Work Text:
Aziraphale was about to come. By this point Crowley knew all the signs: the way he started panting louder, the way his cock seemed almost to thicken in Crowley's mouth, and the way he got louder in his appreciation of Crowley's work. (It was a good thing the cottage had no near neighbors.)
Crowley, chasing the high of Aziraphale's pleasure, continued sucking, his tongue firm against the head, and he didn't even flinch when Aziraphale's previously gentle grip on his hair tightened painfully. It just heightened the sensations -- the heat and the sweat and the ache in his scalp keeping him in this one glorious moment in what was turning out to be, post failed Apocalypse part two, their Earthly paradise.
"Oh! Oh! Oh, Anthony!" Aziraphale shouted, and the surprise of hearing that name from Aziraphale's mouth made Crowley's jaw go slack at the worst time. He pulled back, choking and spitting in what he had to admit was not the sexiest manner, leaving a mess in the cradle of Aziraphale's hips that he swiftly banished.
"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked with concern, leaning up from the bed and moving his hand to Crowley's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, my love, are you okay? What happened?"
Crowley's throat felt raw now; he grimaced and adjusted his jaw, which had a tendency to unhinge if he forgot himself. (Sometimes that came in handy.)
"Just surprised is all," he said. "You, er, you never..." He gestured with his hand. Aziraphale took it and pulled gently, but Crowley knew what he meant. He climbed up the bed, curling up against the angel, letting their legs tangle and Aziraphale's arm curve around his waist.
"I've gotten used to it," the angel said, pressing a kiss to Crowley's cheek. "Every time I'm in the village, it's, "How is your Anthony doing?" and "Tell your Anthony I've got some seeds for him" -- that was Mrs. Vasti, by the way, she said to come by tomorrow if you can, and you'll appreciate her stories about her struggles with the rabbits more than I do -- "
Crowley reached up to cradle Aziraphale's face and kissed him firmly to stop the angel's stream of consciousness.
"I like it," he said, when their lips parted again. It had taken Aziraphale centuries to remember to call him Crowley instead of Crawly, and Crowley hadn't really tried to get him to adopt Anthony. He'd never brought it up after that time in the church in 1941, but he had put it on the marriage forms and Aziraphale hadn't seemed surprised. Crowley had given his full name to the estate agent when they were looking for property, and since her mum lived in this village, everyone here knew it soon after.
Aziraphale smiled. "It suits you," he said, kissing Crowley again, soft and satisfied. "My Anthony."
Crowley's throat wasn't aching any longer. He grinned, meeting Aziraphale's eyes.
"Round two, Mr. Fell-Crowley?" he suggested, knowing exactly what the response would be. A name you chose mattered, after all.