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Saturday, 9:47am
“But why,” Crowley asked, slithering even further down on the banquette and shoving his hands in his pockets.
Aziraphale took a sip of his tea. He was glad he’d chosen neutral ground, the corner booth at their favorite café, to propose this idea. Here, Crowley was merely sulking like a teenager—who knew how he’d have carried on at the bookshop, or his flat.
“I like kissing you,” Aziraphale said simply. The tea had cooled a bit for his preference, no wonder in this sleety weather. He miracled it up a few degrees and took another sip.
“So kiss me, then. I don’t see why we have to stop doing everything else.”
“My dear, we aren’t stopping. I’m only asking for a sort of, a hiatus. Just this weekend, for kissing only. No touching or...other things. You’ll see. It’ll be lovely.”
“Doesn’t sound all that great to me.” Crowley fiddled with his cup of espresso, untouched since Aziraphale had revealed his plan. Beneath his agitation, Aziraphale glimpsed a flicker of something promising.
“I want to savour your kisses,” Aziraphale said in the low tone he knew Crowley liked. “I want to know every crease of your beautiful lips, every curve of your wicked tongue.” He smiled sweetly and took a bite of his toast.
Crowley squirmed visibly in his seat. “And what do I get out of it?”
Ah, of course Crowley would try to negotiate. Aziraphale should have planned for this. “I beg your pardon?” he said in mock umbrage.
“If I do this for two days, if I can keep my hands off you for two days, what’ll you give me?”
“I should have thought kissing me was its own reward,” Aziraphale huffed.
Crowley looked stricken for a second, then smoothed out his features and took a sip of espresso. “No touching at all?”
“None, except what is absolutely necessary for a kiss.”
“Does fellatio count as kissing?”
Aziraphale almost inhaled his tea. “Certainly not.”
Crowley leaned across the table. And leaned. And leaned. “Just to be sure I completely understand,” he murmured, nudging his sunglasses down and peering over them, “I can kiss it. But I can’t suck it.” His eyes gleamed. The corner of his lips twitched.
It was Aziraphale’s turn to squirm. “You won’t have the opportunity to do either,” he said, with some regret. “I intend to stay fully dressed all weekend, and I suggest you do the same.”
“But I don’t have to,” Crowley balked. “That’s not a rule.”
Aziraphale considered. Clearly, Crowley was going to make it as difficult as possible for him to comply with his own request. The next forty-eight hours stretched out in front of him filled with luxurious snogging and intoxicating self-denial, a little weekend getaway of temptation. That was, as Crowley would say, the point. “No, it’s not a rule. The rules are: apart from kissing, you don’t touch me, I don’t touch you. For the next two days.” He widened his eyes, edged his expression toward pleading.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Shake on it?” Crowley extended his hand.
Aziraphale laughed and finished his toast.
Saturday, 10:44am
Crowley could have treated this as an opportunity to buy into Aziraphale’s idea. But he preferred to treat it as an opportunity to persuade Aziraphale to break his rules.
He hadn’t expected it to be especially difficult. He might have form himself for going fast, but usually Aziraphale was just as keen, greedy hedonist that he was. But on this occasion, as they stood in the bookshop’s back room, Aziraphale seemed perfectly happy just to kiss. And kiss. And kiss. Chastely at first, his mouth sliding over Crowley’s; then deeper, his tongue delving into Crowley’s mouth. No touching, Aziraphale had said, except what is absolutely necessary; after the first time Crowley nearly stumbled over backwards, Aziraphale put a hand up to his shoulder to steady him, and Crowley followed suit. Arguably that was necessary, rather than Aziraphale already forgetting himself; shame. The kissing got steadily hotter, and dirtier, until it reached a point where as a rule, Crowley would by now have his hands down Aziraphale’s pants. Experimentally, he tried that, just to see what would happen.
“Ah, ah.” Aziraphale broke off the kiss, and wriggled backwards out of reach. “Kissing only. Remember?”
Crowley shrugged. “Just checking if you really meant it.”
Aziraphale narrowed his eyes slightly. “Of course I meant it. I’m sure you can hold off on the wiles a little longer than that, darling.”
Well. Well now. Crowley gave Aziraphale his most innocent smile, noted with resignation that Aziraphale was visibly unconvinced by any Crowleian attempts at innocence, and moved back in to kiss some more, his hands resting chastely on Aziraphale’s shoulders again.
After a while, Aziraphale relaxed back into it, humming into Crowley’s mouth, and moving a hand up to the nape of his neck. His fingers slid up into Crowley’s hair; right, so that was allowed, then. Or Aziraphale had weakened already; that wasn’t strictly absolutely necessary for kissing, was it? Not that Crowley intended to point this out. He pulled back a little, kissing the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth, then along his jaw and up to his ear. Aziraphale had very sensitive ears. Gently, delicately, Crowley nibbled at his earlobe, and Aziraphale gasped.
“Kissing,” he said, but he didn’t sound wholly convinced, and he didn’t move.
“This is kissing,” Crowley murmured softly into his ear, and felt Aziraphale shudder. “This is definitely kissing. My mouth, kissing you. Right?”
“Mmm,” Aziraphale said, breathlessly. “I suppose.” His fingers were stroking the back of Crowley’s neck, and as Crowley bit his earlobe again, his nails dug in. Crowley shuddered too, and pressed into him. Aziraphale drew back.
“Now that is definitely cheating,” he said, but he was smiling. “Kissing. Remember.”
“That’s kissing!” Crowley said, doing his best to sound outraged. “I mean, we’re allowed to touch, right?”
“Not that much touch,” Aziraphale said firmly. His hand was at least still on Crowley’s neck; but this was shaping up to be rather harder work, in the temptation department, than Crowley had anticipated.
Still. He liked a challenge.
Saturday, 2:17pm
Aziraphale looked down from his stool in the Philosophy section, where he had been shelving new arrivals for the past twenty minutes. The weather, glimpsed through the window, continued dark and miserable, with everyone huddled into their jackets against the ongoing sleet. Why did he feel so warm?
Crowley had wandered off at lunchtime, looking thoughtful, even crafty, and Aziraphale had been relieved to have the opportunity for his lust to die down a little. He was finding this experiment rather more difficult than he’d anticipated, and while the falafel kebab at the Turkish restaurant on Carnaby Street had been delicious, it was hardly capable of satisfying all his desires.
He hadn’t been thinking about Crowley just now, but the shop really did feel uncomfortably hot, and unless the ancient boiler was up the spout, he had a feeling he knew where this was leading.
Aziraphale stepped down and headed up front. It was cooler near the windows, but there was no Crowley. He went back through the stacks. One customer, browsing Science Fiction/Fantasy. No Crowley. It was much warmer back here. He poked his head into the back room, where it was even warmer. “...oh.”
Crowley lay on his side on the sofa, leafing through a magazine he must have brought with him, as Aziraphale certainly didn’t stock Cosmopolitan. Aziraphale spied a headline: Fourteen Tips To Drive Your Man Wild In Bed, and rolled his eyes; but it was Crowley that was the real distraction. Apart from his sunglasses, he was naked from the waist up. One elbow propped, chin on his hand, his lean torso on display in a seductive curve. Aziraphale yanked his eyes away from the planes of Crowley’s hipbones, the narrow trail of red hair disappearing into very, very low-slung trousers. He licked his lips.
“You’ve raised the temperature in here,” Aziraphale said, meaning it in several ways.
“I was cold, and no angel to warm me up,” Crowley said. “And I reckoned if I was cold, you were colder. So.”
Aziraphale was, in spite of himself, touched. He’d been chilly all morning. “That was thoughtful of you.” He entered the room, hands carefully clasped behind his back, and dropped a kiss on Crowley’s cheek. Crowley turned his head to offer his lips, and Aziraphale sighed gladly and sucked Crowley’s upper lip into his mouth, then his lower. He could feel Crowley’s body heat, and catch just a trace of his scent. As they broke the kiss, Crowley reached up one-handed and removed his sunglasses.
Aziraphale was still not able to control the bloom of happiness and desire that spread in his chest whenever Crowley revealed his eyes. “You have made it...rather warmer than necessary, it seems to me.”
Crowley blinked and smiled. “What can I say? I’m a snake.”
Aziraphale chuckled. “Budge over,” he said, and Crowley slithered aside a few inches, enough to allow Aziraphale to sit down without touching him at all. He didn’t trust himself. This morning he’d been winding his hands into Crowley’s hair as soon as they began. Once he had his hands on Crowley, it was too hard to stop. Petting the soft ginger at his nape could too easily become stroking his fine shoulders, his serpentine back, his sinuous hips...it would never do. Aziraphale leant forward with one arm on the back of the sofa, the other still behind his back, and pressed his lips softly to Crowley’s forehead, temples, cheeks, ears...letting himself enjoy roaming over Crowley’s beloved face, taking in the details. He stroked his lips over the faint ridges of crow’s feet, the suggestion of a dimple, the firm line of his jaw. This well-known face, his to kiss. A miracle.
Crowley was quiet, the slight smile still on his face, not kissing back, just accepting Aziraphale’s devotion. His pupils had dilated. A part of Aziraphale felt he could remain like this all day, just drinking in Crowley’s golden smile. Another part wanted to bite him hard enough to leave a mark. He nibbled at Crowley’s lips, just hinting at teeth. Crowley nibbled back, then pulled away.
“Take off your coat, angel. Stay awhile.” He tossed the magazine on the floor to make more room.
“Best not,” Aziraphale said, though he was starting to sweat a little.
Crowley edged closer toward him, kissing a line down his throat from ear to adam’s apple. Aziraphale felt every hair on his body stand up. “I could make it even hotter in here, you know.”
“Hello?” A voice called from the front of the shop. “Is anybody here?” The customer, drat it.
“Bother,” Aziraphale muttered, standing up.
“I could take care of her, if you like,” Crowley offered, with a wicked grin.
“That will not be necessary.” His condemnatory exit was rather impaired by the need to adjust himself in his trousers before leaving the room. Crowley laughed behind him.
Saturday, 4:36pm
The kissing was good, Crowley had to admit that. More than good. He had Aziraphale crowded up against one of the bookshelves in the back of the shop. He’d braced one arm against the shelf, next to Aziraphale’s head, keeping a careful couple of inches between their bodies while he leant into Aziraphale to bring their mouths softly together. The other hand was twisting into Aziraphale’s pale curls, thumb rubbing at the nape of his neck. Crowley kissed him gently, slowly, lips brushing delicately together, savouring his angel’s soft mouth, and the quickening of his breath. Aziraphale tilted his head a little and opened his mouth, his tongue darting out and along Crowley’s lips. Crowley heard a moan in the back of his own throat as he deepened the kiss, letting Aziraphale in, tongues touching. He pushed his fingers a little further into Aziraphale’s hair, cupping the back of his head to bring his angel closer to him. Aziraphale curled his fingers into the front of Crowley’s shirt—done up again now, so as not to alarm the customers. Not that there were any customers right now, which was probably for the best.
Aziraphale did, perhaps, have a point, Crowley thought a little hazily, as their mouths moved hotly together. Perhaps they did often skip through this bit a little too swiftly. There was something about just kissing, the focus down to the taste of Aziraphale, the feel of his lips, his tongue licking into Crowley’s mouth then pulling back again, the tiny noises he was making as Crowley bit gently at his lower lip...there was something luxuriously decadent about having no destination in mind. Just revelling in being together like this, when Crowley had spent so long thinking of kissing Aziraphale and never imagining he would ever get to do it.
And that was all very well and he absolutely was appreciating it, but whether or not he had a destination in mind right now, his prick absolutely did, and it was making its wishes known. He wriggled a little, trying to make himself a little more comfortable without having to stop kissing and rearrange anything, and accidentally brushed against Aziraphale as he did so.
Aziraphale groaned and rocked his hips towards Crowley, just for a second, then shuffled back into the bookshelf.
“Crowley,” he murmured, sounding slightly disapproving but barely stopping the kiss, just letting his breath skate across Crowley’s lips. Crowey shivered.
“Was an accident, angel,” he said, entirely honestly. “Hardly my fault if just kissing you turns me on this much, right?”
Aziraphale’s breath caught for a moment, and his eyelashes fluttered. He kissed Crowley again, suddenly harder and more intent, and Crowley heard the whine at the back of his own throat echoed by Aziraphale’s moan.
He nibbled at Aziraphale’s lower lip, and ran his hand gently down Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder, squeezing gently around his upper arm. Even through his shirt, Aziraphale shivered, and Crowley squeezed again, letting his nails dig in through the linen as he bit at Aziraphale’s mouth. Aziraphale pushed into him, licking at Crowley’s upper lip, and Crowley lost himself again in the kiss, holding onto Aziraphale’s arm for dear life. He’d had something else in mind, he was fairly sure, but all he wanted to do right now was to lean into Aziraphale; taste him; hear those noises that he made as Crowley kissed him; feel him shiver and breathe faster. Just like Crowley was doing himself. Just from kissing.
Eventually, they broke apart, and Aziraphale pushed gently at Crowley’s chest. Crowley, automatically, took a step back.
“You are so lovely, my dear,” Aziraphale said, smiling up at him, and Crowley melted all over again. “I should...the shop…” He ducked out from under Crowley’s arm, and Crowley let him go, blinking after him in what was, arguably, far too besotted a way for a demon.
Just kissing. It seemed implausible that he could feel like this just from kissing.
His prick made it known again that however pleasant all the kissing was, there were other things that could also be on the menu...Menu. Well now, that was a good idea, wasn’t it? Yes, the kissing was lovely, but it had been the best part of a day now. Crowley was in the mood for a little more tempting, and reminding Aziraphale of some of his baser bodily pleasures seemed like it might set the scene quite well for that. Plus a bottle or two of wine rarely hurt, when it came to a seduction.
And he did very much like to watch Aziraphale eat. He’d liked it for a very, very long time; over a great many meals in a great many restaurants in a great many towns and cities.
Through a gap in the bookshelves, he could see Aziraphale carefully reshelving a stack of books from his desk, utterly focussed on what he was doing, a small smile on his kiss-red lips. Crowley felt a sudden wave of love and affection. A really good meal out, that was what they should have tonight. Both for purposes of temptation, and because Aziraphale deserved the best of London’s cuisine.
Whistling to himself, he pulled his phone out of his back pocket, threw himself back onto the sofa, and started Googling restaurants.
Saturday, 8:43pm
“Thank you for choosing this place, Crowley. It’s delightful.”
The restaurant, serving modern French fare, had a loud and busy bar at the front, and a quiet dining area at the back. They were seated in a high-backed booth away from the noise of both bar and kitchen. Aziraphale was currently enjoying an oven-roasted free-range chicken leg stuffed with duck liver and morels, velvety and extravagant in its richness, accompanied by wilted spinach. They had begun with flutes of champagne and moved on to a good Burgundy, perfect for the cold weather.
“Glad you like it,” said Crowley, leaning as usual toward Aziraphale while he ate. Aziraphale had lately wondered how he’d missed some of Crowley’s more obvious body language over the years. Crowley looked at Aziraphale at table the way Aziraphale looked at flourless chocolate torte served with creme chantilly and hazelnut brittle. In recent months, they had sometimes held hands in restaurants, and Aziraphale was on the point of reaching for Crowley when he remembered that it would not do, not tonight. He felt a little sad about that, and looked about him for something to offer instead.
“Do have a taste.” Aziraphale lifted a bit of spinach at the end of his fork. When Crowley ate, which was not often, he sometimes liked bitter greens.
Tonight, Crowley opened his mouth for a bite, perhaps showing a bit more of his tongue than was strictly necessary or polite. Slowly, his lips embraced the fork and slid down it. Aziraphale, his mouth suddenly dry, licked his lips.
“Mmm,” Crowley chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “I like that.” His voice was rough. Aziraphale was fully aware Crowley was deliberately tempting him. The trouble was, it was working. It had been working all day.
Aziraphale looked hastily down at his plate. “Would you care for any more, then?”
“You know that’s not what I really want.”
Aziraphale felt a gentle bump under the table, against his shoe. Crowley’s foot, just nudging against his. Aziraphale jerked his foot back.
“Crowley—”
“Come on. They’re feet. With shoes on. Do you have a foot fetish you haven’t been telling me about?”
“...well.” Perhaps Crowley was right. A little footsie under the table was more innocent than kissing, really. It hardly counted. He slid his foot forward again.
“That’s right,” Crowley smiled, caressing his instep with the toe of his boot, and now Aziraphale wasn’t sure this was a good idea at all. His foot was actually tingling. Crowley slid his foot along the side of Aziraphale’s, catching the bottom edge. Even through both pairs of shoes and his favorite pink and beige wool argyles, this felt somehow zingy with delightful sensation. Aziraphale broke out into a smile.
“You wily old serpent,” he said fondly, and slid his foot up the back of Crowley’s calf.
Crowley startled and then grinned, stroking his leg against Aziraphale's foot. "Greedy bastard."
Aziraphale beamed.
The waiter, in the impeccably timed manner of waiters everywhere, chose this moment to inquire about dessert.
Saturday, 10:57pm
Crowley pulled the Bentley up outside the bookshop. Almost as soon as he’d turned the engine off, Aziraphale was leaning over towards him. The kiss was almost chaste to start out with, but Crowley, still thinking about the expression Aziraphale had made over his pudding, leaned into it with enthusiasm. He licked into Aziraphale’s mouth, chasing the flavours of chocolate and kirsch and dessert wine, mixed with the familiar taste of Aziraphale himself, until Aziraphale was making very much the same noise he had been over the last mouthful of chocolate mousse.
Crowley, leaning somewhat uncomfortably over the gear lever, was about to suggest that perhaps they could take this inside, when Aziraphale sighed and pulled away.
“Mm. Thank you for a lovely dinner, my dear. I think...perhaps it would be best if I just see you in the morning?”
Before Crowley could object, or complain, or attempt to persuade him otherwise, he was out of the car and disappearing into the door of the bookshop.
“Fuck,” Crowley said. Gritting his teeth, he started the Bentley back up and roared off in the direction of his flat, cutting up every bus he could find on the way.
Saturday, 11:23pm
Aziraphale stopped halfway up the stairs to his flat, realising he had no idea why he was going up there. Before everything changed, he never did—he never had any reason to.
Now there was a kettle up there, and a cupboard with mugs and glasses. A few tins of biscuits. A bedroom with a lamp and a table, pyjamas. A bed.
Aziraphale still didn't sleep. But now he spent many nights in the bed with Crowley, and after breaking the fever of their lust, Crowley would sleep, and Aziraphale would sit up with a book.
He would watch Crowley's features soften, the cut of his mouth go slack, the tension in his temples ebb away as Aziraphale stroked his hair or his back. His limbs would flex and then curl gently, and for hours, Crowley would nestle against him, breathing softly and bathing Aziraphale in warmth. Sometimes, Aziraphale would put the book down and wrap himself around Crowley, feeling the intimate expansion of his lungs, the gentle shifting of his legs, the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
Sometimes Aziraphale would wake him in the night, overcome. Crowley would return his kisses and they would fuck until the sun came up. Or, Crowley would sigh and pull Aziraphale's hand onto his shoulder, snuggle up more tightly, and go back to sleep.
They didn't spend every night together. But since their relationship had changed, Crowley had always been there for the asking. Now Aziraphale had sent him off—well-kissed, to be sure, but away. Aziraphale's own doing.
He had anticipated the sexual frustration he’d felt all day. However much he kissed Crowley this weekend, he had known he'd miss fucking him. He'd been counting on it. But he hadn't expected to miss this. How foolish of him.
There was no reason to get into bed, and he didn't think he would like to. Anyway, an estate sale had yielded some interesting finds and he had some shelving to do. Aziraphale turned and headed back downstairs.
Sunday, 12:36am
Crowley pulled his clothes off and flung them onto the floor—miracling them away lacked the pouty drama he was going for at this moment, even if there was no one around to see it—and grumpily yanked on his pyjamas. The black silk, against his oversensitive skin, felt almost too pleasant.
A whole day! Aziraphale had held out for an entire day. Obviously Crowley was losing his touch, temptation-wise. He scowled, and stretched out on his bed. His very comfortable, very pleasant, bed, which was 100% lacking in angels at this time. Which on the one hand meant that Aziraphale wasn’t there being frustrating, and on the other hand meant that Aziraphale wasn’t there soothing his frustrations.
Crowley wasn’t used, any more, to spending nights alone when he didn’t want to. Nights when he would rather be with Aziraphale, naked with Aziraphale, further investigating their most interesting human bodies, or indeed their not-human not-bodies. He’d had six thousand years of not being able to do what he wanted with Aziraphale. This was beginning to feel like a most unwelcome reminder of all those other meals when he’d watched Aziraphale in borderline-orgasmic rapture over food, then gone home alone to think of all the ways he wanted to make Aziraphale sound like that. It was all rather more jarring than he’d expected. Especially given that, in all honesty, he hadn’t anticipated Aziraphale would hold out for a full day. Dammit.
He glowered up at his own ceiling. He wanted his angel here. This was annoying, and it wasn’t fair, and he didn’t like the feeling of missing Aziraphale when he didn’t damn well have to miss Aziraphale any more. Bloody angel. Having stupid ideas. Even if the kissing today had been, okay, very pleasant indeed. But he was a demon, dammit. He wasn’t supposed to exhibit restraint.
But...he didn’t have to, here and now, did he? Crowley ran his fingers across his own chest, sliding the silk against his nipple and wriggling pleasurably, as it occurred to him that he could soothe his own frustrations, now he was alone. Aziraphale’s rules had been about them touching one another. Nothing to stop him from touching himself, was there? He wondered, with a catch of his breath, whether Aziraphale was doing the same thing, back at the bookshop, sitting on the sofa with his hand absently sliding over his cock…Envisaging it, his hips stuttered involuntarily upwards, and he bit at his lip. He imagined Aziraphale undoing his trousers, his head falling backwards as he slid his hand into them, his cock already hard, and desire flared in the pit of his own stomach.
Crowley’s hand slid over his prick, hard under his pyjamas, and he rolled his hips into it and hissed at the pressure. The cool smooth silk of his pyjamas felt wonderful against his heated skin. He stroked himself a couple of times, thinking about Aziraphale doing the same thing, about Aziraphale’s hips pushing his cock into his own hand—or possibly into Crowley’s hand, the fantasy was getting a bit blurry on the details in a very appealing way. He slid his hand under his waistband to wrap his hand around his cock properly...and stopped.
An idea had just occurred to him. An idea with promise.
They weren’t supposed to be touching each other. They hadn’t said anything about touching themselves. Nor had they said anything about touching themselves, for example, in full view of the other one.
Crowley grinned, curling his fingers around his cock. He had, perhaps, another idea or two to try out first, but if Aziraphale was still holding fast to these rules of his after that; how about if Crowley were there, legs spread, hands down his own trousers, right there in the middle of the bookshop? Was he going to find himself able to resist that? Especially, hm, if Crowley swapped his current cock for a cunt. Aziraphale was enthusiastic about all the genital arrangements they’d tried thus far, including some versions which by human standards were fairly out-there, but he’d been particularly enthusiastic about going down on Crowley when he’d had a cunt. The smell, the taste—Aziraphale the hedonist would find those compelling, temptation-wise.
Yes. That could work. And in the meantime, he could just take the edge off, right here and now, with his currently manifested bits...
He scowled up at the ceiling, and, in the face of every bodily urge he had, didn’t move his hand. The thing was. The thing was. Aziraphale would know, if he did this now. Aziraphale would know, tomorrow morning, that he wasn’t as desperate for it as he had been when they’d parted company. And that would make any temptation that Crowley performed significantly less compelling.
If he really wanted to win this, if he really wanted to be convincing, he was going to have to keep it for tomorrow.
Why the fuck had he agreed to any of this in the first place? Oh yes. Because Aziraphale had asked him to, and he was a total sucker for pretty much any idea the angel dreamed up, especially if it came with the “oh, please, Crowley?” look. Bless it. He wanted Aziraphale to be here, right now. He didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. He’d done enough bloody waiting over the years. But if he had to feel this way anyway—and it wasn’t like he didn’t know, from extensive previous experience, that having a wank wasn’t going to help with the feeling, even if it took the physical edge off—he was damn well going to use it to get his own way.
Reluctantly, and very slowly, Crowley took his hand off his cock. He rolled over, buried his head in the pillow, allowed himself one very enthusiastic grind into the bed, and then told himself firmly that he was going to get some sleep.
Sunday, 7:04am
Aziraphale paced the shop floor as he waited for the kettle to boil. It would be hours before Crowley came round, hours before he even woke up, and Aziraphale was at a loose end.
He had plenty to do this morning. One of the estate sale finds had been an early edition of A Room of One's Own in need of repair, and he looked forward to losing himself in the delicate work. But he was not content. He had begun to think he'd made a mistake.
He’d first conceived this notion at the start of what had turned out to be one of their most intense times together. They’d barely begun kissing before Crowley had started pushing at his clothes, and Aziraphale had tutted mentally over Crowley's haste but complied willingly enough. With a shiver, he remembered how beautifully Crowley had sucked him—he'd seen stars. And he'd taken Crowley in his arms and in his hands, and, telling him how wonderful he was, had moved him to tears. And then, yes. That was the first time Crowley had said he loved him.
Aziraphale ached, a familiar thrilling brew of pain and pleasure simmering in his chest and belly. He had the power to call this off, to concede the experiment was a failure, that he couldn't go more than a day without Crowley in his arms, Crowley's skin under his hands. When Crowley came into the shop this morning, he would pluck the coffee cup from his hands and spread him out on the desk, like their first time…
The kettle boiled. Aziraphale padded over to it, feeling his cock heavy and twitching against his thigh.
No. As he warmed the pot, and set the tea to steep, Aziraphale considered the languid luxury of their kisses yesterday, the pure pleasure of claiming Crowley's mouth again and again, the frisson of Crowley's lips at his ear, even the flirtatious dance of their feet under the table last night.
There was also the matter of the game Crowley was playing. He had turned the whole thing into an opportunity for temptation, trying to make this into a contest, one Aziraphale would lose.
He wouldn't. He loved Crowley, but he wasn’t going to let him win this one. Aziraphale smiled as he took the morning's first sip.
Sunday, 11:00am
Crowley had stopped on his way to the bookshop to pick up a very large black coffee for himself, and a couple of pastries for Aziraphale from the coffee shop around the corner. No point in bringing tea; Aziraphale would only complain about the water temperature not being quite right for brewing purposes. The pastries, though, those he would appreciate. Together with a pain au chocolat, which Aziraphale always enjoyed, Crowley had managed to score the coffee shop’s last kouign-amann, his absolute favourite. Crowley wanted Aziraphale thinking about bodily pleasures at this point, even if they were a different set of bodily pleasures from the ones he was working up to.
On the way out, with his own coffee safely in hand, he switched the labels on the caf and decaf bags of coffee beans.
“Oh, lovely,” Aziraphale said, seeing the paper bag of pastries in Crowley’s hand. “For me?”
“Who else would they be for?” Crowley handed him the bag, and then leant in to kiss him, gently, sweetly, without so much as a hand on his shoulder. Lull him into a false sense of security, that was the ticket.
Aziraphale kissed back with rather more of an edge of desire than Crowley had anticipated, moving in towards him and putting his own hand up to Crowley’s jaw, stroking it delicately. That went straight to Crowley’s newly-installed cunt; but more to the point was the detail of the desire he could feel. Sure, they were both a bit wound up, he’d got that last night, but there was more to it than that. Something in the way Aziraphale touched his face, something about the way he could feel Aziraphale yearning towards him…
Touch. That was what Aziraphale wanted right now.
A better being would have put the coffee cup down and returned Aziraphale’s gentle touch. A kinder being. A non-infernal being; or even an infernal being who hadn’t been experiencing a great deal of frustration over the last twenty-five hours. It wasn’t often, after all, that Crowley didn’t give Aziraphale exactly what he wanted, as soon as he knew what that was.
But on this occasion, Crowley broke the kiss off—gently, sweetly, sliding the tip of his tongue along Aziraphale’s lip as he did so—and smiled cheerfully at him. Aziraphale looked very slightly lost, and Crowley felt smug. Serve him right for having such a daft idea.
He took a slug of his coffee. “I’d get a plate for those, angel,” he advised. “Drop lots of crumbs all over your floor otherwise. Bad for the books.”
“The books don’t live on the floor, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, which was certainly not true for all of the books, “but you’re right, I wouldn’t want to attract vermin, I suppose.”
Crowley watched him eat both pastries in succession, smiling beatifically throughout, and drank coffee, waiting for the correct moment for his next move. The shop didn’t open til 12, at the earliest, on a Sunday. He had a little while.
Once the pastries were gone, he drained his coffee, and moved over to the sofa to sit next to Aziraphale.
“How you doing, there, angel?” he asked, draping his arm along the back of the sofa, not yet touching Aziraphale, but...nearly.
“Mm. Those were delicious, my dear. Thank you.” Aziraphale wasn’t quite touching Crowley either, but he was already leaning towards him, consciously or otherwise. Crowley let his hand fall onto Aziraphale’s shoulder with a feeling of satisfaction that was only enhanced by the tiny murmur of appreciation he heard from Aziraphale.
Just sitting here, like this, with Aziraphale, really did feel good. He could smell the angel’s cologne, and the petrichor scent that was him underneath it. He could feel Aziraphale’s warmth against his side, even with an inch of separation between them. Almost unintentionally, he tightened his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, and felt Aziraphale relax a little more into him, just barely touching now; in itself that was enough to make Crowley shiver. After a moment he shifted around a little, so he could tilt Aziraphale’s face up to his own, and kiss him.
Just kisses, light ones first across the corner of his mouth, and then a proper kiss, deepening slowly, holding himself back as Aziraphale made a noise into his mouth. Crowley slid his hand from Aziraphale’s shoulder onto the back of his neck, stroking his fingers up under Aziraphale’s ear, and kissed him a little deeper. He moved round a little further, improving the angle a bit. He could feel Aziraphale’s want again, not just sexual desire, though that was most certainly there, but his wish for touch.
“You feel good, angel,” he murmured, kissing across Aziraphale’s cheek; a statement which was both true, and which had the advantage of having Aziraphale wriggling closer into him, sliding his own hands onto Crowley’s back.
He wanted to put his hand on Aziraphale’s thigh, but that was almost certainly going to be too fast right now. Instead he slid it up Aziraphale’s arm, and around to where one of his wings, in another dimension, would meet his shoulderblade. Not anything you’d call an erotic zone on a human body, but for them…
Aziraphale bit his lip as Crowley rubbed his fingers slowly up his back, and shuddered, and then grabbed Crowley’s chin with his free hand and pulled him back into another kiss, wet and messy. Crowley spread his fingers across Aziraphale’s back and pulled him in closer, close enough that their chests were touching and Aziraphale’s knee was up against his own. Crowley desperately wanted to pull Aziraphale onto his lap. Not yet.
“I was thinking about touching you, last night,” he said, disengaging from the kiss. “About you touching me.”
Aziraphale swallowed. “Uh. We shouldn’t…I mean...”
“I’m just talking, angel,” Crowley said, sweet and sincere, working his way round to Aziraphale’s earlobe again, kissing just underneath it. “We didn’t say anything about talking, did we? I was thinking about having you naked for me. About how I could just touch you, all over.” Both of his hands were on Aziraphale’s back now, stroking up and down, past where his wings joined and up to the nape of his neck, then back down again, right down the line of his spine. “Or both of us naked, touching all over, your hands on me, your mouth on my skin...”
Aziraphale was breathing hard, in little gasps.
“Can’t get enough of you, angel.” Crowley nibbled at his earlobe again, then flicked it with his snake tongue, and Aziraphale whimpered. “Remember that thing we did? With all the cocks? Felt so good to be touching so much of you.”
He slid one hand down to the base of Aziraphale’s spine again, and slowly, gently, round to his hipbone. “Maybe next time it’s my turn to pin you down, hmm? Touch you all over. Really slowly. Lick every inch of you…” Aziraphale shuddered again, and Crowley moved back to kiss him, licking into his mouth, as he moved his hand round a little further, sliding his fingers down the crease at the top of Aziraphale’s thighs…
“Oh fuck,” Aziraphale said, breathy, and for a moment Crowley thought he’d done it, he’d won…
...before Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand, took it off his hip, and scooted backwards, breaking the kiss.
“That is very definitely cheating,” he said. His cheeks were pink. “Not that it’s not…” He swallowed. “I mean. Later.”
“Can’t blame a demon for trying,” Crowley said, feeling deeply annoyed with either Aziraphale or himself or both. He’d nearly had it, he was sure. Dammit.
Aziraphale leant back in and kissed him again, hard, and Crowley felt rather less annoyed with him and rather more desperate about the idea of taking him upstairs, stripping him naked, and kissing him all over. It was a familiar enough feeling; but before it had always been something he’d felt from a distance. Not while they were already kissing. He felt unsure, off-balance; but he was kissing Aziraphale, still, and that was bloody great, and he’d never thought he’d even get that. And there would be more of it, once this stupid experiment was over. He didn’t need to worry.
“You make me feel so good,” Aziraphale said, hand on his cheek, gazing into Crowley’s eyes. “You’re wonderful, indulging me like this. I love you so much.”
And there wasn’t much Crowley, awash in sudden unexpected depth of feeling, could do in response to that other than kiss him again, until finally Aziraphale muttered something about opening up the shop, and abandoned him on the sofa.
Plan B it was, then.
Sunday, 4:07pm
Aziraphale had been at the front of the shop for several hours, keeping an eye on the door while mending the book. Crowley had been mooching around the till last he checked, scaring off customers and no doubt gathering his resources for his final assault. No sign of him there now, but Aziraphale could sense him close by. Aziraphale was at a convenient stopping point in his work, and he wanted a kiss. Wanted several, in fact.
The fiddly, delicate work on the slim volume had been absorbing enough to take the edge off the lust Crowley had very effectively inspired this morning, but Aziraphale's cock had been waxing and waning all day as memories and fantasies floated through his mind. He looked at his pocket watch. Just a few more hours until Crowley could be his without any limitations. Meanwhile, where had he got to?
Aziraphale headed down the stacks, along the way urging a confused customer to try Hatchards on Piccadilly. He noticed the shop was warm again, but the sleet had cleared overnight, so he didn't know that he could lay that at Crowley's feet.
He arrived at the back room, poked his head in, and stopped.
Crowley looked so luscious he could barely stand it. His palms actually itched. He stood motionless in the doorway, not trusting himself to enter the room.
Crowley occupied the single armchair he favored, one leg hooked over the armrest, displaying his sumptuous pelvis. His opposite arm was draped over the back of the chair. His shirt buttons were undone, the swathes of black framing his pale torso as he toyed idly with the sparse hair of his chest. “Hi,” he said, reaching up slowly to remove his sunglasses and place them on the side table. As he leaned over, Aziraphale admired the arc of his shoulder through the thin fabric, and as always, his rough grace.
He approached Crowley, carefully, and put one finger under his chin to tilt his head back. Heat radiated off him, and Aziraphale caught his leather-and-metal scent. It took everything he had not to rub up against Crowley like a cat. He leaned down and pressed his lips gently to Crowley’s, nudged them open just the barest bit, and mouthed at them, tiny nibbling kisses to his underlip, then his upper. The softness of Crowley’s lips was exquisite, the taste of him savoury and now blessedly familiar, somehow both comforting and still wildly exciting.
Aziraphale traced Crowley’s inner lip with his tongue, and Crowley hummed low in the back of his throat. Before he knew it, Aziraphale’s hand was in Crowley’s hair, tugging tightly to get more depth, to feel power in his hands, to make Crowley groan. And then he heard a distinctive clinking and rustling sound.
“What are you doing?” Aziraphale looked down to see Crowley, belt unbuckled, reaching into his trousers.
“You said I couldn’t touch you. You didn’t say I couldn’t touch myself.”
"Crowley, the shop's still open!"
"Don't care," Crowley murmured, sliding his hand into his trousers to cup himself. "Aah. Ha." Crowley's eyes closed as his hand disappeared from view and his hips jerked at the touch.
Oh, Lord, he had chosen a cunt today, and Aziraphale could smell how wet he was. His mouth watered. He had explicitly forbidden fellatio, he recalled, but he hadn't said anything about cunnilingus. Surely that was kissing?
He was making Crowley's arguments for him, wasn’t he? He shook his head and willed himself to calm down. "That is," he swallowed, "that is not at all in the spirit of the thing." He tried for sharpness but was managing, he feared, only petulance.
"Demon," Crowley said with a one-shouldered shrug. Aziraphale could see his hand moving slowly in his tight jeans, not enough to work up to anything yet, just teasing himself. Teasing Aziraphale. The scent of his arousal floated further into the room. Aziraphale fled.
"Hello," he called out, bustling through the stacks, "the shop is closing! Thank you!" He made a quick circuit, gently encouraging a lone shopper on her way, and shut up for the evening as quickly as he could.
Before venturing into the back room again, Aziraphale steeled himself. He didn't know what temptation he would find there, but he knew it would be damned hard to resist.
It was. Crowley hadn't moved, hadn't undressed, hadn't changed a thing. He was still draped in the chair, shirt open, knees spread, fondling himself with one hand—still through his underwear, Aziraphale thought. His heart gave a little squeeze of happiness.
"You waited for me."
"'Course I did," Crowley said, his voice rough. He tilted his head back expectantly and Aziraphale leant down to kiss him, then stopped, hovering an inch above his lips, breathing his breath. "Oh, come on."
Aziraphale smiled gently and laid his lips on Crowley's, moving slightly side to side as he pressed them open, then stopped again. Crowley grunted and slid his tongue into Aziraphale's mouth, slick and urgent. Then he pulled back and his tongue changed, flickering, forked, as he played it about Aziraphale's lips.
"I used to spend so much time thinking about kissing you," Crowley said quietly. "Hours of my life. Weeks. And I'd touch myself. Those first days, in the Garden, barely knew what I was doing. Kissing was all I knew, all I dreamed of. And that was all it took. What if I kissed the angel. Blam. I'd come like anything."
Aziraphale's heart seemed to twitch at the same time as his cock, remembering Crowley in Eden, so new, so wide-eyed and open. That Crowley, wanting him so much. For so long. It felt wrong to deny him.
He smiled. Crowley was so infernally good at temptation, he could make breaking the rules seem like a moral imperative. Aziraphale caught Crowley's lips again, but Crowley turned his head to flick his serpent's tongue along Aziraphale's jaw, up to the edge of his ear. Aziraphale gasped as heat sparked from the point of his ear down his neck, raising the hairs on his nape.
Crowley pulled away quickly and began removing his boots. Aziraphale should have been using this time to recover himself, but he knew that if Crowley was taking off his boots, his trousers wouldn't be far behind. Sure enough,
"Give me a hand with these? They're pretty tight," Crowley said, unzipping.
"I think you can manage quite well on your own," Aziraphale said.
Crowley grinned. "Had to try." He stood up, and with what could only have been a miracle-assisted shimmy, divested himself of skinny jeans and pants. The sight of his narrow flanks, hard, tapering thighs, and slim, elegant calves made Aziraphale's knees wobble. His palms knew the precise sensation of touching those thighs, their curves imprinted on his burning hands like a brand.
Shirt still on and hanging open, Crowley rearranged himself back in the chair, legs wide, displaying his bare labia, mound of Venus trimly thatched with soft red hair. Aziraphale ached to touch him. He jerked his eyes away from Crowley's cunt and stepped back a few paces across the room. Not trusting himself. At all.
"You're right, you'll get a much better view from over there," Crowley said, sliding his hand slowly from his throat, down his chest, over his abdomen, and then down to stroke his clitoris. "Aaahh. Hell, I always forget how good a clit feels. Nnnggh."
Aziraphale's cock flooded with heat, and his clothing suddenly felt unbearable.
With his long middle finger, Crowley pressed gentle circles onto himself. His scent was rising, filling the room with the inescapable miasma of sex, the delicious aroma of cunt, the intoxicating bouquet of Crowley aroused. Crowley was watching himself avidly, seeming as entranced with his self-pleasure as Aziraphale was.
"After the Garden, I got a bit more sophisticated. I thought about touching you. Sucking you. Ungh. Fucking you. And oh, how I wanked. After every time we met, and twice when we didn't."
Aziraphale was too hot. He was sweating. He took off his coat. It wasn't enough.
Crowley’s attention had been attracted by his movement and now their eyes met. Crowley dipped his finger inside himself and his eyes fluttered closed for a second. “Wow, it’s wet in there.” His eyes opened again, meeting Aziraphale’s steadily. “So hot and wet and open.” He slid his finger out and Aziraphale could see it glisten as he spread the wetness around. Crowley dipped two fingers this time, deeper. “Ungh, that’s good,” he said quietly, as if to himself, and then withdrew once again to anoint his whole vulva. Then slowly, holding Aziraphale’s enthralled gaze, he brought his fingers to his lips. His tongue flickered out, tasting the air around them, and then he sucked them into his mouth.
“Mmm.” Crowley licked his fingers thoroughly, then his lips. “I taste good today. Creamy, but piquant. Maybe a note of lemon.” He smiled and spread his legs wider. “Wanna taste?”
Aziraphale flamed up from head to toe. He crossed the room in two strides, seized Crowley’s head in both hands, and plunged his tongue into his mouth, licking up the taste of his cunt. His nostrils flared, capturing and enriching the flavour of Crowley in his throat. He felt the vibrations of Crowley’s quickening movements on his clit, heard the minute clicking sounds of his urgent fingers in his wet folds, and tightened both fists in Crowley’s hair. His own hips were working now, cock thrusting maddeningly against air.
Crowley panted into his mouth for a few moments and then broke the kiss, slowing his motions again. “No? Suit yourself.” Crowley entered himself again, frigging himself slowly on two fingers, his hips shifting slightly.
“You’re—” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “You’re going to ruin that chair. And it’s your favourite.”
“Miracle it away.” Crowley smiled. “And yes, you’ll always know that it was there. The time I fucked myself all wet and juicy for your hungry eyes.”
Aziraphale felt his own wetness bloom at the tip of his cock, which was now irritated past endurance by the confines of his clothes. His empty hands were clenching and releasing rhythmically. He took a step back again, until Crowley was just barely out of reach.
“Do you remember that time in the Renaissance, at the Globe? Those eyes of yours.” Crowley dragged his fingers out of his cunt and slid them in short fast strokes up and down his clit. “The way you—looked at me—couldn’t make it—back to my rooms. Ducked—ungh—down an alley—ungh—and jacked it against the wall—fffuck—”
Aziraphale wanted to peel off every layer, bare himself, and gather Crowley in against him, fuck him until they both screamed with it. Crowley had somehow raised both ravaging lust and a crushing tenderness in him. He was breathless with need. Before he knew what he was about, he had unbuttoned his trousers.
The first touch of his fingers on his overheated cock sent a shockwave through his whole body, and more slickness pooled out of him. He exhaled raggedly as he pulled himself out, closed his eyes briefly against the blessed pressure of his palm, then opened them again to watch Crowley frigging himself urgently, his head tilted back, chest flushed, nipples peaking. Aziraphale sucked air through his teeth as his thumb smoothed moisture over the crown of his cock. The sound drew Crowley’s eyes.
Crowley’s intention was to tempt Aziraphale, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t fairly wound up himself; and at this point he’d slightly lost track of things, too focussed on the feeling of his fingers sliding across his clit. He heard Aziraphale’s intake of breath and looked over, intending to meet Aziraphale’s eyes; only to realise that Aziraphale had his trousers undone and his hand around his cock. Aziraphale was already flushed, and Crowley could see the dampness on the head of his cock as his thumb moved over it.
The surge of lust and satisfaction almost drove him straight over the edge. He gritted his teeth and slowed his hand down, taking long, deep breaths to calm himself. He wasn’t ready to come yet. Not when Aziraphale had only just started touching himself.
“Feeling good, angel?” he asked, dipping two fingers back into his cunt and rolling his hips around them.
Aziraphale, moving his hand up and down his flushed cock, swallowed. “You know precisely the effect you have on me.”
“I can have a more direct effect if you come over here,” Crowley invited. He tipped his hips up towards Aziraphale, and heard Aziraphale whimper in response, his hand moving a little faster.
“Just kissing, we agreed,” Aziraphale managed to say.
Bloody hell. The angel certainly could be stubborn when he put his mind to it.
“I’d have thought,” Crowley sank another finger into himself, pressed the heel of his hand against his clit, and rocked into it, “that at this point we’ve rather gone beyond that.” Fuck, that felt good. He stroked at his inner walls with the pads of his fingers and bit back a whine.
“We’re not—oh god—touching each other,” Aziraphale pointed out, the stubborn set of his jaw belied by the way his hips were jerking against the pressure of his hand.
An excellent point, of course, but Crowley had preferred it when he was the one making it.
“I suppose not,” he said, as airily as he could given how slick he felt, and how enthusiastically he was pushing into his own hand, desperate lust seeping in around the edges. “And you do look absolutely delightful over there, angel. Watching me fuck myself stupid, unable to keep your hands off yourself. If I’d ever thought of this happening back in the old days when I was wanking over you, I’d have kept myself awake for days. Wearing the skin off my palms. You are ssssso hot.”
The old days. He wished he’d known, back then, that they’d be here one day; open to one another in all the ways they were now. And even in this moment; maybe they weren’t touching, but they were together, desire stretching between them, holding them in orbit around one another. If only he’d known where they were going, so very slowly. Looking back he could see where it had all been leading; and here and now he could almost taste everything that bound them to one another. Last night he’d hated the frustration of Aziraphale going home alone; right now it barely seemed to matter that Aziraphale wasn’t under his hands, because they were together despite the couple of feet between them, Aziraphale’s gaze on his face a heated weight that went straight to his cunt.
Aziraphale’s eyes were wide, his pupils like saucers, his gaze locked on Crowley’s. His mouth was slightly open, showing his upper teeth beneath his curving lip, his face slack with want. Crowley had seen Aziraphale in heat many times now, but never quite like this. As Aziraphale’s hand moved on his own cock, the motion traveling up his arm to his shoulder, the expression on his face was, somehow, private. Crowley was seeing him more intimately than he ever had before. Desire like fire pooled in Crowley’s pelvis, his thighs tensing as his hips bucked involuntarily.
"I—" Aziraphale began, panting. "I did it too." He slowed his hand, giving himself long strokes from tip to base, a little twist at the end. Crowley watched Aziraphale's eyes close, then open again. Unbelievable. The angel was teasing himself, drawing this out. Two days of temptation, and he didn’t want it to end. "I touched myself. Just like this. Thinking of you. Oh, I wanted you. So much."
Heat rolled through Crowley and he almost lost it, thinking of the angel, still in Heaven's clutches, beating off to thoughts of him.
Aziraphale's fist was moving faster now, his eyes flicking from Crowley's face to his hand in his cunt, then back again. He was gripping hard, Crowley could see, the foreskin stretching, the crown of his cock purple with forced blood. Crowley backed off himself quickly. He could feel the orgasm hovering like it was just three good strokes away, and he wanted it badly, but he wanted this more. "Tell me," he said.
"After the Bastille. That was the first time. I felt so—fuck—so wicked that day.” Aziraphale’s fist moved faster and his gaze seemed to turn inward at the memory, his face suffused with longing. “And you were. Oh. You were everything. Everything I could never have. Never—touch—” Aziraphale thrust into his hand, and something in his face seemed to break. “Oh, Crowley, come here. Please, let me touch you.”
This was too good. Liquid fire pulsed through Crowley’s cunt and he stopped moving entirely. Took a deep breath. “No.”
“No?!?” Aziraphale gasped.
“I seem to remember, though,” Crowley carried on, “something about kissing.” He tilted his head slightly, and licked his lips, open invitation.
The next moment Aziraphale was crowding up to Crowley and kissing him, hard and deep and wet.
Crowley leant back in the chair to give him better access, as Aziraphale stood over him, sliding one of his hands possessively around the back of Crowley’s neck to pull him deeper into the kiss, the other hand still on his cock, stroking himself furiously. He groaned into Crowley’s mouth, and Crowley made a helpless noise in response, as he twisted his hand to get his thumb back onto his clit. With his free hand he clutched at Aziraphale’s thigh, just below the swell of Aziraphale’s beautiful arse, and this time Aziraphale didn’t stop him. Aziraphale’s hips moved again, towards his fist, and the very tip of his cock brushed Crowley’s stomach. Crowley almost levitated out of the chair trying to kiss him harder, deeper, mouths locked together as Aziraphale moaned into his mouth.
Crowley gasped into Aziraphale’s mouth, thumb stroking faster around his clit, his own fingers crooked inside him. Aziraphale’s tongue licked into Crowley’s mouth as he climbed up to the edge, his hips jerking, before he crashed over into a shuddering orgasm that had him biting at Aziraphale’s lower lip. Aziraphale cried out and came, painting stripes of hot spunk across Crowley’s stomach.
For a moment they clung to one another, both panting, neither speaking. Then, slowly, Crowley pulled his fingers out of himself, trailing them across his clit for the joy of the trembling aftershocks, and tilted his head to look up at Aziraphale.
“So,” he said. “What do the rules say about ‘coming all over me’? Is that contained within ‘kissing’ too?”
Then he felt bad, as Aziraphale winced; just a little, but enough. Crowley leant forwards to kiss him, deeply. Aziraphale broke the kiss this time. He glanced down towards Crowley’s cunt, then back up at Crowley’s face, and smiled slightly.
“I was right about the chair, you know.”
Crowley opened his mouth to say something, then Aziraphale, slowly, dropped to his knees between Crowley’s spread legs, and he lost track of his words. Between Crowley’s thighs, the evidence of his desire pooled beneath his cunt. Aziraphale held Crowley’s gaze for a moment, then leant in and blew across the stain, miracling it away. Crowley felt Aziraphale’s breath across his labia and his over-sensitive clit; it was exquisite, but it wasn’t the only reason he shivered. Overwhelming affection rose up through his entire body.
“Are you sure I can’t touch you?” Aziraphale said, very quietly.
Crowley could feel, again, the want coming off him, the desire for touch; and he remembered what Aziraphale had said. All those years, never being able to touch...what on earth was he doing, refusing Aziraphale this? When he wanted it so badly himself?
“Please,” he said, and heard his voice, husky with desire. “Please touch me.”
Aziraphale moaned as his hands slid up Crowley’s thighs, towards his hips, his thumbs stroking in towards Crowley’s red curls. Crowley, despite the recentness of his orgasm, found himself shaking with renewed desire. Gently, delicately, Aziraphale leant in towards him, and laid a kiss on Crowley’s clit. Crowley’s hips bucked, and Aziraphale hummed and licked along his labia.
Aziraphale was, undoubtedly, very good at this; but what Crowley wanted, suddenly and far more desperately than anything else, was to hold him.
“Angel. Aziraphale. Oh fuck that’s good. But come on, come up here.” Crowley clicked his fingers, clearing away the sticky mess on his stomach, then pulled at Aziraphale’s shoulders. “You’ve only just sorted that bloody chair out. Come here and kiss me.”
He yanked, and Aziraphale, eyes shining now with delight and mouth wet with Crowley, rose to his feet again and then sat astride Crowley’s lap.
He was definitely going to have to miracle the damn chair again.
“I love you,” Crowley said, and lost himself in kissing Aziraphale, clinging to him. It didn’t matter that Aziraphale’s clothes were still on, trousers hanging open and shirt mussed up; he was right here, his arms around Crowley, and that was always enough.
Aziraphale pressed himself against Crowley. He broke the kiss to exhale deeply for what felt like the first time in days, relishing how Crowley's body felt against his.
"Mmm. There. That wasn't so bad, was it?" He smiled, wiggling a little against Crowley's thighs.
"What, you mean the part where you totally couldn't keep your hands to yourself for two days? Yeah, that wasn't bad at all," Crowley grinned.
"Well, technically—"
"Technically? Technically, you lost the minute you put your hands in my hair, not an hour after making up your silly rules. Technically, you just asked—begged—to be allowed to touch me. Technically, you're on my lap right now and I'm naked, and technically it's Sunday afternoon and we were meant to last until tomorrow."
"You needn't gloat about it!"
But Crowley was going on. "Leaving aside that I have emerged victorious, and that you clearly can't keep your hands off my hot little body, what kind of ridiculous—"
"All right, all right, all right, Crowley," Aziraphale felt a twinge of conscience. "You're right. It was fun at the start, but, oh, my dear, I—I missed you so much,” he said, flooding with relief and pressing himself more firmly to Crowley’s chest. “I didn’t think I would. I didn’t think I could, ever again. We were kissing, after all! It wouldn’t be like, like it used to be…”
“But it was, a bit, wasn’t it?” Crowley squeezed his thigh. “The way I used to feel, keeping my hands to myself so that you wouldn’t get into trouble. I—angel, I never want to feel that way again.”
“No,” Aziraphale agreed. “Never again.” He pressed his forehead to Crowley’s. “I’m sorry. Not like that, not ever again.”
Crowley kissed him, so softly, hands stroking up and down his back. Aziraphale pressed as tightly to him as he could.
“I’ll tell you, though,” Crowley murmured into his ear, “It was so hot to watch you wank. You're gorgeous with your prick in your hand. I'd do that again, anytime.”
Aziraphale tingled from his ear down to his cock. “You were so delicious and so terrible, all weekend,” he admitted. “And watching you touch yourself was incendiary. I wanted you so much, I couldn’t stop myself.” He bit Crowley’s neck, hard, the bite he’d wanted to give him yesterday. Crowley hummed and shifted under him. “Only next time, let me hold you while you do it.”
"Shake on it?" Crowley smiled and offered his hand.
Aziraphale took it.