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Nothing is constant in the state of the universe. Tides change, days turn to nights and lives take directions one cannot always control. Such was Aziraphale's situation. Well, his romantic situation to be precise.
Aziraphale was in his last year in college. He'd devoted himself to his thesis, often sequestered in the school library to do his research. On days he wasn't nose deep in his academics, Aziraphale was at home, reading novels to pass time, because he believed that the best way to spend one's rest day is to do something you love doing. Even when sometimes it was mentally taxing for his mind to get through even just 10 pages of a book on days he wasn't exactly in the mood to read.
Investing most of his time on research and books meant that Aziraphale hadn't had time for other things. Maybe he should have been more aware of that fact. But by the time he had realized, it was too late. It was always too late for Aziraphale.
He had cried just outside his dorm room, where his first ever boyfriend had broken up with him. There were no fights, no shouting, nor any misunderstandings between them. It was simply that his boyfriend had fallen out of love for him. Or so that's what Aziraphale had been told. Aziraphale suspected that maybe there were other reasons, but since that was what he's been given, that's what he had decided to accept.
Aziraphale had spent the whole week busying himself with schoolwork and friends, yet there was always a feeling of emptiness just lingering underneath the laughs he gave his colleagues. There was a sadness he couldn't properly express to anyone. There wasn't a day he didn't think of his boyfriend —ex boyfriend, and every day it kills him a little inside.
Three weeks passed and still, Aziraphale hasn't gotten over the breakup. He'd never understood the people who claimed they were trying to move on even after months, yet now he couldn't be far from those types. He'd been holed up in the library again. The quiet making him reminisce on sentimental memories. Aziraphale had pulled on his hair hard, grimacing with pain from both the physical action and the emotional distress.
At this point Aziraphale would lose himself in the sorrow. He couldn't afford that. With only three months left in the term, he has to be on the top of his game, focusing on his studies.
Aziraphale breathed deep. In his mind, he pondered what other different way he could escape from his own thoughts. If reading doesn't work, then perhaps it's time he tries something new. Something way out of his avenue of comfort.
On a split-second decision, Aziraphale pulled out his phone, dialed Anathema's number.
"Hello?" the voice behind the line was raspy. Aziraphale checked his wristwatch. 10:00 am.
"We're you still sleeping?" Aziraphale began.
Anathema grumbled in response. "Mm, yeah," she said with an accompanying yawn at the end.
Aziraphale made a face at that. "Let me guess, you crammed your majors the whole night."
"No, I had sex with Newt." Anathema's tone was flat. "Yes, yes, I lost sleep studying last night, smartass.” Anathema grunted. “What are you calling for?"
Aziraphale blinked. What exactly is he calling for? He tried to construct a response to the question. Should he say he's calling because he couldn't move on from his ex-boyfriend? Anathema had been put under hours of his self-deprecating episode the first week after he got broken up with. He doubts Anathema would be up to listening to his rants for hours again. Should he say he needs company? Obviously, he does, but he doesn't think that would do him any good at all. So, what to say?
"I need..." he tried, throat dry. "I need, er, something new," was all Aziraphale mustered.
"Hm?" Anathema sounded confused. Even Aziraphale is confused. Something new, he had said. But what if he did not feel safe doing something new? "Can you elaborate on that, Aziraphale? Christ's sake I just woke up."
Anathema's voice sounded far through the speaker. There was a noise of rustling cloth and flowing water.
"I-I'm not sure what I mean, either," Aziraphale chuckled weakly. "Just, something new. Something, er, distracting, maybe?" he supplied hopefully.
"Shomehing dishaching?" Anathema repeated, her words barely coherent. Aziraphale heard what sounded like gurgling, then spitting. "What kind of distracting?" Anathema's voice was much nearer and way clearer now.
"Anything. As long as it takes my mind off of..." Aziraphale sighed. "...you know."
"Ah. Got it." There was even more rustling in the other end, before Anathema returned, her tone more eager. "Okay. Tell you what, if I pass the test later, let's go clubbing. If not let's still go clubbing, anyway. That's what you need, yeah. Would that be alright?"
Aziraphale considered the proposition. He had gone to a local pub once and deemed it too rowdy for his tastes. The local pubs were more his scene, really. Yet this is something he's been craving, isn't it? Something distracting. And maybe the noise would drown out the thoughts the silence often invited.
"Yeah, that would be fine," Aziraphale answered hesitantly.
"Don't worry, I'll take you to the best club I know," Anathema said, excitement in her voice.
They chatted for a while more, they discussed plans for vacation after the term, people they know around the university and professors they both had unwanted encounters with. At one point Anathema had started going on a tirade about people who aren't seeing the worth of boyfriends who are more endearing than they are handsome, and that she wouldn't have anyone in the world but the one she has right now. Aziraphale had decided to end the conversation once Anathema began the conversation of her sex life. Aziraphale did not want to envision Newton Pulsifer's dick that's "as thick as a Greek mausoleum pillar" (quoted from Device, A., date unknown).
Anathema failed the test.
She failed it horribly.
"I told you. Should have studied three days prior at the least," Aziraphale nagged.
"Ehh, who cares. My grades don't define me," Anathema said. "Besides, I could always recompense with my homework. And attendance. I hope," she scrunched her nose.
They were seated at the bar, waiting for their third set of drinks to be served.
Anathema had taken them to a club a town away.
("Must it really be in the next town? Couldn't we have gone to a local club instead?" Aziraphale had asked inside the cab while he fidgeted with the scruffs of his white shirt.
"No. If I take you to a local one, I bet all my money you'd be gone in no more than a minute, off to your favorite pub." Anathema grabbed his wrist in an attempt to stop his ministrations. "Come on. It's time you experience more thrill in your life," she smiled at him genuinely.
Aziraphale held her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, thankful that in everything that's changed in his life, at least there was Anathema, who was a constant.)
The club was called PanDemonium. Quite a fitting name for the place, Aziraphale mused, when it's filled with people who had thrown away their decency, gyrating to the music and with some quite literally already having sex on the dance floor when they had arrived.
Among the disorderly crowd, a man with bright red hair—dyed, Aziraphale assumed— caught his attention. Aziraphale wouldn't be aware of the man's presence, nor existence for that matter, if it weren't for the fact that the man had been staring at him since the moment they had first locked gazes when Aziraphale entered the establishment.
Anathema wasn't oblivious to what was happening. She had moved closer to Aziraphale in a gesture that warded off people who might have wanted to come close to him, looking back on occasion to check if the man was still staring— he was. Anathema had asked if Aziraphale was still feeling alright, had murmured that maybe taking him here was a bad idea after all, had audibly questioned if she should confront the guy. Aziraphale was grateful for her concerns but had told her that it was fine. The guy was on the other side of the room anyway, and unless he started approaching them, they shouldn't do anything rash. Aziraphale had heard Anathema curse the name of the unknown fellow, but only caught the word 'crow'. He was left to wonder whether some people at clubs use sobriquets to detach themselves from potential relationships established from a single night of inebriation and fornication.
On their fourth round of drinks, the red-haired man had surprisingly moved closer to them. Aziraphale watched as the man whispered something to a tall, blond guy, arms inked with spiraling tattoos. His companion, maybe. They exchanged a brief hug before parting, the other guy making his way to a table occupied by 5 other people, seeming to have been waiting for him. The red-haired guy, though, was looking at Aziraphale. He wore a languid smile on his lips, striding over to the bar to sit on the stool on Aziraphale's left. Up close Aziraphale can properly assess the man's outfit. He wore a simple black shirt tucked in some skinny jeans that perfectly hugged the man's thighs. A fitting outfit for such a place, compared to Aziraphale's white dress shirt and khaki trousers.
"Hi. Haven't seen you here before," the man said, then muttered under his breath with a shrug: "not that I come here often."
"Er—" Aziraphale tried to respond but Anathema had beat him to it.
"Sod off, Crowley," she hissed, downing her drink.
“Hello to you, too, Device,” Crowley greeted, taking Aziraphale's drink on the table to make a toasting gesture, and like Anathema, downed it in one go.
Anathema grunted. “I can't believe you. That was Aziraphale's! And I paid for that!” she pointed an accusing finger at Crowley.
“I'll pay for your next round, then,” he said. He took his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out bills enough to pay for five more rounds of drinks.
Anathema grumbled something under her breath, but took the money anyway, angrily ordering four mugs of whiskey— “your strongest one, please”
“So, hi. I'm Crowley, Anthony Crowley.” Crowley said, returning his attention to Aziraphale. Ah, so it was his real name, after all.
“Aziraphale Fell,” he held out his hand to shake. Crowley looked at it with a raised brow. He took the hand, dragging his fingertips on Aziraphale's palm. The gesture and Crowley’s strong grip made Aziraphale feel something deep inside his abdomen.
Aziraphale wondered if he'd gotten weak to alcohol. Surely three drinks aren't enough to make him drunk now.
“So, you're the Aziraphale I keep hearing about from Anathema,” Crowley said, still holding his hand. Aziraphale's brows shot up at his statement.
“Huh. I never thought Anathema would talk about me with other people,” he glanced sideways at the woman to his right. She was already sipping on her whiskey like she couldn't hear what they were talking about. “And what kind of things about me does she exactly tells you?” he asked, pulling his hand away. A small part of him regretted it, immediately missing Crowley's warmth.
“Nothing too personal, really. Asked me once what book to buy you, though,’ Crowley wiggled his brow, while Anathema grunted: “Well, I realized that I shouldn’t have.”
“Wait, were you the one who told her to buy me Fifty Shades of Gray?”
“Bingo,” Crowley grinned.
“Fuck you!” Anathema groaned.
“Oh, Lord. You’d have died already if you’ve seen how embarrassed Anathema was when she realized what kind of book she bought me,” Aziraphale chuckled. “How'd you two know each other, by the way?”
“Newt,” it was Anathema who answered.
“Really?” Aziraphale couldn't see Newt as someone who hangs out with such kind of people. He isn't exactly sure what kind of people Crowley's people are, but Crowley looks far from being friends with a guy who's always nose deep in Maths and technology.
Crowley chuckled at Aziraphale's shocked expression. “Used to go to the same high school, he and I. Math whizz, even though I don't look like it,” Crowley's grin was wide. Aziraphale gaped.
“Well. That's, er…” was all Aziraphale mustered, quite embarrassed for basing his judgment of Crowley’s character on how Crowley looks. But then again, it's hard to know people's true nature on just the first encounter.
“It's shocking, I know. I have lots of shocking qualities,” the smile on Crowley's lips had turned into a smirk. “Like what you did with your hair, by the way,” he said. He reached out to caress some of the tufts of hair by Aziraphale's ear. Aziraphale's breath hitched.
“Yeah, er, dyed it. Two weeks ago,” Aziraphale said. He had done it in the heat of the moment, while he tried to tame his heart that was raging in sorrow and disappointment. He had called Anathema the next day, sobbing on his phone, but this time, because he’s got a badly dyed white hair.
“Dyed it by yourself, didn't you? Can see a bit of blond here, but it still mixes well with the white.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he should take it as a complement or an insult, so he just took it as a passing comment.
Crowley was still playing with his hair, but his eyes were trained on Aziraphale's face. He stuck out the tip of his tongue, raising his brows once, and then Anathema was gripping Crowley's wrist, wrenching his hand away from Aziraphale's hair. She had moved to stand close behind Aziraphale.
“Crowley, I understand if you've got a little crush on my friend, but he's just been through a breakup. We're here to have fun, not to find him someone to fuck and be left by,” Anathema hissed through gritted teeth.
“Breakup?” Crowley repeated, mouth turning down to a frown.
“Yes. So, if you're looking for a fuck, go back to the other side of the room,” Anathema said, letting go of Crowley's wrist.
“Well, I'm not looking for a fuck, Anathema. You know I don't come here for that,” Crowley argued, his tone composed and understanding.
“Do you?” Anathema's eyes narrowed at Crowley.
“I'm good with people, but I don't take anyone and everyone to bed. You should personally know that,” Crowley pointed out. Aziraphale was silent during the whole exchange. Clearly, they had some sort of history, but Aziraphale did not want to pry. Not right now, at least.
Anathema sneered at Crowley. “Fine. But if you hurt Aziraphale, or take advantage of him, I will maul you to death,” Anathema relented. “Fuck,” she groaned, then pulled her phone out, dialed a number.
Aziraphale caught a grumble of Newt’s name and his voice coming out from the other line as Anathema walked away from them. Aziraphale called out after her, but she raised her hand in a shooing gesture. She disappeared among the dancing crowd.
Crowley hummed beside him, leaning close to Aziraphale now.
“So, you've got a broken heart right now?” he asked. His right hand rested on Aziraphale’s arm, rubbing it gently.
“Er, yeah. Sort of. I kind of miss him, but not so much. It's not like we're really close, anyway. I just think I miss the thought of having a boyfriend, I guess,” Aziraphale explained. He took a sip of the whiskey Anathema ordered for him, offering his other glass to Crowley.
Crowley hummed in response, his hand moving up to his shoulder and staying there.
“Do you think you still like him?” Crowley asked. He took the mug in his other hand, taking a big gulp of the drink.
“I'm not really sure. We weren't always in contact, and whatever romantic bond we had was, well, it's been dwindling for months now,” Aziraphale took another sip, a mouthful this time, wincing at the burn in his throat. “Perhaps I expected that maybe he'd still stay. Regardless of how far the distance between us had become, I still felt devastated when he broke up with me,” he continued.
“Hm. I understand that, I do,” Crowley's hand was on his nape now. Aziraphale did not notice it moving up until he felt Crowley's thumb rubbing the space under his ear. He tried to mask the shudder he felt by pretending he was feeling cold despite the sweating heat of the club. “He was still a person you've been with for a while. He became a part of your life at some point. Feeling like you're missing something when he left is perfectly natural,” Crowley reassured.
“You really think so?” Aziraphale gazed at Crowley hopefully.
“I know so. People who walk away from your life will always leave a hole in your heart. It’s going to be hard to try to patch up that hole, but someday you will. It’s just up to you how you want to heal it,’ Crowley offered him a genuine smile, thumb still rubbing the spot under his ear.
“What if I can’t?” Aziraphale fidgeted at the rim of his mug, tracing the sphere of it with his pointer finger.
“You can.” Crowley’s eyes followed his movement, his thumb following the rhythm of Aziraphale’s finger on the mug, and it took Aziraphale great effort not to close his eyes.
“How can you be sure that I can?” Aziraphale’s voice trembled.
“Because I’m sure there are other people out there who’d be willing to sweep you off your feet. Make you feel loved more than that other guy. Make you feel worshipped. You look like an angel, Aziraphale,” Crowley’s voice was low. He said the last in a barely audible whisper, but Aziraphale still caught it. How could he not when Crowley had moved his face so close, it’ll take just a nudge for them to be kissing already.
Aziraphale leaned away, too intimidated by the tension he’s been feeling with Crowley since they started talking. He downed the rest of his whiskey, attempting to calm his nerves. He’d never felt like this with anyone before. Is this what people would call chemistry? Perhaps it’s just Crowley’s naturally seductive body, or his handsome face, or the way he caresses Aziraphale as if he actually likes Aziraphale. The thought made butterflies flutter in Aziraphale’s stomach.
“I, er, bathroom,” Aziraphale muttered.
“You feeling okay?” Crowley asked. His hands, those hands that were so attentive to every part of Aziraphale that it held, moved down to his lower back, supporting him like he was worried Aziraphale was about to faint. Maybe he is.
Yes, was what Aziraphale wanted to say. “No,” was what his mouth mumbled.
Crowley stood up from his seat, guiding Aziraphale off his own. “I’ll take you there, come on.”
Crowley guided Aziraphale to the bathroom, his arms firm and protective around his waist. Aziraphale instinctively leaned on him, the close proximity of Crowley’s body making him feel safe. Crowley checked inside the unoccupied cubicles, finding one that’s cleaner compared to the others. He guided Aziraphale inside, locking the door behind him. Aziraphale could hear moans reverberating throughout the bathroom, a cacophony of noise that made him feel equally sick and, to his horror, sexually excited.
“Sorry about the noise. This is, er, the norm here for most nights,” Crowley said. “Do you feel like throwing up?” he asked. Aziraphale shook his head in response.
“Just need a breather, I think. Though this is hardly the ideal place to be taking a breather, I realized,” Aziraphale let out a weak chuckle. He checked the seat of the toilet, putting it down when he was sure it was clean enough to sit on.
Crowley stayed standing by the door. “D’you want to get out of here?” he offered.
“No. No need to. Thank you for taking me here, Crowley,” Aziraphale sat on the toilet seat, hands fidgeting on the creases of his trouser.
“Okay. If you need me, I’ll just be outside, yeah?” Crowley moved to open the door. In his panic, Aziraphale tugged on the waistband of Crowley’s jeans.
“Don’t— don’t leave me here, please,” Aziraphale pleaded. It was in the whim of the moment. He knew he shouldn’t let Crowley stay. Knew there would be consequences for doing so. Yet, his body worked faster than his mind did. He didn’t have time to think things through before he’s spouting out his unconscious thoughts.
“Okay. I’ll stay here.”
Crowley leaned back on the door, arms crossing over his chest. Aziraphale mumbled a thank you, opting to look down at the tiles, counting the lines, observing grates, just so he could look at anything else but Crowley. It didn’t help that the moans were now the only thing his ears could focus on, while his spatial awareness was heightened by the thought of Crowley near him.
Aziraphale linked his hands together, putting it over his lap in an attempt to hide his growing erection.
“I can help with that. If you want to,” Crowley offered. Aziraphale looked up at him. Crowley’s face was angled to the side, refusing to look straight at Aziraphale. In his position, Aziraphale can now see the tent in Crowley’s jeans, more obvious with its tightness, compared to Aziraphale’s lose trousers. It felt better knowing he wasn’t the only one affected by the noises outside. And also, by the fact that a very attractive guy was inside the cubicle with him.
Aziraphale considered his options. Crowley was offering, and it wasn’t an offer he was entirely opposed to. Only, Aziraphale doesn’t do one-night stands, and deep down, he knows he might be amenable to taking things further with Crowley, should he ask him to. Or maybe Aziraphale should ask Crowley, perhaps for his number later. He’ll find the courage to make the first move.
Aziraphale’s throat was dry when he answered: “okay.”
Crowley’s head snapped in his direction that Aziraphale thought he heard a crack of bones. Crowley blinked at him, arms uncrossing, going limp at his sides. “Okay?” he repeated.
Aziraphale tried to swallow some of his saliva, hoping to help it wet his throat. “Y-yeah. Okay. Or, er, if you were joking, then I’ll take care of it myself,” Aziraphale muttered. It was his turn to take his gaze away from Crowley. Seeing those eyes looking at him so pointedly was too much to bear.
“No.” Crowley said. “No, I mean, yes, I’d help. I- fuck, okay. Okay. Can I come closer?”
Aziraphale gave him a shy nod. In his periphery, he can see Crowley kneel down on the floor. He felt the other man’s hands moving higher up his thigh, then the zipper of his trousers opening. He held his breath as Crowley took him in his hand, stroking him slowly.
“Still okay, Aziraphale?” he asked. Aziraphale looked at him then. He nodded, a low moan escaping his lips.
“Lean back for me, please?” Crowley ordered.
Aziraphale did as instructed. He shuddered when Crowley muttered a ‘good boy’ before he pulled back the skin covering the head of his dick and took it in his mouth. Aziraphale let out a whimper, hands holding on to Crowley’s hair, playing with it as Crowley swirled his tongue around the slit. Aziraphale bit his lip, his breathing shallower and hurried. Crowley kept lapping at the slit of his cock for a while, then without warning, took Aziraphale whole until he felt the inside of Crowley’s throat.
“Oh, Fff- God,” Aziraphale screamed, fireworks exploded behind his eyes.
Crowley bobbed his head eagerly, covering the back of one of Aziraphale’s hand, intertwining their fingers. Aziraphale cried Crowley’s name when Crowley took him deep in his throat again, humming and moving his head minutely from side to side, his tongue laving on the underside of his dick with saliva, and, occasionally, trying to get inside the foreskin. Aziraphale fought the urge to just completely lie down on the toilet seat and wrap his legs over Crowley’s shoulders or squeeze that head with his plump thighs.
Crowley was damn good at what he does, and Aziraphale thought he would die before he felt something like this again. It stopped all too soon when Crowley let his dick go with a ‘pop’, his lips shiny with spit. He stood up from his position, crotch close to Aziraphale’s head. If he leaned forward, he could definitely smell it, maybe lap at it, even. God, Aziraphale must be losing his mind, he must be.
"Want to do something else that feels good, Aziraphale?" Crowley asked with a glint of mischief in his eyes. Crowley palmed his own erection, gaze trained on Aziraphale's neglected cock. The look on those hungry eyes was enough to make Aziraphale want to come.
Aziraphale doubts there's something much better than having Crowley’s mouth on him, but still, he answered a stuttered "Yeah," even if a bit hesitant.
"Come here, stand up, come closer," Crowley beckoned. He started unzipping his jeans, pushing it down until it hit the floor. His boxers followed next, his dick springing free from its confines. Aziraphale wanted to stay seated. Wanted to just lean in and take it in his mouth. To return to Crowley the pleasure he’d made Aziraphale feel. He decided to kiss the head of Crowley’s dick instead, licking the slit to taste the heady scent of his precum, earning a low hiss from Crowley.
Aziraphale looked up to meet Crowley’s eyes, before he stood up, letting his trousers fall down his ankles. He moved closer until their chests touched, cocks rubbing against each other. Aziraphale moaned at the feel of Crowley against him, trying his best not to grind his hips. Crowley, on the other hand, was more than willing to give Aziraphale the friction he needed. He spat on his hand and took both of their cocks, rubbing it together. Aziraphale's moans were answered with Crowley's deep grunts.
"I promise I'll make you feel so good. You're not going to want anybody else after this—fuck. Do you trust me?" Crowley whispered. Aziraphale gulped, managing a small nod in response.
Crowley didn't stop, if anything he had started aggressively pumping their erections. He kept at it for a while that Aziraphale felt he may reach his peak like this anytime soon. Then, Crowley's hands halted, and Aziraphale whined, trying to chase his impending orgasm.
"Shh, be patient, angel," Crowley said, the nickname unconsciously slipping past his lips. If Aziraphale was in his right mind, he would have commented on it, but as he was right now, he doesn't care about anything other than finding release.
To his surprise, Crowley gently pinched his foreskin and pulled, stretching it so it went past the head. Then, Aziraphale's knees almost gave, as he felt the slick head of Crowley's dick against his own. Crowley had wrapped Aziraphale's foreskin around it, then proceeded to pull the foreskin of his own dick to wrap over Aziraphale's. Aziraphale all but let out a pathetic whimper at the sight. He could feel the slide of the heads against each other, their precums mixing.
He watched as Crowley bent slightly, opened his mouth wider, let his saliva drool over their joined dicks. Crowley straightened when enough spit had coated them, took one of Aziraphale's hand and wrapped it around their joined erections with his own, moving their hands in unison. Their hands stroked over each other's dicks, Crowley squeezing every now and again on the area where the heads made contact. Their moans were getting louder—Aziraphale's becoming high pitched, Crowley's breathier.
If you would ask Aziraphale how it felt, he wouldn't be able to properly explain it. It was tight, and it was as if something was sucking the tip of his dick everytime Crowley's dick moved a centimeter away. He could feel the pull of both their foreskins, trying to keep ther dicks in place. Aziraphale unconsciously started moving his hips, thrusting to seek that sensation.
"So... fucking... hot," Crowley whispered. At that, Aziraphale's eyes instinctively went to seek Crowley's face. Too see if he looks as aroused as Aziraphale is. To know if Crowley's as affected with Aziraphale as Aziraphale was with him.
And he met Crowley's eyes. Those eyes were looking at him intensely, clouded with lust. "Fuck, keep looking at me, angel, fuck," Crowley said. He inched his head closer until both their foreheads touched, those eyes still holding its gaze. Crowley bit his lip, moving their hands faster.
Aziraphale's breath hitched, mouth going slack. Crowley's skin against his, the constant pressure of their slits rubbing against each other, and those eyes that seemed to never want to leave him were the undoing of Aziraphale. He shuddered as he orgasmed, feeling the semen flow out of his skin. A few more strokes and Crowley was following him over the edge with such a loud grunt Aziraphale almost thought Crowley was mad.
Crowley didn't pull away, though. He kept squeezing both their heads, as if content to be in that position and never leave. So much semen was dripping from out of Aziraphale's foreskin, a pool forming on the filthy tiled floor.
Aziraphale breathed deep. "That was..." was all he managed.
"Told you..." they both moaned as Crowley disconnected their dicks, the drag of their foreskins making a wet noise. "... 'm gonna make you feel good." Crowley pulled his jeans up, but didn't zip nor buckle it yet. He felt his pockets, letting out a soft 'ah' when he finally found his handkerchief.
"Let me," he said, taking Aziraphale's sensitive cock to wipe it clean. Aziraphale whimpered at the feeling of the dry cloth but let Crowley. He was taken aback when Crowley suddenly gave him a kiss on the cheek. It felt too intimate of an action, yet Aziraphale felt the urge to return the gesture.
"Make sure you clean up thoroughly when you get home," he murmured. It didn't get past Aziraphale's notice how Crowley's gaze was drawn to his lips for a second before he started pulling Aziraphale's own trousers back up. Crowley was basically dressing him now, and Aziraphale was too distracted by the thought of Crowley’s lips against his to do anything else.
Crowley smiled at Aziraphale once done fixing his clothing. When Crowley noticed Aziraphale’s dazed expression, he placed a hand on his cheek, rubbing the spot under his eye with his thumb. Without thinking, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's nape, pulling him close, kissing him on those tempting lips of his.
Crowley made a surprised noise, but his body immediately responded, wrapping his arms over Aziraphale's shoulders. Aziraphale didn't care anymore that they're inside a filthy bathroom stall in a club, that there are people like them probably having sex in the next cubicle, that this was technically his first public sex. What he cared about was that Crowley's pants were still open, dick hanging—well, it's on its way to meet the sky again. Feeling brave, Aziraphale stroked Crowley's dick, the residual semen on it making each stroke smooth and easy. Crowley grunted in between kisses, wrapping his had around Aziraphale's wrist, urging him to move faster. Aziraphale never took his mouth off Crowley's until he felt the other man released on his hand, where Crowley leaned his head back, thumping against the door, to let the loudest moan he’d ever heard from any partner he had. Crowley's Adam's apple bobbed twice. Aziraphale’s mouth watered at the sight. Thinking that it won’t hurt to do so, he bit Crowley’s throat, making him choke. Aziraphale licked at the mark he left, humming in satisfaction.
When Crowley finally came back from his high, his smile at Aziraphale was dopey. Aziraphale held Crowley’s gaze, licking his fingers clean, lips coated with the translucent white of Crowley's semen. Crowley growled a low 'fuck' under his breath and slumped sideways on the cubicle wall.
Aziraphale swiped the handkerchief from Crowley's hand to clean him with it. Crowley was pliant the whole time Aziraphale tended to him, leaning his lithe body over the other man, wrapping his arm around him in a sort of embrace as Aziraphale tucked the back of his black shirt back inside those tight jeans.
Aziraphale, making sure that Crowley looks prim and proper again, pulled away to hold him at shoulder’s length. Crowley definitely seems more composed now than he was earlier. Aziraphale smiled at him. "Thank you for that, Crowley," he said a tad shyly.
"Mh." Crowley nodded. "Listen—" Crowley gulped. He stood up straight. "I know this isn't exactly a good start to a relationship but I- I really think you're interesting, Aziraphale. I mean, I find you pretty. I told you, of course you know that. And- and I think— no, I would like to know you better. You know? Outside of this sexual stuff. I wouldn't mind doing something sexual once in a while, obviously, but I'd love to be able to just talk to you, know what you're doing or feeling or just... anything..." Crowley trailed off.
Aziraphale’s smile widened, not caring to hide his amusement. He'd store in his mind this other side of Crowley and cherish it. It wouldn't be so bad to know more about him, surely.
"My dear, I think I'd love that, too," he answered.
Crowley beamed at him. "Okay, yeah. Good. Great. So. Yeah. Let's get out of here, then?" He held out a hand to him that Aziraphale took.
When they left the restroom, Aziraphale was mildly perplexed at how no one was looking weirdly at them, considering the noises they were making inside, except, of course, Anathema, who surprisingly was latching onto Newt's arm at the moment. Newt greeted them with a small wave. Anathema was seething.
“You two are fucking disgusting. I could hear you from the girl's loo! And you! I thought you said no fucking. You just fucked my best friend!”
“I didn't. I docked him,” Crowley said. Aziraphale choked on his own spit and Anathema’s whole face turned red. Newt made a confused expression.
Anathema sputtered gibberish, putting a hand on her face. She took in a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. “I can't believe you. I can't believe you two,” she glared at Crowley.
“Remember what I said earlier, Crowley,” she warned.
“I will,” Crowley responded rather solemnly. He tugged Aziraphale's hand, nodding once at the couple, a gesture of farewell.
“I'll see you tomorrow, Anathema,” Aziraphale shouted behind him, following Crowley across the dance floor and out of the establishment.
"Where to, now?" Aziraphale asked.
“Wherever you want to go,” Crowley answered. “The night’s still young, after all.”