the back of his throat, helpless when faced with a request, an order. He nods, tears his eyes away from Aziraphale’s face, no matter how difficult it is to do so.

His fingers feel weak when Crowley starts to roll down the sock over Aziraphale’s ankle, the last piece of fabric remaining on the angel’s body, eyes following the new expanse of skin that is being revealed. When he finally pulls the sock off Aziraphale, Crowley puts it away with the other one, laying them across the angel’s shoes, before he cradles Aziraphale’s foot in both his hands, raising it to his lips so he can press a kiss onto the instep. He has kissed almost every inch of the angel’s body, so it isn’t anything special, or at least wouldn’t have to be, yet there is just something about the feeling of skin against his lips, something about Aziraphale’s sharp intake of breath that gives it significance.

Perhaps it’s that which makes it so hard to pull away, what makes Crowley drag his lips up across Aziraphale’s ankle instead, feeling the delicate bones hidden beneath a small layer of flesh, the blood pumping through Aziraphale’s skin, warming it to Crowley’s touch. He parts his lips, wanting the angel’s taste on his tongue even before he continues, even as he presses another, open-mouthed kiss to the joint, one of his thumbs brushing across the soft skin of the angel’s instep.

At some point, his eyes must have closed, because they only flutter open once again when Aziraphale slides a hand into Crowley’s hair, not quite petting it, just keeping his fingers woven into the ginger strands, as if to give both of them a way of focussing. It feels reassuring, just like every of Aziraphale’s touches is, and Crowley tries to give some of the feeling back to the angel, slides his mouth up Aziraphale’s shin, peppering kisses onto every inch of skin his lips can find. They turn into worship on Aziraphale’s body, into prayer, every sigh that comes from the angel into a blessing, the only one a demon would be able to accept.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Crowley makes his way up the angel’s shin, coarse hair and warm flesh making his lips tingle; only when he has reached Aziraphale’s knee, sucked his love onto pale skin, Crowley puts the angel’s foot back onto the floor gently, brushing his fingertips once more from Aziraphale’s ankle to the tips of his toes before he pulls away completely.

Their eyes meet, darkened blue and golden, and the fingers in Crowley’s hair tighten, not quite painful but enough to make him feel it, pulling back his head. It’s a vulnerable position and sweeter for it; Crowley cranes his neck, feels his cock twitch in his trousers in response to Aziraphale’s hand in his hair, the look in his eyes. For a moment, Aziraphale just watches him, his gaze intense enough it feels like a physical touch on Crowley’s skin, then the angel leans down and kisses him, using the hold he still has on Crowley’s hair to tilt his head just enough so he can lick into his mouth. The kiss is slow, but only deeper for it, burning on Crowley’s lips as the angel bites at them, every suck, every swipe of his tongue causing white-hot desire to pulse through his body, turning blood into liquid desire. He kisses back as best he can, but it’s difficult not to just let Aziraphale overwhelm him, let the tide of the angel’s lust sweep him from the shore, drown him. It seems to last a moment, an eternity; it doesn’t matter because Crowley’s head is spinning when Aziraphale eventually pulls away, the angel’s fingers still woven into his hair.

“I love you”, Aziraphale tells him; Crowley has heard it a thousand times and wants to hear it a thousand more, wants to say those words himself until Aziraphale hears their echo whenever there is a moment of silence. “With every fibre of my being, with every breath and with every beat of my heart, I love you. I wish there was a better word for it, because this one hardly does it justice, my darling. You’re everything to me, always have been, always will be.”

Another kiss follows, sweeter but just as deep, Crowley’s heart threatening to burst, crumble under Aziraphale’s ministrations. His hands come up to clutch at Aziraphale’s forearms, holding onto them as if letting go would mean to lose himself, and there is nothing sweeter than this, nothing better. The angel kisses him like he looks at Crowley, with infinite love, with tenderness, with a hunger that borders on possessiveness, and Crowley kisses back his adoration, his worship, his eternal devotion.

Eventually, they break apart, Crowley breathing heavily and Aziraphale’s lips are pink, glisten in the dim light that reaches them from the street. “I’m yours”, Crowley tells him, even as he slowly lets go of the angel’s arms, scoots a little closer yet, until he is bracketed by Aziraphale’s beautiful, plump thighs. “For as long as you will have me – no, longer than that. Forever.”

It’s no promise, it’s just the truth; Crowley holds Aziraphale’s gaze for another second, before he cannot take it any longer, leans down to press his mouth against the flesh of Aziraphale’s inner thighs, gently sucking on the pale skin, his tongue darting out to relieve any kind of discomfort a second afterwards. The taste of the angel’s skin is enough to draw a moan from Crowley, vibrating through Aziraphale’s body as Crowley drags his mouth across the sensitive skin, leaving kisses wherever he can. His hands rise up to rest on the angel’s knees, holding him steady, and above him, Aziraphale sighs softly at the sensation, spreads his legs wider to give Crowley the room he needs.

Every sound the angel makes only fuels Crowley, who drinks up every moan, every hum, turns them into more kisses, into his fingers caressing Aziraphale’s thighs. Like this, he can smell the angel’s arousal, and the heady scent of sex mixed with the taste of angelic skin is enough to make Crowley’s mouth water, his cock ache. Without Aziraphale’s asking for it, Crowley doesn’t dare to leave a mark on his angel’s skin, so instead of sucking, of biting, the way he likes Aziraphale to do, Crowley laps at the junction of the angel’s hip and thigh, presses small kisses to the sensitive skin. His hands drift further inwards, across the patches of skin he has worshipped before, caressing with gentle fingertips, scratching lightly with his nails.

Half a turn of his head, meant to allow Crowley to drag his mouth across the angel’s hipbones, and the head of Aziraphale’s cock slides across his cheek, smearing precome into Crowley’s skin, his hair and drawing a choked off moan from Aziraphale, soft and bruised and beautiful. “Dearest –“, Aziraphale breathes out, and his voice is so filled with desire, with love, that Crowley cannot suppress the shiver that wrecks through him.

His mouth goes dry, his body stilling for a moment, and there is nothing Crowley wants more than to suck Aziraphale’s cock into his mouth, give the angel as much pleasure as he possibly could, but he pauses anyway, unable to gather his thoughts. Almost as an impulse, he whispers a kiss to the side of Aziraphale’s shaft as he looks up at the angel, wide-eyed, desperate. “What do you me to do?”, he asks, sounding broken, sounding lustful. “Angel, whatever you want, let me give it to you.”

Time seems to freeze around them, creates a capsule, and there’s nothing Crowley can see but the desperate desire in his angel’s eyes, how hard Aziraphale is breathing, the flush on his cheeks. He enjoys this, Crowley laying himself at his feet, submitting, and it’s the best, the most beautiful thing, makes Crowley burn even more brightly for him to know that Aziraphale wants to see him on the floor, offering up his soul, as much as Crowley wants to stay there.

What he expects is words, an order to do whatever it is Aziraphale wants from him, but instead the angel answers by touch, returns his hand to Crowley’s head, fingers sliding into his hair as if Aziraphale never pulled them away. Fingernails scratch lightly across his scalp, and Crowley shivers, leans into the touch. When Aziraphale pushes, pulls him towards his cock, Crowley goes willingly.

The angel’s hand drops to his cheek, his thumb pushing down on Crowley’s bottom lip until he opens his mouth; the broken moan that slices through the silence between them falls from Aziraphale’s lips, not Crowley’s. Without thinking, Crowley darts out his tongue, swirls it around the very tip of Aziraphale’s thumb, and it seems that the small sensation is enough to break his angel. Aziraphale’s eyes have been wild already, but now they seem to have been set ablaze, his hands have always been strong, but never before have they handled Crowley with this kind of desperate determination. He feeds Crowley his cock, like every second he spends without the demon’s touch hurts him, and Crowley opens his mouth wide, moaning at the first taste of precome on his tongue.

Eyes fluttering shut, Crowley allows everything else to fall away, just concentrates on the girth of Aziraphale’s cock stretching his lips, the heat coming from his flesh as the angel guides him further down, only stopping when Crowley feels the head of Aziraphale’s cock push against the back of his throat. He swallows, loving how his muscles protest at the intrusion and yet submit, and Aziraphale hisses, fingers tightening around Crowley’s cheek for just a moment before they relax again. Crowley fears the angel will pull his hand away, deny him the feeling of being claimed so completely, but Aziraphale doesn’t, just brushes his thumb across Crowley’s skin as he composes himself. There is nothing Crowley wants more than to see him lose control.

Aziraphale isn’t pushing, isn’t pulling anymore, so Crowley has to set his own pace, drawing back slowly, the weight of Aziraphale’s cock, the friction of skin dragging across skin enough to send pulses of white-hot lust through him. Crowley wants to drown in this, the taste of his angel’s skin and the sounds he makes when Crowley pushes his tongue up against the underside of Aziraphale’s shaft, the beautiful hitch in his breath when Crowley swirls his tongue around the head, teases the slit with the tip of it. He’s as sensitive as he was the first time he allowed Crowley to taste him, and the demon knows he won’t be satisfied until he knows every spot that makes Aziraphale moan, every way he can flick his tongue to offer his angel pleasure.

Crowley doesn’t even manage to pull half off Aziraphale’s cock before he pushes himself back onto it, not when he waited for so long to feel his angel inside of him. He forces the muscles of his throat to relax, so he can take it deeper than before, sliding down on Aziraphale’s cock until the tip of his nose is pressed against the angel’s stomach, all of his senses overtaken by Aziraphale. It’s the most delicious feeling, and Crowley hums around the other’s shaft, draws another moan from Aziraphale’s lovely lips.

He could stay like this forever and be satisfied, but the fingers on his cheek twitch, and this is not about Crowley after all. Again, he pulls hallway off Aziraphale’s cock, swirling his tongue around the head before he slides back down, finally finding a rhythm. It’s slow, because Crowley needs to cherish every moment of this, feel every hint of friction against his tongue, his lips, taste every drop of precome he can suck from Aziraphale’s cock, but steady, deep, because if he could, he’d wrap his whole being around the angel, feel nothing for the rest of eternity than him.

Aziraphale groans above him, the sweetest sound coming from the sweetest lips; his fingers cradle Crowley’s face, his thumb brushing over the demon’s lips, stretched wide around the angel’s cock, and the touch is so gentle Crowley can’t help but look up at his angel, even as he sucks hard around Aziraphale’s cock, lets it slide down his throat. Their eyes meet, Crowley’s still half-lidded, and the angel gasps out his name, a sweetly broken sound, just before his hips snap forward, burying his cock fully inside of Crowley’s waiting mouth.

The show of force is something he hasn’t expected, his muscles protesting, clenching, and somehow Aziraphale must see it in his eyes, because before Crowley can relax them, delight in being made to take all the angel wants to give him, Aziraphale has pulled away, leaving Crowley’s mouth dreadfully empty. “Oh darling, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to”, his angel tells him with a breathless voice, drawing patterns on Crowley’s cheek with his fingertips. “But you feel so good, you’re so perfect for me.”

At any other moment, the words would make Crowley chuckle, his beautiful, impossible angel overthinking everything, always so worried about asking for too much when Crowley wants to give him everything, but he’s too far gone now, needs Aziraphale inside him too much. “No, please”, Crowley forces out, his voice hoarse and brimming with want, so desperate with it, every word sounds like a moan, a plea. “I want it, please do it again. I want you to, angel, whatever you want, you can have. Take it from me. I’m yours, use me, I’m yours – “

His hands are reaching out for Aziraphale’s thighs, needing some kind of contact, and he must look pitiful, but he doesn’t have the strength anymore to care. Without Aziraphale moving, Crowley does the only thing he possibly could, opens his mouth wide, tongue stretched out to cover his teeth as he leans in far enough so that the head of Aziraphale’s cock is resting against it. His hands have come to rest on the angel’s thighs, and Crowley could use them to steady himself as he sucks down Aziraphale’s cock, but he doesn’t. He stays like this, offering himself up for the angel to take, his eyes never leaving Aziraphale’s face.

A moment passes, then another, and it is almost impossible to stay still when Aziraphale’s cock twitches on his tongue, but Crowley needs this, needs Aziraphale to claim him. The angel is watches him like he’s the only thing worth looking at in the entire universe, and Crowley has never wanted anything more than he wants Aziraphale to fuck into his mouth, make him feel the angel’s desperation.

“Mine”, Aziraphale half breathes, half growls, and the word settles inside of Crowley’s heart, healing wounds he can’t remember sustaining, stoking the fire in his stomach. “I’ll never forget it again, I promise, my love, you’re mine, always mine.” He puts his hand back where it belongs, on Crowley’s cheek, caressing it for a moment, before he gives Crowley what they both need.

His first thrust isn’t harsh, even as Aziraphale pulls Crowley closer, holding his head steady as he fucks into his mouth, the head of his cock sliding deep into Crowley’s throat. This time, he’s prepared for it, swallows around the intrusion, and Aziraphale moans above him, fingers pressing into the flesh of Crowley’s cheek. “So perfect for me”, the angel breathes out, and Crowley’s eyes flutter shut at the praise. “I love you so much, I – I just wish I had told you sooner, could have had you like this for a century already, for a millennium….” Crowley moans around his cock, and Aziraphale pulls away just enough so he can thrust back into the demon’s mouth, taking his pleasure, just like Crowley asked him to.

The pace the angel sets is different than the one Crowley chose before, slow but deep, forcing the head of Aziraphale’s cock down Crowley’s throat, making it impossible for the demon to breathe, and although breathing is anything but necessary for him, the thought leaves Crowley lightheaded. Every thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through him, as if Aziraphale was fucking him properly, and without realising, Crowley starts to move his hips in time with the angel, causing his own cock to rub against the coarse material of his trousers, sending sparks through his body, tingling across his skin.

As if to give the angel permission to go faster, use his mouth in any, every way possible, Crowley drops his hands to his lap, pressing one of them against his own crotch while he grips his own thigh with the other one, so tightly he might add even more bruises to his collection. Aziraphale is panting hard, and Crowley presses his tongue up against the cock sliding between his lips with the angel’s next thrust, adding a little bit of pressure and drawing a moan from Aziraphale’s mouth that sounds like the demon’s name, like a desperate prayer.

Maybe it’s a reward, maybe it’s just a sign that the angel is losing the careful control he usually has over his body, but the next thrust is harder, faster, makes Crowley gag slightly, and he loves it. There is something about forcing his body to accept something it doesn’t want to for Aziraphale’s sake that drives Crowley insane with lust, makes his cock ache and twitch in his jeans, his mind lose its focus. Crowley opens his mouth a little wider, and when Aziraphale pulls out, then fucks back into his mouth, uses him, the angel’s cock slides even further down his throat, past Crowley’s gag reflex, spreading his lips so wide they ache. It's glorious, it’s everything Crowley ever wanted, and it’s only when he chokes around Aziraphale’s cock once more, because the next thrust forces a moan back down his throat, that Crowley notices it’s too much.

His own hips snap forward, pushing his cock against his fist, grinding it against his knuckles, even while Aziraphale pulls his head back, pushes it forward once more with his next thrust, causing Crowley to gag around the angel’s cock. It mixes with the pleasure, fuels the feeling of being owned so completely, and the blend of sensations is too much for Crowley to take; something explodes in his stomach, fills him with bliss, with pleasure that seems hotter than hellfire, more absolute than God’s love for all Her creations.

If it wasn’t for Aziraphale still fucking his mouth, Crowley knows he would be screaming, like this, he only chokes again around the angel’s cock, rides out the waves of his orgasm against his own hand, come soaking into his jeans as Crowley finds his pleasure in his own submission, in Aziraphale taking him.

With the angel’s cock still in his mouth, it’s almost impossible for Crowley to come down from his high, the aftershocks of his orgasm so intense they still make him moan, hips twitching. His hand is sticky with come, his jeans ruined, but Crowley couldn’t care less about either of those things; nothing matters but Aziraphale. His angel has long stopped talking, the moans and gasps ever so often mixed with a term of endearment, with Crowley’s name, but apart from that, it seems like Aziraphale has lost himself in this just like Crowley did just moments before, unable to form a coherent thought and instead just chasing his pleasure.

Through his lashes, Crowley looks up at him, and the sight is almost more than Crowley can take. Aziraphale’s eyes are screwed shut, his face flushed and pearly white teeth are biting down on his swollen lips; he looks lost in pleasure, lost in Crowley’s touch, and although he has just come, the demon feels his cock twitch. He relaxes his mouth again, opens it wide, and when Aziraphale thrusts back into his mouth the next time, Crowley swallows around the head of his cock, hears the angel’s breath hitch, feels his hips stutter. It’s the most delicious feeling, so he does it again, sucks hard and listens to Aziraphale swear above him, moan his name.

The hand on his cheek starts to flutter between touching his face and brushing shaking fingers through Crowley’s hair, unable to settle anywhere, and Crowley loves it, loves everything about his angel. His jaw is starting to ache, and even that is something Crowley enjoys as he focusses on the slick slide of Aziraphale’s cock between his lips, across his tongue. The taste of precome is intensifying as Crowley presses his tongue against the shaft, sucks hard around the head, every additional ministration making Aziraphale’s pace falter, more sounds drip from his lips.

Like this, Crowley cannot tell Aziraphale that there is nothing he wants more than to feel the angel come, lose himself, so he does the next best thing, tries to say it without words. The next time Aziraphale thrusts back into his mouth, Crowley moves against him, makes himself choke on his angel’s cock; the next sound that comes Aziraphale is almost a scream of Crowley’s name. His eyes fly open, and Crowley catches his gaze just before he impales himself on Aziraphale’s cock once more, and it’s that what finally pushes the angel over the edge.

Aziraphale chokes on Crowley’s name, and the next few thrusts lack any grace, any rhythm, they are pure desperate desire as Aziraphale spills inside of Crowley’s mouth, forcing the demon’s moans at the taste of his come right back down Crowley’s throat. The angel’s eyes are still fixed on him, as if Aziraphale cannot bear to allow them to close, and Crowley watches him lose the last bit of control over his body. His hips snap forward, the fluttering hand coming to rest on the back of Crowley’s head and pulling him closer, holding him steady as Crowley tries to milk the last bits of pleasure from the angel, swallowing as much of Aziraphale’s come as he can.

Eventually, Aziraphale’s movements slow, his fingers untangling from Crowley’s hair and instead brushing through it softly, before the angel pulls back from the warmth of Crowley’s mouth. His eyes are still dark, but they have lost their frenzied look, the desperation, instead they look gentle, kind. “Oh my”, Aziraphale breathes out, drags his thumb across Crowley’s aching bottom lip, wiping away the few dribbles of come that have escaped the demon’s lips. “You beautiful, lovely thing, for a moment I was afraid I’d break you.”

The thought is laughable, at least to Crowley; there is nothing Aziraphale could ever do to him that he would not ask for, but the sentiment behind it is sweet, so sweet Crowley cannot help but smile. Again, the thumb swipes across his lips, cleaning him up, but before Aziraphale can pull his hand away, wipe off his fingers, Crowley darts out his tongue, licking the come off his angel’s skin. Wasting just the smallest taste of Aziraphale would be a sin Crowley wouldn’t be able to live with.

If even possible, the flush on Aziraphale’s cheeks darkens, and Crowley can’t help but smirk, swirl his tongue around the digit once more, just for good measure, before he allows Aziraphale to pull his hand away. It seems like the angel wants to say something, at least for a moment, before he decides against it, instead reaches out to pull Crowley up into his lap, wrapping the demon into his arms. Crowley’s head comes to rest on his shoulder, the tip of his nose pressed against Aziraphale’s neck, one of the angel’s hands resting on the small of his back.

“Thank you so much for this, my love”, Aziraphale mutters against his temple, pressing a kiss to his hair, before a small miracle leaves Crowley naked, skin pressed against skin. “You never fail to amaze me. But now let me take care of you, you must be aching…” He slides his other hand between their bodies, grasping Crowley’s cock, but finding it half-hard at best, his skin sticky with come. This time, it’s Crowley’s turn to blush. “I – “, he starts, hissing when Aziraphale makes a little, surprised sound, but doesn’t let go of his cock, not yet. “It was enough for me. Being on my knees for you like this.”

There is no shame to it, not when Aziraphale knows so intimately what he does to him already, and yet he cannot bring himself to say more, feels the blush on his cheeks deepen. With his head still on the angel’s shoulder, he breathes in his scent, nuzzles the soft skin in the crook of his neck, and feels Aziraphale’s body shudder beneath him when he realises what has happened. “Oh dearest”, Aziraphale breathes out, presses another string of kisses from Crowley’s temple to his neck, his tongue darting out to taste skin just for a moment. His hand is still wrapped around Crowley’s cock, slowly starting to stroke the oversensitive flesh. “You cannot have any idea what it is you do to me. Let me return the favour, please, darling, I want to watch you come for me.”

Another kiss to the part where Crowley’s shoulder meets his neck, placed amidst a thousand bruises, Aziraphale’s fingers tightening around Crowley’s shaft, and there is nothing the demon can do but spread his legs wider, whine when Aziraphale takes the invitation for what it is. He sets a rhythm that is impossibly slow and yet almost too much, and it only takes a few strokes until Crowley is clinging to him, the pressure just a little bit too much and yet sweeter for it.

His arms come up to wrap themselves around Aziraphale’s neck, even while Crowley spreads his legs wider, shuddering when the next stroke of Aziraphale’s hand causes the head of his cock to brush against the angel’s stomach. “There is nothing that could compare to having you like this, close to me, reacting so sweetly to my touch”, Aziraphale mutters against his skin, brushing his lips across Crowley’s throat, nipping at his earlobe. “No Earthly pleasure and definitely no Heavenly one. No food, no drink, just you in my lap, breathing out my name.”

Aziraphale drags his thumb across the head of Crowley’s cock with the next stroke, makes the demon keen, thrust up into the angel’s touch, his mouth smearing kisses against Aziraphale’s skin. “Or, oh, you on the floor in front of me, asking me for anything I want to give, darling, you have no idea how beautiful you looked. How beautiful you always are, no matter what you do. I never thought I’d be allowed to call you my own and yet I can hardly remember how it was before I did.”

He continues whispering sweet nothings, some of them unintelligible because Aziraphale mouths them against Crowley’s throat, his shoulder, some of them so sweet they make Crowley’s heart ache, his cock leak precome into the angel’s grip. Still, Aziraphale has not changed the rhythm, is stroking Crowley so slowly that, now he is fully hard once more, feels more like torture than anything else, but the demon can’t do more than cling to him, hide his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. It’s only when he starts to move in time with the angel’s hand that Crowley is granted some relief, Aziraphale’s arm around him tightening, just like the fingers around his shaft. Ever so often, the head of his cock brushes against Aziraphale’s soft stomach, adding friction that makes Crowley moan almost desperately.

“Tell me what you want, my dearest”, Aziraphale asks him, lips brushing over bruised skin, and Crowley’s hips jerk into the angel’s touch, his lips part to let out the most broken moan. “You”, he tells Aziraphale, although it is something the other already knows. “Just you, angel, please – “ He thrusts up again, and Aziraphale pulls him closer, uses the hand he has on the small of his back to guide the movements of his hips, making Crowley grind his cock into the other’s fist, against his stomach, in the most maddening way. It’s almost enough, the heat in Crowley’s stomach tightening in a way he knows so well by now, pleasure spreading out its tendrils through his body, from the pit of his stomach to the tips of his fingers, and Aziraphale must know it too, for he latches onto Crowley’s neck, sucks one kiss after another onto his skin. The hand around Crowley’s cock has almost stopped moving, just giving the demon something to fuck into, the other one setting the pace of Crowley’s thrusts, gradually allowing them to speed up, until Crowley is rutting against Aziraphale, into his fist, against the angel’s stomach.

“You’re mine”, Aziraphale whispers, so low that Crowley can just so hear him over his own laboured breathing, and it’s the last drop, the final push he needs to come. “You’re mine, forever.” This time, it’s not an explosion, it’s a wave that sweeps over him, almost threatens to drown him as Crowley comes, pleasure washing over him and the only thing he can do is cling to Aziraphale, ride out his orgasm while wrapped up in the other’s body, the hand on his back having stopped to guide him, instead just holding him close. His entire body is trembling with the feeling, sparks of pleasure travelling across his skin, as Aziraphale lets Crowley spill all over his stomach, painting the angel’s skin with his seed.

He holds him closer afterwards too, while the aftershocks subside, holds him even closer once he has removed his hand from Crowley’s cock, has miracled them both clean again. And it’s a good thing that Aziraphale is still able, willing to move, because Crowley clings to him, utterly boneless, unable to move, almost unable to think. The only thing he still feels able to is feel, feel Aziraphale’s warmth against him, feel the angel’s lips leaving more kisses than Crowley can count on his skin, feel just how much he loves and is loved in return.

Some time passes, Crowley’s abilities slowly returning, and Aziraphale must notice the change in him, because it’s only when Crowley at least feels put together enough to consider moving that the angel talks. “Crowley, darling”, he starts, and his voice is gentle, maybe a little bit too much so. “What you said before, about wanting to – to serve, is that really what you want? I mean, all of the time?” He continues brushing his fingers through Crowley’s hair, small, tender touches that make the demon’s scalp tingle pleasantly, but with Aziraphale’s voice so cautiously distressed, there is no more comfort to be gained from them. “Because I love you like that, I do”, Aziraphale goes on, almost without pause, “I love you wanting me, begging me, I love to watch you lose yourself in your desire, so open, so vulnerable, but… but I don’t want you like that all the time. If it is what makes you happy, I am sure we can find a way, but I just – I want you to tease me, to go feed the ducks with me and call me daft when another one bites me. I want you to roll your eyes at me when I order my third dessert and I want you to laugh so hard you have tears in your eyes when we get drunk together. And I don’t know if I could bear to lose that, lose you, the way I had you for so long.”

Aziraphale’s voice fades, as if he is unsure how to continue, and Crowley feels his heart overflow with love for the angel, his angel, his impossible, incredible Aziraphale, who wants to give so much and yet asks for so little. He pulls back, ignoring his body’s protests, just enough so he can kiss Aziraphale tenderly, try and put all that love into a single touch. “No, angel”, he mutters once he has broken away, resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s, still staying close. “That’s not what I want at all, not that, just – I want is take care of you, that’s all I ever wanted. That’s why I broke you out of the prison in Paris, why I came to see you when they crucified Jesus. Why I wanted to run off you with you to Alpha Centauri.”

He presses another small kiss to Aziraphale’s lips; this time the angel kisses back ever so slightly, and by Everything, Crowley loves him so much it hurts. “I want to make you a cup of tea when you need it”, he continues, occasionally interrupting himself to pepper kisses all over the angel’s face. “I want to get you tickets for the opera, help you find a book you’ve misplaced, and then also warm your cock while you read it. That’s all I want. Because no matter how much I like being at your feet, how right that feels, I couldn’t bear to lose the rest either.”

The arms around him tighten, and when Crowley kisses Aziraphale again, there is a smile stretching his lips wide, so contagious it transfers to his own before the kiss has even ended. “Oh”, Aziraphale breathes out once it has, slides one hand up across Crowley’s back so he can tuck the demon’s head back into the crook of his neck. “Well. In that case, I’m all for it. Because that’s just what I want as well.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #still no excuse just too many thoughts about crowley being too fucking eager to submit

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