Chapter Text
“Crowley, please,” Anathema begged. “We literally cannot do this without you.”
Crowley glowered over the top of his sunglasses at his colleague. Most days he would consider her a friend. Not today. “Wha— Sssure you can. You need another adult. Nothing says it hasss to be me. There are loads of other adults in this world,” he said, waving his arm around. “Some even work at this school.”
“Why not? What plans do you have between ten and two on Saturday?” She returned his look, not breaking eye contact across the table in the teachers’ lounge where she was eating lunch and he was drinking coffee and picking at a piece of rectangular pizza from the cafeteria.
“I have hobbies!” He leaned back and balanced his chair on its back legs with his arms crossed, offended by her accusation that he was some hermit who sat at home all weekend. “And friends!”
“You can yell at your plants and sweet talk your car another time. As for friends, yes, but Eric works on Saturdays and I will be—”
“Pshw— ’s the principle of the matter,” he tried to explain. When filling out the paperwork for the school district, Anathema listed Crowley as the second chaperone for the car wash fundraiser, without asking him whether he was available or had any interest in helping. Crowley didn’t like the underhandedness of it all. Why didn’t she just ask?
She stirred her quinoa salad with her fork before smirking at him. “I don’t know why we are wasting our energy. We both know you are going to do it.”
“Arrgghhh.” He knew she was right. Fuck. He wasn’t doing it for her though. He was doing it for the kids. He had reluctantly been the co-advisor—with Anathema—for his school’s Gay-Straight Alliance for several years now. The only reason he went along with it in the beginning was because she told him she would do all the work. Well, and he liked the little buggers, but he made sure not to let them know that. Now, Anathema came up with the brilliant idea to take the students to their city’s Pride Parade in a few months, but they—she—needed to figure out how to pay for it.
“How much d’you need to raise?” He quickly ran some mental calculations to determine whether he could pay for the trip and save everyone the indignity of making high school students wash a bunch of cars.
“We,” her emphasis on the first-person pronoun clear as day, “need to pay for the bus rental plus lunch for the kids, so our goal is $1,000, but if we can raise $1,500, then I can also get t-shirts for everyone and maybe have a little end-of-the-year event for the club.”
Nevermind. He was a teacher; he didn’t have a spare grand to spend just to avoid supervising some teenagers for a few hours. “Ghng. Alright. Fffine,” he acquiesced, letting the front legs of his chair fall back to the floor with a thunk. “I’ll be there, but you owe me.”
Aziraphale stood up from the booth and hugged Muriel goodbye. The two of them had been meeting for brunch on the third Saturday of the month for almost as long as they had known each other.
“Have a good day, dear.” He released his hold on his friend, who was the closest thing he had to family anymore.
“You too, Aziraphale,” Muriel took one of his hands in theirs. “Now don’t spend all weekend holed up in the bookshop reading. You know I love books as much as anyone, but I worry that you spend too much time there. Try to get out a little today. It’s a beautiful day. Go for a walk.”
Aziraphale held the door open for them. It was a perfect spring day. One of the nicest of the year so far. Muriel was coming from a place of love, he knew that. He had become somewhat of a hermit recently. The fact that he worked in the bookshop and lived upstairs made it too easy to stay at home. He needed to… not put himself out there, necessarily. It wasn’t about finding a partner. He needed to come out of his shell, step outside of his comfort zone.
“I will, Muriel,” he said, bending down to hug them again. “I promise I won’t spend all day in the bookshop.”
He contemplated what Muriel said as he walked home from brunch. The past few years Aziraphale had retreated further into himself. Though he was never one for nightclubs or The Scene, he enjoyed sex very much. He knew how to flirt and never had trouble finding partners when he was in his twenties and early-thirties, even if it meant resorting to a quick, no-strings-attached encounter. Then, he spent his late-thirties in a long-term relationship.
He assumed that relationship would last forever, but Gabriel dropped him like a hot potato once he turned forty—never mind that Gabriel was five years older than him. He hadn’t been ready to jump right into something new, no matter how shallow, after having his heart broken. But two years had passed since the break up. He was older and tired. He had gotten apathetic and stopped trying.
Maybe Muriel was right. He couldn’t hide in the bookshop for the next forty years. Well, he could, he supposed. He didn’t want to.
A commotion across the street brought him back to the present. Just up the way a bit, a group of teenagers were in a car park, blaring bebop on the radio and waving rainbow flags. As he got closer, he could read their signs. They were having a fundraising car wash for the Omens High School’s Gay-Straight Alliance.
Then, something else caught his eye. A black vintage car was parked perpendicular to the street and against it leaned a tall, thin man with flaming red hair that was styled in a way that seemed to defy gravity. He wore all black: a tee with a deep v-neck, skin-tight jeans, and boots. He held his phone in front of him, but he wasn’t looking at it. Instead, he was clearly watching the students, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Aziraphale wondered what his story was. He didn’t seem to be waiting to get his car washed, and he certainly didn’t look like someone associated with a high school, but he guessed he should know better than to judge a book by its cover.
He tore his attention away from the man to the teenagers washing cars with the assistance of a young woman he assumed to be their teacher. He remembered his own secondary school days. While he knew LGBTQ+ organizations existed, his school certainly didn’t have one, nor did he know any other gay students. At least not ones willing to admit it. Even Aziraphale, who had never been mistaken as straight a single day of his adult life, was deep in the closet in those days.
These young people wouldn’t necessarily have it easy. He was too much of a realist to expect that. But they were so fortunate to have a community of like-minded classmates to stand beside them in the face of an often-cruel world. Aziraphale figured the least he could do to support them was to get his car and have them wash it.
He briefly considered just walking over now and making a donation, but if he had his car, he would have an excuse to stay a little longer, giving him more of an opportunity to chat with his red-haired ulterior motive.
Most people who knew Aziraphale were surprised that he owned a car. When he inherited the bookshop from his great-uncle, he also inherited his pride and joy: a 1959 Morris Mini-Minor in Old English White. Aziraphale rarely drove it, preferring walking as his primary form of transportation, but a couple times a month, he would take it for a short drive in order to keep it in tip-top condition.
As he pushed through the front door of his bookshop, he was greeted by the ring of the bell over the door and a “Hello, Mr. Fell!” from Tracy, who helped him manage the shop on evenings and weekends.
After saying a quick hello to Tracy—careful not to get sucked into conversation—he walked to the bookshop’s back room. In deference to the unseasonably warm, early-spring day, he hung up his cardigan. He typically felt underdressed in just his shirtsleeves, but he was only going down the road to the car wash. He could stand to live a little. On his way out the back door, he stopped in the washroom and checked his reflection in the mirror. His blond curls were worse for the wear after brunch and his walk home. He quickly made a futile effort to tame them into something just on the right side of stylish. Writing it off as a lost cause, he gave up and grabbed the car keys from their hook near the door.
Though he didn’t care much for driving, Aziraphale always felt cute behind the wheel of this car. He subconsciously wiggled his shoulders as he turned the key in the ignition. His old girl rumbled as she came to life. A smile crept across his face as he put her into gear and pulled out of the garage.
Crowley breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the kids soaping up their latest customer. Anathema really lucked out. So far, the day had been remarkably tolerable. The weather was perfect. The students who volunteered were hard workers and good listeners, so Crowley didn’t have much to do besides supervise. Another ninety minutes and he would be free to spend the rest of the weekend…
Maybe he didn’t have any plans for the rest of the weekend, but he could go home, put on some music, tend to his plants, and do whatever the fuck he wanted. He considered that a decade ago, he spent all of his free Saturday evenings in a club on the pull. His lip twisted at how unappealing that sounded now. Approaching forty-five years old, he preferred a quiet night in to a noisy club. He just wished that quiet wasn’t so alone.
“Mr. Crowley!” The shout snapped him out of his daydream. He looked up to see a tall, lanky kid with a horrible haircut calling out to him.
“Just Crowley, Warlock!” For Someone’s sake, this mister business was the worst thing about being a teacher—even more so than all the damned paperwork. The kids caught on quickly that he preferred just Crowley, but Warlock was new to the school and still learning the ropes.
“Crowley, then. Are we on track to meet our goal?” the boy asked.
“Uhhh, I dunno.” He looked over to Anathema, who was monitoring donations at a table covered with individually-wrapped baked goods. Someone had the brilliant idea of having a bake sale at the car wash because nothing was more appetizing than brownies prepared by teenagers. You couldn’t pay Crowley to eat anything on that table. “Ms. Device?”
Anathema reviewed the calculations on her phone. “Warlock, I am proud of how hard you all are working, but we’ll need to wash a lot more cars to meet our goal.”
“Maybe my dad…” Warlock said, before thinking better of it and drifting off mid-sentence. Crowley’s gut twisted as he understood what Warlock left unsaid. While Warlock's father was wealthy and well-connected, conservative politician Thaddeus Dowling was unlikely to support their cause. Crowley knew a bit about the sort. He made a mental note to keep an eye on Warlock for the rest of the school year.
As he thought that, he noticed a car pulling into the car park. It was an old Mini. Very old. Crowley guessed it was from the 1960s, if not the inaugural 1959 model. From a distance, it looked to be in pristine condition. The driver pulled it up to where the kids were washing cars, and Crowley watched Brian and Wensleydale approach it with a bucket and two large sponges in their hands.
“Whoa whoa whoa!” Crowley yelled out, jogging over to the kids as fast as his skin-tight jeans and snakeskin boots would allow. No way was he going to let those kids near that car. Yeah, it was a bit dorky, but it was still an antique.
“Hey, kids, why don’t you go help over there?” He gestured toward Adam and Pepper, who were washing two other—normal, made-in-this-century—cars. “I’ve got this one.”
Brian looked at him like he had just stolen his ice cream cone. “Really, Crowley? You?”
Crowley sputtered, offended at first, but the boy’s surprise was probably fair. He spent the vast majority of the morning leaning against the Bentley. The only time he stepped away from his car was to go to the coffee shop down the road for another espresso.
“Yes, me.” Gently guiding Brian away from the car by his shoulder, he needed to put as much space between Brian and this car as possible—without allowing him too close to the Bentley either. “This car’s worth more than you are. Now step away, and keep your grubby ice cream hands offa it.”
“But I haven’t had any ice cream today,” Brian protested, wiping his hands on the front of his shirt in spite of that fact.
“Doesn’t mean you haven’t got ice cream on your hands. I know what you’re capable of. Now scram.” He swiped the soapy sponge from Brian’s hand. As he did so, a literal angel opened the car door and stepped into the sunshine.
Okay, maybe not a literal angel. Crowley didn’t believe in Heaven or Hell and all that nonsense. But this man—with his halo of blond curls catching the sunlight and plump, rosy cheeks, not to mention the twinkling eyes or the smile that practically knocked Crowley’s socks off—was the closest thing to a real-life cherub that he had ever seen.
“Um, hello,” the angel greeted him, slipping his keys into his trouser pocket and drawing Crowley’s attention to the way they stretched across mouthwatering thighs. “I’m here for a car wash, please.”
Crowley blinked and dragged his attention from the man’s lower half to his face, which felt a little bit like staring directly at the sun. He was just so damn bloody bright and glowy. Was glowy a word? Didn’t matter.
“Ehhh… Hi. Pretty brave of you to let a bunch of teenagers wash a car like this,” Crowley said, nodding toward the car, proud of his ability to converse like a grown man with this ethereal being, given how the beautiful angel scrambled his brain.
“Oh, this old thing?” the man giggled, squinting into the sunshine.
Crowley briefly closed his eyes behind his sunglasses, giving himself a moment to figure out how to respond to this ridiculous person. “’S gotta be wot? Least sixty years old,” was the reply he finally landed on.
“Sixty-six this year,” the angel responded with a little wiggle in his shoulders. “She’s a 1959 Morris Mini-Minor.”
So it was the inaugural model. “A pretty special car, that. Maybe I should wash it instead of the kids. I, uhh, have a classic car myself, so I know how to take care of her.” He nodded in the direction of the Bentley.
“Oh, I bet you do.” The man bit his lower lip as his eyes drifted from Crowley’s down to his snakeskin boots and back up to his face.
Holy shit. Was he actually flirting?
Struck dumb by the blatant examination, Crowley was saved when the man continued, “I noticed your car when I was walking by earlier. Isn’t she a beauty?”
“Ngk. Thanks,” Crowley said. He looked down at the sponge. “I guess I… uh… I better get to it.”
As he washed the car, he attempted to ignore the four eyes that were boring holes in his back: two from Anathema and two from the angel. He tried his best to look suave but expected he ended up looking like one of those wobbly inflatable tube men that danced in front of car dealerships. He looked down at the way his wet t-shirt clung to his chest and hoped it was attractive. He knew he looked good with the right clothes, but his lean frame wasn’t for everyone.
He sneaked a look at the angel. Now this man, he filled out his clothes nicely. From his strong shoulders and soft belly to his thick thighs and round bottom, he had just the type of body that made Crowley weak. And often very, very stupid.
He squatted down to wash the tires—which were so clean he considered whether the angel already had the car washed elsewhere earlier that day—and wondered what the man watching him found attractive. What were the chances he was into long-limbed gingers whose speech patterns were defined by hisses and sputters?
Once he finished washing the car, he grabbed a microfiber towel and started buffing it dry. He wiped the last few water droplets off the front bumper as the owner wandered over, holding one of the dodgy brownies.
“Thank you, dear,” the angel said, taking a bite of the brownie, his eyes fluttering closed as he let out a moan that sounded like… Well, Crowley wasn’t going to think too much about what it sounded like. Not around the kids at least. He wasn’t making any promises about what happened later at home.
“Gng,” Crowley swallowed thickly. “Isss it that good?”
“Oh, yes,” the angel said, nodding his head enthusiastically. “Very.” He paused to finish chewing before continuing, “I will say, when I saw the car wash, I expected a student to wash my car, but I appreciate the care you put into the task.”
“Happy to.” He considered for a minute about how he could extend this interaction. Crowley thought the man was beautiful from the moment he laid eyes on him, but as the minutes ticked by, he found him more and more intriguing. “You can, um, pay Ms. Device over there. Anathema.”
“I took care of it while you were washing the car,” he said, shaking his fist holding his car key in front of him. He had finished the brownie, but a crumb stuck to that perfect cupid’s bow of an upper lip. Crowley wanted to tell him it was there. By licking it off. But, before he could, the angel’s pink tongue darted out and grabbed it.
That perfect pink tongue was going to live rent-free in his head. This short interaction was giving him a lot to reflect on later. “Well, um…” Crowley absentmindedly slid his own tongue along his teeth, desperately trying to think. He did not want to let this man walk away. He rubbed the back of his neck as he continued, “I’m, uh, looking for a new mechanic for the Bentley. I wonder if you know someone who, um, specializes in older cars.” He wasn’t. He had a phenomenal mechanic who also happened to be his best friend, but he couldn’t think of anything else he and this angel possibly had in common besides owning extremely old automobiles.
The man’s already-bright face lit up even more, making Crowley appreciative for his sunglasses. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” he said, looking down at the cuff of his shirt. “He’s a wonderful fellow.” With his attention still focused on his wrist, he slipped the button on his cuff free from its hole. “I don’t remember the name of the shop, but I have the information at home.” He rolled up the sleeve to expose a muscular forearm covered in blond hair that Crowley wanted to run his fingers through. Or maybe his tongue. “If you give me your phone number, I can text the information later today.”
“Nnnh, yeeeah, phone number, sure,” Crowley said, his hold on the human language deteriorating with every inch of skin this man exposed. He could hardly believe his luck. Things like this didn’t happen to him. It wasn't every day that he ran into extremely sexy, angelic men who wanted his phone number, even if the reason behind it was a sham.
When the angel finished rolling up his sleeves, he slipped an older model smart phone out of his trouser pocket and unlocked it before handing it to Crowley. “Here, put in your number for me, please.”
The polite command got the attention of parts of his body that Crowley was desperately trying to ignore. He shifted on his feet as he clumsily opened the contacts and entered his number, double-checking to make sure he typed it correctly. Then he opened the messaging app and sent himself a quick text.
He handed the phone back to its owner. “’Kay. Done. ’M Crowley. Looking forward to hearing from you about the, ah, shop. Yeah,” he said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans to keep from reaching out and touching.
“Nice to meet you, Crowley. I’m Aziraphale. I will be in touch soon. I won’t keep you waiting,” he said, arching his eyebrow and giving Crowley a pointed look.
Crowley worried he might melt into the ground as he watched Aziraphale turn and walk away, the phrase I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave echoing in his head. After a long moment of watching with what was very likely an embarrassing expression on his face, he remembered the dozen nosy teenagers and his even nosier friend who probably watched the entire interaction.
He looked over at the kids, and, in unison, they all whipped their heads in the opposite direction to pretend they hadn’t been watching. Fuck. After this, he would need to put in some work to rebuild his reputation as the cool teacher.
Chapter 2
Summary:
Aziraphale and Crowley get to know each other better.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As Crowley and Anathema waved goodbye to the last of the kids pulling away from the car wash, he let out a long, tension-releasing sigh, happy that this Saturday obligation was behind him.
Anathema turned and looked at him wide-eyed. “What the hell was that?” she asked.
“Wot?” he shot back. He had a good idea what she was on about, but he wanted to make her say it.
“Don’t play coy with me. I saw you giving your phone number to that cute British blond,” she said as she loaded buckets and towels into the back of her car. “Aren’t you glad you came along now?”
“Shut up,” he said. “I, uhh…” He realized right then that if he gave Anathema the same line he gave Aziraphale she would know it was a lie.
“You, uh, what?” she said, smiling now, eyes twinkling behind dark-rimmed glasses.
He wrinkled his nose at her. “I, um, told him I needed a mechanic who specializes in classic cars. Asked him if he knew anyone.”
Anathema snickered and threw a damp sponge so it hit him right in the middle of his chest, leaving a wet spot before it fell to the ground. “Did that work?”
“Fffffuck’s sssake, Ana,” Crowley hissed, wiping at the damp front of his shirt. Then he looked at her and shrugged. “He handed me his phone and asked for my number. Said he would text me the name of the shop when he got home. I guess we’ll see.”
She bent down and picked up the sponge from the ground. “Well, I hope at the very least you make a new friend out of this. You seem like you’re stagnating lately.”
“Stagnating?” Crowley balked. Yeah, he’d fallen into a routine that involved little more than work, plants, and bothering Eric at the shop every once in a while. But he was a single middle-aged man, what else was he supposed to be doing? “Whaddaya mean by that?”
“You’re just checked out,” she replied. “Disconnected. I want you to be happy, and you don’t seem that way right now.”
He rubbed his eyes under his glasses, feeling more raw and vulnerable than he had in a while. He wasn’t used to being seen. “I’m bored with my life, I guess. Lonely. You’re right. It’d be nice to make a friend.”
Reaching out and wrapping her arms around his waist, she pulled him in close. “Good luck,” she said. “Catch me up on Monday.”
Nuzzling into the top of her head, Crowley was suddenly overwhelmed with affection for his friend. She may be a pain in the arse, but Anathema looked out for him. “Will do,” he said into her hair.
Aziraphale was positively giddy as he drove home from the car wash. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten a man’s phone number, and he hoped that the line about needing a new mechanic was a ruse to give Aziraphale his number. Of course, if Crowley did need a mechanic, he was happy to share Eric’s information. He had taken excellent care of Minnie for years now. But he very much wanted to see the man and his slinky hips again. Preferably naked at some point.
As he drifted to a stop at a red light and daydreamed about his new acquaintance, the car lurched underneath him. That wasn’t good. He supposed he also needed to call Eric this week. Fortunately, he was only a couple blocks from home by then, so even though Minnie jerked and jolted the whole way, he was able to make it back to his garage.
After lumbering up the stairs to the flat above the bookshop, Aziraphale was eager to settle into a comfortable armchair with a book. With Muriel’s comments still in the back of his mind, he told himself he could read for a couple hours before texting Crowley, then maybe he would go for a walk in the park like they suggested.
With Crowley as a distraction, he didn’t have to worry about getting lost in a book and reading the afternoon away. Every time he started a new paragraph, his mind drifted down the deep vee of Crowley’s t-shirt, the way the damp russet hair on his chest stuck to his skin. Before he knew it, he had been staring at the same page for several minutes without retaining a single word and his cock was half-hard in his trousers.
He set his book on the side table with a deep sigh as he dug his watch out of his pocket. He chewed on his bottom lip. It was still too soon to call Crowley, and he wanted to do that before leaving the house. He squirmed and reached for his belt, deciding that he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else until he took the situation in hand.
An amazing wank, a short nap, a snack, and finally a couple chapters of his book later, Aziraphale decided enough time had passed, and he could text Crowley without being off-putting. He picked up his phone, typing and deleting several times before deciding on the message to send.
Crowley was examining his favorite monstera—the one that knew better than to ever have a leaf spot—when his phone buzzed in his pocket. A smile bloomed across his face when he saw who sent the text.
Shit, Crowley chuckled to himself. Of course, Eric was his mechanic too. He couldn’t worry about that now. That was future Crowley’s problem. Current Crowley had an angel to text. He walked to the other room and flopped on the sofa, kicking his feet up on the arm.
Alright, he could leave it here, but Crowley was never good at leaving things alone, especially when handsome men were involved. He tucked his chin to his chest and looked over the top of his glasses as he sent the next message, hoping to extend the conversation a bit.
He really was an angel. Crowley sighed to himself, knowing he was being ridiculous, but if you couldn’t be ridiculous in the privacy of your own home, where could you?
Great! He now had confirmation that the very gay angel was actually gay. Good to know.
Crowley waited for a minute. The conversation seemed to be puttering out, but he couldn’t think of anything to say next. Well, anything besides, “Do you want to come over right now so I can suck your dick? I’d really like to, and I’m pretty good at it.” Thankfully, Aziraphale saved him from himself by sending a message.
A sexy, angelic bookseller with those thighs wanted to pay for his students to attend the Pride Parade. Was this man created in a lab to destroy Crowley? He should proceed with caution, which meant he would do the complete opposite—dive in headfirst.
As the week dragged on, Aziraphale started to fret about whether Crowley was going to get back in touch with him about how to make the donation. He had worked himself into such a tizzy, that when his phone dinged as he was washing dishes Thursday evening, he almost jumped out of his skin.
He let out a sigh of relief when he read the message.
They exchanged several messages in which Crowley tried to explain Venmo to Aziraphale. When he didn’t get any closer to understanding, they both agreed it was probably best if he just sent a check to the school. They were not in a rush; Pride was still a couple months away.
Oh. Well then. Aziraphale smiled and leaned back against the kitchen counter. This was a very welcome development.
Aziraphale looked out his window where he could see the sign for the Dirty Donkey hanging on the building across the street.
Aziraphale had the advantage of being able to see the pub from his home, so instead of waiting awkwardly for Crowley to arrive, he stood by the window until he saw the man approaching the pub at exactly 8:29. Crowley stopped before opening the door and took a deep breath, bobbed his head from side to side, and straightened his jacket. Then, he bounced on his toes a couple times and reached for the door.
Not wanting to keep the obviously-nervous man waiting any longer, Aziraphale rushed to join him. As he went to open the door himself, he did a quick check-in with how he was feeling. He was surprised that he wasn’t anxious. He had butterflies in his stomach, but mostly he felt excited to get to know this man better.
His breath caught when he saw Crowley leaning against the bar, a long, slim line of black topped with red flame like a matchstick setting something ablaze in his belly. He was more handsome than Aziraphale remembered. When the man's attention turned his way, his lips lifted into a smug smile as Aziraphale approached.
“Hello, Aziraphale,” he said, voice smooth as the black silk shirt under his blazer. “Good to see you.” Crowley’s head nodded in a way that telegraphed he was checking out Aziraphale, making him blush under the blatant assessment.
“Lovely to see you as well, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied, feeling bold as he reached out and smoothed the lapel of the other man’s jacket. “You look rather dashing this evening.”
“Dashing, isss it?” Crowley smirked, not hiding his obvious enjoyment of the complement. “You look nice too.” Then he looked up and around the crowded pub. “Why don’t you grab us a table, and I’ll get drinks? What can I get you?”
“A sherry for me please, a large one,” he said.
He settled into a quiet booth near the back and admired the bookshop through the window as he waited. He had always been very proud of the shop. When he first inherited it, he was uncomfortable with that pride. He felt unworthy of it because he hadn’t done anything to contribute to the success of the shop; it was simply dropped in his lap by a distant relative who lived overseas.
Time passed, and he grew to accept that he had a right to be proud of his uncle’s legacy, if nothing else. As the shop evolved under his tutelage into what it was now, that pride only grew. As he saw it now, he could see the renovations he had made, the stickers and books he put in the window that he hoped told his community, you are safe here. He looked up at Crowley—leaning against the bar, chatting with the bartender—and thought about how he sent the same message to the students at his school.
While Aziraphale was staring, the bartender handed Crowley the drinks, and the man turned and sauntered over.
When he got to the table, he put the drinks down and said, “A sherry for you, whisky for me,” before sliding into the booth across from him.
“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, taking a sip. The sherry was so delicious he licked his lips and let out a small moan of delight.
Crowley looked like he was about to say something, but his eyes widened and a flush spread across his cheeks. He shifted in his seat and picked up his drink.
“Are you alright, my dear?” Aziraphale asked at the abrupt change in his companion.
Crowley brought the whiskey glass to his lips and said, “Yep, great,” before taking a sip. His attention drifted to the window as something seemed to catch his eye.
“You,” he said, pointing a finger of the hand that held his drink at Aziraphale. “That bookshop, A.Z. Fell and Company? ‘S that you?”
Aziraphale beamed. “Ah, you figured me out. I am A.Z. Fell, purveyor of books to the gentry.”
Crowley snorted. “Glad we have someone looking out for the gentry in this day and age,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “I was just saying people don’t talk about the gentry often enough anymore.”
“It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it,” Aziraphale retorted, giggling into his wine glass.
Crowley rested his chin on his hand with his elbow propped on the table, looking over the tops of his sunglasses at Aziraphale. “So, how’d you end up a purveyor of books to the gentry anyway? I think you said it’s a family business,” he asked.
“Ahhh, yes,” he said, twisting the signet ring he wore on his pinky. “An ancestor who immigrated to the United States opened the shop in the early nineteenth century. At some point my great-uncle inherited it. He was what one called an eccentric back in the day, but today he would probably just be considered a twink.” He looked up from his sherry just in time to see Crowley choke on his whiskey at that. “I don’t know for certain, but I have my guesses as to why he left the bookshop to me out of everyone in the family,” he continued with a lifted eyebrow, “but about a decade ago, he died and he did. I moved here from England and have run it ever since.”
“Wow, that must’ve been a big change,” Crowley said.
“It was, but I… I had not been in contact with anyone else from my family in quite some time. I was working a job that made me miserable. I feel like my life started when I moved here. Inheriting the bookshop was a blessing. By far, the best thing that’s happened to me. What about you? How’d you end up teaching in America?”
“Ahh, my story isn’t as exciting,” Crowley started as he swirled his whiskey in the glass. “I didn’t have much going for me at home, but I always did well in school. Wanted to put some distance between myself and my parents, so I applied to universities here. I had a few good scholarship offers, so I, um, took one and never looked back.”
Aziraphale could understand the motivation. Moving an ocean away from his family was the best thing he had ever done for his mental health. “And teaching?”
He shrugged. “I studied biology in school. Was planning t’go to graduate school. Realized I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life in some lab. I’ve always liked kids, so I applied for a job as a teacher. It suits me.”
“I bet the students love you,” Aziraphale said, trying to decide if he would listen very closely or not hear a word Crowley said if he was his teacher.
“Ha, whaddaya mean?”
Aziraphale gestured toward Crowley’s face. “You’re very cool and mysterious with the all black and the sunglasses.”
“Ah, sorry,” he said, as he took off the glasses and slid them into the interior breast pocket of his jacket, giving Aziraphale a closer peak of how his shirt clung to his body. “Get so used to them, I forget I’m even wearing them.”
Aziraphale was struck seeing Crowley’s eyes for the first time. They were a gorgeous light brown with emerald flecks. He didn’t think it was possible for the man to get more attractive, but here he was.
“I have photosensitivity,” Crowley continued, and Aziraphale realized he had been staring. “I get migraines. But the pub’s dark enough, I’ll be okay.”
“Ahh, while you wear the sunglasses well, your eyes are beautiful. Thank you for sharing them with me,” he said, his voice sounding much steadier than he felt.
Crowley squirmed in his seat and wrinkled his nose, signaling his discomfort with the compliment. Aziraphale wondered what, or who, made him feel that way. That wouldn’t do. This gorgeous man deserved to be showered with compliments so often that they became so mundane he hardly heard them.
“Uh— yeah… thanks,” Crowley said. “D’you like being a bookseller?”
“I do. I feel as if I have found my vocation. I enjoy the challenge of hunting down rare books for clients. I also dabble in restoration and enjoy the process of bringing an old book back to life. One of my goals for the bookshop is to create a space in the community for everyone.”
“Sounds like there’s more to it than just selling books.”
“Oh yes, if it was only about selling books, I would be terrible at it. I hate seeing my books go.”
Crowley looked at him quizzically. “You’re a bookseller who doesn’t like selling books?”
“Not if I can help it,” he admitted. “I have some books I stock specifically to sell, but so many of my older books are so near and dear to me. The idea of them falling in the hands of just anyone is… Well, it’s intolerable.”
Crowley snickered at that. “You look like some angelic…” He waved his hand around as if he was trying to pull the word out of the air. “...wossit, but you’re a bit of a bastard, you know that?”
“Why, thank you,” Aziraphale said, sipping his sherry with a shimmy of his shoulders.
Several hours later, Aziraphale picked up the last chip from the shared plate of curry chips between them and looked hazily at the man across from him. Crowley was slumped in the corner of the booth, hugging his knee with one foot up on the bench and ranting about sea life. He reached out with his free hand and covered Crowley’s where it laid on the table. Crowley stopped his tirade mid-sentence and looked at their hands with his mouth dropped open.
“What are you on about, my dear?” he asked before popping the chip in his mouth and washing it down with the last of his drink.
Crowley shook as if he had just awoken from a long slumber. “Dunno. ’M drunk, angel. Might be time to call it a night.”
Angel? That was new. He had mixed feelings about the origin of his name, but he found he didn’t mind the endearment from Crowley. In fact, he quite liked it. “I believe I am in the same state,” he responded. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”
Crowley looked at the bookshop through the window. “Can I walk you home?”
Aziraphale smiled. “You may. What about you? How are you getting home? I hope you’re not driving.”
Crowley shook his head comically. “Nahhh,” he said. “I walked here. Don’t live far. Maybe a ten minute walk. I’ll uber home though. ‘M not in a state to walk or… do much of anything elssse.”
Even in his inebriated state, Aziraphale caught his meaning. Despite the hours of flirting, Crowley would not be coming up tonight. Though disappointed, Aziraphale agreed this was for the best. “Let’s go,” he said. “I'll wait with you for the car.”
He followed Crowley through the pub, out the door, and across the street, admiring his cat-like movements as he stalked in front of him. When they were on the pavement in front of his shop, Crowley turned and looked at him, biting his lip and suddenly seeming shy. He was adorable, though Aziraphale guessed that Crowley might not be thrilled by that description.
Aziraphale stepped closer and took Crowley’s hands in his. They were cold and dry. Long fingers immediately wrapped around his own. “May I kiss you, my dear?” he asked, tipping his head up as Crowley looked down, their noses almost touching.
“Yesss,” he hissed, and Aziraphale caught the sibilant with his lips as they met Crowley’s. Aziraphale’s breath stuck in his throat as Crowley’s mouth pressed against his. It was uncoordinated—they were quite drunk, after all—but the kiss opened a void deep inside him that he didn’t even realize was empty, and slowly, it started to fill it.
He lifted his hands to Crowley’s face in an effort to ground himself and keep the city from spinning around him. Rubbing stubble under his thumb, he opened his mouth and delicately licked against the seam of Crowley’s lips. Strong hands had a firm grip on his hips as Crowley groaned and welcomed him. The warmth of Crowley’s mouth—a blend of whiskey and curry spices that shouldn’t have been as enticing as it was—made him drunk in a way that had nothing to do with the copious amounts of sherry he had consumed.
Eventually, they both needed to breathe. Crowley pulled away first, whispering “Angel” in Aziraphale’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine.
Aziraphale laughed as he wound his fingers into Crowley’s hair and considered the hard line of Crowley’s erection against his hip. “I am not feeling very angelic right now,” he confessed.
Crowley pulled back and regarded him with deep pools of amber that Aziraphale was in danger of drowning in. “You’re so bloody beautiful,” he said.
“Oh, Crowley,” poured out of him as he hugged the other man close to his chest. No one had ever looked at him the way Crowley did: reverently, like he was a thing to be adored.
Beep, beep! A honking horn jolted them back to reality. With Crowley still wrapped in Aziraphale’s arms, they looked toward the street. “That’s my car.”
Aziraphale sighed, stepping back and pulling the bottom of his waistcoat to straighten it, hoping to obscure the situation in his trousers from the driver. “I suppose it is. Thank you for a wonderful evening, my dear.”
Swaying a bit on his feet, Crowley took a deep breath. “Yeah…”
Before he could continue, Aziraphale leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Text me to let me know you got home safely?”
“Sure thing, angel,” he said as he turned to the car.
As soon as Crowley was through the door of his apartment, he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. The short ride was an uncomfortable one; his cock rock hard in his skinny jeans for most of it. He bent over and took off his boots before working his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans as he made his way over to the sofa. He grinned as he composed a message to his angel.
Fuck it. He had sobered up a bit on the ride home but was just drunk enough to go for it. Aziraphale knew what he was getting at, he was sure.
As soon as he sent the text, he threw his phone on the coffee table and collapsed onto his sofa, hoping he hadn’t misread the situation. Hard again—or maybe still, he wasn’t sure—he ran his hand over his cock as it strained against his briefs. He breathed a sigh of relief at the touch, which was accompanied by an almost-immediate buzzing of his phone.
Crowley cackled as he bit down on his knuckle, a smile so big across his face his cheeks were starting to ache. Those muscles were definitely out of practice.
“Yesss,” he said out loud to the empty room, pumping a fist. “Oh, I want that.” Now drunk on both whiskey and lust, his decision-making was especially compromised.
Okay, if this didn’t scare him off, then Crowley was certain he was getting fucked in the near future, hopefully sometime very soon. Too much time had passed since he had been seen to properly. He couldn't believe his luck, that this saucy angel had dropped in his lap out of nowhere.
What? Was Aziraphale saying what he thought he was saying? Satan, Crowley was in over his head now. He might as well keep digging and see what happened.
When the next text came through, Crowley threw his phone on the floor and leapt to his feet, hands covering his mouth. Holy shit. Aziraphale sent him a dick pic. A very nice one, at that: long with an equally impressive girth. He slowly bent over and picked up his phone so that he could examine the picture in more detail. Aziraphale’s thumb and forefinger were wrapped around a massive cock that had been pulled out of tan trousers. His other fingers were splayed on his milky-white thigh, his pinky ring clearly visible. That cock was magnificent.
He didn’t like thinking of himself as a size queen. That seemed… shallow, but his dildo collection revealed the truth. Crowley loved being filled by a giant cock. And the cock in the picture looked like it would do the trick rather nicely.
He already knew he was very interested in Aziraphale, but now he was salivating. He was a goner. He didn’t want to keep Aziraphale waiting, to make him think that his reaction was anything less than enthusiastic, but words were becoming increasingly elusive.
Fuck it. He was just going to say what he was thinking.
He inhaled slowly, focusing on the air filling his lungs. Aziraphale wanted him to send a dick pic. It had been a while, but he could do this. He unbuttoned his shirt and laid back on the sofa. Letting his shirt fall open, he wrapped one hand around his dick and used the other to hold the phone above him, adjusting to find a decent angle. He wasn’t as big as Aziraphale, but he hadn’t heard any complaints.
He looked closely at the picture before sending it. Unlike Aziraphale, he included his face and torso in his photo. His hair was a mess and his cheeks and chest were flushed. He looked absolutely debauched considering he hadn’t been touched by anyone except himself. He deemed the photo acceptable and sent it, holding his breath for a positive reaction.
Several minutes passed before Aziraphale texted him back, his anxiety increasing with each one. He was really starting to worry when a response finally came through.
He let out a loud groan. He liked being bossed around a little—maybe more than a little. Dropping the phone to his chest, he fisted his cock and finally started working it with intention. Knowing Aziraphale was out there, waiting for him, made it even hotter. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this worked up.
He pictured Aziraphale’s hand from the photo, the same hand he admired across the table all evening: strong and thick with short, manicured fingernails. Imagining that hand on him, remembering how warm it had been when it covered his, heat started to pool in his belly. He ran his other hand through his hair, thinking about how soft Aziraphale’s fluffy white curls looked.
What would Aziraphale whisper in his ear? Remembering the text, “close your eyes and come with my name on your lips,” he squeezed his eyes shut and sped up, chasing his release. He could hear the words, could practically feel Aziraphale’s breath on his ear as he said it. Before he knew it, he was fisting his hair and gasping Aziraphale’s name as pleasure rolled through his body, spilling on his belly and chest.
Fuck, that was the best orgasm he had in a long time. He was a useless heap of flesh and bone until he caught his breath and feeling returned to his extremities. Once he felt coordinated enough to manage the task, he picked up his phone.
As thrilled as he was with the events of the evening, he started to worry. Maybe it was post-nut clarity, but it was important to him that Aziraphale knew he was looking for more than a physical relationship.
Crowley clutched his phone to his chest as he literally swooned, thankful that no one could see him besides his plants, especially considering his dick was hanging out of his open jeans and come was drying on his belly.
He pushed himself up from the sofa with a groan, feeling every bit of his age. After stumbling to the bathroom, he stripped down to his briefs before cleaning up his mess. He went into the date trying to temper his expectations—it was only drinks with someone he barely knew, after all—but tonight had exceeded every single one.
Notes:
Hope you enjoyed the first two chapters of this fic! I will post chapter 3 next Wednesday.
Chapter 3
Summary:
After a fabulous first date, Aziraphale and Crowley grapple with the expectations surrounding their second date.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
When he awoke early the next morning, Aziraphale’s head throbbed before he even opened his eyes. The irresponsible amount of sherry he drank the night before was punishing him, but considering how the night turned out, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
With his eyes still closed, he rolled over in bed and remembered how Crowley looked grinning across from him at the pub. Then, under the streetlamps in front of the shop as they kissed. And, finally, in the erotic photo he sent, to which Aziraphale had brought himself off with a speed that rivaled his teenage self.
Aziraphale finally opened his eyes and reached for his glasses, then his phone, eager to confirm that last night’s conversation wasn’t a drunken hallucination. Smiling, he scrolled up the text thread to the pictures. He deleted the photograph of himself; no need to save that one. Then he saved the picture of Crowley to a passcode-protected album and deleted it from the text thread.
Flipping back to the Photos app, he pulled the picture back up. He dragged his finger over where Crowley’s fringe fell in his hooded eyes. His hair had been styled perfectly all evening, but in the photo, it was disheveled and falling in his face, like he had been running his hands through it. Aziraphale wished it was his hands that carded through those stunning red locks. His finger traced Crowley’s chest, unbuttoned shirt revealing russet hair.
His attention drifted further down to where Crowley had a firm hand around himself. Aziraphale didn’t have much experience with exchanging racy pictures or sexting. Gabriel was not interested in either. He was surprised by how powerful this picture made him feel: visual proof that although they were apart, he could still cause a reaction in Crowley.
He groaned as he admired Crowley’s cock, which was just as gorgeous as the rest of the man. God, he longed to reach out and touch. Aziraphale was surprised by how much he wanted Crowley. He didn’t usually become infatuated with someone so quickly. He took a while to warm up to other people, but there was something about Crowley. From the moment that he laid eyes on him, he wanted more.
Eager to thank Crowley for last night and schedule their next date, he checked the time. Finding it still too early to reach out, he got out of bed, in search of breakfast and pain relievers.
Several very distracted hours later, he decided it was finally a reasonable hour to contact Crowley. He picked up his phone to text, but on a whim, he switched to his phone app and—in a very uncharacteristic move—called. Instead of overthinking his next move like he usually did, he put very little thought into the decision. He wanted to call, to hear the other man’s voice, so he called.
After a few rings, Crowley answered with a “Hullo, angel.”
Aziraphale’s stomach flipped as the rough voice greeted him. Crowley sounded like he had just woken up, and the gravel in his voice was doing things to Aziraphale. “Good morning, my dear. How are you today?”
“Mpfmstf,” Crowley groaned, sounding like he was rubbing his face on something. “Jusss’ wakin’ up.”
“Oh!” Aziraphale smiled to himself. Even though he was smarter than this, he knew he should guard his heart, he was so completely smitten. “I am sorry to wake you. Having a bit of a lie-in, are you?”
“Lie-in?” Crowley mumbled. “It’s ten in the morning.”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly,” Crowley agreed.
An awkward pause followed. It wasn’t long enough to be considered a silence, but something felt precarious before Aziraphale continued, “So, um, I wanted to thank you for last night. I really had a wonderful time.”
There was no delay this time. “I did too, angel.” Crowley said right away, and Aziraphale swore he could hear the rakish smile in the other man’s voice.
“If you would like to do it again, I can make reservations for dinner somewhere nice next Saturday.”
“That would be great.”
“Any preference?”
After hearing Crowley choking on the other side of the line, Aziraphale realized his error. “Regarding where you would like to eat dinner,” he clarified, aware of—but not regretting—his haughty tone.
“Nah, I’ll eat anything. Pick whatever you like.”
“That’s good to know, my dear,” Aziraphale said, wondering just what anything meant. “I will text the details after I make reservations.”
“Thanks, angel. I’m looking forward to it.”
Saturday afternoon before his date, Crowley stood in his closet, trying to figure out what to wear when his phone rang. Happy to be distracted for a few minutes from the task at hand, he answered the phone, “Hey, arsehole.”
Eric laughed on the other end of the line. “There’s the Crowley I know and love,” he greeted him. “What are you up to?”
Crowley texted back and forth with Eric earlier in the week, but he hadn’t told him about Aziraphale yet. He knew Eric was going to ask questions about how they met, and there was the fact that Eric knew Aziraphale, but Crowley had no idea how well. If they were friendly, Crowley surely would have heard about it by now, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t have a professional rapport. However, he did want to talk to his friend about this date tonight.
“I, um,” he started, walking out of the closet and staring at the ceiling as he flopped on the bed. “I kind of have a date tonight. Trying to figure out what to wear.”
“A date!” Eric said with a gasp. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
“I met him a couple weeks ago at a car wash for school,” Crowley said, being careful not to give too many details. “We exchanged numbers and chatted a bit. Last weekend we had a few drinks together—”
“A few drinks? Is that Gen X code for sex?” Eric interrupted.
“Shuddup,” Crowley said. “Nothing happened—” This time he interrupted himself. He continued, “Well…”
Eric had zero patience for Crowley’s modesty. “Well, what? Did you two fuck or not?”
Crowley cackled. He always appreciated Eric’s boldness. “We didn’t fuck,” he said. “We were both fairly wasted and respected that hooking up in that state wasn’t a good idea. So we went to our respective homes, and there may have been some suggestive pictures exchanged.”
“Ohhhh, Uncle Crowley has learned how to sext. I’m so proud of you. Welcome to the twenty-first century.”
“Glad to provide you with such amusement on this Saturday afternoon,” Crowley said with a roll of his eyes.
“Tell me about him,” Eric said without a hint of teasing remaining in his voice. “What’s he like?”
Crowley took a deep breath as he considered how to describe Aziraphale to someone who didn’t know him. Or who might know him. He still wasn’t sure. “Mate, this guy is unreal,” he started. “He’s easy to talk to. We spent hours at the pub last week talking about nothing. On the surface, it seems like we would have nothing in common. He’s all prim and proper. Buttoned up, you know? But he’s a right bastard. We were flirting over text, and out of the blue he sent this dick pic—”
“Oh?” Eric said. Crowley had clearly piqued his interest. “Tell me more.”
“Let’s just say that it was a very nice picture, and I very much hope to have the opportunity to see it in person. Tonight, if I’m lucky.” In an effort to avoid any more questions about Aziraphale’s dick, Crowley changed the subject, “What about you? What are you up to?”
He heard shuffling on the other end of the line. “Nothing,” Eric said, “Just working. I have a couple more appointments before I am done for the day. Was calling to see if you wanted to grab a drink tonight, but it sounds like you’re busy. Hopefully, very busy,” he added with a hearty dose of cheek.
“Sorry, man, not tonight. What about tomorrow?”
“I have to work, but should be a slower day, just one appointment after noon. Why don’t you come by the shop, and we can hang out while I work on the car? You can tell me all about your date.”
“Yeah, that works,” Crowley said, pushing himself off the bed and ambling back toward the closet. “I’ll text when I’m on the way over.”
The bell over the front door jingled as Aziraphale worked on a new display at the front of the shop. He looked over his shoulder and saw Tracy, her red hair clashing with her pink and white patterned coat, arriving for her shift.
“Hello, Tracy,” he said, standing up from a crouching position. “How are you today?”
“Good. How’re you?” his friend asked, walking over to put her large bag behind the till. “What’re you up to?
“Well,” Aziraphale said, “I had the idea to create a display at the front of the shop to spotlight LGBTQ+ authors and stories, especially ones that will appeal to young people, so I’m working on that. I hope to finish before my date tonight.”
“Oh, yes, your date,” Tracy said, a wicked smile across her face. “How’re you feeling about that?”
Aziraphale smoothed the front of his velvet waistcoat, enjoying the feel of the nap against his palms. He was excited, but nervous about seeing Crowley. Certain expectations had been established. Aziraphale was very attracted to Crowley, but he hadn’t been with someone new for a very long time, not since Gabriel. The idea of starting from scratch learning someone else’s body and likes and dislikes was thrilling, but daunting. Even after their scorching hot text conversation last week, he worried they wouldn’t be compatible.
If there was anyone he could talk to about this, it was Tracy. He didn’t know exactly what she had gotten up to in the past, but she had alluded to being a sex worker in her younger days, and she was the most sex-positive person he knew.
He started by saying, “I’m looking forward to it. Crowley really is rather lovely.”
“Yeah?” Tracy asked, encouraging him to continue.
Fortunately, the shop was empty except for the two of them, so he took a deep breath and said, “I’m nervous. We have gotten along very well so far, but there are… expectations for the date tonight, and I haven’t been with anyone new since Gabriel…”
“Az, love,” Tracy said, “You know you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. If he’s pressuring you—”
“He’s not! It’s not like that. We, um, we exchanged some text messages after the last time we went out. They may have gotten a bit racy, and I may have initiated it,” he said, wrinkling his nose.
Tracy cackled. “Good for you, boss. Do you wanna have sex with him tonight?”
“Well, yes, I do. I would like that very much. I’m just nervous,” he said, directing his attention back to the display as they chatted.
“Do you trust him?” Tracy asked as she took several books out of a box and arranged them on the shelf.
Aziraphale pondered this question. Crowley was engaging and a good listener. He made his attraction to Aziraphale perfectly clear. Crowley told him over text that he wanted something deeper between the two of them. He truly believed they were on the same page. “I don’t know him very well, but yes, I think I do.”
“Wonderful. Enjoy your date then. Let yourself feel whatever you’re feeling. If anything becomes overwhelming and you want to stop, say so. If he gives you shit, he's not worth your time.”
“Thank you, Tracy. I know all of this, obviously, but it’s still nice to hear,” he said as he shelved copies of Imogen, Obviously next to Cemetary Boys, desperately hoping that everything went well and that he and Crowley would end up having a nice night together. Very together.
She walked over and rubbed his shoulder. “I hope you have a great time. Remember that you are smart and handsome, and he is lucky to be there with you.”
“Thank you, dear.”
“Anytime. You’ll have to tell me all about it next week,” she said, and Aziraphale absolutely would not be doing that.
They worked side-by-side in silence for several minutes before Tracy asked, “You got condoms?”
“What?” Aziraphale asked, shocked by Tracy’s frankness, even though he knew better than to be. She just looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, I do,” he continued, “but they are quite old. Pre-Gabriel, if you can believe it. I should probably get some new ones.”
“Yes,” Tracy said, “definitely throw those away and get a fresh box. If you don’t end up needing ’em we can hand 'em out at one of those events you were talking about.”
“Oh, I do believe I’ll find a use for them,” he said with a wink.
Crowley examined his reflection in the full-length mirror. Due to the chillier spring evening, he finally decided on a blazer over a lightweight wool turtleneck and slim-fit trousers, all black of course. The turtleneck hugged his frame nicely, and, twisting around to check out the rear view, he was pleased to see that the cut of the trousers accentuated his arse. Despite being more long lines and sharp angles than curves, he considered his pert backside one of his better assets. He hoped Aziraphale would agree.
Still, he felt like the outfit needed something to zhuzh it up a bit. The look he was going for was fashionable, not dour. Digging in the depths of his closet, he found a weird silvery scarf-necktie hybrid that Anathema gifted him several years ago. He had never worn it because he didn’t quite understand it, but he liked the look when he threw it on over his turtleneck.
He hummed as he examined himself in the mirror. Something was still missing. He slipped off his blazer and buttoned his favorite black leather waistcoat over the turtleneck and added a belt with a snakehead buckle.
As he looked in the mirror, he thought about all of the layers he was wearing and what he hoped would happen later that evening. Considering all of the layers Aziraphale wore last time they were together, they might have to put considerable effort into unwrapping each other. He groaned and shifted himself in his pants at the thought.
After one last look confirming his satisfaction with the ensemble, he popped back into the bathroom to fix his hair where it got messed up from pulling on the turtleneck and to dab some cologne on his neck. As he did so, he imagined Aziraphale nosing into his neck, kissing him and sucking bruises there. He involuntarily pressed his hips into the bathroom vanity, his breath growing shallow.
“Get it together,” he said out loud to his reflection. Checking the time, he wondered how long they would linger over dinner. He was really, really looking forward to getting naked with Aziraphale.
Needing the opportunity to cool down, he decided to walk to the restaurant rather than drive and have to figure out where to park the Bentley, hopefully overnight. Aziraphale picked an Italian restaurant around the corner from his flat, and during their text exchange, mentioned that he might enjoy it if Crowley walked him home.
Oh, he hoped they would do much more than just walking.
During the stroll, he cursed his decision when it turned out to be a blustery evening. He hoped that when he got to the restaurant his hair looked artfully windblown rather than messy. Maybe he would arrive before Aziraphale and could do a quick mirror-check in the loo while he waited.
He wasn’t so lucky. As he turned the corner, he immediately saw Aziraphale approaching from the other direction. But any concern about his hair dissipated when Aziraphale lit up the dreary evening with a radiant smile.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed as he approached with a spring in his step that Crowley swore wasn’t there a moment earlier. “It’s so very nice to see you. You look very handsome this evening.” He looked at Crowley like he wanted to eat him with a spoon, hopefully with a lot of licking involved. He really hoped this meal was a quick one, so that he could be dessert. To say he was eager to move on to their post-dinner activities was a massive understatement.
“Ngk,” Crowley sputtered. He regularly commanded a classroom full of unruly teenagers. How was this man able to completely unravel him? “Thanks,” he said, managing to get out an actual word, “You— You do too.”
He let his eyes drift over the other man’s body. Aziraphale was wearing a baby blue oxford shirt with a tan sweater vest and a tartan bow tie similar to the one he wore on their last date topped with a tweed jacket with patches on the elbows. Tan corduroy trousers completed the look. Crowley’s mouth watered, and his fingers twitched, itching to reach out and touch. Aziraphale looked so… professorial, so English, so adorable, and so grabbable.
Crowley bent down to place a quick kiss on Aziraphale's smooth cheek, breathing in his scent of tea and fresh linen with a note of old paper underneath. Aziraphale’s cheek was warm, and Crowley lingered for a moment after finding himself unable to pull away immediately.
“Hmm,” Aziraphale hummed in his ear. Squeezing Crowley’s hand before lacing their fingers together, he leaned back slightly. “Shall we?” he asked. “They are expecting us.”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Crowley said, allowing Aziraphale to lead him through the restaurant’s front door.
Crowley couldn’t think straight as they checked in with the host and walked to their table; his focus narrowed to where Aziraphale’s soft, warm hand clasped around his, the grip firm and sure without being overwhelming.
When they arrived at their table, he regained his senses enough to withdraw his hand from Aziraphale’s grasp and pull out his chair for him. Aziraphale sat with a little wiggle of his shoulders and picked up his menu as Crowley slouched into the chair opposite him. Noticing the dimly lit dining room and the way the flames from the votive on their table danced across the angel’s face, he removed his sunglasses and tucked them in his jacket’s interior pocket.
Eyes exposed, he briefly regretted taking off his glasses when he was hit with the full-force of Aziraphale’s blinding smile. But he looked at his eyes—somehow neither blue, gray, nor green, but all three at once—and decided being able to see their true color was worth baring his eyes.
Crowley became aware that he was staring dumbly at the other man when Aziraphale asked, “So, what are you in the mood for tonight, my dear?” the words’ double meaning making Crowley sit a little straighter.
He stretched his neck and squirmed in his seat before responding. “I don’t believe what I am in the mood for is on the menu,” he said, gesturing to his menu lying untouched on the table.
“Maybe not here,” Aziraphale said with a lift of his eyebrow, “but possibly for dessert?”
“D’you have a sweet tooth, angel?” Crowley flirted, feeling more confident now that he had confirmation they were on the same page.
“I think you will find that I do.” Aziraphale kept his eyes locked on his menu as he spoke. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Dinner first.”
Crowley deferred to Aziraphale on the wine, which ended up being a delicious Zinfandel from the Russian River Valley. He picked something at random from the menu when it was time to order food, unable to concentrate on the menu long enough to actually read it.
After they placed their orders, Aziraphale folded his hands together on the table and said, “I wonder if you may be able to assist me with something at the shop, but if you can’t or aren’t interested, please don’t think I will hold it against you.”
Crowley flashed his best cheeky grin. “I hope you’ll hold something against me.”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes but smiled as he continued, “I would like to host more community events at the shop for LGBTQ+ folks, especially young people. I want them to see the bookshop as a safe space for them in the neighborhood. I wonder if you know anyone at the local university—perhaps your former students—who may be interested in participating and bringing friends.”
Intrigued by the idea, Crowley asked, “What kind of events, angel?”
“Oh, you know… poetry nights and book clubs,” he explained with a flourish of his hands. “Things like that. Perhaps, I’ll try to get some local authors in to do book signings or speak about the writing process.”
“Sounds interesting. I don’t have anyone in mind right off the bat, but I am happy to ask Ana. She stays in touch with the students more than I do.”
Aziraphale gave him a warm smile. “I would appreciate it. Thank you very much.”
Before long, the server delivered their meal, putting a mushroom risotto in front of Crowley and some sort of pasta dish for Aziraphale. Crowley poked at his food, regretting not paying closer attention to what he ordered. Aziraphale, on the other hand, appeared to be in heaven. He took small, intentional bites of his meal, slowly savoring each one, occasionally making sounds of satisfaction as he ate.
If you asked Crowley later what happened next or what they talked about during the meal, he couldn’t have told you. The whole thing was an out of body experience, Crowley looking down at himself from above, trying not to come in his pants as Aziraphale moaned over his… whatever it was that he ate.
Before he knew it, Aziraphale paid the bill and locked his gaze on Crowley and asked, “My dear, will you walk me back to mine?”
Crowley swallowed thickly as his heart beat pounded in his ears. “Ye— Yeah. I’d like that. Ssssure,” he stammered.
Fuck. The more inarticulate he was, the brighter Aziraphale glowed. Aziraphale took the napkin from his lap, folded it on the table and said, “Are you ready?”
Crowley had been ready for this since the moment he saw the picture of Aziraphale’s cock—okay, he’d actually been ready since Aziraphale first stepped out of that ridiculous car at the car wash and looked him up and down—so he didn’t hesitate to slide back his chair, push himself up from the chair hips-first, and say, “Yep. Lessgo, angel.”
As they left the restaurant, the cool spring air broke Crowley’s trance as it filled his lungs. He reached for Aziraphale’s hand and—when it clasped around his own—wondered how he was so warm all the time. Wanting to soak up that warmth, he walked closer to Aziraphale until their shoulders were practically pressed together as they made their way to the bookshop.
Remembering his manners, he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand and said, “Thank you for dinner. It was…” he paused as he pondered the appropriate word to describe the evening, and finally decided on, “pleasant.”
He kicked himself as soon as the word passed his lips, but when he looked over at Aziraphale, the man had a content smile on his face and his cheeks were apple-red. Crowley didn’t know if it was from the compliment, the wine, the cold wind, or a combination of the three. Whatever it was, Crowley wanted to bite them.
Aziraphale lifted their joined hands, pressing a kiss to the back of Crowley’s. “Of course, dear. I hope to do it again.”
Crowley felt the ghost of Aziraphale’s lips on his hand for the remainder of the short walk, which passed in silence, Crowley having lost capacity for speech and Aziraphale seeming content to let the sounds of the city fill the night.
When Crowley looked up and saw A.Z. FELL AND Co. lettered over the door of the bookshop, Aziraphale kept walking, leading him past the front door and around the corner to a rickety metal staircase. As Aziraphale climbed the stairs in front of him, Crowley watched that delectable arse ascend and counted the steps until he could get his hands on it. Finally, they reached the landing, and Crowley exhaled a long, slow breath across his lips as Aziraphale unlocked the door.
The door opened with a creak, and Aziraphale turned to Crowley, his eyes darker than Crowley had ever seen them. “After you,” he said as held out his hand.
Crowley crossed the threshold, and every one of his nerve endings crackled with desire. He was so turned on he could feel it in his hair follicles. After Aziraphale locked the door—but before he had the chance to turn all the way around—Crowley’s fists closed around the lapels of his tweed jacket and pushed him back against the door with a force that surprised them both.
Stunned, Aziraphale’s wide eyes locked on his, lingering there for a moment before dropping to his lips. Crowley groaned and pulled him closer until their mouths crashed together, allowing his hands to relax only after Aziraphale kissed him back.
Dizzy with desire, Crowley wrapped his hands around Aziraphale’s biceps to steady himself and hold Aziraphale in place. Aziraphale responded by tightly grabbing Crowley’s hips, each strong finger a point of contact that kept Crowley’s hips pressed flush against his.
“Yes, angel,” Crowley growled, his voice already rough. He remembered the vision of Aziraphale walking up the stairs and let his hands wander lower until they were filled with Aziraphale’s arse. Crowley’s fingers sank into Aziraphale’s softness, underneath which was a strength, a sturdiness.
When they kissed for the first time, it felt like a gift Aziraphale was giving him. This time was different, possessive and full of need. Aziraphale dove in deep with his tongue, trying to take, and Crowley was perfectly happy to give him whatever he wanted.
Aziraphale’s head hit the door with a clunk as Crowley nosed his chin and placed a series of biting kisses on his neck. “Darling,” Aziraphale breathed as he shoved a wide thigh between Crowley’s legs.
“You— Fffuck, angel,” he momentarily lost his train of thought when Aziraphale pressed his thigh more insistently against the bulge in Crowley’s trousers, sending a jolt of pleasure up his spine. “Y— You’re ssso fucking gorgeous. I, ah, was gone on you the minute you—fuck—stepped out of that ridiculous car.”
“Oh, Crowley.” The way Aziraphale said his name—full of desire and longing and… other things that Crowley didn’t have any experience with—made him literally weak in the knees. If not for Aziraphale’s firm grip on his hips and the leg between his thighs, he would have been a puddle on the floor.
“Crowley,” he said, more firmly this time.
Crowley pulled back slightly, putting the scantest bit of space between the two of them. “Wot issit, angel?” he asked, not releasing his hold on that beautiful arse.
“Shall we move to the bedroom?”
Notes:
I wanted to send an extra special shout-out to my beta and friend ModernDayKlutz! Klutzy posted her first AU this week that everyone should check out.
Chapter 4
Summary:
Our characters pick up where they left off at the end of the last chapter.
Notes:
Thank you for your patience with the cliffhanger last week. I won't say that I loved seeing all the yelling about it, but I also won't say I didn't.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Yes,” Crowley declared, amber eyes blazing with desire, “Bedroom. Now.”
“Then you’ll have to give me some space, dear,” Aziraphale chuckled, amused by the fact that Crowley still had him pinned to the door despite his enthusiasm to relocate.
“Oh,” Crowley said before stepping back. “Okay.”
Aziraphale pushed Crowley’s jacket off his shoulders and hung it on the coat rack next to the door. As they both worked off their shoes, Aziraphale watched Crowley look around, taking in the ancient kitchen they stood in.
“You own anything from this century, angel?” he asked with a teasing grin on his face. He really was unfairly gorgeous.
Aziraphale rolled his eyes playfully. “Of course I do. Would you like anything before…?” he asked, eyes flitting toward the hall that led to the bedroom.
Crowley shook his head as he stepped closer. “Nope. I’m eager to get back to what we were doing, Aziraphale,” he said, his voice cracking.
Aziraphale smiled, surprised by his own lack of nerves. Crowley clearly wanted this. Wanted him. There wasn’t anything left to do but give it to him. “Well, let’s go then,” he said, turning and walking down the hall.
He listened to Crowley padding after him, hearing a scoff once they crossed into the bedroom.
“Everything alright, my dear?” Aziraphale asked.
“You have a tartan duvet,” Crowley said, lips twisted in a sneer as he looked at Aziraphale’s bed.
“Is that going to be a problem for you?” he asked, loosening his bowtie, slipping it out of his collar, and laying it on the dresser with the care that the strip of fabric deserved. He removed his blazer and hung it in his antique burr walnut wardrobe. When Crowley still hadn’t answered him, he turned back to face him as he undid the button at his throat. “Hmm?”
Crowley stared at him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “N— Notaproblematall,” he said, taking a clumsy step toward Aziraphale.
“Wonderful,” Aziraphale responded as he unbuttoned the next button on his shirt. Taking pity on Crowley—and flattered by his obvious level of arousal—Aziraphale closed the distance between them. He grabbed Crowley's thin scarf by its tasseled ends, lifted it over his head, and laid it next to his bowtie. Next, he turned his attention to Crowley’s waistcoat buttons. “Let’s get you out of this. No outside clothes on my tartan duvet,” he said with an air of snobbishness that he usually tried to keep in check.
“Nng,” was all Crowley could get out before Aziraphale kissed him, gently this time, pressing their lips together as he unbuttoned the waistcoat and slipped it off Crowley’s shoulders. He tossed it to a chair in the corner of the room, where it promptly slid to the floor. When he turned to pick it up, Crowley's fingers tightened around him as he grumbled, “Leave it.”
Tenderly lifting Aziraphale’s hand to his mouth, Crowley kissed the inside, where his palm met his wrist, and unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt. Then he repeated the series of actions on the other side, before pulling Aziraphale close. Aziraphale shivered as Crowley slid his hands up his back—under his sweater vest, shirt, and undershirt—and lightly scratched his bare skin with blunt fingernails.
Clinging to Aziraphale, Crowley kissed him hard, exploring his mouth with his tongue as he ran his hands up and down Aziraphale’s back. Aziraphale kissed a fair number of people in the past, but he had never been kissed the way that Crowley was kissing him. When he and Gabriel kissed it was perfunctory, a box they needed to check off before heading to the next step. Crowley kissed him like he was trying to tell him something. To show him how he felt about him.
Then, suddenly, Crowley broke the kiss and awkwardly worked the vest, shirt, and undershirt over Aziraphale’s head all at once and flung the bundle of clothing at the chair.
Aziraphale giggled at how ridiculous Crowley was acting as he ran a hand through his unruly curls, staticky after the clothing was dragged over them. “Eager, are we?”
“Yesss,” Crowley said, undoing the snakehead buckle on his belt. “’ve been eager for— for you t’ fuck me ever since you sent that bloody picture.” He chucked the belt in the general direction of the chair and pulled Aziraphale back into his arms, pressing the soft wool of his turtleneck to Aziraphale’s bare chest, the feel of the cashmere against his nipples making Aziraphale keen.
As nice as it felt, Aziraphale was just as ready to move things along, so he helped Crowley out of his turtleneck and dropped it on the floor. Their trousers and socks joined the pile of discarded clothing soon after.
Now down to their boxers, keeping their hands and mouths off of each other was impossible. While they kissed, Aziraphale guided Crowley backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed. He pulled away to fold down the duvet before patting the sheets twice and saying, “Come on, up with you.”
Crowley obeyed, scrambling up the bed and lying back on a pillow, his ginger hair a marked contrast against the cream sheets. Aziraphale followed, kneeling beside him on the bed and, for the first time, taking the time to behold Crowley’s body laid out before him. His lips were red and swollen and he was flushed down to the constellations of freckles scattered across his chest. On his back like this, his stomach was concave and heaving with each breath Crowley took. His erection obscenely tented his silky black boxer shorts.
“You’re so beautiful,” Aziraphale said as he ran his right hand up Crowley’s long leg until it landed up his hip, his left hand following on the other side. As he pulled down Crowley’s boxers, Aziraphale watched the motion as his erection sprung free. Without looking away, he threw the boxers over his shoulder and onto the floor.
“Angel,” Crowley reached out to touch Aziraphale’s knee as he whined, completely nude on the sheets, cock red and leaking precome on his belly, pupils blown wide with desire. There wasn’t an inch of skin on this man that Aziraphale didn’t want to touch, kiss, map with his tongue. He ached to learn everything about Crowley, where and how he liked to be touched, the sounds he made when he touched him just right, and how he felt when their bodies joined.
He slipped off his own boxers, all of their clothing finally discarded, and settled on his side next to Crowley. “I—,” Aziraphale started, not sure exactly what he intended to say. He ran his hands through russet chest hair and traced a nipple with his fingertip.
As it pebbled, Crowley drew in a breath and turned to Aziraphale, his gaze locked on his cock. “C– Can I?” he sputtered. “You— It’s— Angel, your fucking cock is amazing.”
“Darling, you can do whatever you want.” He smirked before continuing, “I do hope it is a fucking cock tonight.”
“Yesss,” Crowley said, drawing himself up onto his knees, and Aziraphale settled back, propped up on the pillows. As he looked up, Crowley climbed on top of him, pressing that long, lean body against his. Instinctively, Aziraphale’s hips bucked, seeking friction for his cock, which had been rock hard since Crowley pressed him against the door of the flat and was very eager to get involved with their activities.
Crowley flexed his hips against him, mimicking the movement before sliding down, kissing his way down Aziraphale’s chest, flicking his nipples with his tongue, biting the swell of his belly just hard enough to make Aziraphale cry out, “Fiend!”
Crowley winked and pushed Aziraphale’s legs apart, settling between them. He bent down to kiss the red mark on Aziraphale’s belly, pressing against Aziraphale’s cock with his chest as he did so. The contact, the warmth of Crowley’s skin against his, was exquisite. He could feel himself leaving a wet trail in those luscious red chest hairs as Crowley worked his way lower, kissing his hip and cupping his bollocks into his palm.
“Hnng,” Aziraphale moaned as Crowley gently rolled his bollocks in his hand, his throbbing cock aching to be touched.
Crowley looked up at him through his eyelashes and said, “Wish you could see how sexy you are like this,” and without waiting for a response, he bent over and took Aziraphale’s cock into his mouth.
The sudden contact and the wet slide of Crowley’s tongue along his frenulum made Aziraphale pulse into his mouth, and Crowley’s eyes rolled back into his head as he sucked hard on the crown. Aziraphale briefly squeezed his eyes shut before opening them to see Crowley’s red lips stretched around him. It was too much. He had not been touched by another person in over two years, had not had sex this tantalizing in much longer, if ever.
“Crow— Crowley, stop,” he called out as Crowley began to lick up and down his shaft.
Crowley immediately sat up, eyes wide with concern, but he continued lightly pumping Aziraphale in his fist, those long, graceful fingers moving up and down his length. “Wot issit, angel?” he slurred.
Grabbing the base of his cock to steady himself, Aziraphale decided that was enough foreplay. “I’m— It’s too good. If you want me to fuck you, I suggest we move on to that sooner than later, or I may be out of the game for a bit.”
Crowley grinned like the cat that caught the canary and patted Aziraphale’s thigh. “Sounds good to me. How d’you want me?”
Aziraphale sucked air in through his teeth as he sat up on his knees to face Crowley, pressing his fist into the mattress to steady himself, the other hand reaching out for Crowley. He couldn’t believe he had the opportunity to make lo— um, fuck this gorgeous man.
“Oh, my dear, whatever works best for you.”
They moved in tandem, mouths finding each other, Aziraphale digging strong fingers in the meat of Crowley’s arse, pressing their bodies together so Crowley could rut against his belly, Crowley’s hands buried in Aziraphale’s hair. After several minutes, Aziraphale’s hand found its way between their bodies and circled Crowley’s cock.
Crowley threw his head back with a grunt and bit his lower lip. “Angel,” he said, grabbing Aziraphale's forearm and pushing him back on the pillows. “Let me ride you, angel.”
A bolt of arousal cracked through his body, his heart pounding in his ears. “Yes,” he said. “Do you need—?”
“Just lube and a condom. ‘f you let me take my time, I should be good.” Crowley kneeled, straddling Aziraphale’s hips, their hands finding each other’s bodies, wanting, needing to touch, and trying to touch everything all at once.
“Top drawer,” Aziraphale said, nodding toward the bedside table. As Crowley leaned to reach for it, Aziraphale appreciated the long line of his neck and the skin stretched taut over his ribs.
After tossing the bottle of lube on the bed, Crowley ripped open a condom, the wrapper joining their clothes on the bedroom floor. Aziraphale let out a groan at the contact when Crowley took him in hand.
As he rolled the condom on Aziraphale, Crowley gushed nervously, “I don’t think I’ve ever been with anyone who has a cock this big. This long, perhaps. This thick, maybe. But you’ve got both the length and girth. Fuck, it’s so perfect.”
Aziraphale felt his cheeks warm, not sure how to respond to the praise. It’s not like having a large penis was the result of any action on his part. He settled for a, “Um, thank you.”
“Fuck, you’re cute,” Crowley said, as he squirted a generous amount of lube on his hand. He leaned over and his soft lips met Aziraphale’s as he wrapped his hand around Aziraphale’s shaft, making sure it was well-lubed. Breaking the kiss, he sank back on his arse next to Aziraphale and spread his legs. He held his bollocks to the side with one hand as he rubbed his rim with a lubed finger. Aziraphale watched as Crowley sucked in a breath when his finger dipped shallowly inside his body.
Aziraphale was entranced watching Crowley finger himself. Moving on autopilot, he reached out and circled Crowley’s hole alongside the finger Crowley had inside of himself. Crowley hissed, “Ssshit, angel,” at the touch.
Finally, Crowley pulled his finger out, wiped the excess lube on his hip, and threw his leg over Aziraphale, kneeling over him. Aziraphale held his cock steady as Crowley’s brow wrinkled in concentration and he started to lower himself.
“Wait a moment.” Aziraphale wanted him to relax a bit, so he pulled him into a kiss, at the same time circling his hole with the head of his cock, teasing. “Relax,” he whispered.
“Ung.” Crowley’s face went slack when the condom made contact with his skin, the wrinkles in his forehead smoothing.
As he watched the tension leave Crowley’s body, Aziraphale decided he couldn’t wait any longer. “Alright, my dear,” he said. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Crowley opened his eyes, the look of bliss on his beautiful face transforming into a smirk. “I told you I’ve been ready ever since I saw a picture of this monster,” he said, wiggling against Aziraphale’s cock.
“Well then, get on with it already.” Aziraphale pressed a little firmer against Crowley, careful not to breach him. He wanted him to have control of when that happened.
Crowley laughed and lowered himself slowly, Aziraphale holding his breath until he felt the pop of the flared head slipping past Crowley’s rim. At that, the pressure of Crowley clenching around him drew a loud moan from Aziraphale’s diaphragm.
“That good?” Crowley huffed, his teeth gritted together as he continued his descent, stopping after a couple inches to allow himself to adjust before continuing.
“Exquisite, dear.” The urge to thrust up into that tight heat and take was all-encompassing. Aziraphale bit his lip and fisted his one hand in the sheets while the other held Crowley’s thigh in a bruising grip as Crowley, slowly, incrementally, lowered himself on his cock.
Aziraphale was mesmerized, watching himself disappear into Crowley’s body. Crowley’s thighs shook with the effort of holding back, and his golden eyes locked on Aziraphale. Aziraphale brushed Crowley’s fringe from where it had fallen over his eyes, his hair products not strong enough to withstand the activities of the evening.
When Crowley had taken him almost all the way, he lowered himself the last couple inches at once, a breathy “angel” punched from his lungs as he reached the base. His walls twitched and rippled around Aziraphale, and he felt a trickle of sweat fall down his brow, overwhelmed at the feeling of being enveloped and at the effort of holding back.
“Oh, fuck, angel. You fffeel— You feel so good. I’m ssssso… full. I can feel you in my fucking throat.” Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hands and placed them on his hips and bent forward, leaning his palms on Aziraphale’s broad chest. He threw his head back, exposing the long column of his throat, and his body writhed as it adjusted to the stretch.
“Take your time, my dear. You’re doing so well. You’re so perfect like this,” Aziraphale panted, trying to sound more put together than he felt as he admired the sight of this gorgeous man on top of him. Crowley took a deep breath, and Aziraphale could feel even the slightest motion of the inhale in his cock. He felt completely attuned to Crowley’s body.
Then, Crowley started to move. Aziraphale should have known what to expect. He wasn’t exactly new to this, even though it had been some time. But Crowley’s tight grip gliding up and down his cock obliterated his capacity for rational thought. As Crowley lifted himself up before settling back down, Aziraphale ran a hand up his back until it was cradling the nape of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss, pinning Crowley’s leaking erection between their bodies. He experimentally thrusted upward, meeting Crowley halfway.
Something unlocked in Crowley at the movement. “Yes, that,” he rasped against Aziraphale’s lips. “More.”
“Gladly,” Aziraphale said. It was a command easily obeyed by Aziraphale, whose body had been crying out for more since he first laid eyes on Crowley.
As they moved together, Aziraphale watched in awe as Crowley’s lean muscles ripple beneath pale skin. Lord, he looked so beautiful like this. “Crowley,” he said, “You are so stunning. You are so good for me.”
Crowley whimpered in response as he pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale kissed him deeply as one hand found Crowley’s hip and the other buried in crimson locks, their pace quickening as their grunts and moans filled the air of the small, dark bedroom.
The pressure inside Aziraphale’s body was building, an end in sight. Just before he gave himself over to it, Crowley pushed himself up and grabbed the headboard with both hands, driving himself downward with additional force.
“Holy fuck, angel,” Crowley said as Aziraphale wrapped a hand around his cock, thumbing over the head. He twisted his shoulders and arched his back, and, in the most beautiful display Aziraphale ever witnessed, Crowley's face tensed before he cried out, “Uhhhhh,” and it relaxed in complete ecstasy.
Distracted from his pleasure for a moment by the sight before him, the warm stripes hitting his chest brought him back into himself. Crowley clenched him, pulsing around him, and Aziraphale was helpless to hold back any longer. He exploded like a flash-bomb, his vision whiting out, his hearing turning to static as he clung to Crowley, some distant part of him aware of the strength with which he clutched his hips.
His arms fell heavy to the mattress, and Crowley collapsed on top of him. Uncoordinated, he lifted an arm and gingerly settled it on his lower back.
Aziraphale had a professional massage once, a gift from Gabriel. For a few brief moments afterwards—before he picked up the phone and saw the slew of text messages from Gabriel asking when he was going to be home, despite knowing exactly where he was—he felt more relaxed than he ever thought possible, like a wrung-out dish rag drying in the sun on the perfect spring day.
That feeling was nothing compared with the sheer bliss that he felt right now, perfectly satisfied in every possible way.
Unfortunately, the feeling didn’t last forever. He eventually became aware of how sticky and sweaty he was, and he was softening inside Crowley, so he would have to deal with the condom soon. But, Crowley was humming quietly, a song Aziraphale didn’t recognize, and tracing whirls on his shoulder with a gentle fingertip.
He turned his head to the side and kissed the coiled snake tattoo by Crowley’s ear, the only part of him he could reach without disturbing their positions. “You alright, darling?”
“Hmm?” Crowley lifted his head slightly. “Yeah, great,” he muttered before letting it fall back down. “Whaddabout you?” The question was muffled, as Crowley was face-down on the pillow.
“I am wonderful,” he said. “But I’ll need to get up to dispose of the condom.”
Crowley released a complicated combination of consonants in protest, but he allowed Aziraphale to roll onto his side, easing Crowley off of him as he held the base of the condom and slipped out of Crowley’s body.
“Gnk. Don’t like that. Feel empty.” Crowley flung himself on his back, his lips pursed in an adorable pout.
“I’m sorry, my dear.” With a fond smile, he leaned in and kissed the tip of Crowley’s nose, the other man going cross-eyed watching him. “But needs must.”
After they cleaned up, it was still fairly early in the night, so they decided to open a bottle of wine. As they walked to the kitchen, Aziraphale wearing tartan pajamas and Crowley in Aziraphale’s white fluffy robe, Aziraphale’s face lit up when he remembered the special purchase he made earlier in the day.
“Crowley,” he said, shaking his fists in excitement, “I picked up a special dessert earlier today. Would you like a piece of angel cake?”
“British angel cake or that blasted American abomination?” Crowley asked with a raised eyebrow.
Aziraphale leveled him with a glare. “What do you think, my dear boy?” His accent sounded more pronounced than ever. “I have standards.”
“I’m not much for sweets. Can I just have a bite or two of yours?”
“Of course.”
Crowley—after being directed to the corkscrew—opened the bottle while Aziraphale cut a generous slice of cake. He was willing to share with Crowley, but he wanted to be sure he would have more than half a slice for himself.
Provisions procured, they settled on the sofa, Aziraphale sitting up straight and Crowley lounging with his legs in Aziraphale’s lap, plate of cake balanced on his shins. Aziraphale, mind still clear from an earth-shattering orgasm, couldn’t remember the last time he felt so comfortable in another person’s presence. Not even Muriel’s, and they were his best friend.
When he typically had guests, even people he was fond of, he tended to look forward to when they left and he had his space to himself again. He was an introvert at heart. But as the night drew to a close, he found himself not wanting to say goodbye to Crowley.
Crowley looked around the room, clearly examining the bookshelves lining the walls. “So… d’you have any hobbies besides books, angel? If you’ve actually read half of these, I don’t know how you’d have time for anything else.”
Aziraphale waggled his eyebrows as he put down the plate. “Well,” he said, “You’re correct. I do spend most of my time reading and repairing books. But I do love a nice walk in the park to feed the ducks…”
Crowley hummed in acknowledgement as he took a sip of his wine.
“And,” Aziraphale paused dramatically, excited to share something new about himself with Crowley, “I dabble in the art of prestidigitation.”
“Presdigi-wot?”
“Magic! Especially sleight of hand. Here, let me show you.” He maintained eye contact as he surreptitiously picked up a quarter from a small bowl on the side table and hid it between his fingers.
“No, no, no. Please no, No.” As Crowley protested, he threw his head back as if he was calling on the heavens to intercede on his behalf.
Aziraphale would not be deterred. “I just need to get back into practice,” he said, wiggling his fingers to limber them up.
“Oh no, no. Not a magic act,” the other man whined.
He made a show of closing this fist around the quarter, then blowing on his fist and opening it one finger at a time. As he did this, the quarter dropped into his lap.
“Please. Please!” Crowley whined, “I’m actually begging you. You have no idea how demeaning that is. Please.”
After he picked up the coin, he reached for Crowley’s ear and made a whooshing sound. He pretended to pull the coin out of his ear. Then he held it up and smiled with pride.
Crowley didn’t seem impressed. “It was in your finger.”
“No, it was in your ear.”
Crowley shook his head and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “It was in your hand.”
“It was close to your ear,” Aziraphale admitted.
“It was never anywhere near my ear.”
“You’re no fun,” he said, twisting to put the quarter back in the bowl and pick up his plate.
“Fun?” Crowley balked, and Aziraphale took that opportunity to feed Crowley a forkful of cake to shut him up. He scowled adorably at Aziraphale but accepted the bite.
Aziraphale decided to say what was on his mind while Crowley’s mouth was full of cake. “If you are finished carping, I have a question for you.”
“Wot’s that?” Crowley asked, still chewing.
“Well… I find I’m not ready for this date to come to an end. I’d like to invite you to stay the night.”
Crowley grimaced and shook his head. “After that,” he said, nodding toward the quarter resting in its bowl, “I don’t know, angel.”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes and ate a bite of cake himself, sighing in satisfaction at the sweetness.
Crowley leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “’f course I’ll stay. I’d be happy to.”
When the wine bottle was empty, Aziraphale led Crowley back down the hall, where they took turns in the en suite. Aziraphale finished with his turn and returned to the bedroom to find Crowley in his bed, wearing only his boxer shorts and a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that Aziraphale had never seen, looking at his phone and scratching absentmindedly at his chest.
He looked up with a crooked smile and set down his phone. “Angel, d’you prefer a particular side of the bed?”
“No.” Aziraphale crossed the room to the unoccupied side of the bed. As he approached. Crowley pulled down the duvet for him. “This is perfect,” he said as he slid between the covers. He touched the arm of the glasses. “I haven’t seen these before.”
“Yeah, they were in the pocket of my jacket,” he said. “Getting old. Can’t see for shit anymore. Need them for reading.”
“I like them,” Aziraphale said. “They make you look distinguished.”
Crowley wrinkled his nose as he took off the glasses and folded them on the bedside table before turning off the lamp. “Distinguished? That sounds like a fancy way of saying old.”
“Maybe I like old things.” Before Crowley could protest, Aziraphale quieted him with a kiss. Crowley tasted like Aziraphale’s toothpaste and smelled like his soap. A spark of possession thrummed through his body as he leaned further into the kiss. He wasn’t up for another round tonight, but he enjoyed the press of their lips and bodies. Crowley coiled himself around him and they both fell asleep.
Notes:
Be sure to check out all of the amazing works in the Sweet Spicy Spring collection! The fics are all very fun.
Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate every one of your kudos and comments. See you next week!
Chapter 5
Summary:
The next day. Crowley and Aziraphale reflect on their date with friends. Aziraphale makes an interesting discovery.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As Crowley slowly regained consciousness, he immediately noticed that wherever he was didn’t smell or sound like his place. The street noise seemed closer than in his high-rise apartment, the sound of cars driving through puddles as the rain came down outside louder than usual. He could hear quiet shuffling nearby, and the smell of bread baking filled the air.
He grunted and rolled over to his back, and the memories of the previous night flooded back as he felt the delicious ache of his body. He smiled and rubbed his eyes before blinking them open. He looked to his right and noticed that the other side of the bed was empty. Aziraphale must have already gotten up, he thought with a pout.
As he stretched, trying to work up the energy to drag himself out of bed, Aziraphale saved him by appearing in the doorway wearing only tan boxers and a white undershirt, his curls a mess on one side with the other smashed flat to his head. Crowley noted with satisfaction that Aziraphale must have slept facing him. He held a saucer in one hand and the delicate handle of a teacup in the other.
“Oh, you’re awake,” Aziraphale said, face lighting up as if this was the best news he could imagine. “Did you sleep alright?”
“Yeah,” he replied, still getting his bearings. “Just waking up.”
Aziraphale placed his tea on the bedside table and sat next to him on the bed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. I got restless after being awake for a little while. Since you were sleeping so soundly, I got up and made tea. Would you like some?”
“Nah,” he said, pulling Aziraphale close and burying his nose in his neck, “Everything I want is right here.” He inhaled Aziraphale’s intoxicating scent before placing a gentle kiss on the hinge of his jaw. Feeling inpatient, he tugged at Aziraphale’s undershirt, pulling it up to reveal his strong chest and round belly. Aziraphale’s body was something else. Crowley loved his strength and masculinity. He loved his body hair and softness.
As Crowley raked his fingers through Aziraphale’s chest hair, the two men rolled until they were side-by-side, facing each other. Crowley kissed Aziraphale deeply, tasting tea with an underlying sweetness. He must put sugar in his tea. Aziraphale broke the kiss to pull his undershirt over his head one-handed.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” Crowley panted into Aziraphale’s mouth. “I don’t know if I'll ever get enough of you.”
Aziraphale groaned and threw his leg over Crowley’s body, trapping him under a thick thigh. Fucking hell, Crowley loved being under the solid weight of Aziraphale’s body like his. His hips bucked forward under their own accord, searching for friction against Aziraphale.
“The feeling is entirely mutual, my dear,” Aziraphale replied as he rolled his hips to meet Crowley’s. Their erections were pressed between their bellies, confined only by the thin fabric of their boxers, and Crowley was quickly making a mess of his.
“Hang on, angel,” he said, pulling back slightly to free himself from his underwear. Seeing what he was doing, Aziraphale did the same before gathering Crowley back into his arms and enveloping him once again, but this time with no barrier between them.
When the velvet-soft skin of Aziraphale’s magnificent cock met his, Crowley was done for. His new goal in life was to learn how many different ways he and Aziraphale could enjoy each other. So far, they were off to a fantastic start.
Crowley threw his head back to allow Aziraphale to press sucking kisses to this throat. He thought briefly that he should tell him not to leave any marks that his students could see, but before the words made it out of his mouth, Aziraphale asked, “What do you want? I’ll give you whatever you want,” in a low, throaty voice that Crowley knew he would never be able to resist.
“This,” Crowley whispered as their cocks slid together between them, precome easing the way. “Don’t let go of me. I want to stay right here.”
The hold around him tightened. “I’ve got you,” Aziraphale said, bringing their foreheads together. They were pressed together from forehead to hip with their legs entwined as they rocked in unison. He wanted to live in this cocoon of Aziraphale forever.
They continued like that for several minutes, enjoying the closeness and simmering drag of their cocks between them. Crowley couldn’t remember when he last had sex like this: focused on savoring pleasure with his partner rather than racing to a destination. Now he understood why he was so turned on watching Aziraphale enjoy his meal last night, eating small bites and taking time to thoroughly enjoy each one. He was now indulging in Crowley the same way.
“Fuck, angel,” Crowley groaned, all of a sudden needing more, the heat building within him quickly going from simmering to ready to erupt. Snaking an arm between their bodies, he wrapped a hand around them to bring their erections together. Despite his long fingers, he was barely able to reach around both due to Aziraphale’s impressive girth, so Aziraphale brought a hand between them to join his.
Each pass of their hands stoked the fire growing within him. When he felt like he reached his breaking point, Aziraphale ducked his head and bit the tendon in his shoulder. He cried out as the sharp sensation sent him over the edge, spilling over their fists between them.
“You’re doing so well, my dear boy,” Aziraphale said, the praise making Crowley’s cock twitch with an aftershock as his orgasm persisted. When the cloud of pleasure finally lifted, Aziraphale gently rolled him onto his back and reached for his own cock, tugging on it with intention. “You look so beautiful like this, covered in your own spend.”
Crowley didn’t know how he did it. He could barely think much less put together words, and here Aziraphale was forming full sentences.
“You’re so lovely,” he continued praising Crowley as he brought himself off. “I don’t know that I’ve ever had anyone so beautiful in my bed before.” His hooded eyes locked on Crowley’s. “Oh oh oh, fuck!” His eyes squeezed shut, and he threw his head back as he came, painting streaks across Crowley’s hip and belly.
After watching him roll heavily to his back, Crowley admired the flush across Aziraphale’s cheeks as he caught his breath, a marked contrast to the snow white of his hair. He tangled their fingers together and pulled their joined hands onto his chest, careful to avoid the mess. He pressed the back of Aziraphale’s hand over his heart as he tried to make sense of his feelings for this angel.
A long moment later, Crowley noticed the smell of something sharp, like toast burning. “Uh, angel?” he said. “D’you have something in the oven?”
“Oh, fuck,” Aziraphale said, the second expletive in as many minutes making Crowley giggle, as he jumped out of bed and hurried out of the room, arse jiggling.
Crowley laid back and enjoyed the view as Aziraphale scurried down the hall.
After they ate slightly-burnt croissants and Crowley grumbled over Aziraphale’s lack of coffee—while he was complaining, he said, “Next time you’ll have to stay at my place. The amenities here are terrible,” and Aziraphale’s stomach swooped at the thought of next time—they shared a shower where they made out until the hot water ran out leaving them to quickly wash in cold water—again sparking complaints about the facilities.
In the process of saying goodbye, somehow Aziraphale ended up pressed against the side door in the kitchen again, this time with his dick deep down Crowley’s throat. After a spectacular blow job, he tried to help clean up the come from where Crowley jerked off on the linoleum, but Crowley refused to let him, claiming he was a gentleman who could clean up after himself. At which, Aziraphale had a hearty laugh.
When the door finally clicked shut behind Crowley, Aziraphale sat down absentmindedly at the dinette set and stared at the closed door. He tried assessing the events of last night and this morning, but it proved an impossible task in his post-orgasm haze. Mostly, he thought of Crowley’s wicked smirk and long fingers, wishing they were back in his flat, pressing against him.
Ring! Ring! His phone interrupted his rumination. He sighed and stood up to retrieve it from where he left it in the bedroom.
As he picked up the phone, he saw the disheveled bedclothes and decided that he should probably wash his sheets. “Hello, Muriel,” he answered as he pulled pillows out of pillowcases at the same time.
“Hi, Aziraphale,” his friend said cheerfully. “How are you today? Did your date go well last night?”
He sat down on the side of the bed. “I am well, Muriel. I hope you are too. My date… Well, I think it was a success.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” he confirmed. He and Muriel didn’t usually talk about anything related to sex, but he decided to give them some insight into how well it had gone by adding, “Crowley only left a few minutes ago.”
“Oh? Oh! That does sound like it went well. So, you like him?”
Like was an understatement. “Yes, very much so. He’s incredibly handsome, and we get along so well. He makes me laugh, but most of all, I feel like I can be myself around him.”
“I’m happy for you, Aziraphale. Do you have plans to see each other again?”
“We haven’t made specific plans, but there was a lot of talk of ‘next time,’ so I imagine we will see each other again. Maybe I will reach out to him in a day or two to ask him out.”
“Aww,” they fawned, “it’s so nice to hear you excited about something. It has been a little while…”
“Yes, I know. And I have to give you credit for encouraging me to put myself out there more than I was. If not for your pep talk, I might not have gone to that car wash and met him in the first place.”
Muriel giggled. “Well, I am very glad I could help.”
After they wrapped up their conversation, Aziraphale finished stripping the bed before sitting down with a book. His mind was in the clouds when his calendar reminder went off, letting him know that his appointment at Infernal Auto was in a quarter hour.
“Whoops,” he said aloud to the empty room, “I guess I better get going.”
Despite his upbeat mood, Crowley glared through his bedroom window at the rain. He hated taking his baby girl out in this weather, but he was eager to spend some time with Eric. Last night—and this morning—had been absolutely phenomenal, and he needed someone to share his excitement.
As he quickly changed into a clean outfit, he noticed four small bruises in a row on his thigh where Aziraphale held on to him while they fucked last night. His cock, exhausted after the action last night and this morning, twitched weakly at the sight. He crossed the room to the mirror, where he examined similar marks on his neck. Well, he was going to be wearing collared shirts to school this week.
Wanting to flaunt a bit in front of Eric, he threw on a form-fitting black henley and opened the top two buttons. He flashed himself a wicked grin in the mirror. He looked good, and showing off Aziraphale’s claim just made him feel even more desirable. Ready to go, he pulled out his phone to text Eric.
When Crowley shut the door of the Bentley at Infernal Auto, the sound echoed through the garage. Eric’s head popped around the corner, his black curly hair styled into two poofs on top of his head.
“Hey, you’re here,” Eric said, trotting over to close the garage door, dampening the sound of the rain. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there. I’m surprised you brought her out in this.” He patted the bonnet of the Bentley.
“Yeah, the things I’ll do to see you.” Crowley glowered at Eric.
Eric grinned from ear-to-ear. “For me? You’re so sweet. Now open her up, so I can take a look.”
Once the bonnet was open and Crowley was bent over the car, looking at the engine, Eric snickered, “Does this remind you of last night?”
Crowley’s face and ears warmed as the memories of the previous evening rushed back. “Man, you have no idea,”
“That good?” Eric lifted his head to make eye contact across the engine. “You’re walking bowlegged this afternoon, so I’m guessing you got to ride that beautiful dick.”
Crowley almost hit his head on the bonnet when he jerked up his head. “I… I, uh, forgot that I told you about that.”
“So was it just as good in person?”
Crowley’s mouth dropped open as he nodded at Eric. “Yeah, it was.” But he felt the need to dial back the discourse a bit. He really liked Aziraphale, for more than just his dick, and it was important to him that Eric knew that. “But, um— Eric, I really like this guy. He’s good, ya know. I feel like we’re good together. We’ve very different. He dresses like he just stepped out of the nineteenth century, and he’s all bright and glowy like an angel—”
“Glowy? An angel?” Eric laughed. “He really did fuck you silly, didn’t he?”
Crowley sighed, a little embarrassed by how dreamy it sounded. “Yeah, he really did.”
“Grab me a wrench, will you?” Eric said, saving Crowley before he started swooning like a schoolgirl.
They tinkered with the Bentley for about a half-hour, chatting about nothing, Crowley happy to have the distraction for a bit. If he wasn’t here, he would definitely be at home obsessing about Aziraphale.
Crowley was bent over scrubbing the interior of his car when a bell dinged in the office behind them.
“That should be my appointment,” Eric said from across the garage. “Want to help me work on this car? I’ve never seen a sixty-year old car in such pristine condition.”
“Sure,” Crowley grunted as he reached for a leaf in the backseat. How did that get there? He needed to start checking his boots better before getting in the car.
Aziraphale unbuttoned the top two buttons of his trench coat and removed his fedora while he waited for Eric in the cluttered office at Infernal Auto.
“Hi there, Mr. Fell,” Eric said, as he pushed through the door from the garage. “Nasty weather out there today. How’s your Mini?”
“Weather like this reminds me a bit of home,” Aziraphale replied, gesturing toward the window. “Thank you for working me in today. She’s making a grinding noise and jerking and jolting when I drive her.”
“That doesn’t sound good. Mind if I take her for a quick spin to hear for myself before I look at her?” he asked as he slid into the chair in front of the computer.
“Not at all.” While Eric tapped away at the computer, a movement caught Aziraphale’s eyes through the window to the garage. A familiar—now intimately familiar—backside sticking out of the passenger door of the vintage Bentley that he had once seen that backside leaning on.
“Crow– Crowley’s here,” Aziraphale stammered. “You’re also working on his car today? That’s quite the coincidence.”
Distracted by whatever he was inputting into the computer, Eric said, “Not really. He’s my best friend, so he’s just hanging around while we tinker with the Bentley. Coincidence?” Eric looked up at him like he just realized what he said. “Wait. You know Crowley?”
Everything started to go fuzzy as Aziraphale processed what Eric just said and realized that something wasn’t adding up. “Your best friend? Didn’t he start bringing his car here recently?”
Eric threw his head back and laughed. “No.” He pointed over his shoulder at the window. “He’s the one who got me into working on antique cars in the first place. I learned almost everything I know about cars from Crowley. How do you know each other?”
Aziraphale smirked, feeling less disoriented as he started to put the pieces together. “I met him at a car wash a few weeks ago. He said he was in the market for a new mechanic and asked me if I knew someone who specialized in classic cars, so I gave him your number.”
“What?” Eric’s brow furrowed in surprise. “What’s that bastard up to?”
Squaring his shoulders and standing a little straighter, Aziraphale said, “Well, that white lie may have led to him spending the night at my place last night, so I suppose I shouldn’t be too upset.”
“He spent the night— You’re the angel?” Eric said, his jaw practically on the floor.
At that moment, Crowley wiggled his arse as he reached further into the car. “I’m sorry, the what?” Aziraphale asked, having missed whatever it was Eric just said.
Eric stood up and looked over his shoulder before starting to speak quickly. “Nevermind. Listen, Crowley tries not to show it, but he’s a good guy. One of the best. He stepped in when my parents kicked me out of the house when I was a teenager. Taught me about cars. Let me crash on his couch when I didn’t have anywhere else to go, which could have become a thing with school, you know, with him being a gay teacher and all.”
Aziraphale tried to picture it. A young Eric with nowhere to go, turning to his teacher, who didn’t hesitate to help despite the fact that it could ruin him if the wrong people at the school found out.
“Um, in case it needs to be said, nothing ever— He never tried—”
“Thank you, Eric,” Aziraphale interrupted. “I may still be getting to know Crowley, but he doesn’t seem like the sort to take advantage of that situation. I believe there may be a heart under that prickly exterior.”
He watched with a smug smile on his face as Crowley stood up from the car and looked over his shoulder, his eyebrows almost reaching his hairline when he saw Aziraphale talking to his best friend. Eric followed Aziraphale’s gaze, and both men smiled brightly and waved at Crowley from the office.
Aziraphale couldn’t hear him, and he wasn’t great at reading lips, but it was abundantly clear that Crowley said, “Oh, fuck,” in response.
Eric’s smile seemed to grow larger by the minute as he bounced on the balls of his feet in excitement. “Listen, I am happy for you both, but I am absolutely going to give him shit about this.”
“As you should.” At this point, Aziraphale was just happy to be in Crowley’s presence again and was already trying to figure out how to lure him away from the garage, so they could spend more time together. He took his car key out of his trouser pocket and handed it to Eric. “Here you go.”
Eric took it and gave Aziraphale the paperwork to sign. “Are you gonna wait for it? It may be a while, but it’s nasty out there.”
“If you don’t mind,” Aziraphale replied, putting his fedora back on, ”I thought I might see if Crowley would like to have a bite to eat.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Of course Eric’s afternoon appointment was Aziraphale. Why didn’t he mention this morning that he was planning to come here today? Crowley bit his lip and grimaced as Aziraphale walked into the garage.
Aziraphale’s shit-eating grin was so bright it could power the city all on its own. “Hello, my dear. How nice to see you again so soon! Eric was just telling me some lovely stories about you, which was surprising since I was under the impression that I introduced you to Eric and this shop.” He was still smiling as he waved his hand around. “Oh, speaking of Eric, he is getting Minnie. He asked that you open the garage door for him. He said that you would know how, since you’re so familiar with the shop.”
Crowley stalked across the garage and smacked the button to open the door to the unoccupied bay.
“So, um…” he started, trying to figure out where to begin his explanation, but Aziraphale was smiling so brightly, and there was this perfect little blond curl peeking out of the front of the fedora he was wearing, and Crowley couldn’t think about anything else at the moment.
“So, you and Eric are friends?” Aziraphale offered.
Fine, he could start by answering this question. “Yep. We’re friends.”
“Best friends, according to Eric.” This angel really was the best kind of bastard.
Crowley wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know about that.” Especially after today. He was never going to hear the end of this. He may have to run away and change his name.
“Maybe you can tell me the story over a late lunch. It would seem I am rather famished after quite a vigorous night and morning, and I only had a croissant for breakfast.”
“Sure,” Crowley agreed, happy to spend more time with Aziraphale, “anywhere you want to go, angel. Where’s Eric?”
“He said he wanted to take Minnie for a short drive to get a feel for what’s wrong with her.”
“Let’s go before he gets back.”
Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled as he laughed from deep in his belly. “I don’t think you’re going to get out of this one that easily. Plus, I don’t know that he would appreciate us leaving the garage open and unattended.” Enjoying watching Crowley squirm, he walked over and hooked a finger around Crowley’s belt loop, pulling his hips closer. “As much as I wasn’t expecting to see you, I hope you know I consider it a very pleasant surprise.”
“Ngk.” Crowley swallowed slowly, trying to come up with words, but failing before a rumble filled the garage as Eric returned with Aziraphale’s car.
Aziraphale released his grip on Crowley’s jeans and turned to Eric, who was climbing out of the car. “Eric, do you mind if I take Crowley off your hands for a little while?”
“Nope,” Eric said, propping open the hood of Mini to see the engine inside. “I think this may take a little bit. I can call you later with the details, Mr. Fell.”
Mr. Fell? Crowley liked the sound of that.
“Please, Eric, I am sleeping with your best friend. You can call me Aziraphale.” Aziraphale turned to Crowley and winked, and Crowley needed to get out of here. As soon as possible.
He walked over and opened the passenger door to the Bentley. “Get in, angel. I can bring you back when the car’s ready. Or to yours if it’s going to be a while.”
As Aziraphale got into the car, Eric said, “And, Crowley, don’t think you’re off the hook. I’m calling you later, too.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Crowley said. “Open the garage door for me, will ya?” he said as he climbed into the Bentley.
Notes:
Thank you so much to everyone who is reading and interacting with this fic. I love reading comments from people who enjoyed it. Just two more chapters! Chapter 7 is a short epilogue, so my plan is to post them both next week.
Please check out the other fics in the Sweet Spicy Spring collection. So many amazing writers are participating, and their fics are wonderful.
Chapter 6
Summary:
Crowley has some explaining to do.
Chapter Text
Aziraphale looked out the window of the Bentley at the rainy city around them, and a grin crept across his face as he appreciated his fortuitous afternoon. He sneaked a glance at Crowley, who wore his customary scowl. Even with the sullen expression, he was so handsome with his perfectly-styled hair and the sharp angles of his nose and cheekbones. His eyes drifted down Crowley’s lovely neck to the open collar of his shirt, where two purple bruises peeked out.
Seeing them stirred something in Aziraphale, especially the fact that Crowley could have easily buttoned up his shirt, he seemed to have deliberately left his collar open. Even though he didn’t know he was going to see Aziraphale that day, he wanted people to see his claim.
“Soooo,” Aziraphale started, “you know Eric.”
He watched Crowley’s Adam’s apple bob as he cleared his throat. “Yep.” When he didn’t continue, Aziraphale thought he wasn’t going to say anything further. But after a moment he said, “I’m sorry I lied to you. You were getting ready to leave the car wash, and I panicked. I wanted to see you again, but I didn’t know how—”
“You could have said, ‘Can I see you again sometime?’” Aziraphale offered.
Crowley scoffed. “Pshw… you make it sound so simple.” He looked over at Aziraphale, a wrinkle of concern in the middle of his forehead. “Are you upset?”
God, he was adorable. He tried so hard to project this cool, unaffected image, but he was such a softie at heart. “No,” Aziraphale said, firmly, wanting to squash any worry Crowley had. “I am very happy with the way things worked out. I have to admit, I hoped from the start that it was just a ruse to get my number. I fibbed myself. I could have told you the name of the shop then and there, but I also wanted you to have my number so I could possibly see you again.” He laced his fingers through Crowley’s where they rested on his thigh, Crowley immediately closing his hand around them. “Eric told me a little bit about how you met, but I would like to hear the story from you, if you don’t mind.”
Crowley’s nose wrinkled as he bared his teeth, looking like an animal who was trapped by prey. “I, um— He…” He was clearly uncomfortable talking about this.
Maybe he would find it easier to talk about if Aziraphale got him started. “He said you let him stay with you when his parents kicked him out.”
Crowley exhaled slowly. “Yeah. He was my student. He was a bright kid, but all of a sudden his grades started to slip, and he showed up day after day wearing the same clothes. I don’t know how well you know Eric, but even then, that was a major red flag. I asked him one day after class if everything was okay. He broke down and told me what was going on. I let him sleep on my sofa for a couple weeks. I was scared shitless. I was a young teacher at the time. And being queer, if someone found out this kid was staying with me, the things they could have said.” He looked over at Aziraphale. “Just so you know, it wasn’t like that. At all.”
“I believe you,” Aziraphale responded.
“Finally, he let me tell Anathema what was going on, and she convinced him to move into her guest room, so he stayed there until he found steady work and could afford his own place.”
“He said you taught him about cars?”
“Yeah, he stayed with me not long after I bought the Bentley. She needed a lot of work, so we learned together how to fix her up. I think having a project helped him. I know it helped me.”
He squeezed Crowley’s hand while he let his eyes wander over the man’s profile. Aziraphale wanted him in a way that was entirely unfamiliar to him. Obviously, he was incredibly attracted to him, but he had a deep-seated need to wrap a wing around him and keep him safe.
Aziraphale was lost in thought when Crowley glanced over and caught him staring. “This is my building,” Crowley said as he pulled into a basement parking garage. “There’s halfway-decent takeaway sushi that we can get to from the garage without having to go out in the rain.” He raised his eyebrows, opening his expression as he asked, “That okay with you?”
“Yes, that sounds wonderful,” Aziraphale replied quietly, getting his bearings as he took in his surroundings. The building was a high-rise, a ten minute walk from the bookshop. “We live so close. I am surprised our paths haven’t crossed.”
“I haven’t really gone out much the last few years. I’ve kind of become a homebody.”
That sounded familiar to Aziraphale. “Me, too.”
Silence hung heavy in the air as they rode the lift up to the small restaurant in the building lobby, where they ordered a sushi platter for two to take upstairs.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” Crowley said as he waved Aziraphale through the door of a flat that was not as humble as one would expect for a single teacher, with its high ceilings and stark decor. If Aziraphale’s bookshop flat was warm and lived-in, this was the opposite. Crowley’s home was cool and looked like a showroom with its gray walls and modern furniture with clean lines. The only personal touches were the lush houseplants crowded around every available source of natural light.
Of course. Crowley taught botany. He loved plants like Aziraphale loved books, he realized.
When Crowley worked off his boots, Aziraphale untied his brogues and left his shoes next to Crowley’s by the front door. Crowley took Aziraphale’s coat and hat and stowed them in the hall closet before leading Aziraphale to the kitchen, where he put down the takeaway bag on the small round table, the middle of which had a pot with succulents in purple, green, and orange.
“This okay?” Crowley asked, holding up the bottle of Gewürztraminer he pulled out of the fridge.
“Yes,” Aziraphale said with a nod of his head, feeling at a loss for words. Somehow, being here in Crowley’s space—his home—the weight of his feelings for the man were crashing down on him. He adored Crowley, and if he wasn’t careful, he was in danger of falling in love with him. They had barely known each other for two weeks; it was far too early to think such things.
To distract himself, Aziraphale unpacked the sushi as Crowley poured them each a glass of wine. They sat at the table with the platter between them and clinked their glasses together before taking a sip.
The wine had sweet fruity notes with a hint of spice underneath that Aziraphale concentrated on while Crowley squirmed in the seat next to him.
“So, um…” Crowley started as Aziraphale deftly grabbed a piece of maki with his chopsticks and popped it in his mouth. “I— I’ve been alone for quite some time. Not, um, you know, celibate,” he said with a wave of his hand, “but it’d been a while for that too.” he paused to take a sip of wine before continuing, “I, uh, know that this thing’s still very new, but I like you, and I’m, um, committed to seeing this through.”
The frankness of Crowley’s statement surprised Aziraphale, who was used to dancing around the edges of his feelings and speaking in metaphor. He concentrated on not choking on his bite of sushi. Once he swallowed and delicately patted his lips, Aziraphale responded, “I am too. My life has been… empty lately. When I saw you leaning against your car at the car wash, I knew I had to talk to you. I hadn’t felt that way in a very long time. And, as I have gotten to know you, I find myself wanting to know more and more about you.”
Crowley’s cheeks flushed, and he ate a piece of sushi with his fingers, looking away from Aziraphale to avoid eye contact, but drawing Aziraphale’s left foot between both of his.
They ate without speaking as Aziraphale took in the dark gray cabinets, the lush vines cascading from pots hanging from the ceiling, statement art pieces that both drew your eye and seemed to say nothing at all. “You have a lovely home,” he finally broke the silence. “It’s very different from my flat.”
“Thanks.” Crowley leaned back in the chair and looked up at the high ceiling. “Makes sense, don’t you think? You and I have very different aesthetics.”
“To be sure.” Aziraphale flashed back to Gabriel criticizing his wardrobe, his weight, his penchant for tea and sweets and fought to keep the frown off of his face. “Does it bother you?” he asked, his voice soft.
“Bother me?” Crowley responded, incredulous. “Of course it doesn’t bother me. Quite the opposite really.” He leaned close to Aziraphale and cupped his hand to his chin as he brought their lips together.
Aziraphale moaned as Crowley opened his mouth, and he tasted the sweetness of the wine and the salty spiciness of soy and wasabi on his lips. His eyes dropped closed as he melted into the kiss, his stomach swooping when their tongues brushed against each other. Crowley sat up straighter and his hand drifted to the back of Aziraphale’s head, where he buried his fist in blond curls, not pulling, but holding, keeping Aziraphale right where he wanted him.
In return, he ran his hand under the thin cotton of Crowley’s henley, his broad hand spread across that narrow back as they leaned into each other.
“Ffffuck, angel,” Crowley said, shuddering under his touch. “Bedroom?”
“Well,” Aziraphale paused to bite the bruise from last night on Crowley’s neck, drawing a yelp from the other man, “I was considering taking you right here on this table.”
Crowley crowded closer, practically in Aziraphale’s lap at this point. “Yesss,” he hissed then abruptly pulled back. “Wait. Lube and condoms’re in the bedroom.”
“Bedroom, it is.” He cupped both hands around Crowley’s firm arse and pulled him the rest of the way onto his lap. He looked up at golden eyes with pupils wide with desire. As he did so, he remembered that the condoms Crowley had probably wouldn’t work for him, and he obviously hadn’t thought to grab his extra-large condoms before leaving his flat. “I wasn’t exactly intending to see you today, and I’ve had a difficult time in the past with regular condoms. But I haven’t been with anyone except you since my last relationship ended two years ago. I have STI testing as part of my annual physical. I am free of any diseases or infections.”
Crowley pressed a gentle kiss to his lips and looked down at him so adoringly, he had to fight the instinct to look away. “Aziraphale,” Crowley gasped between kisses, “I was tested three months ago, clean bill of health. And my—ah—dry spell has been much longer than that. He squirmed on Aziraphale’s lap until his erection was pressed into his thigh, rolling his hips before continuing, “I want this. So much.”
Aziraphale put two firm hands on Crowley’s hips, easing him off his lap. “Then let’s go to the bedroom, my dear.”
Crowley’s mind was spinning as he led Aziraphale to his bedroom. He couldn’t believe his luck. He had zero regrets lying to Aziraphale about Eric now that their chance encounter seemed like it was leading to him getting off with this beautiful man for the fourth time in less than twenty-four hours. When was the last time that happened? Long enough ago that he would be worried about whether he still had the stamina for it if his dick wasn’t currently hard enough to cut glass.
When they reached his bedroom, he quickly worked off his jeans and tore his henley over his head while Aziraphale undressed himself. Crowley loved having someone undress him, and he wanted to slowly and carefully remove each one of Aziraphale’s layers… some other time. Right now, all he wanted was that cock inside of him as quickly as possible.
He was down to his boxers, but Aziraphale had only unbuttoned his shirt, which hung open revealing an undershirt beneath. But when Crowley went to slide off his underwear, Aziraphale stopped him with a hand on each hip.
“Let me,” Aziraphale said.
“Sure,” Crowley croaked, his voice caught in his throat, and Aziraphale dropped to his knees. He slowly pulled down his shorts, dragging his fingers along his legs from hip to ankle and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. After he laid his boxers aside, he ran his fingers back up that same path.
Crowley watched in amazement as Aziraphale wrapped a soft hand around his leaking erection and leaned forward to lick a drop precome from the tip. He closed his eyes and moaned, the same way he did when he ate his cake the previous night, like Crowley was just as delicious.
Crowley felt like he might spontaneously combust. He wasn’t sure he was going to survive this.
Then, Aziraphale licked his pretty pink lips and wrapped them around the head of his cock, and Crowley had to bite his own lip to keep from thrusting forward. Forcing his eyes open so he didn’t miss any of this, he reached out and threaded the fingers of one hand through soft white curls. Aziraphale hummed around him, and Crowley worried his knees were going to give out.
“Angel, fuck,” he rasped as Aziraphale set to his task in earnest. “For Satan’s sake, you fffeel so good. Your mouth is perfect.” When Aziraphale hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard, Crowley shouted, “Shit, stop, angel. Hang on.”
Aziraphale kept a tight seal as he dragged his lips slowly to the head and released Crowley’s cock with a pop. “Is everything alright, my dear?”
“Yep, sooo alright.” He took a deep breath. “I’m gonna come down your throat if you’re not careful. If you want to fuck me, I suggest you get up off of your knees and do so. Now.”
Aziraphale smiled as he stood up, continuing to lazily stroke Crowley’s cock. “Are you always this dramatic?”
Why was he asking so many questions? Couldn’t he see that Crowley was hanging on by a thread? “Maybe. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Just fuck me, angel.”
“Be a dear, and get the lube and a towel, will you?” Aziraphale leaned in and kissed Crowley’s cheek before patting him on the arse to get him moving.
Trying not to look as frantic as he felt, Crowley scurried to the bathroom and grabbed a clean towel. On the way back, he got the lube out of the nightstand. By the time he had collected both items, Aziraphale was shirtless and unbuckling his belt. His belt buckle thumped as it hit the wood floor. He stepped out of his trousers and reached for the little bottle in Crowley’s hand.
“Why don’t you turn around and let me lube you up?” he suggested. “Go ahead and lay the towel on the bed in front of you. I would hate for you to make a mess of your duvet.”
Crowley obeyed. Of course he did. What else was he going to do? As he turned around and bent over the bed, he heard the snick of the cap opening. Aziraphale pressed one hand to the middle of his back as two fingers of the other hand brushed his hole, leaving a stripe of lube in its wake. Crowley heard him squeeze more lube on those fingers, and the hand on Crowley’s back pushed him down further as slick fingers circled his hole, pressing but not breaching.
“Fuck,” Crowley breathed, watching his cock bob at the contact.
“Do you like that?” Aziraphale asked, drawing a moan from Crowley as he massaged his tight rim. “Do you want me to fuck you with my fingers? To tease you until you’re on the edge and begging for my cock?”
How could Crowley say no? “Yes, angel, I want it. I want everything.” So much time had passed since he allowed himself to be vulnerable like this, to put his pleasure completely in the hands of another person. But, with Aziraphale, it was easy. With Aziraphale, he felt safe.
At that, Aziraphale pushed two broad fingers inside of him, the sudden stretch shocking Crowley even though he knew it was coming. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax as he felt the soft press of Aziraphale’s forehead against his shoulder where he left soft kisses while he talked him through his dismantling. “You’re doing so well,” Aziraphale said. “You look so beautiful stretched on my fingers like this. I can’t wait to see you on my cock.”
Fuck, the words went right to Crowley’s groin. Aziraphale continued, “You looked so lovely riding it last night. I know you’re going to look wonderful like this.” At that, he slowly twisted his fingers to rub Crowley’s perineum with his thumb while he massaged his prostate internally, causing sparks of electricity to course through Crowley’s body.
“Ffffuck, An— Angel, that’s… ah… Fuck!” Crowley’s whole body was ablaze. He felt like he was driving the Bentley through hellfire on the M25, just barely holding on. No one had ever treated him like this, been so attentive with him. The pleasure was so intense for a moment he worried whether his body could handle it. He might die before Aziraphale even got his cock inside him.
Aziraphale kept a steady rhythm as he worked Crowley with his fingers. “How do you like being fucked, my dear?” he asked. “Do you want me to fill you up and give you everything I’ve got?”
“Fuck, please, angel,” Crowley begged. “Please, I need you. Now… I need you n— now.”
“Oh, Crowley,” he said, his voice overflowing with affection. “Of course. You’re doing so well.” With that he slowly slid his fingers out of Crowley, who was vaguely aware of the sound of the lube bottle opening as Aziraphale slicked himself.
As the head of Aziraphale’s wide cock budged up against Crowley’s hole, he realized that Aziraphale hadn’t even taken off his boxers until just now. Something about that realization sent another wave of pleasure washing over him.
Despite Aziraphale’s size, Crowley was relaxed and ready for him after last night's activities and today’s foreplay, so Aziraphale was able to push in easily, but he still took his time. Crowley felt like he was pushing in millimeter by millimeter. Crowley squirmed impatiently and tried to push back, but Aziraphale had a bruising grip on his hips. “C’mon,” he said. “I’m ready. I can take it. Give it to me.”
“Shhh… We’re getting there.”
He looked over his shoulder at Aziraphale and was again struck by his beauty. He said, “What happened to giving me everything you’ve got?” but it sounded less bitchy and more reverent than he intended.
“I will. In due time,” Aziraphale said, leaning forward to kiss Crowley and slowing to the point that Crowley swore he wasn’t moving at all.
“You bastard,” Crowley said against Aziraphale’s lips. Before the words were all the way out, Aziraphale buried himself to the hilt in one swift press, finally filling him. “Fuck,” Crowley cried out.
“Are you alright?” Aziraphale held his position, waiting for Crowley to signal that it was okay to move.
When Crowley first saw the picture of Aziraphale’s dick, he knew he was going to enjoy it, but sex with Aziraphale had far exceeded his expectations, even—maybe especially—when the angel was teasing him. “I am so fuckin’ alright. The only thing that will make me more alright is if you move.”
Aziraphale chuckled. “Seems like your ability to form coherent sentences has returned. Let’s see if we can do something about that.”
Then, before Crowley could process what the other man had said, Aziraphale drew back and quickly snapped his hips forward, his cock filling him up and rubbing against his prostate. He kept a steady rhythm, pounding hard. After everything Aziraphale did to him this afternoon, he was so keyed up and careening toward orgasm almost embarrassingly soon after it started.
Crowley clutched his duvet and he tried to hang on while Aziraphale held him in place—one hand on his shoulder and the other on his hip—and drove in over and over. The feeling of being pinned by those strong hands combined with the assault on his prostate had Crowley holding on for dear life.
Crowley bit the inside of his cheek and squeezed his fists tighter, trying to keep himself teetering on the edge for a little longer when—thank Someone—Aziraphale’s rhythm stuttered, and he cried out, “Oh fuck,” as he slammed into him one last time.
When Crowley felt Aziraphale pulse deep inside of him, he let himself go, releasing his cheek from his teeth, his duvet from his fists, and his pleasure from a place deep within himself. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him from behind and kissed his neck as he came untouched on the towel in front of him. He felt like a supernova exploded inside of him, and Aziraphale’s hold was the only thing that kept him from ricocheting into outer space.
Moving in unison, they slumped together on the bed, Aziraphale’s arm still wrapped around him. Crowley grabbed and held his hand, mindlessly pressing his lips to it. “Fuck, that was so hot,” he said between kisses.
He felt Aziraphale shake as he chuckled behind him. “Quite,” he replied, his voice still breathy, as he kissed Crowley on his shoulder.
Crowley sighed and relaxed into Aziraphale’s embrace, enjoying the last, precious moments before they needed to clean themselves up.
Aziraphale carded his fingers through Crowley’s hair as he looked down at the top of the other man’s head. After they showered and cleaned up the abandoned sushi, they returned to bed, where Crowley laid his head on Aziraphale’s chest, curled around his body, and fell into a sound sleep. Aziraphale, never one for napping, was so exhausted he drifted in and out of consciousness himself.
As his finger traced the curve of an ear, he tried to take stock of the events of the past day. Not even at his sluttiest had Aziraphale fucked like this. He had an insatiable hunger for the man in his arms. Well, almost-insatiable. He felt pretty damn sated at the moment.
After using his free hand to pull the soft, dark gray duvet over Crowley’s shoulder, he squinted past the plants crowded around the window, trying to make out if it was still raining. Eric called while they were in the shower to say that he needed to order a part for Minnie, so she wouldn’t be ready for a few days, and Aziraphale wasn’t looking forward to walking home in the rain.
Crowley grunted and wriggled in his arms. “Whatcha doin’, angel?” he asked sleepily, rolling onto his back and blinking up at Aziraphale with those gorgeous amber eyes.
“I was thinking I should head home soon,” he sighed. “I usually use Sunday evenings to get ready for a new week at the shop.”
“Don’t feel like you need to rush out, but I do have some grading to do tonight. These students should be grateful you’ve put me in such a good mood. Did you hear from Eric?”
“Yes, I did. The car won’t be ready for a few days.”
“Let me drive you home,” Crowley offered.
“If the rain has stopped, I don't mind walking.”
“Please. I’d like to,” Crowley said, rolling them so he was spooning Aziraphale, a long press of warmth against his back.
“Hmm.” Aziraphale tangled their fingers together against his chest as he relaxed into the closeness. “You’re not making it easy to leave.”
“So my plan’s working then?” Crowley said, kissing him below his ear. “I— Um, thank you for trusting me today. It’s important to me that you know I take my sexual health seriously. If we’re having unprotected sex… Well, I know we’ve only known each other for a couple weeks, but I’m not sleeping with anyone else.”
“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale swooned. He could hardly believe Crowley was actually real. He’s never had much luck with romance. With Gabriel, he’d clung to the first person who showed him any affection, wasting years of his life ignoring red flag after red flag in their relationship. Now, here was someone he was incredibly attracted to, had great sexual chemistry with, and who treated him the way he deserved to be treated. “I appreciate you saying that. I feel the same way, my darling. I’m not sleeping with anyone else either, and if we feel like that should change, let’s have a conversation about it.”
“Darling?” Crowley grumbled, biting down on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I’m not darling.”
“You are so very darling,” Aziraphale countered, rolling over and kissing Crowley firmly before he could protest.
Crowely wandered his flat after he drove Aziraphale home, the space seeming quieter and lonelier than it had in the fifteen years he lived there. He finally gathered his work bag and settled at the kitchen table to grade the exam his senior botany class took on Friday. Before he could get into a rhythm grading, his phone buzzed, distracting him. He picked it up and smirked.
Crowley got a thrill again at hearing Eric call Aziraphale Mr. Fell, something he was going to have to spend some time reflecting on.
Crowley grimaced. Did he? He had obviously caught Crowley’s eye right away and wasn’t afraid to act like a saucy little tart, but Big Dick Energy? Really?
But as he put down his phone to continue grading, he thought, I am definitely into that kind of thing.
Chapter 7
Summary:
Omens High School attends Pride.
Notes:
I posted chapters 6 and 7 at the same time, so make sure you read 6 before jumping into 7.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Two Months Later
“What are you wearing?” Anathema asked, glaring at Crowley as he climbed the steps of the school bus. “And you were supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”
“It’s a shirt,” he answered as he sat next to her on the bench seat. “What’s the big deal?”
She gave him a look that clearly said, if we weren’t surrounded by our students, I would definitely call you a fucking idiot. “Look around, Crowley. Everyone on this bus is wearing the exact same shirt, except for you.”
She was right. He was in a sea of white t-shirts that read Everyone Is Welcome at Omens High School in rainbow letters across the front.
“White’s not my color. This is fine.”
Anathema harrumphed. “At least it’s on theme,” she said, pulling open his blazer to see his black tee with Read Banned Books across the front, also written in the colors of the rainbow. “This have anything to do with your bookseller boyfriend?”
“Not everything revolves around my love life, you know. Stop being so obsessed.” He leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes, not thrilled to be awake early on a Saturday morning for a school function, especially after the night he had. Things got particularly enthusiastic between Aziraphale and him last night… and again this morning, making it very difficult to tear himself out of bed. If Aziraphale didn’t also have to get up, Crowley may not have been able to force himself to leave that warm body behind.
His mental replay of this morning’s liaison was rudely interrupted by a smack to his chest. He cracked one eye open and glared at Anathema from behind his sunglasses, “What’s that for?”
She responded with a question. “What are you smiling about?”
He crossed his arms in front of his chest and relaxed into his seat. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Warlock stood in the vendor booth, deeply immersed as he flipped through the portraits of LGBTQ+ activists, drawn in by the way the artist used color to create depth in the artwork, when Adam called out, “Warlock, are you coming?”
“Huh?” he grunted, looking up as he pulled out a portrait of Marsha P. Johnson.
“You three go on. I’ll wait for Lock,” Adam told Brian, Wensleydale, and Pepper. He joined Warlock, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him, so that Warlock could feel the warmth radiating off his body on one of the last cool mornings of spring. “What’s that? Is that Marsha Johnson?”
“Yeah.” Warlock gently ran his fingers over the plastic film that covered her face. “You know who she is?”
“Uh-huh, I wrote an essay on her a couple years ago.” Adam beamed at Warlock with his trademark mischievous grin. “The assignment was about famous women throughout history. The teacher tried to say I couldn’t write about her, but my mom gave her the what for, and she caved.”
“You’re lucky to have parents who support you like that.” Warlock’s parents were fine, but they weren’t fighting any battles on his behalf. He knew that being gay as the Dowlings’ only child didn’t fit the image his parents had for their family. They tolerated him, but they acted like his sexuality was a phase he would outgrow.
“Hey.” Adam reached up and pushed the stray hair that had fallen in Warlock’s face behind his ear. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding almost imperceptibly as he tried to will his cheeks not to blush after the casual touch, “I’m gonna buy this.”
“Good. It’s gorgeous.” Adam looked around at the paintings that hung around the booth, the light catching his sandy blond hair. “Do you ever think about how brave they were? I know it seems like the world is going to shit now, but things were so different then.”
“I think about that a lot.” Warlock felt breathless as Adam turned to look at him. He had a crush on Adam since he moved here several months ago, but the boys were growing closer, and, well, Warlock thought maybe Adam might like him back. Standing in the late morning sun, Adam looked especially beautiful. It wasn’t just that though; Warlock admired his intelligence and desire to be a force for change. Warlock wanted to change the world with him. “I think my life would be very different if not for the battles they fought.”
Adam flashed him a crooked smile. “Then that makes me especially grateful for them.”
Warlock paid for the painting, and he and Adam meandered through the other booths, half-looking for their friends, but mostly just enjoying the day. As they navigated the crowds, occasionally their fingertips would brush, sending a shock of electricity through his body.
They wandered into a booth set up by a local bookstore, which had Read Banned Books t-shirts, tote bags, and stickers next to a shelf with books from LGBTQ+ authors. Adam turned to Warlock and pointed at a poster on display. “Lock, look. This place has a poetry open-mic night on Thursdays. Maybe we could check it out sometime, together,” he said as he pulled out his phone to take a picture of the sign.
“Oh, yeah,” Warlock said with a little bounce on the toes of his sneakers, “I’d like that.”
Then his eyes drifted to the other side of the booth, and he did a double-take. “Adam,” he whispered, “Is that Crowley’s partner?”
Crowley was standing with a hip cocked and his arm draped around the shoulders of a sunny blond man wearing a white Read Banned Books t-shirt over a light blue button-up shirt with a bow tie at his collar. Crowley was looking down at the other man with a sneer on his face, but something about it was soft at the edges, and Warlock could tell he cared deeply for this man. While he watched, the blond man rolled his eyes and tutted at Crowley.
Before Adam could answer, Crowley caught Warlock and Adam watching and called out, “Oi! What are you two doing here?”
This got the other man’s attention, and a bright smile spread across his face. “Oh, hello! You must be two of Crowley’s—” He paused for a moment and looked at Crowley, whose face softened when his partner smiled. “Mr. Crowley’s?”
Crowley grimaced and shook his head. “Just Crowley, angel.”
“You must be two of Crowley’s students,” the blond man continued. “I’m Mr. Fell, and I am the proprietor of A.Z. Fell and Company bookshop. It’s very nice to meet you.”
This man was a trip. This was not at all the type of person he pictured Crowley falling for—not that he had given it any thought before today—but his teacher was staring at the man with goo-goo eyes.
“I’m Adam, and this is Warlock,” Adam said. “This is your bookshop?” He gestured to the poster. “We were just talking about coming to one of your poetry nights.”
Crowley balked. “Are you sure you want to do that? Watch a bunch of stuck-up old wankers reading poetry? Sounds boring.”
Mr. Fell swatted his arm. “Oh, don’t listen to him. I would love the two of you to join us one evening. Tell all of your friends.”
“Well, um,” Adam said, “I was thinking—at least for the first time—maybe Warlock and I would go, just the two of us.” He glanced over at Warlock with a look that made Warlock’s guts feel like magma.
Mr. Fell nodded along with a bright smile on his face, looking like he was in on some kind of secret. “And that would be very nice also, if Warlock is amenable.”
“Mr. Fell,” Crowley said, winking over the top of his sunglasses at his partner, “stop playing matchmaker with my students.”
Warlock noticed that Adam’s cheeks reddened to match his own as Mr. Fell stammered, “I’m not— I wouldn't—” Then he picked up a deck of cards that happened to be on the table in front of him. “Would you boys like to see a magic trick?”
“Angel, no!”
Notes:
Thank you to everyone for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting!! Extra special thanks to everyone who has held my hand along the way, especially ModernDayKlutz who beta'd this entire fic and gave me hair pats when I needed them. Any errors are my own. I had a great time writing this sweet, spicy little story, and I hope you enjoyed it too.
April 23, 2025 also happens to be one year to the day from when I posted my first fic. In the past year, I have written over 200,000 words—which I am totally flabbergasted by—and made countless new friends. I feel like I have learned so much about writing since then, and I love what the creative outlet has brought to my life.
I have a few other projects I am working on right now. I hope you will check them out, as well as all of the fics in the Sweet Spicy Spring collab!
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