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Crowley shows up on his doorstep just after dark, the neat black lines of his clothing dishevelled, the sharp gold of his eyes exhausted.
Aziraphale ushers him inside quickly. He knows perfectly well the simple fact that Crowley had chosen to come here without a suitable excuse means that his need to see him had been acute and desperate. The very thought of turning him away is unbearable.
The moment the doors are shut Crowley is against him, his sharply angled face tucked into his neck, drawing in the scent of him even as his hands pull Aziraphale closer, as if he wants to feel the pace of his heartbeat against his own.
Crowley's own scent is smoky, hints of oil, blood and dirt. The remains of some unpleasant day that he wished to bury.
"It's alright," Aziraphale reassures. "You're here now."
He lets his hands reach up, fingers gentle on the fluffy points of Crowley's ears, stroking upwards and then sliding down to massage at the base and push into his hair, until Crowley gives a cracked groan and relaxes into his chest. His long arms slide all the way around him, fingertips curling in the back of his cardigan. An embrace like this from his wary and cautious fox is so rare that Aziraphale finds himself letting Crowley burrow deeper into his vulnerable neck.
"Come upstairs. You can shower, and then I'll open a bottle of wine. If you're not up to conversation you can take my bed and sleep. You can have anything you need." It's a dangerous thing to offer but Aziraphale has been hopelessly lost to this for a while. This thing they're not supposed to be together has become vital to him.
"I need you," Crowley says simply, and the honesty of it seems to exhaust him. "I just need you. I need you to want me, to show me that I'm not - that I'm worth it."
The words are rushed, but there's so much misery in them. Aziraphale isn't sure if it's the best idea to ask him what happened - whether that will simply cause Crowley to shut down, to pull away. He reasons that he'll share when he's ready.
Aziraphale tips his head down, one of his ears twitching slowly between Crowley's own, his tail giving two brief tugs at how affectionate it all feels. How much this arrangement they have is anything but a way to sate both their desires now, and maybe always has been. All pretence that this is simply a way to work a possessive feral energy out in a mutually beneficial arrangement, is in danger of cracking right down the centre. But Aziraphale finds that he doesn't care. He holds Crowley like he's always wanted to. The fox's small black boots between his own much larger feet. Is it so wrong to feel like they belong together?
"Come upstairs," he says again, and he already knows Crowley isn't going to say no.
He's followed silently up the stairs, and then into the bathroom. Crowley waits, hovering, while he acquires towels and shampoo and a bottle of lubricant. Since even the occasional quiet moments they have together often lead to pleasure.
"I don't want to impose upon your night," Crowley says through his teeth. The resistance is familiar, as greedy as Crowley is, something in him always seems to believe he's unwelcome. When Aziraphale has always tried his best, through subtle means and not, to tell him anything but.
"Hush, my night is always better for having you in it." It's rather daring, as confessions go, but he's reassured when the narrow, angular slant of Crowley's shoulders seems to settle.
Aziraphale sets his hands to the smoky, creased lines of Crowley's uniform, the shiny buttons coming free to expose his undershirt, and then chest. There are bruises coming up on his ribs. Aziraphale gently drifts his fingers over them but doesn't comment. He strips Crowley's upper body bare, briefly sliding his fingers through the patch of hair on his chest, before redirecting to his trousers, snapping the catch free and unzipping them, before easing them down.
He goes to his knees for Crowley's boots and then his long socks, grasping the top and sliding them down slowly to draw them over Crowley's feet. It leaves him of a height with his cock, resting soft against his balls in a nest of bright red hair. Aziraphale can't resist the urge to lean in, to lay his lips to it, feeling the skin move gently, smelling the musky sharp scent of him.
Crowley's breath saws into his throat, and a clawed hand drops to thread between Aziraphale's long ears, to grasp his hair, the prickling sensation shivering down his neck. Crowley rubs there for a moment, staring down at him with his vivid gold eyes. Aziraphale lets the kiss become a press of mouth, a lick of tongue. He can feel Crowley's cock filling against his lips, rising from his balls with every wet press. He looks up, finds himself being watched, Crowley's expression cracked open.
"Don't stop," he says quietly. It's not a demand, it's something soft and pleading.
Aziraphale opens his mouth, gives wet sucking kisses and long licks, nuzzles his face against the soft weight of it. Crowley's other hand slips down, encourages his mouth open, a sharp-nailed thumb pressed to his tongue, before drawing free and sliding briefly over his full lower lip. A nudge of hips encourages Aziraphale to take him inside. Until Crowley's cock is wet and hard where it slides across his tongue, filling his mouth in one eager push.
Crowley's breathing is so loud in the bathroom, echoing back off the tiles as Aziraphale pleasures him on his knees. The shuddering twitch and drive of Crowley's hips is greedy and constant. Aziraphale can feel his fingers scratching at the sensitive base of his ears, the tips digging into his hair.
It doesn't take long for Aziraphale's knees to become unhappy on the tiled floor, but he tells himself to ignore it as he sucks and bobs and lets Crowley push in deep, lets his cock squeeze and catch in his throat. He can hear sharp clicking noises of pleasure, almost in time with the strokes of Crowley's fingers. For all the things people say about those with rabbit aspects, Crowley has never assumed anything. He always looks so surprised when Aziraphale chooses him.
Crowley comes with a fist in his hair and a moan that sounds wrung out of him. He stays hunched over Aziraphale afterwards, quivering and not objecting to the slow, gentle sucking. He likes to be over-sensitive, he likes to feel raw. Aziraphale's own cock is a plump ache in his trousers. A heat that he's always enjoyed. The way Crowley makes him feel is a gift and he rarely wants it to end.
But eventually Aziraphale pulls away. He stands and he kisses Crowley's panting mouth.
"Into the shower with you. I'll join you in a moment."
Crowley obeys, moving across the bathroom on shaky legs and sliding into the shape of it. Aziraphale takes a moment to admire his buttocks between lazy sweeps of his red and white tail, to take in the slender lengths of both legs that shade into deepest black below the knees. When Crowley leans for the spray his bare angular shoulders stretch and pull, his body slender and flexible and always warm beneath Aziraphale's hands. He kicks himself sharply for getting distracted, and makes a start on removing his own clothes.
"You know I'll make no demands of you, and I have no expectations, but I would dearly like to see to your needs, whatever those may be.
When he looks up, naked in the bright light of the bathroom, he finds Crowley backed into the spray, water streaming across his shoulder, flattening chest hair, forming a river over his hip and thigh. His expression is expectant, and welcoming.
"Oh, you mischievous thing." He has a smile as he steps inside, and Crowley wastes no time at all drawing him into the stream of water, which immediately presses his ears flat to his head, lending a vibrating drum to the world. Crowley kisses an apology into his mouth - and then perhaps less of an apology and more of an eager, wet press of lips. A daring bite of sharp teeth has him guiding Crowley back against the cold tiles. Feeling the resulting gasp against his mouth.
He nudges a strong thigh between the fox's twitching slender ones. His cock is still soft against his balls, pubic hair beaded with water. Though he knows Crowley is perfectly capable of being teased to stiffness again. It makes his own thick, reddened length rudely obvious where it rubs against him. But Crowley has never treated Aziraphale's pleasure as secondary to his own, something he can't say about other partners he's had.
"Tell me what you need, Crowley? There's no one else here. There's no one else here and I will give you anything you want. "
"Will you now?" The first words Crowley has spoken for a while are rough. "Will you give me anything?" Crowley looks at him for a long time, his sharp fingers squeezing almost nervously against his wet skin. "What if I want you to take something?" he asks, the words uncertain. "Would you?"
Aziraphale gets a grip on his narrow waist and urges him around, hearing and appreciating the in-drawn gasp when he feels the press of cold tiles to his chest and face. It's almost too easy to let himself sink against Crowley's back, to feel the smooth expanse of it, the flickering squirm of his wet tail, the hitch in both shoulders. Which slowly settle when Aziraphale leans in and leaves a kiss on one rounded ball, then the shoulder itself, before cautiously laying one at the curve where shoulder becomes neck.
Far from objecting to Aziraphale staking such an intimate claim, Crowley's whole body gives a long shiver. The edge of his chin tilts, arching upwards slowly to give Aziraphale access. It's too easy then to kiss the skin there, to bite gently in a way that would be so very suggestive and pointed if he was a predator. If he was a predator and Crowley his conquest.
It's not his instinct, not his need, but Crowley is trembling in his grip and that's enough for him. He lets himself breathe there for a moment, feeling the warm water pour over the both of them, feeling the twitch and stretch of Crowley under his hands.
"Hold your tail up," Aziraphale tells him.
Crowley makes a high-pitched sound in his throat, fingers reaching behind him to wrap around the sodden length of his tail and draw it slowly upwards. Aziraphale can't help but admire the way it pulls his naked buttocks up and slightly apart, the long fluff of red and white hair now pressed wetly to the skin.
He takes a moment to slide his hand between them, fingers rubbing pointedly over his hole, which twitches and clenches instinctively. Crowley's mouth opens against the wall, a rattling groan barking free.
"Is this what you want right now?" Aziraphale asks gently. "To be taken?"
Crowley's ears twitch frantically in the spray, words caught behind his sharp teeth, as if he can't quite admit to it.
Aziraphale slides a hand down the wet arm that's still obediently holding his own tail, fingers circling the wrist and pinning it to the base of Crowley's spine.
"You beautiful fox, you've never really let yourself have anything, have you? You're always afraid, you're always so cautious, always taking the scraps you can get and telling yourself they're enough."
Crowley hisses a breath, a denial ready on his tongue.
Aziraphale holds his wrist tighter, the movement pushing his tail higher, exposing him in a way that's so lewd and so beautiful that Aziraphale has to swallow and press closer, hand sliding on wet skin.
"Let yourself have this darling. No one knows you're here. We don't have to rush through our time together. You don't have to pretend for anyone."
"Aziraphale -"
"Hush." The fingers he has sliding gently between Crowley's buttocks work with a little more intent, one pad circling the wet, twitching clench of his hole, rubbing where Crowley is clearly sensitive. The quiet hitches of his breath and the slow strain of his hips back into the touch betray how much he likes it. "There we are. You can have what you want. You deserve to be touched like this, you deserve to choose your own pleasure."
Crowley gives a long hiss, his face turning against the wall, ears and hair flattening to his head under the spray. But he doesn't resist, he doesn't say no, instead he cants his hips back and lets his eyes fall shut, water streaming down his face - and Aziraphale puts the slightest pressure into every slow circling rub, until Crowley's body opens.
It's just a fingertip, slipped into the warmth of him. Crowley grunts against the tile, a short bark strangled in his throat when Aziraphale draws his finger free and then pushes it in a little deeper. His body heat is divine, the tight squeeze so impossibly arousing. Aziraphale can't help but moan a quiet sound of approval at the way he can tip his head down to watch the wonderfully lewd movement of his hand.
"You feel incredible," Aziraphale says, laying kisses against the curve of Crowley's shoulder, where his arm is pressed to the wall, black nails scratching at the wet tiles.
He draws his finger free, strokes a perfectly lovely buttock and tilts Crowley's hips out of the spray.
"I'm going to stretch you open, the way no one else ever has, and I'm going to touch you deep inside, until you're shaking and squirming on my fingers," he promises.
Crowley whines sharply. "Fuck, yes, I want -" The rest is bitten off, a moan left against the wall.
Aziraphale can see the way every hot stream of breath condenses on the tiles, Crowley's wrist turning in his grip. The wet hair of his tail is plastered to his spine in curls and lines and he can see the base of it twitching and straining in his grip.
He uses the bottle he set on the shelf to coat his fingers. He wants it to be good for Crowley. He wants him to feel that soft stretch, the urgent slow pleasure of being teased from the inside. He wants to fill him and work him all the way to the edge, leave him limp and shaking and breathless against the wall. The thought of it has his foot tapping sharply against the wet tiles, the faint curve of his own fluffy tail lifting as though he might be the one pressed to the wall and stretched open. But not tonight, not tonight.
Crowley gives a luscious, panted breath when Aziraphale lays slick fingers to his hole, less inclined to shut tight when he rubs now, there's a softness, a twitch back into the pressure. Aziraphale makes low soothing noises - that he will admit are cut through with the heavy rasp of arousal - and gently eases two fingers in. He feels the stretch, the catch, hears the groan that's more surprised encouragement than discomfort, as if Crowley finds the sensation unexpectedly pleasing.
"You're opening beautifully," Aziraphale tells him, he lets him get used to the stretch before he moves deeper, a slow, gentle wave of pressure that hitches closer and closer to his prostate.
"Aziraphale." Crowley's cheeks are hot under the spray, teeth dug into his lip, making soft, strained noises of impatience and new pleasure.
Aziraphale tucks in close behind him, chin hooked over Crowley's slippery shoulder, belly against the back of his own hand, the other working gently but insistently against the nerves inside Crowley's body, feeling the shake of his legs and the excited squeeze of his rim.
"Let it happen," he urges.
He moves one of his legs forward, tucking a knee beneath Crowley's to support him and open him a little more, and Crowley's gives a gasping breath at the new angle.
"Fuck me," Crowley breathes. "You can fuck me - if you want to."
The words make Aziraphale's whole body clench, his foot giving a quick excited thump against the wet shower floor. The thought of pressing Crowley into the wall and sliding inside the exquisitely tight arse he's fingering is so viscerally appealing that he can't hold the whine, nose twitching against the curve of his fox's shoulder.
"Next time," he promises and hears a hiss in his own voice. "If you want there to be a next time, I'll slide all the way inside you, stretch you open and have you. Bite down on the back of your neck when I come -"
Crowley shakes in his arms, the clench of his body so tight. "Nngh, I need to - let me touch, I'm so close."
"On my fingers," Aziraphale tells him. "I know you can do it."
"Oh fuck." Crowley makes a low noise of frustration that strangles into a panted word. He doesn't protest, the gentle sways of his hips lose their rhythm, becoming a twitchy push for sensation.
Aziraphale can't pretend he isn't enjoying the slick feel of Crowley against his chest and thighs. His cock is a thick, solid line against Crowley's buttock, feeling every rock and press of wet skin in a way that's leaving smears of pre-come between them. He wants Crowley to feel good, he wants to show him all the ways that Aziraphale can bring him pleasure. He wants to be whatever Crowley needs. Whether that's being bent over and fucked every night of the week, or taking Crowley apart with his own hands and mouth and cock. He was lost the moment he found a miserable wet fox in the rain, and lifted his umbrella over his head.
"You're so beautiful," he says honestly, he can't help it. There's something about Crowley that has always dug through all his instincts to be wary, to be cautious. He loves this fierce creature and he would do anything for him. "Come for me."
Crowley gives a high, barking screech against the tiles, which echoes through the bathroom while his body shakes and clenches around Aziraphale fingers. His cock pulses and spills against the wall, to be immediately washed away by the fall of water. His face is pressed hard to the tile and he's panting out soft, overwhelmed noises, the last few dribbles leaving the red flush of his cock messy.
Aziraphale holds him while he calms, kisses his shoulder and his neck, the curve of his face - and then Crowley is squirming around, tail whicking free to slap the wall as his hands lift to grasp Aziraphale's face. And they're kissing, pressed together in the still somehow comfortable spray. He's warm and alive and trembling with after-echoes of pleasure. Aziraphale is not expecting a narrow hand to slide around his cock, working him in quick, sweet jerks until he's gasping into Crowley's mouth and coming against his hip and thigh.
They do very little but hold each other for a while. Aziraphale smoothing Crowley's twitching ears while Crowley spends a moment lazily scratching the base of Aziraphale's water-flattened tail.
"Thank you," he says eventually.
"You are my pleasure," Aziraphale reassures him. "Always, in any way that you need me."
Crowley makes a rumbling noise of affection, and approval.
"Though next time I fully expect to be arse up in your bed with your dick inside me."
Aziraphale can't stop the way his foot taps against the floor, the way his ears both try and twitch forward, though they're sopping wet. Crowley can't fail to miss either of them, the fiend.
"Oh, I look forward to that."