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It was raining again.
Not as much as it had the day before, when the drops were so large and fell so quickly that the little splats of them hitting the windows and roof had echoed through the cottage.
Crowley had grumbled about rot all that afternoon, glaring daggers through one of the windows facing his garden. The seeds he’d planted in the soft ground had only just begun to sprout, little specks of green peeking through the dirt, and Crowley, perpetual mother hen that he was, would be furious if his plants were drowned, roots rotted, before they were even old enough for him to snarl at about leaf spots.
It was like the bloody Ark all over again.
Meanwhile, Aziraphale had puttered around the whole cottage, fretting about the holes in their roof letting water leak in, potentially damaging his precious volumes.
They had, indeed, found a small puddle forming in the bathroom. Crowley had come in to wash mud off his hands and take a hot shower after daring to step out in the downpour and check on his Sweet Williams. He had cursed loudly enough for Aziraphale to come running, and then he went and grabbed a bowl to place under the leak while Crowley dried the floor.
That was yesterday, and since then, Aziraphale had been absolutely quaking with anxiety about his books. He had already been nervous about the toll the general damp of spring in the South Downs could take on his collection, and this just took the cake.
This morning, Aziraphale had ventured onto their patio to have tea and breakfast in the slowly warming air, only to find that, rather predictably, their table and chairs were soaked, and there were yet again grey clouds on the horizon. Even so, Crowley spent the mostly-dry hours of the morning knee-deep in the mud of his garden, checking and tending to his sprouts, grateful for their high-drainage soil.
He could, of course, use a miracle to undo any damage the rain caused - just as Aziraphale could do for his books. But since they had thwarted the Second Coming and found their own little slice of paradise together, they had decided to limit their use of miracles to true emergencies (saying that they had prevented Heaven and Hell’s second attempt at Armageddon would be a vast overstatement, as they had mostly just acted as support for Adam and the Them).
They, for the most part, had chosen to adopt a rather… human approach to their shared existence.
Now it was the afternoon, and it was raining again. Not torrentially, but steadily, with no sign of letting up any time soon. They were used to rain, of course, being English in all senses except pedigree, but they’d never had to deal with it in quite the same way. Aziraphale was settled into his armchair—the one they’d transplanted from the bookshop—reading Jane Austen’s Persuasion aloud for Crowley’s benefit.
Crowley, of course, would never admit how he adored when his angel would read for him (except, perhaps, to that same clever, convincing angel of his), but he was generally fascinated by the gentle and romantic storytelling of the woman he had only known of in a vastly different context.
Crowley let his head loll to the side where he was reclining on their well-loved couch, settling his uncovered eyes on the angel whom he still could not believe was his. His partner in life, his best friend. His to laugh with, his to snark at, his to treat as much as he liked. And of course, his to admire. So that was what he did. Indeed, it seemed to take up more of his time than he would care to admit, but Crowley couldn’t help himself. The angel was just so pretty, with his soft curls and rounded edges.
Even now, Crowley couldn’t help but admire the little roll of fat beneath Aziraphale’s chin as he looked down at the page he was reading from, or the way his plump fingers delicately cradled the book with the utmost care. He still wore his favorite shirt, waistcoat, and trousers—unlike Crowley, who had branched out a bit in recent months—looking utterly at peace. Aziraphale’s voice was always both deep and prim, a hint of that bastard that Crowley so adored, but also held a distinct softness in the comfort of their own home that was slightly intoxicating to Crowley. He opened his mouth without even realizing it.
“I love you,” Crowley nearly sighed out, interrupting Aziraphale as he read, and delighted in the delicate pink that blossomed in the angel’s plump cheeks.
Aziraphale’s answering smile was soft as well, and he blinked slowly, almost bashful, but very pleased, as he always was whenever Crowley said the words. (Crowley had made it his ambition to tell the angel at least once a day for the rest of their existences together, just to see that smile over and over and over again.)
“Oh,” Aziraphale began, “my dear. I love you as well. Truly.” His eyes seemed to twinkle when blue-grey met bright amber.
Crowley made a series of sounds as his cheeks reddened, and he promptly rolled off the couch onto the floor in a tangle of too-long limbs.
“Oh, good lord!” Aziraphale started, wincing at the sight of the demon sprawled across their threadbare Persian rug. “Crowley, are you…alright?“
Crowley righted himself enough to wriggle towards the angel, apparently doing his best impression of a serpent despite, y’know, the arms and legs.
Once he was close enough—though he could never be close enough—Crowley sat up on the floor beside Aziraphale’s feet and laid his head upon the angel’s ample thigh with a long, contented sigh. He inhaled deeply and nuzzled his face gently into the soft fabric of Aziraphale’s trousers, breathing in his scent. Wrapping his slender arms around the angel’s calves, Crowley delighted in the fact that he was allowed to do this, to simply show his abundant adoration and affection for the angel without fear of rejection or retribution from either of their former head offices. To let his love overflow in whatever embarrassing way it chose.
Aziraphale’s surprise softened with almost unbearable fondness for the demon at his feet. He placed a hand in Crowley’s hair, holding still just to feel his warmth for a moment, before starting to slowly run his fingers over and through the auburn curls.
He let the book fall closed and placed it gently on the side table with one hand as the other continued to pet and stroke Crowley’s hair. Crowley knew from experience how much Aziraphale loved to play with his hair, even more so when he wore it on the longer side—though Aziraphale also made it known he thought Crowley looked dashing in whatever fashion he decided—and delighted in it. At the moment, the ginger locks sat just past his shoulders, and Crowley idly wondered how long he would allow it to grow before he felt the pull to do something radically different with it.
Aziraphale sighed contentedly above him, and Crowley allowed himself to bask in his affectionate touch. As much as he generally hated being seen as soft, he could not, would not, deny how much he adored, craved, sought, hungered for, the small, simple ways in which he and Aziraphale had slowly learned to show their love for one another. They were still learning, every day.
In the previous six thousand and some odd years, they had been suspicious, foolish, friendly, and kind with each other. But nothing ever as tender and caring as these precious moments shared in their home.
Crowley dozed, lulled by the quiet pitter patter of the rain and the gentle way the angel stroked his hair. One perk of being a supernatural being was that his corporation did not ache even slightly, despite how long he had been kneeling at Aziraphale’s feet, with only a single threadbare, but well loved, rug as cushioning.
At some point, he regained consciousness long enough to realize that Aziraphale was humming. He could not recognize the tune, his mind drifting and hazy. But Crowley’s heart clenched, painful and delicious and Satan, so fond, at the way the angel’s fingers had gone from full caresses to mindlessly playing with his curls.
He turned his head where it was pillowed by Aziraphale’s thigh and pressed a kiss there.
Once. Twice.
Aziraphale had to have noticed that Crowley was awake, but he had not said or done anything to indicate as such. His hand still played with Crowley’s red locks, and he had not missed a note in his humming. Crowley wondered if he had even picked up the book again, continuing on without him from where they had left off, and considered what he could do to get the angel’s full attention on him once again.
Crowley slowly turned his face further into Aziraphale’s plush lap and continued to press kisses there, one after another, growing more deliberate with each one.
Aziraphale’s hips shifted slightly, and his song tripped for a moment as his breath hitched, before continuing on again, and that was all Crowley needed to hear.
This was another new development in their relationship. Once they had finally begun to feel more confident in the depth of their feelings for one another, they had naturally, albeit very slowly, started to demonstrate those feelings. Physically.
It had started with chaste, fleeting kisses - nothing really more than a Hello, I’m glad to see you or a Goodbye, I’ll miss you. But once Aziraphale had a taste of something truly delicious, he was near insatiable for it, and they soon learned that this was no different.
Crowley had never realized he could feel that same ravenous desire for anything, but really should have known that, if anything, it would be the angel that did it for him. And Hell, they had decided to live life in a (mostly) human way. What had humans been doing with each other since almost the very beginning?
Crowley shifted onto his knees for better leverage as his kisses meandered slowly and purposefully up Aziraphale’s thighs. Satan, he was lovely. His hands greedily stroked along Aziraphale’s legs, occasionally squeezing gently to appreciate just how soft and delectable his angel truly was.
Aziraphale was almost definitely the world’s first true hedonist—proven again by the way he had dived in with gusto to this new world of love, passion, and pleasure with Crowley—but Crowley also considered himself to be quite the connoisseur of Earth’s delicacies. Granted, his preferences were more geared toward the alcoholic, but he had personally sipped nearly every noteworthy wine around since humans had first discovered fermentation.
Of all the fine vintages Crowley had tasted over the millenia, Aziraphale was the most delicious. And he was always eager to sample again.
As Crowley moved up Aziraphale’s body, he used his hands to gently open the angel's plush thighs, squeezing again just to feel the delicious give. Aziraphale sighed dreamily as he let his knees fall apart, watching Crowley intently and adoringly as the demon placed himself firmly between them, any pretense of reading long forgotten.
Finally, Crowley had the space to press his face right at the apex of Aziraphale’s thighs, inhaling deeply as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to the hardening length he found there.
“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale breathed, hips shifting and muscles flexing as he let Crowley explore as he pleased.
Crowley’s hands moved up to Aziraphale’s trouser button, and paused, hazy eyes flitting up to meet the angel’s for confirmation.
“Yes,” Aziraphale said immediately, “yes, please, go on.” Crowley could not help his own slightly mischievous grin at Aziraphale’s urgency—angel though he was, patience had never exactly been one of his virtues.
With practiced ease, Crowley unbuttoned the angel’s trousers and sat up. Their eyes met again, and they shared a smile, adoring and excited, as they revealed Aziraphale’s flushed skin, removing layer by frustratingly endearing layer.
Finally naked and still grinning, Aziraphale sat back down in his armchair, and looked expectantly at Crowley, a question in his eyes.
Since they had become once and forevermore their side, Crowley had been playing with how he presented his corporation, and that meant that today he wore a dress. It was knee-length, long sleeved, black (of course, some things never change), in a flowy, almost sheer fabric that Crowley didn’t know the name of. Despite the joy of being naked with his angel, Crowley, well… Crowley felt pretty, and did not quite want to take it off just yet.
He shook his head, and Aziraphale’s smile softened with understanding.
“You do look positively stunning in that dress,” Aziraphale said, his eyes running appreciatively down the length of him. Crowley’s cheeks flared once again as he took his spot back on the floor between Aziraphale’s expansive, pink thighs.
“Mrgh— thanks, angel,” he began, running his hands along Aziraphale’s unbelievably soft, exposed skin. “You’re stunning, too, like this.”
A bashfully pleased smile spread on Aziraphale’s face. He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a drawn out sound of pleasure as Crowley’s mouth once again came down upon his heated flesh.
This was, in fact, a tactical move by Crowley, who really did not want to get distracted from the feast before him by Aziraphale saying something daft about Crowley being kind, or lovely, or any of the other words he used to describe Crowley whenever he got the chance. If he had, Crowley would have to sit back and argue that he was a demon, and he was not, nor would he ever be any of those things, and, well...
To put it frankly, his mouth had better things to be doing.
Starting from the broadest part of Aziraphale’s thighs, Crowley slowly kissed and licked his way back up to where the angel’s length stood proud, fully hard now and glistening slightly at the tip. One hand greedily squeezed Aziraphale’s soft, prominent belly, while the other reached higher to give some well-deserved love to his nipples.
Above him, Aziraphale groaned, hips lifting slightly when Crowley’s lips finally landed where he was hard and straining. Crowley pressed open-mouthed kisses along his length before flattening his tongue to lick a broad stripe from base to tip, humming at the familiar taste.
“Oh, darling,” Aziraphale gasped as Crowley suckled on the head of his cock, tasting the salty precum steadily beading from the tip. Surrounded by the sounds of Aziraphale’s pleasure, the taste and scent and feel of him, Crowley could not help but groan himself, feeling his pulse pound between his own thighs.
Crowley luxuriated in all the sensations, so very human, working Aziraphale with lips and tongue, lingering when the angel’s breaths caught, coaxing those breaths into moans. Aziraphale’s broad hand returned to Crowley’s curls, a still, gentle pressure. Asking without words.
His mouth occupied, Crowley hummed appreciatively and relaxed his jaw, hoping that was enough to encourage the angel to take what he wanted.
“Mmm, yes, sweetheart,” Aziraphale murmured, his voice dropping an octave. Taking hold of Crowley by his hair, the angel used one hand to hold his head in place, the other moving to tenderly caress his cheek. Held securely in place, scalp tingling, Aziraphale began thrusting. Powerless to do anything but receive what the angel gave him, and hopelessly aroused by the fact, Crowley moaned, low in his throat, both at the words and the way Aziraphale was starting to pick up speed.
“That’s it, sweet thing,” Aziraphale breathed out roughly, breath quickening as he took what he wanted, what Crowley gave him freely. “Look at you. You take it so well.”
The armchair squeaked as Aziraphale’s hips thrust in and out, gaining in speed and force. Crowley’s hands scrabbled against Aziraphale’s thighs, his nails leaving red streaks, and drool began to leak out the sides of his mouth. Though he didn’t technically need to breathe, Crowley often found that doing so served to ground him, and he focused on taking deep, slow breaths through his nose while he continued to move his tongue along Aziraphale’s length, urging him on as best as he could.
As Aziraphale began to lose himself in the pleasure, Crowley snuck a hand down between his legs, fingers reaching for where he was aching and wanting.
Since they had started expressing their desire physically, Crowley had taken a new interest in all of the possibilities of his corporation. Never one to restrict himself to boring expectations, he didn’t care particularly for biological expectations or limits. It may not be completely in the spirit of playing human, but Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind.
He often found a cock to be too much of a bother, hanging limply where it could get snagged on things, create weird folds in his clothes, and be absolutely unsubtle whenever he had less than chaste thoughts about the angel.
So, on this rainy spring day, Crowley had chosen to give himself a neat little cunt.
Of course, neat wouldn’t be the most accurate description of it at the moment, pink and swollen and soaked as it was.
He had to lift the soft, flowing skirts of his dress to get to it, the light fabric brushing against Aziraphale’s legs as he did.
“Mmmm, you sweet darling,” Aziraphale immediately said, opening his eyes to look deeply into Crowley’s. “Is that how much you like this?” He punctuated his question with a sharp thrust of his hips, going somehow deeper down Crowley’s throat than he had before. Crowley couldn’t help but whine.
“Go on then, touch yourself,” Aziraphale commanded, eyes locked on Crowley’s, as he started up a slower, more drawn-out rhythm, and the hand at the back of Crowley’s head switched back to gently stroking his hair. With a muffled moan, Crowley finally pressed his fingers right to where he needed it the most, rubbing slow, wet circles over his clit.
Crowley started to move his hips in time with Aziraphale’s, making uncontrolled muffled sounds of pleasure, grateful his mouth was full. Aziraphale’s other hand resumed stroking Crowley’s face, caressing his cheek as his Effort pressed against it from the inside, and rubbing along Crowley’s stretched lips.
“That’s it, my love,’ Aziraphale began, “you have no idea how gorgeous you are like this.” Crowley was too preoccupied with the length in his mouth and the hand between his thighs to protest, even if he wanted to. “You are so good for me, darling,” he continued, and Crowley’s eyes squeezed shut, eyebrows knitting together in his refusal.
“No, it’s true, Crowley. I know it’s not easy for you to hear, but I have to say it—mmh,” he interrupted himself with a groan as Crowley brought his other hand to fondle the angel’s balls, using every trick in his ever-expanding book to distract him.
“You have always taken such good care of me. That’s how I knew you loved me, even millennia ago. And you have always, always, been the best thing about my existence he—”
Aziraphale’s words were cut short by his deep moan of pleasure, staring down at Crowley’s bobbing head and spit slickened chin. Crowley, mortifyingly, felt a tear make its way down his cheek, and Aziraphale’s broad thumb traced its path.
“My dear—” Crowley moved, pulling his mouth up and off Aziraphale’s length. He was sure he made quite the sight, a string of spit connecting the tip of Aziraphale’s cock to Crowley’s lips, which he knew were pink and swollen with use.
“Enough, Angel, please, I need you,” Crowley said urgently, wiping his slick chin with the back of one hand and clambering up to sit in Aziraphale’s lap.
His flouncy dress caught between them for one awkward, endearing moment, but together, they lifted it out of the way, so it draped over the both of them while they sat skin to skin.
For the first time that evening, their mouths connected. The kisses were surprisingly tender and slow despite the need Crowley felt buzzing under his skin. In truth, neither of them could help but savor the luxury of doing freely what they had each desired for so long and thought they would never be able to.
They sat embracing for a moment, their previous urgency momentarily forgotten as lips pressed and tongues slid against each other. Crowley’s hands were in Aziraphale’s soft, white curls, thumbs caressing his cheekbones, while Aziraphale’s arms wrapped around Crowley’s waist and held him close.
Aziraphale’s hold brought them closer together, and reminded Crowley of what he had been so desperate for only a moment ago. Crowley began to move his hips, grinding, wet and hot, against Aziraphale’s cock, until Aziraphale threw his head back with a groan, canting his hips up to meet Crowley’s.
The length of him moved against Crowley’s clit deliciously, getting obscenely wet from Crowley’s arousal. Groaning, Crowley pressed their foreheads together and pushed up on his knees, reaching under his dress for his prize. They locked eyes as Crowley sank down, taking him in one smooth motion.
It went so easy, like coming home, like some deep empty pit in his being was finally, blissfully, filled.
Crowley could not control the breathy moan that sighed out of him as he settled fully in Aziraphale’s lap.
Aziraphale caught Crowley’s eyes with his own, gripping his slender hips over the dress with two strong hands, his expression a picture of pleasure and adoration.
“My love,” Aziraphale whispered.
“I love you, angel,” Crowley whispered back, blinking back the tears gathering in his eyes, and brought his hands back up to cup Aziraphale’s face.
He pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s, kissing him like the world was ending again. Slowly, Crowley started moving, a methodical grind, and as natural as breathing, Aziraphale met his pace. They built a steady rhythm, breathing as one. Aziraphale sighed out, Crowley breathed in. Crowley moaned, and Aziraphale swallowed it.
The sensations lit Crowley up, arcing strands of light bouncing around inside him and behind his eyes. It was incredible, unbearable, unfathomable, as it always was between them. Crowley felt his pleasure begin to crest, the intimate slide of their bodies working to lift him higher and higher.
Aziraphale was feeling much the same, if the uncontrollable twitching of his hips and the rapid loss of rhythm was any indication.
“Crowley,” he sobbed, burying his face in Crowley’s slender neck, kissing the sweat-slick skin. His arms were still locked around Crowley’s waist, crushing them together in a deliriously wonderful, erotic embrace.
“That’s it, angel. You’ve been so good for me as well. You deserve this as much as I do,” Crowley murmured sweetly.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried out, groaning with every breath, thrusting erratically as his peak built and built.
“Mmm, angel,” Crowley moaned, recognizing the signs of Aziraphale’s approaching peak. He moved his hips faster, bringing his arms up to crush the angel to his chest.
They moved together frantically, until Aziraphale gripped Crowley’s hips almost painfully and his thrusts stuttered once, twice, and he was releasing inside. The force of his thrust would have pushed Crowley off his lap were it not for the hands on his hips and his own arms around the angel.
Aziraphale’s teeth sank into the sensitive flesh of Crowley’s neck, the mingled pleasure and pain drawing a moan out from deep in his chest. He stroked Aziraphale’s sweaty back, holding him tenderly as he came down, cooing sweet things in the angel’s ear that he would deny if anyone ever dared to ask.
Once Aziraphale had caught his breath, he pulled his face from Crowley’s neck with an apologetic smile, eyes lingering at the angry red bite mark he had left.
“So sorry about that, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, one of his hands coming up to stroke it.
“Nh–don’t be, angel,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale’s eyes met his curiously. Crowley’s cheeks reddened. “I..uh, I liked it.”
Aziraphale raised one eyebrow with an intrigued and rather ravenous look in his eyes.
“Is that so?”
Crowley would have been more embarrassed about admitting such a thing, but Satan, did he love the how much of a bastard his angel could be, so he just nodded and bit his lip.
Aziraphale’s eyes trailed down Crowley’s body, still wrapped up in his pretty dress, but decidedly less put together than he had been.
“You poor dear, your dress is all askew. I do hope we haven’t ruined it.” Aziraphale said, stroking the soft flowing fabric.
Crowley opened his mouth to disagree; he was far from a poor dear, and besides, he would definitely risk using a miracle to fix his new favorite dress. Before he could get further than a couple of misplaced vowel sounds, Aziraphale was lifting him in his arms and standing from the armchair. Crowley let out an undignified squeak but couldn’t help the way his cunt clenched at the display of strength.
Aziraphale let out a groan that ended with a huff of laughter as his softening length fell from Crowley’s body, and deposited Crowley back onto the couch, holding his legs high above his head.
“Not to worry darling, I know you’ve been so patient for me,” Aziraphale smirked down at him and Crowley was breathless at the sight of him. “I’ll take care of you now.”
Without any further preamble, Aziraphale was burying his face into Crowley’s cunt with an obscene groan.
Crowley cried out and his hands flew to grip Aziraphale’s angelic curls once again. Aziraphale’s tongue mercilessly moved over his clit and fuck, Crowley wasn’t going to last very long.
“Angel, angel, angel,” he choked out, body twitching and writing while he held Aziraphale’s head in place, “More. I…I need more. Please.”
Aziraphale groaned again and the vibration of it rumbled along Crowley’s clit, sending a bolt of pleasure up his spine like lightning.
Two of Aziraphale’s thick fingers pressed back into his waiting cunt as his lips moved around Crowley’s clit and sucked.
“Ahhh–” Crowley yowled, his entire body alight with pleasure, as Aziraphale devoured him.
All told, he did not last more than a few seconds under Aziraphale’s attention until his entire body arched off the couch. For a long moment, a mini eternity, he was caught in an orgasmic limbo, right on the precipice. Then he screamed, coming uncontrollably all over Aziraphale’s face as the angel groaned in appreciation.
Crowley collapsed back onto the couch, panting for breath, feeling as boneless as a bowl of over-boiled spaghetti; completely worn out and entirely satisfied. His eyes blinked open, slowly, to stare up at the ceiling. He noticed for the first time that some of the speckles up there resembled the constellations he had built, so long ago.
“Would you look at that?” At Aziraphale’s voice, Crowley moved his head to search for the angel.
He did not have to look far. Aziraphale was still where he had been, crouched between Crowley’s splayed, boney legs. But his face, embarrassingly covered in Crowley’s slick, was turned toward the window.
When Crowley turned to see what he was looking at, he saw…well he wasn’t sure what he saw. The sun had long set as they...indulged, and it was really too dark to see anything except the faint starlight and their own debauched reflections in the glass.
“Wot?” he asked, hoarsely.
Aziraphale tsked but looked back at him fondly.
“The rain has stopped, my dear.”
Crowley turned back to the window, and sure enough, it had.
“Huh. Let’s hope it stays that way,” Crowley huffed, already feeling slightly grumpy again thinking about his likely water-logged garden.
“Now, now. None of that,” Aziraphale tutted, having thankfully wiped his face. He stood up, still gloriously naked, and took Crowley’s hand to lift him off the couch. Crowley harrumphed but let himself be pulled out of the sitting room and down the hall. His legs were shaky, and he contemplated asking Aziraphale to carry him, but decided his dignity couldn’t possibly take such a hit in his current state. Maybe next time.
“How about we take a nice, hot shower together? Hmm?”
“Oooooh yes, that will do nicely,” Crowley replied with a grin, feeling deliriously, incandescently lucky.