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Crowley had become rather adept at sneaking in and out of his flat. Slinking through the hallway, down the stairs past his landlord’s door, and out the front without detection. After listening carefully and judging the hallway to be empty, he took a deep breath and slipped out his door, closing it silently behind him.

“You’re late with the rent again, laddie.” The voice echoed through the hall, making Crowley jump. 

Crowley bit back a groan and turned to face him. “I know. I’m working on it, Mr Shadwell.” 

Leaning with a shoulder against the wall, the old man stood between Crowley and the stairs. Clearly he had been waiting for a while, annoyance evident in his slumped posture and the narrowing of his eyes. “That’s Sergeant Shadwell, you wee–”

“Look at the time!” Crowley tapped at his oversized wrist watch, cutting him off before he could discover which indecipherable Scottish insult Shadwell would bestow upon him today. “I’ll be late for work, which certainly won’t help me come up with the rent money, now will it?”

Shadwell didn’t budge. “I’ve only let you get away with it this long because I knew your father. Good man, he was. But I’m afraid–”

Apparently rock bottom had new depths to plunder, because the door opposite Crowley’s swung open, and out stepped the only person who could make this situation worse.

“Good morning,” said Aziraphale. He shut the door behind himself and tugged at the hem of his waistcoat. Carrying a well-worn brown leather brief case, he was dressed more formally than Crowley was accustomed to seeing him, with a button up shirt and a bow tie accompanying his tan trousers. “I hope you don’t think me a terrible eavesdropper, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. Surely you can offer Anthony a bit longer to come up with the rent, can’t you, Sergeant?”

This was just what Crowley needed. His stupidly hot neighbor bearing witness to his humiliation. Crowley had hardly managed to exchange occasional pleasantries with Aziraphale without drooling all over himself ever since he had moved in. 

Shadwell eyed Aziraphale. His brow arched, his thin-lipped mouth a flat line. “What’s it to you, Mr Fell?”

Aziraphale smiled back, neutral but polite. “He’s a good lad. And a respectful tenant, is he not?”

“Aye, but–”

“Quiet. Clean. Keeps out of your hair,” Aziraphale continued. “Valuable traits considering he occupies the flat directly above your own.”

“Aye,” Shadwell drawled slowly, skeptically. But he was listening. “Your point?”

Crowley froze, watching the two of them nervously. Every time he had a conversation with Shadwell, the man seemed to despise him more. But Aziraphale appeared to be getting through to him, far more successfully than Crowley ever had. Perhaps it was his posh, refined tone that reeled Shadwell in. It was certainly working on Crowley.

“My point being, who knows what sort of young ruffian could move into the flat next, should you kick poor Mr Crowley to the curb,” Aziraphale replied. 

Shadwell’s eyes widened incrementally. 

Aziraphale tilted his head to the side, humming thoughtfully. “Or I suppose you could get lucky. A respectable young couple, perhaps. With a baby.” 

Shadwell grimaced and turned back to Crowley. “I can give you two more weeks, laddie. But then that’s it.” 

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Crowley offered, trying to mask the bewilderment from his voice. “I’ll make sure that it doesn’t happen again, sir.” 

“See that it doesn’t. One doesn’t want to appear tightfisted.” Shadwell turned and lumbered down the stairs. 

Crowley’s shoulders dropped. Whether it was out of relief or disappointment he couldn’t say. Aziraphale was still there, regarding him pleasantly as they listened to the door downstairs shut. He should say something, he supposed. 

“Thanks for the, er, rescue. Looks like you’re my guardian angel.” 

Something stupid, apparently. He felt his skin heat.

“Oh, well, I don’t know about that,” Aziraphale said, glancing away nervously. He had let his chin-length curls hang loose, impossibly blond, just like his neatly-trimmed beard. He did look like an angel, and could very well have been one, for all Crowley knew. Aziraphale twisted his hands together, his confidence seemingly dispersed. “I apologize for inserting myself into the situation, I just thought that…”

He looked troubled, and Crowley would absolutely not tolerate marring his handsome face with that sort of nonsense. “Nah. You’re just trying to be nice. You bought me a bit of time to find a third job, at least.” 

“A third job?” Aziraphale furrowed his brows in confusion before he seemed to catch himself, his face turning apologetic again. “It’s obviously none of my business, but I thought you worked at that… big shiny building. With the offices. Forgive me, I don’t actually know what it is people in suits do in those places all day.” 

“White collar crime, mostly,” Crowley snarked.

“Yes, of course. Silly me,” Aziraphale replied with a hint of smirk.

Crowley snorted. He was unfairly adorable. Crowley sighed and continued when Aziraphale tipped his grin into something more sincere. “Got sacked. Turns out they don’t like it much when you notice some discrepancies in the accounts and start asking questions. Like how your boss can afford so many luxury vehicles on his salary. They like it even less when you bring those questions to the bloke who just so happens to be in his back pocket.” 

Nearly a decade of his career, down the drain thanks to Hastur and Ligur. Crowley’s savings were wiped out while he searched for a new job, finally coming to terms with the fact that those slimy idiots had been sabotaging him anywhere he had applied that was remotely connected to their field. He had hated that job from the start, if he was being honest with himself. The competitiveness, the hustle culture, the smarmy artificiality of it all. But it paid the bills and then some. Now he was barely scraping by, weeks away from living in his car. Helping his friend Nina at her coffee shop in the mornings, and cleaning up after drunken arseholes at a shitty pub in the evenings, were the only things keeping him remotely afloat. 

Aziraphale made an empathetic sound. “Oh, Anthony, I’m so sorry. That sounds awful. You were trying to do the right thing.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Crowley grumbled. He shifted away. This was the longest conversation the two of them had ever had by a mile, and the softness in Aziraphale’s eyes was starting to make him squirm.

“It does matter. It was honorable.” 

Crowley laughed dryly. “Well that’s not going to pay the rent, is it?” 

Aziraphale averted his eyes to the floor. Crowley was fucking this up, being rude to someone who had tried to help him. Someone who probably had a pair of glistening white wings tucked away just out of sight. 

“I should go. Thanks again for the save, angel.” Crowley offered him an awkward half-smile and started walking towards the stairs.

“I might be able to help,” Aziraphale said, an edge of urgency to his voice.

Crowley stopped but didn’t turn back towards him, feeling his cheeks redden with further embarrassment. “I don’t need your charity.”

“No, I meant… with a job. I’ll pay you.” 

He turned on his heel before he could think better of it, curiosity clouding his judgement. All he knew about Aziraphale was that he was some sort of artist. What possible use could he have for Crowley? 

“I find myself in need of an art model.” Aziraphale paused, clearing his throat. “A nude model, to be clear, for a commission piece I’m working on. I pay a very competitive rate.” 

Crowley’s stomach dropped down to his knees. Modeling. Nude modeling. For Aziraphale. Who was radiant and kind and looked like he smelled amazing, if only Crowley ever had reason to get close enough to find out. Crowley’s brain was trying to parse whether this was a dream or a nightmare – finally settling on nightmare, because if it was a dream, Aziraphale would be the one taking off his clothes – when he was jerked back into the present moment by the hourly pay Aziraphale was listing. More than what Crowley was making at the coffee shop and the pub. Combined. 

“Wha? For sitting naked all day?” 

“Not all day. You can take breaks.”

“Just sitting.” Crowley swallowed, his throat tight.

Aziraphale nodded. “Well, sitting naked while holding a particular pose, but yes.” 

“You’re mad,” Crowley sighed, already knowing there was no way he could refuse that kind of money. He only had two weeks to scrounge up enough to get Shadwell off his back. So he’d have to spend a couple of afternoons naked with a handsome angel. Awkward, no doubt, but how bad could it be? “Fine, I’ll sit.” 

Weeks. 

For weeks, Crowley had spent every spare hour that he wasn’t pulling shifts at the pub or at the coffee shop here in Aziraphale’s studio. Perched on a wide, flat platform, leaning on his arms with his back arched and legs splayed open for Aziraphale’s viewing… pleasure? 

Was this pleasurable for him? 

Crowley still wasn’t sure. Aziraphale was as unreadable as he was gorgeous. Annoyingly professional. Enragingly focused on the marble and his tools. His eyes on Crowley’s body were keenly observing, but distant. Calculated, methodical. Aziraphale assessed him like Crowley was the one made of stone, never leering, never touching him more than was necessary to tweak his position on the dais.

Not the sort of reaction Crowley was accustomed to receiving when naked in the presence of another man.

But that’s not to say that Aziraphale was cold. The moment Crowley was covered up and the chisel was put down, Aziraphale would grace him with a soft smile and genuine gratitude. Little soul-melting compliments that Crowley could save up and replay to himself when he got home. 

“Oh, that was lovely.”

“Absolutely perfect.”

“Wonderful, my dear.”

That voice was the soundtrack to Crowley’s filthiest dreams, his desperate wanks between the sheets or under the spray of the shower, tugging himself off with ruthless efficiency and Aziraphale’s name held back by his bitten lips. 

So, if this arrangement was pleasurable for Aziraphale, it was more of a professional satisfaction – a very different sort of pleasure than the one Crowley was experiencing, laced as it was with the exquisite torment of want. 

Complicating matters was the fact that Aziraphale was more than just beautiful and full of sweet, meaningless praise. He was attentive and considerate. Flitting about before they got started, making sure the temperature in the room was comfortable for Crowley, offering him things like water or tea. Crowley forced himself to accept some of the time, dreading the awkward feeling of constantly saying no just as much as he craved the bright smile he would get in exchange for saying yes. Only once had Crowley made the mistake of returning the favor by bringing Aziraphale a hot cocoa from the coffee shop. That particular smile, paired with the tiny moan Aziraphale made at the first warm sip, had nearly been the death of him. 

Conversing with Aziraphale during their breaks was the one mistake Crowley couldn’t stop himself from repeating. It started with his nervous attempts to fill the silence by asking about the other projects scattered throughout the studio in various states of completion. Aziraphale would, of course, ask polite questions in return, and feign interest in Crowley’s disastrous life in a way that actually didn’t seem feigned at all. 

The unfortunate consequence was that Crowley knew things about him now. Like what sort of books Aziraphale liked to read. How he took his tea. That the afternoon sunlight from the cupola in the roof would turn his eyes from aquamarine to slate grey. 

His hot neighbor was slowly turning into his hot friend, and Crowley was developing feelings towards Aziraphale that fell decidedly outside the bounds of friendship. 

On one exceedingly normal afternoon, Crowley found himself in Aziraphale’s studio, holding his pose with practiced effort. He exhaled slowly through his nose, attempting to dispel his distracting thoughts. He had learned early on that it was easier to still his body and quiet his mind by keeping his eyes closed while Aziraphale worked. The low, instrumental music Aziraphale favored, interspersed with the repetitive sounds of the tools hitting marble, had become rhythmic and soothing, as were Aziraphale’s intermittent hums of contemplation and mumbled half-thoughts while he worked. The predictability of it all made it simple for Crowley to ignore the tightness in his muscles, the tingle in his limbs. 

He was startled to alertness by the soft fabric of his dressing gown coming down around his shoulders, paired with Aziraphale’s voice, far closer than he was expecting. 

“Time for a break, I think.” 

Crowley blinked open his eyes, readjusting to the light. He sat forward and lifted his arms with a groan to slip them into the dressing gown’s sleeves. The stiff muscles of his neck, back, and biceps were protesting the sudden change in position. His arse had gone completely numb. 

Aziraphale was alongside him, looking down at him with his face pinched in concern. “Are you quite alright, Anthony? You look a little pale.” 

No one called Crowley by his first name. Except for Aziraphale, whom he wouldn’t dare correct. It sounded far too captivating rolling off his tongue. 

“I’m fine. No need to worry, angel.” He tugged the dressing gown closed and tied the sash around his waist, ignoring the trembling in his hands. Crowley started to stand and was abruptly hit with a wave of dizziness. Disoriented, he felt himself collapsing as soon as his left foot made contact with the floor, stumbling forward as pins and needles coursed upward from foot to thigh. 

He reached out to brace himself for a fall, jolting in surprise when strong arms wrapped around him instead. Aziraphale pulled Crowley close while his vision continued to swirl, his traitorous hands clinging to Aziraphale’s shoulders without Crowley’s consent. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that you needed a break?” Aziraphale scolded gently. “I rely on you to tell me when you’ve had enough.” 

“I… dunno. Didn’t realize I needed one, I guess,” Crowley’s heart rate started to pick up once all the colors and shapes came back into focus and he realized what sort of predicament he’d gotten himself into. Worse yet, Aziraphale was using that firm, commanding voice on him. The one that made him weak in the knees, even when he wasn’t already, quite literally, weak in the knees. 

Crowley was tempted to mask his discomfort with a joke about his guardian angel rescuing him again, but thought better of it when Crowley noticed how heavenly Aziraphale’s scent truly was up close. Musky and warm. Masculine. He swallowed heavily, fighting every instinct that was screaming at him to lean in closer to its source, and attempted to pull away. 

But Aziraphale refused to release him from the cage of his arms just yet. He lifted one hand to Crowley’s chin and studied his eyes. “Did you have anything to eat today?” 

Crowley opened his mouth to answer, but Aziraphale cut him off. “Coffee does not count, by the way.” 

“Does too,” he mumbled. 

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow at him, leaving Crowley feeling appropriately chagrined. And aroused. 

“I think I had, uh… half a croissant before the morning rush at the coffee shop. I was planning to get something to eat before–”

“Let me guess: a double shift at the pub,” Aziraphale finished with a click of his tongue. “You’re running yourself ragged, my dear.” 

“Not like I have much of a choice, is it?” He had to save up as much as he could while he had the additional income from Aziraphale coming in. The rent was covered for now, but this arrangement was temporary, and if he wasn’t careful he would only end up scrabbling to pay off Shadwell yet again once Aziraphale finished the sculpture.

Crowley realized that his tone had registered harsher, and perhaps a touch more pathetic, than he’d intended. He regretted it when the hand still cradling his chin softened, as did Aziraphale’s voice. 

“Of course. I’m sorry. I just wish you would take better care of yourself, Anthony.”

To Crowley’s simultaneous relief and dismay, Aziraphale loosened his grip, but kept an arm around Crowley’s waist as he guided him towards the kitchenette at the back of the studio. Crowley winced. His wobbly steps exacerbated the tingling in his leg even as it helped the sensation to subside. Aziraphale pulled out a chair and kept his hands around Crowley as he lowered himself down onto it, as though he was something precious. Something worth caring for. 

And fuck. As if Crowley wasn’t already completely gone on this man. Hardly more than a month spent in his presence, and the initial physical attraction to his neighbor had transformed into a full-blown, hopeless crush. 

Aziraphale washed his hands in the sink before pouring Crowley a glass of cold water. He placed it down on the small wooden table in front of him, along with a packet of chocolate digestives. “You will eat some biscuits while I order us lunch, and you will not argue with me about it.” 

Crowley kept his mouth shut when the rumbling of his stomach seriously undercut any disagreement he might have mustered. Even he wasn’t so stubborn as to deny that he would feel less lightheaded after a biscuit and a few sips of water. Aziraphale pulled out his mobile and placed an order with the neighboring Chinese restaurant before sitting down across the table from him. They sat quietly for a few minutes while Crowley nibbled on another biscuit. 

“Thanks for this, Aziraphale.” Crowley fidgeted with the tie on his dressing gown. “You can take the cost of my lunch out of my pay for today.” 

“I will do no such thing. I shouldn’t have been so preoccupied with my work that I didn’t notice you were in distress.”

“I’m hardly in distress,” Crowley snorted. “Just an idiot who forgot to eat today.”

Aziraphale’s brows pinched together. “I should pay you more. Then you wouldn’t need to–”

“No.” 

“Anthony–” 

“No,” Crowley insisted, firmer this time. “You’ll pay me what we agreed upon at the start. I’m already taking more of your money than I should, getting paid to lounge around with my dick out.” 

Aziraphale huffed out a startled laugh and looked away. It was partially hidden by his beard, but a very fetching blush spilled across his cheeks. “There’s more to it than that, and you know it.”

Crowley smirked, taking full advantage of any opportunity to regain the upper hand in this awkward encounter. “You stare at my naked body day after day, and you’re getting flustered at the mention of my dick? The same one you’re carving out of stone?”

Aziraphale spluttered. “Well, it’s one thing to study someone’s form from an artist’s perspective, and quite another to have a casual conversation about genitals over lunch!” 

“Eugh,” Crowley cringed. “Don’t use the word genitals, I’m honestly begging you, angel. And besides, lunch isn’t even here yet.” 

“My dear, are you being intentionally obtuse?” 

“Not at all. I come by this obtusity quite naturally.” Crowley attempted to summon his most confident smirk. “While we’re on the topic, feel free to, y’know, exaggerate my proportions a bit when you get to that part.” He waved his hand in the direction of his lap. 

“Oh, good lord.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but failed to restrain a smile before a streak of mischief crossed his features. “Do you know, many of the classical sculptors considered smaller penises to be the ideal?”

Crowley sat up straighter. “You wouldn’t dare,” he hissed. 

“Don’t test me, Anthony.” Aziraphale stood as the food delivery notification pinged his mobile. “You be good and eat your lunch, and I’ll see about providing you with an adequately sized,” he paused, considering carefully, “tallywacker.”

“Tallywacker?” Crowley scoffed, ignoring his rising blush as well as the overwhelming suggestiveness of the rest of that sentence. “Almost as bad as genitals. You can just say the word cock, y’know.”  

Aziraphale shook his head, his chuckle low and rumbling as he turned and started towards the door at the front of the studio. 

Crowley watched him walk away, foolishly allowing his eyes to drift down from Aziraphale’s broad shoulders to his round arse. He definitely had a more than adequately sized cock. Crowley would stake his life on it. Aziraphale was of a decent height, with a stocky build that suggested the sort of strength that came from practical, manual labor, not reps done in a gym. Muscles cushioned by a layer of plump softness that Crowley longed to sink his teeth into. But it was the way he strode about with his perfect posture and quiet confidence that had Crowley convinced that Aziraphale had to be concealing the most absolutely magnificent cock beneath those functional work khakis. 

As a trickle of shame settled into his gut, Crowley reminded himself that thinking about Aziraphale that way may have been crude, but it was safer than some of his previous trains of thought. People don’t fall in love with a pretty cock. Not really. And Crowley was not going to let himself slip any deeper into some one-sided infatuation with his guardian angel.

When Aziraphale returned with their food, Crowley plastered on a real enough smile. By unstated agreement, they stuck to safer topics while they ate, avoiding further discussion of penises or Crowley’s still-precarious financial situation. When they were finished, Aziraphale insisted Crowley drink another glass of water while he cleaned up the kitchen area. 

“Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off?” Aziraphale asked while he wiped the table. “You can get some rest before you go back to work.”

“Let it go, angel,” Crowley grumbled. “I know I’m a disaster. And you’ve taken pity on me, for some reason or another. Not that I blame you for doubting it, given what you know of me, but I honestly can take care of myself.” 

Aziraphale stopped moving and stared at him for a long moment. Crowley felt his chest start to tighten, worried that he had offended him. 

“Anthony, I don’t pity you. And I haven’t a single doubt that you are perfectly capable of managing your own affairs. But If I have the capacity to help someone out of a tight spot, or make someone’s day a little better, why wouldn’t I do that?”

Crowley knew that this was who Aziraphale was. Kindhearted, generous towards everyone. So why did it still make his stomach flutter every time Aziraphale did or said something ridiculous and sweet? 

He cleared his throat. “So what you’re saying is that you’re going to keep being nice to me, whether I like it or not?”

Aziraphale straightened his spine. “Yes, that’s correct. I’m afraid you’ll simply have to get used to it.” 

Crowley huffed. Aziraphale was unlikely to drop the topic, so he decided to strike a compromise. “How about I stay for another hour or so, and then I’ll go home and treat myself to a hot shower before I go to the pub?” 

A smile lit up Aziraphale’s face. “That pleases me greatly, you have no idea.”

“Is that your posh way of telling me that I stink?” Crowley narrowed his eyes, lifting his arm to sniff at his armpit.

Aziraphale laughed, sighing at him indulgently. “It means I’m very happy to see you engaging in self-care.”

“Oh, big fan of self-care, are you?” Crowley waggled his brows suggestively, even as the less idiotic part of his brain tried to tell him that this was definitely edging too close to flirtation to be wise. 

“I am, actually.” Aziraphale smirked, eying Crowley in a way that felt a bit too knowing. “For me, self-care means recognizing when I want something, and if it’s feasible to do so, letting myself have it. Maybe that’s indulging in dessert, or spending a quiet night relaxing with a bottle of wine and a good book.” Aziraphale’s eyes traveled the length of Crowley’s body before resting again on his face. “Maybe it’s something else entirely.” 

The way Aziraphale remained focused on Crowley was igniting something hot and hopeful deep in his chest. “Hng. Ngk.” 

Aziraphale lifted an arm and motioned towards the studio. “Well, let's get back to work, shall we?”

When Crowley stood, Aziraphale placed a broad hand on the small of his back and walked him back to the workroom. Heart thrumming in his throat, Crowley pretended that it didn’t matter that Aziraphale had touched him more today than he had during the entire rest of their acquaintanceship combined. They separated to their respective ends of the workspace. Crowley slipped the dressing gown off his shoulders, same as he’d done dozens of times before, and attempted to get himself back into position. He looked over at Aziraphale, only to catch his attentive eyes while he fiddled with the tools on his bench. 

Crowley swallowed thickly. This sudden tension between them had to be entirely of his own creation, a side effect of his ill-advised fantasies. Crowley leaned back on his arms, spread his legs wide, and turned his head to look over his left shoulder. He closed his eyes and pinched his lips between his teeth when his mind assaulted him with images of other contexts in which he would eagerly spread his legs for Aziraphale. If he didn’t get his thoughts under control, and quickly, he’d be embarrassing himself in short order. 

His attempt at a deep, calming breath failed almost immediately at the touch of soft fingertips to the inside of his right knee, pushing his legs just a bit further apart. Crowley squeaked as his eyes shot open, finding Aziraphale standing directly in front of him. 

“Just like that. Beautiful, as always,” he crooned. 

Shocked he could hear anything over his own pulse thundering in his ears, Crowley turned his head back to the side as the rise and fall of his chest quickened. He could not possibly survive Aziraphale uttering those sorts of words while standing so close that he felt the radiating warmth of another body on his bare skin. 

But then those hands found him again, this time with a lightly calloused palm on his cheek turning his head. Lips parted, Crowley stared up at the untamed halo of golden curls that escaped Aziraphale’s half-bun and framed his face, avoiding his eyes as much as possible. 

“No need to strain your neck. I’m focusing mostly on your lower half at the moment, so you can face forward for the rest of today’s session,” Aziraphale said as he brushed a thumb across Crowley’s cheekbone. “There’s a dear.” 

Crowley responded with something that sounded like a boiling tea kettle. He cursed himself silently as Aziraphale walked back to his bench and started to get organized. Overwhelmed as he was, his touch-starved skin crying out for more, he knew that keeping his eyes open and watching Aziraphale work was an absolutely terrible idea. And yet, he found it impossible to do anything else. 

He made a second attempt to calm his breathing, taking slow, deliberate inhales and exhales. It helped for a few moments, until he watched Aziraphale run his fingertips along the inner thigh of the sculpture, a thigh that was an exact replica of Crowley’s own, tracing a path down to the knee and up again, pausing just before reaching the apex. The unyielding stone would feel cold where Crowley was warm, solid where his flesh had give, and damn if he wasn’t jealous of an inanimate object. Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully as he pulled his hand away. 

Those hands. Nimble, graceful. Capable of such delicate work, but still powerful. Crowley would let Aziraphale do anything he wanted with those hands, put them anywhere he wished, position him however he pleased. Hold him. Pin him down. And Aziraphale could do it too, with his thick biceps straining the limits of his tartan shirt. He was just so deliciously solid. Crowley himself was rather fit, or so he liked to think. A bit on the narrow side, but tall and leanly muscled. Alongside Aziraphale he felt almost delicate in comparison. His stomach tightened at the idea of Aziraphale wielding that strength against him. 

His thoughts were following such a familiar, well-worn path, minutes passed before Crowley recalled that path’s inevitable destination: his cock, hard and leaking in his fist. He let his eyes drift shut and tried to ground himself in reality – the smell of the studio, the warm air on his skin, the steady clinking of the tools against stone. 

When he opened his eyes again, Aziraphale was crouched down in front of the sculpture, knees bent, his trousers stretched tight around his thighs and arse. Crowley would make that space between Aziraphale’s legs his permanent home if the angel would let him. He’d use his mouth, his hands, his cock to make Aziraphale feel good again and again. All he would ask for in exchange would be Aziraphale’s fingers twisted in his hair and Aziraphale’s words in his ear telling him what to do. Right there, my dear… a little more… oh, that’s right, lovely thing, you…

Aziraphale started to turn toward him, and Crowley knew he was completely and utterly fucked. Time moved in slow motion as Aziraphale’s gaze shifted. A single drop of sweat trickled down the back of Crowley’s neck. He felt his cock filling and his face heating, powerless to stop what was about to happen. 

Once Aziraphale’s eyes settled on Crowley, his only reaction to the half-hard cock across the room was to run his tongue along his lip slowly as the grip on his tools tightened. His eyes were wide, but not with offense, or disgust, or even surprise. No, the expression Crowley saw mirrored back at him held nothing but a very familiar sort of hunger. Aziraphale started to stand, his chisel and mallet dropping onto the bench beside him with a dull thud. 

Crowley’s muscles twitched in surprise, cock only growing harder under Aziraphale’s focused regard. He took a step towards Crowley, and then another, halting when Crowley emitted a low, desperate whine. Only then did Aziraphale’s eyes pull away from his thickening arousal and fix on Crowley’s slack-jawed face. 

Whatever he saw there must have been amusing, because Aziraphale’s mouth lifted into a grin. “I had the most fascinating conversation with our neighbor, Maggie, a few days ago.” 

Never more embarrassed or more turned on his life, Crowley struggled to bring his brain back online. “Wha?” was all he managed. 

Aziraphale took another step forward. “She offered her congratulations for you and I getting together, as it were.” 

“Huh?” Crowley grunted, still frozen in place.

“Yes, my dear,” Aziraphale continued warmly, “I was confused as well. But you see, your bedroom and hers share a wall. A rather thin one, apparently.” 

Oh… Oh no. No, no, no. 

Aziraphale nodded as though Crowley had uttered the words aloud instead of generating more tea kettle noises. “It would seem that she heard you making some rather amorous exclamations that included my name, and she made a logical assumption.” He came closer again.

“Aziraphale… I’m sorry–”

“Don’t be upset, darling.” Darling! “I know I wasn’t. She merely requested that we keep the volume down. Or perhaps, take our activities across the hall to my flat on occasion.” Aziraphale’s eyes flickered down to Crowley’s cock, now fully hard and aching against his belly. “I assured her I would rectify the situation as soon as possible.” 

Aziraphale, finally close enough to reach out and touch, extended his arm and scraped his fingers through Crowley’s hair, letting them come to rest on the back of his neck. Crowley shivered but tipped his head back into Aziraphale’s hand, looking up at him as shallow breaths escaped his mouth. 

“Would you allow me to do that, Anthony?” 

“Do… do what?” 

“Rectify the situation, of course.”  He bent forward, his lips pressed close to Crowley’s ear, warm breath and soft beard tickling his skin. “If you’re going to be calling out my name like that, I’d prefer to earn it.”

Crowley pinched his eyes shut. “Angel…” 

Aziraphale nuzzled against the side of his face, letting his lips graze the skin next to his ear. “You’re so hard. Dripping so sweetly all over yourself. I’m dreadful at resisting temptation, I’m afraid, and I’d very much like a taste.” 

He likely felt more than saw the frantic nod of Crowley’s head, and lowered himself to his knees without further hesitation. The hand in Crowley’s hair skimmed down his chest and stomach as he went. Crowley’s muscles jumped as Aziraphale grazed across a peaked nipple and through the trail of hair on his lower stomach before his hand settled at the base of his cock. 

Miraculously, Crowley’s heart continued to beat in his chest when Aziraphale looked up at him through his lashes. He loosely curled his fingers around Crowley’s erection and gave him a slow, appreciative stroke, humming in delight as another drop of precome dribbled down the length. Crowley hissed when Aziraphale leaned forward and stuck out his tongue, lapping up the drop like a melting ice cream cone, dragging his wet tongue up to the head. 

Another light stroke left his thighs quivering on either side of Aziraphale’s shoulders. Crowley’s fingers curled into fists, every muscle was straining to hold his position, just as he did while Aziraphale was working. Aziraphale seemed to notice, smiling up at him before the hand that wasn’t currently wrapped around Crowley’s cock slid up his calf and squeezed his thigh. 

“You can move, darling. Touch me, if you’d like. I plan on being down here for a while.”  

Crowley sat more upright, resting one shaking hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, and letting the other caress his golden curls, which were somehow silkier than he had even imagined.

Aziraphale placed a soft kiss to Crowley’s abdomen before stroking his length again. Aziraphale moved in and wrapped his lips around the head of Crowley’s cock, giving it a slow suck and dipping his tongue tip into the slit. 

Crowley let out a small gasp at the effort of keeping himself from thrusting into that glorious heat. Aziraphale dove in again, this time lowering himself down on Crowley’s cock gradually, letting it fill his mouth, before pulling up, increasing the suction until his lips were teasing the sensitive head. 

Crowley threw his head back and panted, letting all sorts of needy sounds pour out of him while Aziraphale toyed with him. Aziraphale kept his pace slow, but brutal, each careful decent and intense pull back strategically designed to draw out as much sensation as possible. Crowley had let his fingertips wander below the unbuttoned collar of Aziraphale’s shirt, desperate for any bit of warm skin he could access. His other hand was tangled hopelessly in Aziraphale’s hair. He didn’t dare tug at the strands, wouldn’t dream of attempting to interfere with the mouth that was currently taking him apart so thoroughly. 

“Aziraphale… fuck!” That brilliant tongue, those sinful lips were dragging him right up to the edge before Aziraphale pulled off with a sigh. 

“Oh, you’re such a treasure, aren’t you?” Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his balls and sucked one into his mouth, his hand still teasing Crowley’s cock with light strokes. 

Crowley whined pathetically as Aziraphale shifted to kissing and nipping at his inner thigh. Not that he didn’t appreciate the attention, but it wasn’t exactly where he wanted Aziraphale’s mouth at that moment. 

“So responsive. I could savor you for hours.” Aziraphale gave an open-mouthed lick to the head of his cock. “And you’d let me, wouldn’t you, darling? Allow me to enjoy you as much as I want?” He swallowed him down without waiting for an answer, taking him deep, letting Crowley feel the squeeze around his cock. 

“Yes, yes, yes… anything, angel…” 

Aziraphale hummed as he released Crowley’s cock again. “Oh, thank you, sweetheart. That’s so very kind of you,” he said, grinning up at him. 

Confused, overwrought, his sanity crumbling, all Crowley could do was beg. “Please…” 

“Would you like to come for me?” Aziraphale fisted him carefully, bringing him to the brink of destruction. “Down the back of my throat, perhaps? Do you think you could do that for me?”

Why the fuck he was treating it like Crowley was the one doing him a favor was a question he couldn’t hope to find the answer to at this moment, and Aziraphale didn’t seem to require a response beyond Crowley’s continued moans and trembling limbs. Only moments later, Crowley gave Aziraphale exactly what he had requested, spurting a load of come into Aziraphale’s mouth as he cried out and shook apart with such intensity that he forgot to breathe. 

Aziraphale dutifully swallowed him down until there was nothing left for Crowley to give. Crowley collapsed onto the dais, flat on his back with his arms splayed wide. His chest heaved as his lungs fought to pull in air. He shuddered, a single tear breaking loose and running from the corner of his eye, across his temple, and into his sweat drenched hair. Crowley was mortified to realize how desperately he needed to be held, how much he simultaneously wanted to hide. He had never felt anything like this before, had his pleasure torn out of him so violently yet with so much care. He couldn’t stomach the thought of Aziraphale seeing him like this, getting emotional over a fucking blowjob, but had anyone ever touched him like that, or made him feel this much? 

Crowley covered his face with his arms as he heard Aziraphale pull himself up from his knees and sit on the platform beside him. He might have still been making weak, hitching noises, or perhaps it was his ragged breathing that encouraged Aziraphale to shush him so gently. Crowley felt him settle alongside him, delicate fingers caressing his skin. 

“There you are, Anthony dear. Just breathe.” 

Another tear followed the same path as the first, and he couldn’t help but give in to the need for closeness. Crowley rolled onto his side and buried his face in Aziraphale’s shirt. An arm came around his shoulders immediately, holding him right where he needed to be. Steady breaths rustling his hair helped him slow his own tremulous heartbeat. 

When he was eventually able to regain some semblance of control over himself, a now-familiar sense of embarrassment trickled in. “Shit, Aziraphale, I’m sorry. I dunno what happened.”

“Nothing you need to apologize for, I assure you.” 

Crowley groaned, still pressed to Aziraphale’s chest, hands clutching the soft fabric of his shirt. He should get up and get himself together. But as uncomfortable as his position was on the hard dais, he wasn’t in a hurry to move, and Aziraphale made no attempts to dislodge him. 

He did sit up a few moments later, once the incongruous nature of their positions struck him. Crowley was still completely naked, and Aziraphale fully clothed. He hadn’t even–

“Oh, god… angel, I should…” Crowley held a hesitant hand out towards Aziraphale’s groin as Aziraphale pushed himself up next to him. Although Crowley was a rather experienced cocksucker, he knew he could never accomplish anything as masterful as what Aziraphale had just done. But he could certainly try. It was the least he could do, really.

Aziraphale laughed, not cruelly, but as though he was entertained by the silliness of Crowley’s suggestion. “No, darling.” He took Crowley’s outstretched hand between both of his own. “You’ve given me everything I need.”  

“Huh?” Apparently he was back to monosyllabic half-words. Aziraphale seemed to have a knack for inflicting this level of stupidity on him. 

“Besides, it’s about time for you to be getting home.”

“It is?” Crowley’s mouth hung open in a way he was certain was not attractive in the least. Aziraphale was just going to suck his soul out through his dick, and then send him on his way?

“Yes, you told me that you’d treat yourself to a nice, relaxing shower before work, and I’m holding you to it. Take a nap, if you have the time. You look like you could use it.” Aziraphale smiled at him and patted his hand. “Oh, where are my manners? Just a moment, dearest.” 

Aziraphale got up and hurried over to the privacy screen where Crowley got changed every day, and returned a moment later, having gathered up his clothing and shoes from the bench behind the folding barrier. Crowley still wasn’t sure what was happening, but the thought occurred to him that if anything, this situation called for less clothing, not more. 

Frozen in shock, he made no move to take the clothes from Aziraphale’s hands, and before he knew it, the angel was dressing him. Helping him stand as he stepped into his pants, pulling them up to his hips before reaching for his jeans and repeating the process. He managed to get his arms into the sleeves of the t-shirt Aziraphale pulled over his head, just as it was smoothed down his chest with affectionate hands. Crowley remained silent as Aziraphale encouraged him to sit back down so he could tug on Crowley’s socks – his goddamned socks! – and slip his feet into his boots. If Crowley thought he was struck dumb before, it was nothing compared to this.

The next thing he knew, he was being shepherded to the front door, his leather jacket held out before him. He turned and put his hands into the sleeves, letting Aziraphale drag it up to his shoulders. And then the door was being held open for him and, dazzled by the smile leveled his way, Crowley stepped through it. There was a quick pat on his backside, a cheery “Off you pop,” and he found himself on the pavement in the middle of Soho, squinting against the sunlight as he pulled his glasses from his pocket, utterly lost. 

The following day, Crowley stood in front of A. Z. Fell & Co., lifting his hand to knock on the shopfront door. He lowered his fist quickly and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. He’d never knocked before. Just strolled on in. Aziraphale would leave it open for him, and he would lock it behind himself. Aziraphale always made sure the studio was closed to the public and the blinds were fully drawn when he had Crowley there. Naked. A courtesy he no doubt extended to anyone he was paying to be in a similar predicament. There had probably been dozens, hundreds even, before Crowley. How many had he… 

Crowley shook his head and exhaled slowly. 

Last night he had almost knocked on the door to Aziraphale’s flat after his shift at the pub. He talked himself out of it. It was late, he was exhausted, Aziraphale was probably asleep, and it would look like he had shown up looking for sex. And, well, maybe he had. Wanting sex with Aziraphale remained one of the only thoughts in his mind that was clear, standing out from the crowd of competing questions all jostling ineffectually for his attention. Maybe sex was all Aziraphale had been looking for. He hadn’t suggested otherwise, hadn’t even kissed Crowley. Not on the mouth, at least. 

He briefly considered Aziraphale’s door again that morning before leaving for the coffee shop, but then he heard the door to Maggie’s flat starting to open, and he certainly wasn’t going to be dealing with that without a drop of caffeine in his system. Maggie was a good enough sort. She ran a cool little record shop and was one of the few people he could tolerate talking to about music, so it was a shame that he had recently resolved to avoid her until the end of time. He had put his stealth skills to good use and scarpered before she could notice him.

So here he was now, standing before another door separating him from Aziraphale and the answers to his questions. The most pressing one on his mind that the moment: What the fuck? 

Crowley reached for the handle and pushed the door open, realizing with a start that some small sliver of him had feared it would be locked. That Aziraphale was done with him. But he supposed that couldn’t happen for another week or two, at the earliest. Until the sculpture was complete. Aziraphale was stuck with him for a bit longer. He closed it and clicked the lock into place, as always, and moved to slip off his jacket and hang it on the coat rack. He froze at the sound of laughter coming from the back of the studio. Aziraphale’s, but not his alone. Someone was there with him. 

“Anthony, is that you, dear? We’re in the kitchen!” Aziraphale called out cheerfully. 

Crowley didn’t reply, but pulled his jacket back on. Maybe Aziraphale didn’t need him today and forgot to cancel. He could be meeting with a client, or another one of his models. He headed towards the back with a sigh. Answers would have to wait, which was a bit of a blessing in a way. Because what if the answer he got wasn’t the one he was hoping for?

The women sitting across the table from Aziraphale certainly could have been a model. She was a bit younger than Crowley, and stunning, with long dark hair and round glasses that complimented her face. 

Her smile grew wider when she looked him up and down. “Oh, that’s him alright. Damn, Aziraphale, you weren’t kidding.” She was American, based on her accent and the complete lack of subtlety with which she checked him out. 

Crowley straightened up and let himself preen a bit. It was nice to be appreciated, even if he wasn’t into women. Aziraphale stood and crossed the small space, coming alongside him and pulling him close with an arm around his waist. Crowley preened a bit more. Felt his lips lift into what was undoubtedly a very smitten grin as he looked at Aziraphale. 

“Anthony, this is Anathema Device. She’s the one commissioning the sculpture for which you’ve been so graciously modeling.” 

He registered that he was still staring at Aziraphale’s profile when Anathema cleared her throat. She was standing in front of him, holding out her hand. 

He shook it quickly. “Hi. Nice to meet you. Anthony J. Crowley. Er, well, just Crowley.” 

“Not to him, you’re not,” she said as her eyes flicked over to Aziraphale and back over to Crowley. She didn’t release his hand right away, studying the both of them with intent. Finally her gaze settled on Aziraphale, one dark brow arched over her glasses. She dropped Crowley’s hand as Aziraphale pulled him incrementally closer. “Okay, okay, I get it, Fell. Calm down,” she laughed brightly. 

Crowley glanced between the two of them, perplexed, but that was rapidly becoming his natural state of being. 

Anathema leaned toward Crowley conspiratorially. “His aura got all fiery and possessive for a second there. Kinda cute, honestly.” She turned to grab her bag on the table. “Thanks for the tea, but I’ll be letting you boys get back to… oh, let’s call it ‘work.’ I get the sense you’re going to be rather busy.” 

Aziraphale gave Crowley an apologetic half-smile before letting go of him to walk Anathema out. Once he heard her exit, Crowley meandered into the workroom, and Aziraphale returned to him as soon as the door was locked once again. 

“I apologize, my dear. I thought she would be gone by the time you arrived, but we got to talking. Ms Device is a lovely person, but she can be a little… invasive. Fancies herself to be some sort of psychic.” Aziraphale twisted his hands together and looked away. “Although, she might be right about that, to be fair.” 

“Right about what?” It wasn’t one of the questions Crowley came here to ask, but it was a start.

Aziraphale tugged at the sleeve of his shirt. Another one of his tartan button-ups. “Ah, well. The psychic business. Perhaps I did feel a bit…” 

“Possessive? Towards me?” The very thought had Crowley’s blood pumping faster. 

“You’re the one who likes to refer to me as an angel, but I never claimed to be free from vice.” Aziraphale took one of Crowley’s hands in his own. “I am only human, my dear. No wings, no halo. My baser urges do get the best of me now and again.” 

“Oh.” Is that what Crowley was to him? A baser urge? Crowley looked down and watched Aziraphale rub a thumb across his knuckles before he let his hand slip away and took a step back. 

“Anthony, is something wrong? You don’t look peaky like you did yesterday, but I get the sense that something is bothering you.” 

“I… you… angel, seriously?” 

Aziraphale arched his eyebrows at him, the picture of innocence. 

Crowley grumbled and ran his hand across his face. He supposed this was the moment he had been waiting for. “I need some clarity. About what exactly is going on here.” He waved a hand between the two of them. “You’re giving me all these… mixed signals. I don’t know what you want from me.” 

“I am so very sorry, darling,” Aziraphale replied, looking staggered. “That wasn’t my intention. I suppose I thought I was being more upfront than I truly was.” 

“Upfront?” Crowley squawked. “Aziraphale, you gave me the best blowjob – no, fuck that. The best orgasm of my entire existence, and then you shoved me out the door. You treated me all… soft, and… and…” 

Aziraphale bit his lip, looking thoroughly abashed. “Lovingly?” he suggested. 

Crowley’s flush deepened. “Yeah, that! But you won’t even–” Crowley swallowed, absolutely refusing to let his voice crack. “You won’t even kiss me.” 

“Oh, you sweet thing.” Aziraphale moved into his space, and Crowley found himself wrapped in Aziraphale’s arms in the gap between one breath and the next. “I only sent you home because I really did want you to rest before you went to work. And because I know how stubborn you are, and didn’t want you to insist on reciprocating out of some sense of obligation, particularly when you were in such a delicate state.” 

“Was not,” Crowley mumbled. His humiliations were piling on top of one another into layers.

“Of course. My mistake.” Aziraphale smiled at him, affection mixed with the sarcasm in his voice. One of his hands climbed Crowley’s back and slid into his hair, encouraging his head to come to rest on Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

Nuzzled into Aziraphale’s neck, Crowley felt himself loosen. It was easier to talk like this, eyes closed, breathing in Aziraphale’s cologne. “What about the kissing?”

“I wanted to kiss you, very much so. But if you’ll recall, I had just had a rather spectacular cock in my mouth and swallowed a load of come. Now, some don’t mind kissing immediately after such an act, myself included, but one doesn’t want to assume.” 

“So you do know how to say cock.” Crowley felt Aziraphale chuckle quietly. “And I don’t mind either, for the record.” 

Aziraphale hummed against his temple. “That’s good to know for next time. Assuming you can forgive me for not being more forthright.”  

“I forgive you. ‘Course I forgive you.” Crowley took a slow breath and prepared to take a risk that didn’t feel quite so risky at the moment, with hands petting gently through his hair and down his back. “But I’ve gotta be honest with you, angel, I can’t keep it casual with you. I have… y’know. Feelings. For you.” 

“Oh, thank goodness,” Aziraphale sighed in relief. “Maggie may have jumped the gun about us being… an us, but I was hoping to prove her right in the end. Assuming that’s what you want as well.” 

“I mean… yeah. Obviously.” 

Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s smiling mouth graze against the side of his neck. As he shifted to lift his head, so did Aziraphale, teasing his way along Crowley’s thrumming pulse to his jaw. With an impatient huff, Crowley turned to finally press their lips together. 

The give of Aziraphale’s lips, his soft beard tickling his chin, his warm breath against his skin as Aziraphale sighed into the kiss. That’s what he expected to feel next. Instead, he unleashed a disappointed growl as Aziraphale leaned back, his mouth out of reach. 

“I’ll give you everything you need, Anthony. I promise. But there is one more thing I should clarify first.” 

“Angel?” 

“That was not the best orgasm of your life.”

“What? Think I would know–” 

Aziraphale shook his head, a wry smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “It wasn’t, darling. But the next one will be. Once I have you in my bed. When I can have you properly, the way you deserve.” 

Crowley searched his eyes and found that he believed him. This wasn’t dirty talk – well, it wasn’t just dirty talk – it was a promise. A strange time for Crowley to develop a sense of blind faith, but an even worse time to be questioning it as Aziraphale’s mouth finally connected with his own. The lips, the breath, it was all finally happening, wet and warm and claiming. 

One powerful thigh was slotted between his own while the arm around his waist held him close. Crowley’s cock began to stiffen as soon as he parted his lips for Aziraphale. Invited him in, invited him to take. The only response Crowley could summon was a soft, pleading moan poured directly into Aziraphale’s mouth. 

When they parted for breath, Crowley took the opportunity to start pulling off his jacket, determining there were far too many layers between them. He had only managed to get it halfway down his arms before Aziraphale grasped it by the lapels and started pulling it back up. 

“Dammit, angel. Stop putting clothes on me. Supposed to be taking them off,” Crowley groused. 

Aziraphale’s face split into a grin as he laughed. “Did you forget what I said, darling? I want you in my bed. I’m going to take my time with you. Speaking of which, how long have we got before you’re rushing off to work?”

Crowley plucked both of Aziraphale’s hands off his jacket and began walking backwards, tugging him towards the door. “Loads of time. All the time in the world.” 

Aziraphale let himself be pulled, giggling all the while. “Anthony! I’m being serious.” 

“So am I. Someone was going on about self-care, blah, blah, blah… so I took the night off. I’m all yours, angel.” 

“All mine, are you?” Aziraphale stopped moving and dragged Crowley back against his chest. “I like the sound of that.” 

The skies were overcast, the unremarkable but nevertheless inconvenient threat of rain resulting in Aziraphale’s suggestion of taking the bus home. Resting his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder, Crowley breathed out a contented sigh when their stop came into view. 

Aziraphale squeezed his hand to get Crowley’s attention. “What are you thinking?” 

He didn’t bother to mask the silly smile on his face when he looked at Aziraphale, considering Aziraphale was sporting a matching grin. “That I like holding hands with you. Making everybody jealous because I’ve got a gorgeous man on my arm.” 

“I couldn’t agree more. I’m looking forward to taking you out and showing you off properly.” Aziraphale led him towards the front as the bus lurched to a stop. “A work of art deserves to be appreciated.” He lifted Crowley’s hand and placed a soft kiss to his knuckles. 

“Ugh, angel. That is unforgivably cheesy,” he bemoaned, ignoring the fluttering in his chest. 

“It’s called romance, darling,” Aziraphale snarked, dramatically alighting from the bus and then reaching up to guide Crowley down like he was a maiden descending from a horse-drawn carriage. “And judging by your rather lovely blush, you like it.” 

Crowley sputtered. “That’s from embarrassment!” 

“You’re not nearly as good of a liar as you pretend to be.”

That much was true, not that Crowley was prepared to admit it, aiming for a distraction instead as they approached their block of flats. “Well, perhaps a gallant gentleman such as yourself would like to do battle with our door?” 

Aziraphale puffed out his chest and pulled his keys from his pocket. “It would be my honor to slay such a devious foe.”

The lock on the exterior door of their building kept getting jammed, and despite being a retired locksmith himself, Shadwell had been dithering on the repairs. Crowley was not about to complain at the moment, delighted as he was to watch Aziraphale fight with the door. 

Crowley stood behind him, running his hands along Aziraphale’s shoulders and squeezing his biceps as Aziraphale tried to force the lock open. 

“A little harder, I think.” Crowley dropped a soft kiss to the side of Aziraphale’s neck. “Faster now. A little to the left,” he whisper-moaned into Aziraphale’s ear. 

“My dear, if you don’t stop that–” 

“I’m providing moral support!” 

The lock finally gave in, and Aziraphale shoved the door open as though it had personally offended his honor. 

“Well fought, angel,” Crowley snickered. “My hero, yet again.” 

“Hold that awful door, please!” Maggie called out from behind them.

Crowley groaned. He turned to see her bustling towards them on the pavement, arms laden with shopping bags from the market. So much for avoiding her until the end of time. 

Aziraphale held the door open and gestured for her to enter, a magnanimous smile on his beautiful face. Crowley pouted but took one of the heavy bags from her arms anyway. 

“Thank you so much,” she gushed. “You both are so kind. Aziraphale must be rubbing off on you, Crowley.” 

“Oh, now there’s a thought,” Crowley said, glancing back at Aziraphale with a smirk as Maggie started up the stairs. 

She continued chattering on, oblivious to the amused side-eye Aziraphale leveled at Crowley. 

“I was telling Aziraphale the other day how happy I am that you two found each other. You know, it’s like they say, opposites attract. Light and dark, grumpy and sunshine, sweet and salty.” 

The ground resolutely refused to open up and swallow Crowley whole, so he followed her down the hall, past his and Aziraphale’s flats to her door. “Speaking of which, I want to apologize for, uh… what you heard. It won’t happen again.” 

“Oh my gosh, don’t even worry about it!” She shrugged, pulling her keys from her bag. “Aziraphale is clearly taking good care of you. And multiple times a night? Good for you, sweetie.” 

Crowley glared at her, trying to tell her ‘shut up’ with his eyes. Instead he squeaked.  

“Well, one does try to be thorough,” Aziraphale said, still cute even when smug. 

When Maggie finally got her door open, Crowley handed her the bag he was carrying and prepared to flee. 

“And Aziraphale, goodness, that explains why you were walking around like that emoji, the one with the little hearts for eyes?” 

“Oh really?” Crowley drawled, spinning back towards her with a grin. 

“Yes! He came to the shop last week to pick up some records I ordered for him. Anthony this, Anthony that. Couldn’t get out the door fast enough, had to make sure he was back at the studio before his dearest Anthony arrived,” she laughed. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat loudly, his cheeks tinting a delightful shade of pink. “Lovely to see you, Maggie, but we really must be going.” He wrapped an arm around Crowley, hand slipping discreetly under his jacket and shirt, palming at his hip. “We have plans, don’t we darling?” 

“Uhh, yep, we do. Lots of plans. Huge. Very plan-y.” 

Maggie thanked them again before shuffling inside her flat. Crowley barely registered it, his mind focused on their plans, and on Aziraphale manhandling him down the hall. He breathed out a tiny moan as a hand on his chest pinned him to Aziraphale’s door while the other turned the key in the lock. Crowley was shoved backward into the flat the moment the door opened, and as soon as it closed, Aziraphale had bent and slung Crowley over his shoulder, lifting him effortlessly.

This is the best day of my life, Crowley thought, laughing in shock and delight. He couldn’t see much of Aziraphale’s flat from his vantage point, but he did have a good view of his backside as Aziraphale hauled him through the lounge, past the kitchen, and into his bedroom. 

“So much for romance, angel. You’re absolutely barbaric.” 

“Oh, you don’t like it?” Aziraphale replied with mock concern. 

“Didn’t say that,” Crowley said, grabbing a handful of angelic arse. 

Once in the bedroom, Aziraphale placed him carefully back on his feet, letting his hands wander as they righted themselves. Crowley pulled him in for a kiss. Their breaths and tongues mingled carelessly for a moment, before Aziraphale mouthed his way along Crowley’s jaw down to his neck. 

“I suppose that was quite uncivilized,” Aziraphale paused to nip his throat, “and I know we have plenty of time, but I didn’t want to waste any of it.” He slid Crowley’s jacket down his arms and tossed it away.

Crowley hummed in agreement and directed Aziraphale’s mouth back towards his neck. “Just being practical.” 

“Precisely.” Aziraphale kissed and licked at his skin. “You would have complimented my flat, I would have felt obligated to offer you some sort of refreshment, you would have made fun of how many books I own.” 

“Uh huh,” Crowley mumbled. “Much better this way. Get right to the good part.” As his cock strained against the confines of his tight jeans, Aziraphale reclaimed his mouth, kissing him thoroughly.

He was sucking on Aziraphale’s plump lower lip when Crowley felt hands on the hem of his dark grey henley, dragging it upward. Reluctantly, he pulled away and took Aziraphale’s hands from his shirt. 

Aziraphale looked at him, brow creased. “Anthony, darling, did I do something wrong? Something you didn’t like?”

The worry in his eyes lessened as Crowley smiled at him. Crowley backed up, and sat when he felt the end of Aziraphale’s bed meet the backs of his legs. “Couldn’t do the wrong thing if you tried. But you’ve seen me starkers dozens of times. Your turn, angel. Off with it.” 

Aziraphale tipped his head back and laughed, the sound so bright and joyful that Crowley wished he could bottle it. “I suppose that is only fair.” 

Aziraphale reached up and freed his curls, pulling out the elastic that held his hair away from his eyes when he worked. He shook them loose and they settled around his face, wild and soft, the perfect white-gold hair of an angel. He smirked at whatever dumbfounded expression Crowley was currently sporting. 

“Bastard,” Crowley muttered, and Aziraphale’s smile widened. “Pretty bastard, but still a bastard.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he replied with a wink. 

Crowley toed off his shoes and leaned back on his elbows, getting comfortable as Aziraphale’s hands rose to the top button of his shirt. He clearly intended to draw this out, but as button after button popped free, Crowley never ran out of patience. The shirt parted, and he got a view of stark blond chest hair peaking out from the top of a white vest. A hint of nipple and the subtle swell of a belly through the thin fabric. When he reached the bottom, and pulled the shirt free from where it was tucked into his trousers, Crowley’s eyes fixed on the promisingly large bulge pressing into the fabric.

The shirt finally came off, exposing Aziraphale’s biceps and lightly furred forearms. Crowley already missed the feel of those hands on his skin, but he found it hard to be disappointed as they moved towards Aziraphale’s belt. He unbuckled it and pulled it free from his trousers, and Crowley licked his lips appreciatively as deft fingers moved towards the button and zipper of the fly. 

He grumbled in frustration when the hands moved away, and looked up to see Aziraphale’s grinning eyes looking back at him. Sitting down on the chair where he’d been tossing his clothes, Aziraphale bent to unlace his shoes, removing them and his socks while Crowley groaned. 

Aziraphale took pity on him when he stood again, hands going right back to the fly and opening his trousers. The boxers beneath continued to hide his cock from view, but the way they were tented suggested that Crowley had indeed been correct about the size of what they contained. His mouth gaped open at the first glimpse of thick thighs and strong calves as the trousers dropped to the floor. 

“God damn, Aziraphale.” Crowley’s imagination hadn’t done him justice. He sat up on the bed and busied his hand by stroking over the length of his own still-covered cock to stop himself from reaching out and tearing the last of Aziraphale’s clothes off. 

Their eyes caught, and with a confident smile, Aziraphale lifted the vest over his head. Crowley barely had time to process the muscles of his chest, and the softness of his belly, before the boxers were slipping down towards the floor. 

“I knew it,” Crowley gasped, his mouth watering instinctively. 

“What did you know, darling?” Aziraphale asked, his voice amused. 

“That your cock would be huge.” Long and thick, arching proudly upward towards his belly. “Gorgeous.” 

“Is that so?” Aziraphale grasped it, giving himself a loose, lazy stroke that only served to highlight the sheer size of it. “Is this what you thought about, Anthony, when you called out my name? Is this what you wanted?” 

“Yes,” he whined. “Want you…” Crowley stood from the bed to finally pull off his own clothes. He tore his shirt off and unbuttoned his fly, but he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out for Aziraphale any longer. 

Aziraphale’s hands went to his hips, tugging his trousers and pants down in one go. Crowley stepped out of them as they kissed. He opened his mouth to Aziraphale’s insistent tongue and swallowed down his pleased hum. Almost nervously, Crowley’s hands drifted downward. He ran his fingers through soft, fair chest hair, over Aziraphale’s stomach and padded hips, hesitating before he broke their kiss to look down, to watch his own hand wrap around that massive cock. 

“Angel…” 

It felt hot and heavy in his hand. Cautiously, reverently, he let his fingers caress its length. 

“I hardly think you’ll break it, darling,” Aziraphale said with laughter in his voice. He kissed Crowley’s temple. 

Crowley tightened his grip, giving it a firmer stroke. And then another. 

Aziraphale breathed out, his hands tracing patterns on Crowley’s skin. “Oh, that’s very nice.” 

He shivered. It felt so good in his hand, how would it taste in his mouth as he worshipped it on his knees? How would it feel in his arse, stretching him open and making him moan into a pillow? How would it look, pulsing with Aziraphale’s release, knowing that he had been the one to bring Aziraphale to his peak?

Either Aziraphale was growing rather adept at translating Crowley’s garbled sounds or he was simply accustomed to the word-destroying haze induced by his cock. He cupped Crowley’s face, ran a thumb over his lower lip. “Tell me what you’d like, Anthony. What you thought about when you touched yourself. Let me give you what you need.” 

The answer burst out of him when Crowley met those blue eyes with his own. “Fuck me, angel. Need you inside me.” 

Aziraphale rewarded his honesty with a soft kiss that deepened as he pulled Crowley close. Their arms wrapped around one another, hard cocks pressed together between them, Aziraphale slid his hands across Crowley’s skin, making Crowley melt against him until Aziraphale’s arms around him were the only thing keeping him on his feet. 

“Do you know how difficult it was for me?” Aziraphale asked. “To have you in front of me, day after day, and to try and behave professionally?”

“Am I supposed to take pity on you?” Crowley said incredulously. “I’ve been dying inside since you moved in across the hall from me.” 

Aziraphale’s forehead creased. “You were always so short with me whenever I would try to make conversation.”

“I was bloody terrified, wasn’t I? The most stunning man I’d ever seen, just standing there outside my door. How was I supposed to deal with that?”

Aziraphale laughed as he guided Crowley closer to the bed. “You know, I found myself in the very same predicament once.” 

“Is that right?” Crowley grinned and pushed him down onto the mattress. 

“Yes. I had a tall, slinky redhead for a neighbor. A tad grumpy, but ever so handsome.” He backed up and leaned against the pillows. 

Crowley crawled forward and into his arms, settling alongside him. “And what did you do about it?”

“Well, one day I rather impulsively asked him to be my art model. I’m afraid my mouth was outpacing my brain at the moment, and I failed to consider the implications of having the object of my desire bared before me on a daily basis. Until I discovered – quite by accident, mind you – that he might be harboring similar inclinations.” 

Crowley sighed. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Perhaps not, darling. But it might comfort you to know that I thought about you, as well.” 

“What did you think about?” Crowley looked down, ran his hand through the hair on Aziraphale’s chest.

“I can hardly remember now that I have the real you here in my arms – so much better than anything I could have imagined.” 

He shuddered involuntarily. “Fuck, angel. You can’t just keep saying shit like that…” 

“I can, and I will.” Aziraphale tilted Crowley’s head up so he could kiss him. “Do you think I haven’t noticed how much you like it when I praise you? When I tell you how perfect you are? How gorgeous? That you’re so very good–”

Crowley surged forward and stopped him with a bruising kiss. He felt more exposed than he had since the very first time he stripped down in front of Aziraphale. His hands had shaken terribly as the dressing gown slid down his arms that day, his facade of cool detachment evaporating instantly. But then he had looked into kind blue eyes. No need to be nervous, dear, it’s only me, Aziraphale had said. And he didn’t know how right he was – it was only him. 

Only Aziraphale.

For Crowley, it could only ever be Aziraphale.

Crowley broke the kiss on gasp when Aziraphale’s fingers slipped along his crevice and over his rim. Sweet words were pressed into his skin, whispered across his lips, as Aziraphale teased him. Crowley shivered as his own hands explored Aziraphale’s body, feeling the warmth and strength of him. He pulled himself the rest of the way on top of Aziraphale, kissing across his chest before sitting up so he was straddling a pair of delectable thighs. 

“Want you, angel. Your big, hard cock splitting me open.” He ground down his hips, letting their lengths rub together. “Wanna make you feel good, too. Make you come inside me.” 

“I can hardly say no to that, can I?” Aziraphale gripped his waist, ran his thumbs across his skin as he rutted them together. 

“God, I hope not. Think it would kill me,” Crowley gasped as he moved a bit faster, loving the feel of Aziraphale’s hard cock against his own.

The moan that rumbled up through Aziraphale’s throat sounded more like a growl as he flipped them easily, intertwining their fingers and pinning Crowley’s hands to the mattress on either side of his head. He wrapped his legs around Aziraphale’s hips to pull him even closer.

“Please,” Crowley begged. He arched up, craving contact, wanting to be as near as possible. There was only so much writhing he could manage, held down as he was by Aziraphale’s hands and the delicious weight of him. Aziraphale seemed amused by his antics, making contented sounds as he pressed soft kisses to Crowley’s shoulder, working his way towards his neck. 

“Look at you, so needy and desperate.” Aziraphale kissed his mouth soundly, drawing more hungry noises from his throat. “Beautiful.” 

“I can… I can be good for you, angel…” Crowley tried to still himself, but he did feel needy and desperate. His skin too hot, his cock aching and trapped between their bodies. 

“Oh, but you are being good for me, my sweet. Don’t hide your reactions. How am I to know if I’m pleasing you otherwise?” He squeezed Crowley’s fingers before releasing him, freeing both sets of hands to explore. 

Crowley’s went straight for the curtain of fluffy, white curls that surrounded them as he pulled Aziraphale down into an open-mouthed and messy kiss. 

Aziraphale drifted his hand down Crowley’s side, over his ribs and waist before squeezing his arse and the thigh that was wrapped around his body. Aziraphale’s lips traveled down his neck towards his chest, and Crowley used the hand in his hair to direct him towards his sensitive nipples. 

The delighted sound that came from Aziraphale made Crowley flush, embarrassed yet proud that he had pleased Aziraphale by showing him what he wanted. Aziraphale wasted no time teasing his nipple into a hard, tight nub, licking and sucking while Crowley tried not to hold back the greedy noises leaking out of him. 

When he pulled off, Crowley was almost thankful for the reprieve. But Aziraphale, the brilliant bastard that he was, blew a slow breath across his spit-wet skin, taking in Crowley’s shiver with a rather unangelic gleam in his eyes. 

He used his fingers to toy with Crowley’s other nipple. “Darling, tell me – how do you like to be fucked?”

When he didn’t answer right away, his mind flooded with far too many appealing options, Aziraphale gave his nipple a gentle pinch. 

Crowley gasped and then whined. “I don’t… don’t do it much. Usually I top.” 

Aziraphale made a rumbling sound like he had just been offered a slice of cake. “As much as I look forward to experiencing that first-hand, I’m grateful you’re allowing me to treat you. Lovely thing like you deserves to be taken care of.” 

And Aziraphale would take care of him. Crowley knew that with absolute certainty. He also knew that if he wasn’t careful, he would be falling for this angel at far too fast a clip. 

Aziraphale smiled at him softly. “Why don’t I take you apart slowly, hm? Open you up with my fingers. Considering you don’t do this often. And especially since–”

“You’re huge?” Crowley snorted. 

“Well. I was going to phrase it with a dash more modesty, but essentially, yes. I want you to be relaxed and ready for me.” 

Crowley swept the stray strands away from Aziraphale’s face. He nodded. “I’m all yours, angel.”

“My dear, if you keep saying that I’m going to start to believe it.” 

“Maybe I will too.” 

Aziraphale came forward to kiss him, slowly, with less frenzy than before but just as much heat. He let their mouths glide together with a tender focus that softened the lingering tension in Crowley’s chest, the last scrap of resistance his foolish heart had hooked itself to, as though there were some sort of tether that could stop the inevitable. 

Crowley stretched languidly when Aziraphale lifted himself up and off of him, hoping to use his long limbs and sharp angles to their most devastating effect. Aziraphale rummaged through the bedside table and settled himself amongst the pillows, sitting upright against the headboard. Crowley knew he had achieved his goal when Aziraphale arched an eyebrow at him, raking his eyes across him with a low growl. 

“Come here, gorgeous,” Aziraphale purred. “I’d like you to lay across my lap.” 

Heat spread across his face. Crowley crawled over him, desire overtaking any embarrassment he might have felt in his eagerness to obey. He laid himself down with his stiff cock resting on Aziraphale’s plump thigh, his back arched enticingly, and parted his legs slowly. Strong hands on his skin had him sighing as he pulled a pillow under his head. 

“There you are. Are you comfortable, Anthony?” 

“Yes, angel.” He nodded. 

“I do like it when you call me that,” Aziraphale said lowly. “You’ve no idea how much.” 

“Mm, good. ‘Cause I like saying it.” Crowley let his eyes slide shut. “Angel.”

Aziraphale started by stroking over his arse, kneading the muscle and spreading him open. Soft fingertips grazed over his hole, petting him in slow circles that sent a shiver up his spine. His hands only left to warm lube between his fingers before teasing his rim once again, hushed words landing on Crowley’s skin like rain. He exhaled a disappointed whimper when Aziraphale pressed against his hole with one finger, only to retreat. He started to squirm when Aziraphale did it again. 

Rightly taking Crowley’s frustration as permission, Aziraphale slipped a finger inside gradually. He paused, allowing Crowley to do a little teasing of his own as he clenched around the welcome intrusion. He could feel the ridge of each knuckle as Aziraphale pulled out for only a moment, the blunt pressure returning almost instantly to press back inside. Crowley moaned and pressed back, taking him deeper.

“That’s right, darling. You’re being so good for me. So beautiful. Taking what I give you, showing me how much you need it.” 

Aziraphale had said he wanted to take Crowley apart slowly, and he kept his word. Eventually, one finger became two, plunging in harder and deeper, twisting as he thrust with precision and encouraged Crowley’s moans. He applied enough slippery lube that Crowley could hear the obscene wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out. Crowley’s cock was dribbling out a steady stream of precome against Aziraphale’s thigh. 

One particularly targeted thrust against his prostate had Crowley nearly bucking off the mattress. 

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” Aziraphale teased, a smile audible in his voice. 

Crowley shifted onto his elbows to look up at him over his shoulder, his mouth dropping open as his breath caught in his throat. “Fuck, angel. You know it does.” 

Aziraphale’s grin bloomed wider, his eyes never leaving Crowley’s arse, his hand continuing to taunt. 

Crowley ground back against his fingers and squeezed around him. He reached back and stroked Aziraphale’s cock where had been twitching against his hip. 

“You like to watch,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale’s groan was utterly unrepentant. “Can you blame me, darling? You’re so tight,” he said hungrily. “Do you think your pretty little hole is ready for me?” 

“Yes,” Crowley gasped, suddenly ravenous with the need to be filled and stretched to his limit. “Wanna ride you. Oh god, angel, let me sit on your cock…” He trailed off with a whine as Aziraphale rubbed over his prostate again, pleasure shivering across his skin, before Aziraphale slowly withdrew his fingers. 

“As if I could deny you anything.” 

Steady hands guided him up onto far less steady knees and Crowley found himself straddling Aziraphale once again. Aziraphale tore open a condom and rolled it down his length while Crowley fumbled for the lube so he could slick that perfect cock. He gave it a few extra strokes just to see Aziraphale’s head thunk back against the headboard, his half-lidded eyes focused on Crowley’s face, his soft, pink lips rounded as he pushed out a strained breath. 

Aziraphale replaced Crowley’s hand with his own to hold his cock in place while Crowley positioned himself and angled his hips just right. His still-slippery hand went to his own hard length. Crowley stroked himself lightly and willed his body to stay relaxed. After only a few awkwardly coordinated attempts, Aziraphale’s cockhead was pressing into his entrance, the pressure somehow both more and better than he had anticipated. 

“Nice and slow, yes?” Aziraphale huffed, beads of sweat shining at his temples. “Never seen you look so incredible.” 

Crowley nodded mindlessly as Aziraphale continued to mutter at him, soft and breathless words of adoration. After what felt like ages, he was fully seated in Aziraphale’s lap, his arse resting on broad thighs and his cock pressed against a soft belly. Aziraphale held him close, whispers passing from one mouth into another. 

“Anthony…” 

And that was the highest bit of praise Crowley could hope to hear, his own name torn from Aziraphale’s chest, reverential and dazed. He closed his eyes tightly as a pulse of emotion spread outward from his center and threatened to overwhelm him. He held back a low whimper through clenched teeth. 

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale’s voice wavered, clearly misreading his grimace as one of discomfort. “Is it too much? We can stop, just say the word–”

Crowley leaned in to kiss the ridiculous notion from his lips. He tangled his fingers in loose curls while he took a moment to take stock of himself. Was it too much? Maybe. Crowley had never felt fuller. Never felt more powerful and more vulnerable at the same time. He rocked his hips forward and back gingerly. Waited patiently until the intensity began to shift into spine-melting pleasure. When it did, he lifted up cautiously, only a few inches, before lowering himself back down with a gasp.  

Aziraphale had been holding himself still, peppering kisses along Crowley’s skin. The reedy sounds that poured out of Crowley’s mouth as he started to fuck himself up and down slowly was apparently the sign Aziraphale had been waiting for, his grip tightening on Crowley’s waist. 

“Yes?” Aziraphale asked, eyes wide and blue. 

“Ohh, yes, angel,” Crowley huffed, lifting again and forcing himself back down quicker this time. “You feel so good.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered closed on a low moan, making Crowley consider that perhaps he wasn’t the only one who was rather partial to a bit of flattering dirty talk. Crowley spread his knees wider and bounced a little faster. Aziraphale braced him with a firm grip on his arse, strong arms helping to lift him and keep him steady. 

Crowley’s words dissolved into moans and whimpers, the sound of skin-on-skin punctuating messy kisses. Pleasure skittered across his body from nerve endings he didn’t know existed as he plunged himself down on Aziraphale’s hard length again and again. For his part, Aziraphale couldn’t seem to stop the words from flowing out of him, the perfect mixture of filth and sweetness to keep Crowley on the edge of breaking. 

“Every inch of you, exquisite…” 

“You take my cock like you were made for it, sweetheart…”

When his rhythm eventually began to falter, as much from the gratifying stretch as from the burning in his thighs, Crowley slowed and settled himself down into the cradle of Aziraphale’s lap to grind down on his thick cock. Aziraphale’s hands felt like they were everywhere, caressing his heated skin with gentle touches and setting him further alight. One of Aziraphale’s hands explored the place they were joined, fingers delicately brushing against his rim, while he sucked kisses into Crowley’s neck. 

Crowley’s mewling had taken on a soft, desperate edge. The slow circling of his hips wasn’t bringing him any closer to orgasm – he would need more pressure on his prostate and a firm hand on his cock for that – but lost in the desire to feel close to Aziraphale, Crowley couldn’t be bothered to care. He hardly registered the first tear that ran down his sweaty face. By the third or forth, Aziraphale caught him swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“Oh, my dearest, sweet Anthony–” His voice was a balm that Crowley knew would only make more tears spill even as it soothed whatever this was that was twisting its way around his heart.  

“I’m okay, I’m good,” Crowley blurted. “It’s too good… I just can’t…” He took a rasping breath and forced himself to meet Aziraphale’s eyes and turn something, anything, into an actual sentence, to force it out against the rush of awful, sticky emotion threatening to crawl up his throat. “I like you so much.”

Aziraphale smiled at him brightly and pressed their foreheads together. “I should hope so. This would be a terribly intimate position for us to find ourselves in if you didn’t,” he said with a gentle, teasing lilt. 

Crowley found himself smiling. “Shut up,” he mumbled before he pressed a light kiss to Aziraphale’s lips. 

“You must know that I like you, too. Quite a lot. More than I’ve ever liked anyone.” He said it carefully, his eyes and his intent clear even if he kept his words simple, like he was worried too much at once would set Crowley off again. 

He was probably right about that. 

Crowley felt the pressure in his chest start to leak away, replaced by a rush of warmth. Another shaky breath steadied him somewhat. He swallowed and nodded quickly. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Aziraphale smiled indulgently at him before pulling him close and kissing him just as tenderly. “Lift up for me, darling,” he said softly, his hands on Crowley’s hips guiding him off his cock. 

Crowley groaned in complaint but complied, both of them gasping as Aziraphale’s cock slid out of his arse.

“Just for a moment.” Aziraphale guided him onto his back and slipped between his legs, arranging their limbs so he could press back inside with gradual thrusts, his eyes sharp with desire. “You’re remarkable, Anthony. Can you tell how hard you make me? How much I want you?”

He arched up at the feel of Aziraphale’s cock sliding in to the hilt. “Fuck me hard, angel, make me feel it.” With one last firm squeeze of Aziraphale’s arse, Crowley dragged his hands up Aziraphale’s back and then held them above his own head, one hand on top of the other. 

Aziraphale acknowledged his not-so-subtle invitation, grazing a hand up his arm and interlacing their fingers, pinning both his arms with one hand. Crowley wrapped his legs around him and squeezed as Aziraphale started to fuck him harder. Aziraphale’s eyes remained focused on Crowley’s face as his hips rocked forward faster and faster, punching the breath out of Crowley’s lungs. 

Crowley’s throat closed around a silent scream after a shift of Aziraphale’s hips. “Right there, oh please, fuck, angel…” Blissful heat prickled across Crowley’s skin, igniting into an inferno when Aziraphale did it again, his free hand gripping Crowley’s hard, leaking cock. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so close. I need you to come, Anthony, can you do that for me? Let go, show me you’re mine–” The way Aziraphale’s voice twisted from a plea into a low growl is what tipped Crowley over the edge, come spilling between them as his orgasm spiraled up his spine, Aziraphale’s name gasped out between pulses of pleasure. 

Aziraphale’s controlled movements began to falter. His hips snapped forward only a few more times before he buried himself deep and unleashed a rumbling moan that Crowley could feel radiating through his own chest when Aziraphale collapsed on top of him. 

After a few moments, heavy breaths against his neck turned into soft kisses. Crowley hummed happily, still pinned down by his hands and the pleasing weight of Aziraphale above him. 

If it weren’t for the cramp building in his thigh, and the mess drying between their bodies, Crowley would have considered having a kip right there, with Aziraphale as his warm, weighted blanket. “Angel,” he mumbled into blond curls, receiving more kisses in return. He squeezed the hand Aziraphale had wrapped around his own and pressed his thighs into Aziraphale’s soft hips. “Aziraphale,” he said more insistently. 

Aziraphale seemed to come back to himself. He released Crowley’s arms and pulled himself up onto his elbows. “Oh, I’m so sorry my dear. How beastly of me. I must be crushing you terribly.” 

“Not at all. I like being crushed by you.” Crowley leaned up and kissed Aziraphale’s nose. 

He chuckled quietly and kissed him in return. Aziraphale rolled to the side, his softening cock slipping out of Crowley’s arse. “Be that as it may, I’ve made quite a mess of us. I’ll get us cleaned up and then – oh, are you hungry, darling? I could make us something, but I must confess I am not the world’s greatest cook. I can order whatever you're in the mood for.” 

“Angel–” 

Aziraphale sat up, still rambling quickly. “I would hate for you to get lightheaded again like you did yesterday, Anthony. Oh, perhaps you would allow me to draw you a bath, and you can soak while we wait for the food to arrive? You’ll be feeling sore after all that, and I did get carried away there at the end–” 

“Aziraphale.” Crowley grabbed his hand and squeezed, smiling up at him when he finally stilled. “You don’t need to keep fussing over me. I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. Amazing. Best orgasm of my life, as promised.” 

“What if I like making a bit of a fuss over you?” Aziraphale came closer, running his hand over Crowley’s still tingling skin and pouting at him. “Indulge me, darling. Please?” 

Crowley released a put-upon sigh. An embarrassed smile broke loose even though he tried to contain it. “Alright, fine. I’ll allow it.” 

Weeks. 

They passed quickly, stacking up into months, and before he realized it Crowley had been sleeping with Aziraphale for longer than he had been lustfully pining after him. The sculpture had been completed – and Anathema was delighted with the final result – but Crowley continued to find reasons to stop by the studio and lock the door behind him. Lately he had been spending more nights in Aziraphale’s bed than across the hall in his own. 

One morning, after one such night, Crowley woke slowly to the familiar sound of a pencil scratching on paper beside him. 

“Aren’t you ever gonna get sick of staring at me?” Crowley said groggily, one eye peeking open. 

Aziraphale was sitting up next to him, blankets pooled around his waist but otherwise nude, drawing pad in his lap. “Not likely, darling. I’ve got such a lovely muse tucked up in my bed.” He shifted the paper to show Crowley a sketch of his own form, laying on his stomach with his arms wrapped around the pillow under his head. His shoulders were bare, his short hair disheveled. Each eyelash that rested above his cheeks was drawn with affection, as were the smattering of freckles across his skin. With a sweet smile, Aziraphale shifted the pad back towards himself and continued drawing. The pink tip of his tongue poked out between his lips like it always did when he was concentrating. 

Not for the first time, Crowley’s heart swelled in his chest. He closed his eyes and savored the feeling while he dutifully held his position, waiting for Aziraphale to finish. He was drifting back to sleep when he heard Aziraphale speak again.

“I didn’t get to tell you, since you crept in so late last night, but I ran into Jim yesterday.” The pencil kept scraping diligently across the page. 

“Jim?” Crowley mumbled, “Do we know a Jim?”

“Well, I know a Jim. He’s a… I guess you could say a friend, although I’m not entirely sure he has friends, if I’m being honest,” Aziraphale said distractedly. “Anyway, he’s one of those suited office-dwellers, like yourself, dear. And he owes me a favor. Quite a few of them, actually.”

Judging by his tone, there was definitely a story there Crowley had not heard before. “Do I want to know?”

“Not unless you want to hear about him showing up at my shopfront door, entirely nude.” 

That had Crowley’s eyes wide open. “Did you two ever…”

“Oh, heavens no.” Aziraphale shuddered. “As I was saying, Jim is in my debt, and he's very well connected, so I mentioned you and your prior work experience. He said that if you pass along your CV he is confident he can help find a position for you. Get you back to where you belong. In your career, that is.” 

Crowley gripped the pillow in his hands a bit tighter. “Oh, angel, that’s… very kind of you.” 

The reticence in his voice was obvious, and Aziraphale dropped the pencil into his lap and turned to face him fully. “I’m realizing now it was rather rude of me to speak to him without consulting you first–”

“No, angel.” Crowley reached out and squeezed Aziraphale’s thigh. “I’m not upset. I appreciate you looking out for me.”

“But?”

“But… I think if I went back to being a suited office-dweller, as you put it, I’d only be doing it for the money. And how is that really any different from what I’m doing now? I think I’d rather… take some more time. Find something I’m passionate about. Like you are about your art, y’know?” 

Aziraphale’s face lit up. “Oh, Anthony, I think that’s a splendid idea. In fact…” 

He placed the drawing pad and pencil on the bedside table, and then slid back under the covers to snuggle up to Crowley. Once they were wrapped in each other’s arms, he continued. 

“That brings to mind something else I’ve been thinking about. And don’t feel like you need to give me an answer immediately, because you deserve time to think about it too.”

When they kissed, Crowley let his lips linger. “What is it, angel?”

“I promise I won’t be hurt if the answer is no.” 

Crowley snorted, although there was a sliver of anxious energy winding its way through his chest. “I’d like to hear the question, love, if that’s okay with you.” 

“I was wondering if you’d like to move in with me,” he said in a rush of breath. “You could save money instead of spending it on rent while you decide what you want to do next.” 

Crowley didn’t answer right away, his heart rate climbing as he studied Aziraphale’s face.

“I know it seems rather sudden. And we’ve only been together a few months. It’s just… you’re here more often than you’re not, and I adore having you here. It feels like half of me is missing when I go to bed without you beside me. It doesn’t have to be right away, but please consider it, darling–”

Crowley cut him off with a fierce kiss. He would agree to think about it, because that would make Aziraphale happy, but he already knew what the answer was going to be. Coming home to a soft, beautiful angel was the sort of temptation he couldn’t possibly resist.