Chapter Text
Aziraphale blinks softly and turns over, rubbing his cheek on his soft pillow. A fly seems to buzz over his ear. He swats at the sound but it doesn't stop, just breaks for a second to come back in full force the second he falls asleep again.
It's most certainly not a fly.
He gropes on the bedside table for his mobile that keeps on crashing the peace of his room. Fumbles with the answer button, addled by sleep and natural clumsiness.
He doesn't even check the caller. It could even be some harassing telemarketer trying to drill into his wallet. Aziraphale doesn't care, riding on the pleasant sensation of having orgasmed so hard less than twelve hours ago.
He scrubs a hand over his face. "Hello?"
"Did you watch him last night? Don't make me hunt you down to make you fess up, because it's the weekend and I'm free, and I absolutely will."
It takes him half a second to recognize Anathema in the threatened violence, and he groans. Aziraphale's eyes flutter open. "Beg your pardon?" He winces at the brightness of the room and the lazy tug of his hand that wants to let go of the mobile and go back to sleep.
Through the line, Anathema clucks her tongue. "AJ! You never answered! So, you watched him then?"
"Oh, god, Anathema, it's too early." Last night's stream floods his memory, and Aziraphale finds his mouth tacky-tasting but dry enough to light flints. "But yes, I did. I- I thought it was best... to see if we'd be compatible and, well, you can imagine the rest."
Her giggly little yelp tells him she's just as excited as he is. "I knew it! The minute I saw him, I just knew you'd be slobbering all over him if you saw him. I'm never wrong about these things, you should know that by now."
Aziraphale changes ears with his mobile. "You sound like my mother. And, my dear, as much as you swear by your degree in Matchmaking from the University of Placentia, California, must I remind you that this is nothing but a contract? Yes, he's handsome-"
"Hot as fuck."
Aziraphale rolls his eyes, "But I'm not going to mate him."
"I would."
From her line, muffled by the distance, someone yelps, "I'd cheer and bring water!"
Newt.
Stretching, with a groan until his calves tense, Aziraphale chuckles. "I don't think AJ would let you, you horrible alpha."
"Urgh. Whatever. Tell me! What did you decide, then? Did you hire him?"
Anathema is already running a hundred miles per hour, as is her habit, and Aziraphale thinks it would be idiotic to hide the truth from her, since she was the one that put him on AJ's track. The smile that tugs at his lips is honey-slow. "I did, actually. Filled in the forms last night after I texted you."
Another piercing little hoot. "Good for you, Az. I know it can feel a bit daunting when you're stepping into the scene for the first time, but he's the best, and if there's someone who can help you through your rut, it's him. What did you think of it?"
Glorious, sexy, extremely hot. His face glows red, and that banked tingle in his spine flares down to his toes.
"It was certainly … something." He bites at his lip and laughs. What is he afraid of? Anathema is the only friend who might truly get him. He flops on his back, an arm stacked on the cotton pillowcase. "Lord, Anathema, he's so sexy. I didn't even think someone could get aroused just watching, well- only by watching pornography. I mean I know it's possible, but it's never been that way for me."
Not that he's experienced porn of the kind AJ offers, before last night. All the catalogue of his knowledge is comprised of artificial shots from PornHub and some POV porn that rarely catches the actors' faces.
"I know, right? He's so good. I've never hired him for a one-on-one, but I've been subbed to his channel for ages. And I know of a friend of a friend he helped through her rut. They ended up as friends, so who knows! You could even get a friend out of this!"
Aziraphale takes in a gulp of air that's full of summer heat and wisps of vanilla. He wouldn't mind being AJ's friend, if the chance arose. He would take it fully, unreservedly, even if it feels as if he's leapfrogging into a tomorrow that's not fully sketched out. "Were you watching last night too, then?"
"Yeah, for a bit. Had to go and pick up Newt from work."
"The show was lovely-"
She snorts, "Exactly the word I'd use."
"Yes, lovely." He rubs at his beard, because there's a thought that hasn't left him since last night. "I… I was a bit thrown off by all the commenting, though. Some people were vile. Is it always like that?"
It had made him feel annoyed, in the name of everyone who put themselves out there just to be treated like meat, ready to be bagged and weighed.
Anathema hums. "Yeah, some of them are just right dicks. There's this one asshole that keeps pushing to be invited to cam with him. It's pathetic to see, to be honest. And fucking creepy to boot."
"Good god."
"But tell me about you! Any doubts? Anything you wanna share with the class, maybe?"
The teasing in her voice is unmistakable. Aziraphale can almost see her waggling brows.
They talk for a bit while Aziraphale explains the service he just hired: 5 video sessions, including the rut, and some texting and calling in between. He hadn't quite understood the reason for sprinkling the experience with interaction of the non-sexual sort, opportunities to chat or call where AJ would make sure to "build their rapport," as stated in the contract. It all sounded strange to Aziraphale.
"Think about it." On her end, Anathema slurps at something. Probably mainlining herself with a Matcha Creme Frappuccino, that constitutes 80% of her water consumption. "You know it's one thing to have a boner. Wanna fuck an omega. No matter how Victorian an alpha you are, that's just how it works for us, right?"
Aziraphale feels his cheeks burn. Far be it from him to behave as abominably as some alphas he knows, but AJ's show had stirred in him a gravitas he hadn't expected. "Right."
"But during your rut? Especially with how some alphas get, all picky and persnickety, I suppose that making some kind of personal connection makes sense. Especially if you're not touching each other, not having scents to rely on."
"I'm not persnickety!"
He can almost see her roll her eyes, through the miles that divide Soho from Canary Wharfers. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. But anyway. It helps build trust to show yourself vulnerable. I think AJ is very smart to do that." Another slurp. "You should totally take advantage, to ease into the experience of, y'know, getting over Gabriel."
The name chaffs only a little bit, and he focuses on remembering that this chance isn't an actual path leading into another relationship. Amid all the ache from these last months, AJ is a safe haven from having his heart torn apart one more time. "It's not as if I'm dating him, Anathema. Or as if I'm going to."
"No, but you get my meaning. Just try to take your mind off things while you have fun."
Spending time chatting with AJ about himself sounds incredibly daunting. How do you start to unfurl pieces of yourself that have been pressed folded for so long they have origami-like lines wrecking the original shape? Aziraphale knows he's thinking leaps and bounds beyond what this arrangement might entail. Building "rapport" doesn't have to be an open door to swamp AJ with trivial nonsense of whatever Aziraphale might like. This isn't an open invitation to chat about Austen's work, or his own preference for macarons over biscuits. With the way people tend to be in his line of work, he's sure AJ won't want to hear more than is strictly necessary about Aziraphale.
And that's absolutely, completely fine. Expected, even.
Anathema cuts in. "When's your first session?"
"Ah… today. This evening." The skin along his spine flares with goosebumps. Aziraphale feels that hot flip in his stomach when he remembers AJ's long body moving on the camera. "A bit after 7."
"Good. Just- be honest with what you expect, and have fun!"
The day goes by in a blur of nothing, as most Saturdays do. Skipping from here to there, stacking books onto already-formed piles he hasn't yet read, watching old episodes of Antiques Roadshow, and revisiting the kitchen cabinets to take stock of whatever might need adding to the next grocery shopping. Close to seven, he realises his fingers are starting to leave sweat-smudged prints all over the glossy cover of his book, and that his eyes have been trained on one word for at least ten minutes.
It's useless.
Aziraphale levers up from his wingback and goes up to his den to set up his laptop, bringing a water bottle with him. He ignores the tug of nervousness in his stomach, and settles for only three passes of fingers through the blond tufts of his hair. The mirror yawns back an unimpressed result. Dim blue eyes, round face, the soft fuzz of a beard he's always kept half as a facade to the softness of his features.
Aziraphale tucks his sleeves back up his forearms to try to look less formal, disregarding that little twinge that lives in his marrow.
Not a lot of people would expect an alpha to have difficulty opening up, when society is built around the idea that spaces are all cored out for their presence. Aziraphale knows better, though. It might be an ingrained streak in him, polished to shining by the severe way his family had managed to always find him wanting. After two exemplary alpha siblings, Aziraphale had seemed to always fall a little to the left of requirements. Too soft-spoken and docile to be considered a proper alpha. A child with bright eyes, more interested in reading than tumbling over others on the mud. A young man more interested in enjoying the sweet melt of chocolate and the thin crust of a crêpé than fighting for money and power. And with each failed expectation, the tightness in his stomach and the tension in his chest have grown to drive him breathless.
And sex. Sex had also taken a place far down the list, because his own attachments had never been of the casual sort. Too many variables to consider for just a one night stand, when he's failed at social cues on far more trivial matters. To invite a stranger to bed, and then not know how to proceed afterwards, feels exhausting. To welcome someone to your life for mere hours, drowning in a scent that would stay after they're gone in the morning… Aziraphale has always preferred repairing his shoes to buying new ones, mending his shirts and underwear and socks. Because he likes things to last, and believes flaws can be fixed, that it's not the end of the world to find a snag.
He wants things to last.
Sometimes he thinks it's far easier to consider remaining alone.
Fewer people to judge him for how he is, when Aziraphale already has himself for harsh judging.
He sighs and climbs on the bed, feeling a bit off, still dressed in his powder blue shirt and dove grey linen trousers. He'd considered, for a second, going for something more loose, but he doesn't want to give AJ the impression that he's expecting sex right off the bat. Not when he has no idea what to expect from these sessions, as planning goes. And considering there's also a sliver of dread surrounding the whole matter.
6:55 p.m
The clock on his bedside table glows with its green numbers. Aziraphale rolls his neck, works out the kinks of his back, but when he sits straight he's still as stiff as before. He turns on his laptop and logs on, doesn't want to be late.
6:58 p.m
The link he has to click on is in a private message sitting in his email that opens to a calendar, much like the one he uses for business meetings. White, sterile, it sort of eases the clutch in Aziraphale's throat with the familiarity of the design.
He clicks on it, heart bursting.
The video is still black.
Even though he's alone, he connects his headphones and slips them into his ears. Silver, wireless, solid pieces that fit easily into the dipping curve.
He has half a second to consider whether the view he's now also offering is detrimental. In the frame, he can see himself and a chunk of his headboard. And then, up above, a slash of the cream wall behind. Aziraphale quickly snaps his eyes back to the frames hung above his bed where, behind glass cases, there are the hand and foot imprints, in soft green, of Adam and Warlock, his nephews. Not modern art of any sort, and probably many degrees too sentimental.
Aside from Gabriel, Aziraphale has never let anyone else step into his den. Brimming anxiety catches beneath his sternum and he thinks-
"Hey there."
Slow and soft, the greeting curls round Aziraphale's ear like liquid.
He swings his attention back to the laptop, almost choking on his ticked-up heartbeat, knowing he looks caught. Shocked. An untamed blond curl brushing down his forehead.
"Oh, h-hello."
AJ is there. Grinning like the day has been good, and there's nothing that can please him more than seeing Aziraphale fretting over a greeting. He's sitting with his legs folded under him, on the same bed from last night, but now the sheets are white and soft-looking, drawing an intense contrast against the cherry-red cloth of the tiny shorts he's wearing.
Teeny tiny. Aziraphale doubts they're his size.
It doesn't help that AJ's crop top, white as the sheets, is loose enough that the neck is lopsided around the edge of his shoulder, leaving it bare. The swath of his toned stomach is pulling.
It's the same man from last night, but filed off the edge of leather and the press of an audience. That only seems to ramp up the intimate angle of it all.
The scent of vanilla and bergamot grows thick in the room, and Aziraphale's thankful he doesn't have to deal with the sensory overload of a stranger's scent so soon.
And maybe that's where a huge part of the attraction lies. Stripped from worrying about scents and where to put his own hands when he's nervous, he's free to admire AJ entirely without hurdles.
AJ flicks a tongue along his pink lips, teasing the silver band, then glances at something on his own screen only to look up again, straight at Aziraphale. "You're Az- Aziraphale? Sorry, sorry, don't wanna butcher your name. Did I get it right?"
The little crinkle between those dark brows, paired with the angle of that smiling mouth, floods Aziraphale's stomach with a fluttering spark of wings. Lifts up his breath in a swoop. He's been mocked for his name in the past, but there's nothing in AJ but careful curiosity and gentle consideration. With the headphones on, AJ's voice sounds close enough to tickle Aziraphale's skin, washing it warm. Silk-brush through and through.
"Yes, you got it right." There's only a bit of a stutter to Aziraphale's breath as he tightens his hands on the bedspread, out of the reach of the camera. "Many people call me Az, though, if it's easier."
AJ tips his head, still smiling. "What do you prefer?"
What-
The question rattles inside him. For a second, the breeze of summer slinks through the window and curls tight with its heat.
He flicks eyes down to the small gold ring his nan had given him when he turned eighteen. Rubs a thumb over the wings that are a play on a name that's his. That's him, as many other things are not in his life.
"Aziraphale," he says with assuredness.
AJ's grin pulls up almost to his ears, like the cat who got the cream.
"Right, then. Aziraphale it is." His hands rest flat on those lean thighs, and he curls just an inch towards the camera. "You're so handsome. That always makes everything far easier."
Aziraphale manages to bite in half the noise that slips past his lips. Even in their golden times, Gabriel had never told him anything remotely similar. Aziraphale isn't lying to himself about the pudgy roundness of his body and his unremarkable face, but the words wrench beneath his ribs, and he can't hide the way his blood gallops and burns on the expanse of his neck and cheeks. Lies, perhaps, but they echo all the same in the empty place under the rod of his sternum.
He wrestles out a small smile. "Thank you."
On the screen, AJ tucks a drift of red hair behind an ear. "Tell me, what can I do for you, sweetheart?"
Those eyes. Last night they had been magnetic, fixed on the camera, but, like a mirage, the reality had been snipped from the overall picture. AJ hadn't been looking at him at all. Today, though, right now, that spill of honey is raw and recklessly pinned on Aziraphale's every move and shift. It robs him of steadiness, and when AJ blinks - gold, golder, gleaming, the colour of the haze suspended over skylines and rooftops when gloam hasn't beaten the summer sun entirely out of London - Aziraphale finds that he's never found it harder to string two sentences together.
He clears his throat. "Ah, well. I suppose-" a hitch in his breath. "Didn't you get my form?"
AJ shrugs, and that infuriating crop top slides further down his sloping shoulder, where freckles are sprayed on wonderful chaos. "Yeah, but I'd like you to tell me that's truly what you want." Before Aziraphale can manage to hook words out of his throat, AJ smiles again, says, "You said you wanted to spend your rut with me through the screen?"
Gods, yes.
Aziraphale's pulse rabbits away. "That's quite right."
AJ bites down on his ringed lip one more time, unaware of the fluster in Aziraphale's belly. "Brilliant. Tell me a bit about you, then. What do you like? What do you expect? What can I do for you? How can I take care of you, Aziraphale?"
Aziraphale feels his heart beat double time. Where could he start? Can he start at all? He isn't even sure of his own likes, or what to expect with his own body. It feels so much like being examined and forced to persevere through things he doesn't know exactly how to name.
It's sex, just sex.
How can I take care of you, Aziraphale?
Aziraphale doesn't know how to answer that, because he's never been cared for by anyone at all.
"Well, I'm afraid…" His hands are wringing again and he forces himself to stop. "I'm afraid I don't know where to start."
He hates how thin it sounds, and when he flits a startled gaze back up to the screen, AJ's bright eyes have gone a little softer, a little more curved down, something yielding in them, like he's seeing more of Aziraphale than Aziraphale had intended to show.
And then AJ blinks away the attention. Shifts back into the same playful fix of eyes of a few minutes ago.
"Aren't you a delight? Let's see then." He rises onto his knees, spreading them outwards and falling back down on the mattress. Much like last night. Which makes Aziraphale flush under his clothes until he's searing hot. AJ's thighs seem to be squeezed in the shorts, muscles well defined, while the ouroboros shifts on soft skin. "Can I ask you some questions to see what you like?"
Aziraphale licks his lips, nods. "Yes. O-of course."
"Wonderful." AJ touches the heart of his mouth with a thumb. Lips parting around the pad. "Do you like to get your cock sucked? Your balls played with?"
Wanting to pin someone else down is a reflex Aziraphale has never indulged. Right now, airless and cheeks hot, he thinks he would face real difficulty trying not to find the thin slash of AJ's wrists, push him down onto his huge bed to silence those blunt questions. Or hear them closer. Feel them on his lips.
His mouth moves, fingers intent in the flesh of his own thigh through his linen trousers. "I… I do."
"Excellent." Tucking closer, AJ grins wide. He flicks his thumb over the pout of his lip, back and forth because he's apparently a teasing thing, to the last thread in his lovely red hair. "I love sucking cock. And I'm sure you have such a nice, thick one. It's gonna be a delight to imagine having you in my mouth. Telling you how much I enjoy and wish to swallow you down."
His finger slips down against the plump curve of that bottom lip, tugging at the silver band that sits there, before falling down to the space between his own knees. Not even for a second does Aziraphale think AJ doesn't know what he's doing.
Aziraphale hears himself groan, feels himself thicken . "AJ-"
But AJ doesn't heed him. "What else? Oh, yeah. Tell me, Aziraphale." A pause, a rushed inhale while those round, soft eyes pin him like a butterfly caught. "Do you like to top or bottom? I'm ready for both. I know some alphas go vers before the rut starts properly… and I like to think I'm very good at that too."
The pressure in Aziraphale's trousers is becoming a problem, and he rolls down his hips on the bed, feeling the soaked patch on his back where his shirt is starting to stick to his skin. "Ah, mmm I… I think the first one. Top, that is."
AJ's grin is Cheshire large and wicked. "So, would you say that you'd like to fuck my arse, given the chance? Stretch me on your cock? Fuck me down on this bed until I'm panting on your knot?" His hand pats on the plushness of the mattress. Long pale fingers squeezing a bit at the fold of a sheet.
How can he just say those things? Imagine it, it's too easy, so Aziraphale cuts it at the root, feeling his cock throb . He doesn't want to come like an artless teenager without even undressing.
"Is- I- I suppose?." His neck is damp with sweat and he thinks he could go drunk on the scent of whisky twirling around, his own arousal underlined, thankfully just for himself. "Yes. I mean, yes."
"That's good, so good, don't be afraid to tell me. Between you and me, I prefer to get my arse filled… the bigger the cock, the better. Bit of a size queen, me." The grin that trails off the words is cheeky, almost boyish.
Is it possible to die from just words?
Aziraphale makes a ridiculous uhn sound, while the pulsing line of his cock strains against his seamline. On the bed, his legs move, pushing at his sheets just to make more room for the pressure at the apex of his trembling thighs.
AJ saves him with a wink. "Let's keep going. Do you like toys?"
Thrown off three galaxies away, it's hard for Aziraphale to grasp AJ's meaning.
His brow furrows. "Like… like jenga and stuffed animals? I-I do like puzzles."
But AJ looks back at him as if caught in the headlights. Before he breaks into laughter. Raucously and with gusto, consuming, like a house on fire. And for a breath, there's an altogether different person looking back at Aziraphale through the camera. Same red hair and gentle eyes, but the lines around his mouth are deeper, the gleam in gold more honest.
And then AJ steadies himself back to that playfulness, but now Aziraphale can see its a slightly controlled expression. As if he’s putting reins to his joy, to the exuberance of him beyond the persona he's forced to wear for this. He deserves more than to split himself in halves like that.
"More like dildos and plugs," AJ's saying, all velvety. "Would you like seeing me with a dildo deep in my arse, Aziraphale, my cock caged?"
It's embarrassing how quickly Aziraphale is thrown back into want, with his heart racing and his thighs tense. His voice, when he speaks, is pitched low despite himself, like the terrible sketch tabloid of an alpha. "I… I know about dildos and I-I would like to see them in you." He's so very thankful the bulging shape at the front of his trousers is out of sight of the frame, with the way it's raging hard as he tries to not look dazed by just words. "I'm sorry, I don't know what a cage is."
AJ tips his head, and the smirk that's been ever-present shifts into a far more genuine smile. "Hey now, nothing to feel sorry for. Tell you what. In our second session I can show you the things I think you'll like, and you can tell me. How does that sound?"
It’s feather-soft care that rubs even more soothingly than the reassurance that he isn't mucking this up.
"Good," he says, and it clicks softly in his mouth, "it sounds good."
"Perfect." With a swoop of lashes, AJ smirks once more. "And tell me, Aziraphale, imagine you're buried inside me, would you like to spend in me, too? Do you have a thing for creampies maybe? Seeing me all dripping for you?"
It's impossible that AJ doesn't hear the frankly rude snipped growl that Aziraphale manages to destroy between his lips.
Like last night, he's gritting his teeth hard enough his temples are starting to resent it. The wet jerk of his cock makes everything more visceral, and he thinks he should've worn pyjamas, because taking stains of precome out of expensive clothing is another level of aggravation.
Thinking about what AJ just offered is a surefire way to keep Aziraphale struck silent, rolling over the image of something like this taking place. The wet feel of come under the pads of his fingers, as if he'd tucked them along the tight crease of AJ's buttocks, knowing he’d be the one marking him in such a manner.
Lifting his fingers up soaked white once he ended.
Aziraphale thinks he's going to have a stroke, absolutely stops himself from rubbing his fingers over his scent gland.
"God, yes." He reaches out of frame for his water bottle, and gulps down half before placing it away, hearing AJ's chuckle.
"Sounds like I struck gold. You'd like to mark me then. That's so good."
Possessiveness isn't a trait that Aziraphale feels should be tacked on to him. But maybe he's only missed opportunities and, beneath the tame clothes, he's just the same type of alpha that wants to chase and knot and fuck .
Or maybe it's only the flares of the rut coming.
He clears his throat, ignores the splash of pink over his own cheeks and the judder of his thighs. "But I don't- don't understand." His brows knit in a furl. "I won't get to touch you or vice versa, why does all of this matter?"
"You'd be surprised how much dirty talk helps to get you hot and bothered and easier to be pleased during your rut, dove." AJ trails the tip of a finger around the bow of his mouth knowing very well Aziraphale is looking. "Without my hands, my scent, and my mouth on you, I gotta rely on my voice. You just have to see yourself right now."
God, his face must be a mess. Curls all mussed and beard not managing to hide how red he really is.
"I suppose… I suppose you're right." He's all melty inside at the endearments that have come so seldom all his life, and that AJ keeps doling out so freely, but he tries to keep steady. "That makes sense. In that case, I think- I think the most important thing is that I really do like you. And, except for causing you pain or discomfort, there's nothing you could do that wouldn't, uh, cause a pleasant reaction in me."
His breathing has slowed down, helped by the pause and the halt in questions. When he gazes back up to AJ, that wide smile is there again. A little bit more honest, perhaps, loose on the softness, like the afterimage of that moment just minutes ago when he'd laughed to his heart's content. Eyes as bright as not-so-distant stars.
"You're a delight to work with, Aziraphale. It's gonna be a pleasure to give you what you need." There's a pause that hovers for a second in AJ's breathing, as if the end of his sentence hasn't arrived yet. He sucks his bottom lip, before he asks, "Tell me, is it possible to know why you hired me?"
Unlike the rest of the questions, this one seems off. Less playful, and filled with edges of true curiosity. Not mean, only…
"I hope I didn't do anything too off-putting," Aziraphale instantly fires back. The ‘sorry’ is about to roll out of his mouth as natural deténte, always pressed down beneath his tongue.
But AJ lifts a thin palm, his brows skipping high, eyes so wide they look doll-like. "No, no, I was just wondering. You're not my usual kind of customer, let's just say." He must see the panic in Aziraphale's eyes, because AJ rushes, "in a fantastic way, though, it's a pleasure working with you."
It's summer all over London, but the sunshine warmth that spreads in his chest is all AJ. Not a partner, not a relationship, but gentleness strikes on all the same, even if it's from someone that knows Aziraphale just barely.
He smiles and tries not to let that old dejection seep through. There's nothing to hide, he can share this with AJ, knowing he'll never be a real part of his life. "Well, it's… I intended to spend my rut with the omega I was with, but he… he preferred another alpha."
There. It didn't feel so bad anymore, did it? Barely even felt the burn of the words in his mouth.
AJ cocks his head to the side and hums, as if understanding. "What? And didn't he tell you beforehand? Just- fucked off?"
"Yes, he decided ah, quite suddenly, let's just say," Aziraphale says with a smile that has dimmed.
"Gosh, I'm sorry."
He sounds so genuine. He looks like he's sorry too, eyes down, mouth tight.
Aziraphale tries to shrug off the whole thing with a chuckle. "It's alright. I don't blame him. I've been told I'm not a very good alpha."
At this, AJ's brows dip so low he's almost scowling, an expression Aziraphale hasn't seen in any omega before. "What, because you're not growling every five minutes, and don't act like attention is your born-given right?" The storm-cloud haze in AJ's eyes passes, and he falls back down on his bed from where he'd been kneeling closer. "Sorry, sorry. I just- that was not very professional of me." His smile is soft once again. Coming quick, almost unprompted, feels like a gift Aziraphale isn't quite sure he deserves. "I'm just glad you shucked off that ballast. You're better off without people like that."
And just like that, Aziraphale can feel the last bit of pain whittle away and dissolve into the breeze that keeps on coming. A skittering feeling crawling up under his skin. "I… I appreciate your words. Truly."
AJ grins and looks back down to his screen one more time, probably checking. It feels like the tail end of their conversation, and something squeezes in Aziraphale's chest knowing soon he'll have to stare at a black square, close his laptop and go back to the reality of his room, cream with white edges and sensible accents, but not a single speckle of gold.
Which feels like a crime.
"Wait." AJ's voice stops Aziraphale on his tracks. "You're EasternAngel ?"
He'd almost forgotten the ridiculous username he'd quickly chosen the night before. "Yes? I honestly didn't think you'd remember me."
The line of AJ's mouth pulls up once more. "'Course I remember you!" One second after he says it, he seems to trample down on the surge of surprise, expression tapering down to something quite a bit more tame.
"Well, I hope it's for something good," Aziraphale says, breathing a short chuckle.
"Definitely good." The scratch of his voice is delightful. Smokey and close, so near Aziraphale feels his insides go buttery, his heart jump up.
"It's been lovely talking to you, AJ," he says, because he doesn't want to drown in mirages. "I look forward to the next session, next week."
AJ blinks slowly, before a smile swims up to his lips. "The pleasure's been all mine. And remember, nothing that you'll say here to me about your likes or dislikes is wrong, angel."
Angel .
It strikes, private and quiet, in the tender place of his chest where that empty space is gasping for comfort. Not really something to feel moved by, but he's never been anything but Aziraphale for anyone before. And he wonders if this - this word, two syllables tied by a wicked tongue - might mean he could discover other angles of himself as well.
"Is that my moniker now?" he asks, feeling teasing, bursting with held-up sparks. He’s never been teasing in his life.
Aziraphale is smiling.
On the screen, AJ winks. "Absolutely."
The seconds are slipping away. Aziraphale can almost feel them dripping between his fingers as he watches the curve of AJ's neck, the lift of his mouth. Hears the patter of his own heart, so quick in his ears.
"Alright, then." He forces a wave, some wobbly move of fingers that AJ's too generous to laugh about. "Good night, AJ, thank you."
AJ blows a kiss to the camera. "Ciao, angel."
The screen goes black.
It's such a banal thing to enjoy the peace of evening whipping out free over the city, all around Aziraphale, without that smear of uneasiness inside him that's been pervasive for the last few months. Aziraphale breathes in, enjoys the safe walls of his den, the streaks of bergamot and vanilla soaked and rubbed on his pillow and sheets, and smiles.
Things are definitely getting easier.
He's already falling asleep, two hours later, when his mobile buzzes over the oak surface of his nightstand.
Aziraphale feels for it, clumsy and sleep-addled, hand smacking a wood not made to be smacked, and fetches the mobile. A message.
His eyes go huge at the words.
Hope you're sleeping already. It was so good to talk to you, angel. Thanks for letting me take care of you. Xoxo 💋 - AJ
Aziraphale stares at it until his mobile dies black, blocks itself. And he thinks there's really too much blank space in his head and his heart, in all the spaces in between his fingers and toes, for the way AJ's single message rattles so loudly.
A harbor, Aziraphale thinks. If only for a little while.