Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Crowley was no stranger to waking up on the floor of some random bloke’s apartment after an intense night of partying. Therefore, he wasn’t all that surprised when he awoke that morning to his face buried in a plush carpet instead of a pillow, bare limbs wrapped around a naked body. How he got there was a bit of a mystery, though, his mind a foggy haze.

There was once a time where the clubs were his home. Every night consisted of a drink in one hand and a dick in the other. It wasn’t exactly his scene nowadays. After all, not much sadder than a man in his forties, with the first inklings of crow’s feet and wisps of grey hair, grinding up against men half his age. But Crowley was weak and on occasion still found himself somewhere sketchy where there was too much alcohol and not enough self-respect. Something was off, however. Wrong in the sense that for the life of him he couldn’t remember even going out. Sure, too much adult happy juice affected one’s memories but typically he at least would remember ordering his first drink. Or having it ordered for him. Crowley rarely ever bought his own drinks. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. As he grew older he found men were less and less inclined to get him his shots. 

The carpet he was on was surprisingly comfortable. It felt like it had actually been taken care of, soft with a scent of a floral fragrance, instead of the scratchy sandpaper that reeked of cat piss and stale cigarette smoke that he was used to. Maybe last night he’d wrapped his legs around the waist of a guy that knew how to actually be a responsible adult and look after himself for a change? That would be a first for sure. After all, like went with like and Crowley rarely attracted decent men. 

He groaned softly as the well known dull pain of too much fun the night before began to envelope his brain. He’d yet to find a hangover cure that actually worked so, usually the morning after a night full of regrets, he’d find himself in bed curled up with a cold pizza and Golden Girls on the TV. Copious amounts of junk food and Betty White always made things at least a little better. Yes, that was definitely how he would be spending his day. He just needed to move. There was a slight problem with that plan, however. The man he was clinging to like a koala bear was just so damn soft. His body was warm and cozy, like a mug of hot chocolate on a cold winter’s day.  He couldn’t bring himself to let go. If anything, the urge to hold on tighter was growing stronger and he found his arms curling around him tight as he moved his face from the carpet to bury into the spot between his shoulder and his neck. 

An unusual scent filled his nostrils, the smell a mix of old books and something sweet. It was an odd combination but there was something in it that was strangely comforting and familiar. He knew he needed to get up, collect his belongings, then start the walk of shame home but he couldn’t bring himself to tear away from this man. He felt safe, warm, not like the type who would look at him with disgust the next morning and go, “You’re still here?” No, he felt like someone who wanted him around, who would laugh at his dumb jokes as he made him coffee, then be all too happy to set up a date, a real one, and not only a fun tumble in the sheets. The thought almost made him laugh. He must have had more than simple alcohol if, even for a moment, he thought men like that existed. Alright, they did, but not as far a Crowley was concerned. He was a fun lay and that was it, not the kind you’d want to bring home to mom and dad. God, had he ever even had a proper relationship? He needed to leave. He needed to leave before his head became filled with stupid pipe dreams, of images of an actual normal life with a man who wanted him around for more than an evening. 

But damn if it wasn’t hard. He felt and smelled so good, it was making another part of his anatomy noticeably more awake than he was. With that thick thigh pressed between his legs, he wanted nothing more than to buck his hips and pull him in even closer. The urge to rut against him was strong and it took everything in him not to do just that. Crowley was many things but a creep who humped guys in their sleep without consent? Even that was a little too far for him. Although, maybe he could wake him up and ask for a quickie before he left? No, that probably wasn’t for the best. What was for the best, however, was finding his trousers. He’d prefer to have all his clothes before he scarpered. As lovely as his behind was, he’d rather have it covered as he snuck out the room never to be seen again.  

With a light groan, head still throbbing, he managed to get untangled from the other, pushing himself up on shaky arms to a sitting position. He opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the bright light from the nearby window. After a blurry moment and some rapid blinking, the image of the room cleared and he was met with something that left him even more confused. The messy beige sheets on the bed, the large bookcase in the corner filled with old titles, and the potted plant sitting atop the dresser drawer? It was all so painfully familiar. Especially that plant. He’d cultivated it himself, after all, then given it as a gift to...

Crowley’s head snapped downward to finally get a good look at the man he’d been hugging onto for dear life only moments before. He now had a good idea of what it felt like to have your soul leave your body.

Aziraphale was fast asleep beside him, a look of absolute peace on his delicate features. Nothing at all like the absolute panic running through Crowley’s mind. After all, how could he not be freaking the fuck out right now? Exactly what had happened last night? Him and Aziraphale were close, yes, but this was a line they’d never once crossed. They were friends with emotional benefits not physical ones. Crowley tried his hardest to wrack his brain for exactly what had happened the night before. Sadly, that wasn’t the easiest with how his gaze kept on lingering over the man’s naked form, his bare body being the ultimate distraction from any rational thinking. With such a beauty of a man in front of him, it was downright impossible to think straight (pun intended). 

The fight to keep himself grounded was quickly lost as his eyes drank in the sight of the man fast asleep beside him. In all their years of friendship, he’d never actually seen Aziraphale completely naked before. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. They had bathed together a few times as toddlers but that didn’t count. Oh Lord, what happened last night?

He pinched the bridge of his nose, his headache making trying to remember downright impossible. He got an image of driving his Bentley, a late night visit, of wine and...and...and what? Why exactly had he come over? 

“Think, damnit, for once in your bloody life,” he grumbled to himself. Then, it hit him. 

Aziraphale’s first attempt at online dating had been an utter and absolute disaster and, wanting support, he’d called his closest friend. Crowley could feel the bile rising in his stomach, slapping his hand over his mouth to stop himself from spewing all over that well taken care of carpet of his. Aziraphale had wanted a friend to help him through a hard time and what did he do? He took advantage of his vulnerability to feed his perverse desires. 

Faster than he’d ever moved in his life, Crowley dashed for the bathroom attached to the bedroom. Clutching the rim of the toielt bowl, he released what little he had in his stomach into Aziraphale’s pristine white toilet. Once on empty he sat his bare backside down on the cold floor.. He’d always promised to take care of him, to watch over him whenever things got too hard. And now he’d use his trust in him in a way he had no right to. He could vaguely recall flashes of Aziraphale kissing him, his hands on his hips, and he had to take in a deep breath so his lower region didn’t get overly excited. None of what had happened really mattered, anyway. They’d been drunk and there was no way Aziraphale would have agreed to something like that while sober. He had actual standards, after all. No one like him would willingly stick his dick in the loosest man in London. 

Crowley stood up on legs that felt like jelly, flushing the toilet before hobbling out the bathroom and back into the scene of the crime. Looking at Aziraphale’s sleeping face, at plump lips he’d finally gotten to taste, he tried his hardest not to break down. How could he taint someone so beautiful? He truly was the scum of the earth.

Knowing how much of a light sleeper Aziraphale was, Crowley tiptoed around the room, gathered up his scattered clothing and hurriedly (and quietly) got dressed. Once no longer in the nick, he was about to leave when he stopped to look at Aziraphale one last time. He wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through those soft locks of his. Had he done so last night? He wasn’t sure if he was thankful or not over how much of a blur the night before was. On one hand he wanted more than anything to know what it felt like to be held in those arms but on the other? Knowing would leave him with a longing, a desire for more he knew he would never be able to fulfil. 

Crowley was about to leave when he stopped. Aziraphale was butt naked on the floor without so much as a blanket to cover him. Not wanting to just leave him like that, Crowley took the duvet off of the bed, and gently draped it over the sleeping man. He wanted to grab a pillow as well to slide under his head but there was no way that wouldn’t wake him up. Once he was covered, he stood back to take a good look at him once more, a small smile playing on his lips. What he wouldn’t give to wake up to that peaceful face every morning.

Crowley stood in the doorway, frozen. Was he really going to run without saying anything? Of course he was. That was the type of man he was.When things got hard Anthony J Crowley turned tail and ran. He’d done it many times before and he’d do it many times in the future. His chest tightened at the memory of when he’d done exactly that to his angel. Aziraphale had needed him and he’d chosen the coward’s way out. Was he really going to do it all over again? Crowley didn’t know what to do. But this was different to that time, wasn’t it? Surely now he’d want nothing to do with him after this. There would be no forgiving him after he grossly abused his trust in him like this. 

As appealing as simply leaving with his tail between his legs was, he wanted to at least attempt to be a halfway decent human being. So, instead of running without a word, he pulled out his phone, ready to make up some excuse as to why he’d suddenly left. Sure, it wasn’t the best option but it was still better than his initial plan of bolting without a word. 

He made a choking sound when he noticed a string of messages sent around one am from a name he thought he’d never hear from again. “Fuck,” Crowley swore quietly under his breath. Of course after all this time he chose now to try and reconnect. That was just his luck, wasn’t it? As if his life wasn’t already falling apart. He decided that was a later problem and typed up a quick message to Aziraphale before pocketing his phone once more. He gave Aziraphale one final look, a longing stare at the face of the man he could never have, before he turned and left.

The thing about pub food was that it didn’t have to actually be good. As long as the beer was decent and cheap then who cared if the chips came out like ice chips and with the consistency of cardboard? Crowley looked at his near empty glass with a frown. He’d need to get another one soon. He still wasn’t nearly drunk enough to have forgotten what happened the night before. Well, more than he already had. What the hell had been in that wine? It must have been some potent stuff to make him forget what should have been the best moment of his life. Then again, maybe it was best he couldn’t remember it that well. After all, the circumstances centred around it hadn’t exactly been ideal. If they ever did sleep together he’d pictured it very differently. There would be flowers and a candlelight dinner with soft whispers of affection and undying love. That was the kind of night Aziraphale deserved and not whatever sloppy mistake Crowley had made.

Crowley had spent the whole morning driving around town, wallowing in his own misery until a grumble from his stomach around one signalled maybe it was time to take a break for a spot of lunch. Skipping breakfast wasn’t unusual for him and missing lunch wasn’t either. Or dinner. Alright, going a whole day without a proper meal wasn’t out of the blue and he would have ignored his protesting belly but the image of an annoyed Aziraphale telling him off for not eating properly refused to leave.

It wasn’t that Crowley hated food. He liked it perfectly enough. It was just that he’d forget. He’d get distracted or he’d be too tired and the next thing he knew it was ten pm and all he’d eaten that day was a packet of crisps he’d found in his cupboard that he couldn’t even remember buying. He knew it wasn’t healthy and was largely the reason he looked like a human beanpole but it wasn’t his fault! Sometimes things got overwhelming and he had other priorities more important than things like eating. So, what if he felt weak constantly? Sacrifice needed to be made.

Naturally, Aziraphale had noticed when his friend had begun acting more sluggish and, when he asked if he was feeling alright, had been horrified at Crowley’s offhand remark about how he hadn’t eaten that day.

“Crowley! It’s almost six!”  The way he’d put his hand on his chest and gasped (yes, actually gasped) had been comical to say the least but he still couldn’t help but feel guilty at the look of worry on his friend’s face. He’d initially only come over for tea and a chat but ended up staying for dinner. Stopping at Aziraphale’s for dinner wasn’t exactly unusual but after that incident, he made a point to invite him over far more often. He never outright said it but Crowley knew it was so that he’d have at least one decent meal that day. And, damn, if he wasn’t an amazing cook. Even the simplest dishes felt like they belonged in a five star restaurant. Where he really excelled, however, was in his baking. There was always dessert after dinner and simply thinking of his sticky toffee pudding or apple crumble made his mouth water. Too bad he wouldn’t be having any of that ever again. Scum of the earth don’t get sticky toffee pudding.

Crowley downed the last of his beer as he looked around the room from his table far in the back. Being that it was only lunchtime, the place was hardly full but those that were there were definitely the type you’d expect to be drinking in the middle of the day. Most of the clientèle smelled like they’d never met a bar of soap they liked and their smiles had less teeth than a pro boxer. Calling what they did smiling wasn’t quite right, though. It was more like a sneer that they’d shoot at anyone they deemed as beneath them which was hilarious when you think how a large number of them could barely write their own names without asking for help. It was the kind of place you needed a tetanus shot to use the bathroom and where you never left any belongings unsupervised. More than one idiot had lost their lunch that way. No surprise really, with the type of people ot attracted, that it had a name like Hellhole. Need it be mentioned that it was owned by someone actually named Beelzebub?

At first glance, Beelzebub was hardly an imposing figure. A little on the short side, eyes glammed up with thick eyeliner, and always wearing a bowler hat of all things, most would take one look at them and would immediately think them a pushover. A very incorrect and dangerous assumption to make. Despite their small size and seemingly unimposing figure, Beelzebub didn’t (as the eloquent saying would go) take shit from anyone. Crowley had seen them take down a man twice their size with only a few words and a glare on more than one occasion. The regular patrons knew better than to cause chaos in The Hellhole when the owner was looking.

Crowley had stumbled into the pub one day about five years ago, looking for cheap food and even cheaper beer. He’d been pleasantly surprised to find the person behind the bar wearing a pin in the non-binary colours with THEY/THEM written in big bold letters. He’d almost choked on his beer when they told him their name.

“So, uh, why Beelzebub?” he’d asked, more curious and confused than he’d been in a long time. He knew non-binary people had a penchant for picking out there names but that was a new one.

They’d answered with a laugh somewhere between bitter and genuine as they’d said, “Simply a little payback at a less than accepting religious family.” 

They’d said nothing more about it and Crowley hadn’t needed them to. He was more than well acquainted with those type of people. After all, that sort was exactly why Aziraphale was Aziraphale. 

“I need another refill,” Crowley said as he placed his empty glass on the bar counter.

Beelzebub raised a brow at him. “You’re getting slow in your old age, Crowley. It took you, what, a whole five minutes to finish this one? Downright disgraceful.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Beelzebub took his glass to the tap and, once it was full, handed it back to him with a, “Now, do us proud and down this in one go right here right now. Come on, don’t get sloppy.”

“I’m here for beer, not to be made fun of,” Crowley scowled.

“What do you expect me to do? It’s not even one yet and you waltz in here with this sour look as though you’ve been rimming lemons all morning-”

“Wow..”

“-and then you sit in the corner, sulking by yourself, treating your beer like it’s water and you’re a man who’s dying of thirst. I’m not an idiot, Crowley. I know something is wrong and you’re not going to find an answer at the bottom of a glass. What’s going on?”

“You own a bar!” Crowley practically shrieked, his voice a little too high for his liking. “Your job is to sell me alcohol and gross food, not be my therapist. This isn’t some eighties sitcom where you’re the plucky bartender here to give me advice and witty quips.” He grabbed his drink. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get plastered.”

But before he could leave, Beelzebub gave a stern and hard, “Sit.”

They pointed to one of the barstools and Crowley was about to either tell them off or outright ignore them but there was something about the look in their eyes that told him that was a very bad idea. Therefore, despite his previous outburst, he did what he was told and planted his moody backside on the chair. He wasn’t happy about it, though, and made sure to send his supposed friend the dirtiest of looks as he took a sip of his beer.

“So, what are you and Aziraphale fighting about this time?”

Crowley put his glass a little too hard on the bar top. “What makes you think this has anything to do with him?”

“Because who else do you give enough of a damn about to get like this over?”

Beelzebub had actually only ever met Aziraphale a few times over the years due to them not being cis being the only things they really had in common. The Hellhole was evidence enough that the two didn’t exactly move in the same circles. That being said, the way Crowley had acted about Aziraphale the few times Beelzebub had met him and how he wouldn’t shut up about the man at times when he stopped by had made it very clear to them that his feelings for the personification of a giant marshmallow weren’t entirely platonic. Crowley had, of course, tried to deny it when they’d brought it up but Beelzebub had called bullshit. It was somewhat of a relief to be open about his feelings, at least to one person. For once he didn’t have to hide exactly what Aziraphale meant to him. Not that any of that mattered now seeing as after last night he’d no doubt never want to speak to him again.

As much as Crowley wanted to turn tail and run from the very uncomfortable conversation in front of him, he knew that if he did he wouldn’t hear the end of it from the small glaring person behind the bar. So, after a little awkward shuffling in his seat, he decided to bite the bullet and said, “I slept with Aziraphale.”

When he finally said those words out loud it felt like a hand had reached into his chest, grabbed his heart, and squeezed as hard as it could. Would he ever be able to forgive himself for the terrible thing he’d done? Would Aziraphale? But while Crowley was fighting hard not to throw up for the second time that day, Beelzebub was standing there wearing the biggest grin on their grimy little face.

“Bloody finally! Been waiting years for the two of you to finally shag each other,” they said with a laugh.

Crowley violently shook his head. “No, no, this isn’t a party hats and sparklers moment. This is a shouted at and probably never spoken to again moment.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Crowley?” Beelzebub huffed, clearly growing annoyed with this already. That made two of them.

Crowley stared at his mostly still filled drink, at the stains on the glass from a half arsed cleaning job, wondering if he shouldn’t down the thing for that extra little boost of courage before continuing. Then he remembered how an overconsumption of alcohol had gotten him into this mess in the first place and decided against it. 

“He was upset,” he began, slowly. “He finally put himself out there after a long time of being single and the whole thing had crashed and burned. He walked out of his date because the guy was a perverted creep and what do I do? Ply him with vast amounts of wine and have my filthy way with him.” Being the weak man he’d already proven himself to be, Crowley lifted his glass and took a big, hearty gulp.

Beelzebub seemed to be lost in thought, no doubt thinking of the best way to tear him a new one. While their lack of common interests made it so Aziraphale and Beelzebub weren’t exactly BFFs, the two got along well enough every time they interacted and whenever Crowley spoke about whatever dumb thing he’d done to upset the other man, Beelzebub always made sure to step up and tell Crowley exactly how much of an idiot he was. Maybe it was protectiveness for a fellow trans person, maybe Aziraphale simply had this air about him that made others want to look out for him or, more logically, the red-haired menace was a moron that needed taking down a peg but, whatever it was, he knew Beelzebub was about to verbally destroy him in a way he’d never be able to recover from. 

That was why he was surprised when they simply said, “And what about you?”

“What about me?” he asked, wondering where this was going.

“Had you also been drinking?”

“Of course,” he scoffed. “You don’t think I’d have the courage to come onto Aziraphale without it, do you?”

“And he didn’t say no? He agreed to be with you?”

Crowley shot them a brutal glare from behind his sunglasses. “I would never do anything to Aziraphale that he didn’t.”

Beelzebub let out a soft hum then was quiet. They tapped a finger on the bar top before letting out the sigh of someone far too tired to be dealing with all of this. “Honestly, I don’t see what the big problem is. While the setup isn’t ideal, you both consented to being together, didn’t you? And it’s not as if he was the only one with his mental capacity not at its fullest.” Translation: You were both drunk off your tits and wanted to bone so what’s the problem?

He’d come to The Hellohole to get drunk, to eat subpar at best food and pretend like the last twenty-four hours hadn’t happened. He didn’t need Beelzebub to rock up and try throw logic into his moping. It was true that neither of them had been in the best state mentally but it was still all his fault, right? It was just fact that there was no chance in hell Aziraphale would have ever agreed to be with him if he hadn’t drank half a bottle store and already been in a sour mood from his rubbish date. 

“What did he say after?” Beelzebub asked. 

“What did who say?”

They looked about ten kinds of done at this point. “What did Aziraphale say after you slept together?”

“Oh, um, nothing really. We fell asleep after.” On the floor for some reason. 

“And what did he say to you when you woke up?” Getting more annoyed by the second. 

He really didn’t want to carry on with this conversation. Not only did he not want to get a verbal shredding from Beelzebub but he also didn’t want to acknowledge another way he’d monumentally screwed up. He’d left without saying a word. At least the last time he’d run with his tail between his legs he’d had enough sense to say a quick “See you whenever!” He could say he was surprised he was an even worse of a person now but in reality he was shocked it took this long. 

“Crowley?”

He couldn’t so much as look them in the eye as he said, “I didn’t say anything. I ran before he woke up.”

Beelzebub stared at him for a moment, causing him to want nothing more than to sink to the floor and crawl under the nearest table. It was with a blank expression that they finally said, “Crowley, you’re an absolute pillock.”

“Won’t find any disagreements from me,” he said as he lifted his beer up to his lips once more, his grip on the glass a little tighter than necessary, but as he tipped it he found it was already empty. When did that happen?

"For hell’s sake, go give the man a call. He deserves at least that much.”

“He deserves a lot more than that,” Crowley mumbled to himself. If Beelzebub heard him, they didn’t say anything. His head buried so far up his arse, he hadn’t even bothered to check his phone since he’d left. Then again, it wasn’t only Aziraphale he was hiding from. “Got a message from Hastur earlier. Quite a few messages, actually.”

“Hastur? Didn’t know you were still in contact with him.”

“I’m not. Haven’t heard from him in over a year, then suddenly I wake up to about a dozen texts from him.”

“Interesting that your ex decides to contact you after you screw the love of your life. If I was the religious type I’d say someone up there has a twisted sense of humor.”

“He’s not my ex,” Crowley said with a scowl. “He’s just some guy I used to hook up with every now and then.” He was a good dick attached to a bad man who was there when Crowley was at a low point in his life, namely, when he’d begin to realise his feelings for Aziraphale weren’t as innocent as he’d hoped. That had been a good ten years ago and for nearly a decade he’d jump into Hastur’s bed whenever things grew difficult. It wasn’t unusual for them not to speak for months on end so when a year had already passed since their last roll in the sack, he hadn’t really thought much about it. Really, he hadn’t really thought much about him in general. He was only a means to a horny end and nothing more. He could feel bad about seeing the man in such a way but Hastur always made it very clear that, to him, Crowley was nothing more than a piece of arse. He no doubt had only gotten in contact because he hadn’t had much success in finding someone else to do the horizontal tango with. 

“What did the texts say? No declarations of undying love, I suppose.”

“Nah, just dick pics and nagging me to come meet him.” He winced in disgust at himself. Thankfully, Aziraphale didn’t know about Hastur. That was for the better. He didn’t need to know he’d been screwed by a man that both looked and smelled like the wrong end of a pig. His dick really was the only good thing about him. The same thing could be said about Crowley’s arse.

“Haven’t seen him around here much lately, either. Not ever since I told him I couldn’t serve him anymore if he didn’t pay off his damn tab. That's what I like about you Crowley, at least you pay what you owe.”

With fake hurt in his voice he asked, “Are you telling me you love me for my money and not my good looks and charm?” 

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

He lifted his glass and gave it a shake. “My money wants another beer, by the way.”

They shook their head. “No can do, Crowley. I’m cutting you off.”

“What? Why? I’ve only had two. Come on, Beelzebub, you’re not going to leave me high and dry, are you? Pretty sure I can still walk in a straight line!”

“Which is exactly why the bar is closed.” Both hands on the counter, they leaned in and said, “Because you’re going to get into that flashy little car of yours, go to Aziraphale, and beg for forgiveness on your hands and knees for suddenly up and disappearing. Are we clear?”

Crowley clicked his tongue. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, that was exactly what he needed to do. But what if he turned up to the bookstore only to have the door slammed in his face? He deserved it, of course, but the thought still terrified him. Still, it was time finally time to stop running from his problems and face the music.

Crowley stood up from his stool, pulled out his wallet and slammed a few bills in front of the small and judgy pub owner. He turned and walked back to his table, wanting to finish his lunch before heading out, but stopped when he noticed something amiss. “Where are my chips?”

Chapter Text

Aziraphale loved running his bookshop, he really did, but even he still had days where he wondered if maybe a new choice in career might not be the worst idea. He’d had such a moment that very morning when he’d spent the better part of an hour being shouted at by an elderly woman that smelled of hand lotion and old moth balls, unable to convince that, no, he couldn’t, in fact, get her the “original bible that Jesus wrote”. When she’d tried to hit him with her bag was the moment he had to put his foot down. He’d suggest that, if she’d really felt so wronged, then maybe they should call the police to settle the matter? That seemed to scare her enough that she left, accusing him of worshipping Satan the whole way out the door. As much of a pain as the incident had been at the time, Aziraphale was at the very least comforted by the fact it would make an amusing story to share with Crowley the next time they had dinner. 

The thought made Aziraphale positively giddy. He still couldn’t believe Crowley actually loved him back. He never in a million years thought that would be possible. A man like Crowley interested in someone like him? Perish the thought! He was far out of Aziraphale’s league and Aziraphale knew it, had known it for years, ever since he was a teenager and began to notice what it was others looked for in a partner. And Airaphale knew what most others looked for wasn’t him.

Crowley was handsome, there was no denying that. From his slender frame to his striking red hair, and that devilish smile that could make anyone swoon, he was the type of man others would fight to be with. And quite a few people had if certain stories he’d heard were to be believed. That was one of the main reasons he’d always been so afraid to tell him of his feelings. Crowley was popular, he could have anyone he wanted, so why pick Aziraphale? While he didn’t consider himself a hideous beast, he still wasn’t on the same level of some of the other men Crowley had been with. Then there was the whole transgender issue. 

Aziraphale knew Crowley didn’t care that he was trans. He’d been nothing but supportive from the day he’d come out. Driving him to his doctor appointments and a shoulder to cry on when his dysphoria became too much to bear, even helping out when the dreaded red menace reared its ugly head and Aziraphale was too embarrassed to buy pads. All he had to do was give Crowley a look and a mumble of something being out and the man would march out to the shops like a beanpole on a mission, coming back with pads and his favourite cupcakes. Really, how couldn’t he fall in love with someone like that? But where the problem arose was that just because he could be friends with a trans man, that didn’t mean he would ever date one. Enter a little app known as Grindr.

Aziraphale had never used the thing. Apps weren’t really his cup of tea at the time (and he supposed they still weren’t) but Crowley liked messing around on them a bit when he wanted some casual fun. He would often show him pictures of the men he was seeing and Aziraphale would smile and nod, doing his best to hide how much his heart ached whenever he showed off some toned muscle hunk with a tan. When Crowley had shown him what felt like the hundreth such image, he’d been about to say his practiced “He seems nice” when he noticed a pair of scars beneath his pecs. 

“Oh, yeah, he’s trans too,” Crowley had said like it was the most casual thing in the world when Aziraphale had pointed them out. He’d said it as if this revelation that Crowley was perfectly okay when it came to sucking face with a trans man wasn’t this world changing revelation. This meant that he actually had a chance! Except, when he really stopped to think about it, he didn’t, did he? Crowley may have been all for the trans D (D for Dildo) there was still the small issue of them being best friends. It’s not exactly unusual for friends to hook up or even form long lasting relationships but it also isn’t unusual for said relationships to crash and burn and for the friends to never talk to one another again. It was this fear that kept Aziraphale so tight lipped all these years. Besides, Crowley would never want a boring old flabby thing like him when he had Mr Grindr McSixpack at his fingertips. And even if he could look past his love handles and the fact he dressed like he was born in a library clutching a collection of Jane Austen’s best, he still had his personality to get past. 

Aziraphale was boring, not the type anyone would be rushing to call their mother about. He was the type that was the friend but never the boyfriend. He wasn’t thrilling enough for that. A chat about your day over a glass of wine was all he was good for. But, after the discovery that he fancied him too, maybe, that was all Crowley really wanted? Maybe he wanted calm and stability, someone to come home to at the end of the day with a warm smile and an even warmer embrace.

Aziraphale sat on the bench grinning like an idiot as thoughts of Crowley continued to swim through his mind. It was still an insane thing to accept that he returned his feelings. When he’d woken up that morning to find him gone, he admitted he’d panicked a little. Had he changed his mind? Realised he could do so much better? But when he’d grabbed his phone to give him a call, he’d come face to face with an answer

Sorry. A bit of an emergency popped up. Will call you later.

Of course he hadn’t abandoned him. He’d simply had something more important to go do than stay with the man he’d admitted to loving the night before. Aziraphale wasn’t annoyed or upset about it at all, no not a bit.

Okay, he was a little miffed. What had happened that could have been so important that he’d ditch the man he was supposedly in love with the morning after they’d done the horizontal tango? It couldn’t have been a work thing. Crowley didn’t have a job and so no boss to answer to or deadlines to meet. Had a friend needed his help? Crowley had many acquaintances but few true friends he’d drop everything for. The only one beside him he could think of was Beezlebub and, even though he didn’t know them all that well, they seemed more like the type to chew their own arm off before asking for help. Maybe that was why Crowley had been so quick to leave? Maybe something horrible had befallen them, something so terrible that they’d had no choice but to reach out? He tried not to focus too hard on it. If something was really wrong then surely Crowley would tell him. Wouldn’t he? Yes, obviously Crowley would come to him if he really needed help with something, anything. 

A loud quacking drew his attention to the pond, his eyes following the ducks as they moved back and forth across the water’s surface. Once a month, on no day in particular, they’d bring a bag of frozen peas for the ducks as they sat chatting about this and that.

“But why does it have to be peas? Won’t old bread crusts do?” Aziraphale had asked once when Crowley had grumbled about the raised prices of the frozen veg.

“Nah, it’s bad for them apparently. Peas are much better and they seem to prefer them, anyway.”

“Really? They seem to like them perfectly the same as the bread.”

“Come on, look at them,” he’d said as he’d tossed a handful of peas to the noisy fowl. They moved like their life depended on it, pouncing on the peas as if they hadn’t eaten in days. The grin he’d given Aziraphale had been bright enough to blind and he swore his heart had skipped a beat. “See? Told ya. They love them.”

“Yes, um, well…” A somewhat over the top throat clearing was followed by a, “Personally, I don’t see any difference in their mad dash for the little morsels but if you want to carry on buying them peas then go right ahead.”

They’d continued to talk for a good hour about everything and nothing, occasionally throwing the ducks their little treats. They shared many memories on that bench and it was for that reason Aziraphale found himself gravitating towards it when he felt lost. He’d lost his final ability to give a damn after he earlier incident with the strange Jesus bible lady and around lunchtime had locked up his store and headed off to the park. Leaving whenever the hell he wanted to was one of the many perks of owning his own business. 

Aziraphale was wondering if maybe he shouldn’t give Crowley a call, not having heard from the other man for hours was causing him to worry. But as he was about to take out his phone, he heard an all too familiar voice blurt out, “Aziraphale?!”

His head snapped up to find the man of his (constant) thoughts standing over him, surprise evident even if said face was partially covered by his trademark sunglasses. He felt a lump in his throat as the memory of the night before hit him like a slap to the face. Only hours before he’d seen those sunglasses removed, a look of pure lust in Crowley’s eyes that he never in his wildest dreams thought would ever be aimed at him. Aziraphale would do anything to be looked at again like that. A small smile played on his lips at the realisation that he’d soon get exactly that.

They were boyfriends now after all, weren’t they? They hadn’t said the words officially but they’d confessed their feelings so that was the only next logical step. Aziraphale was almost on the edge of his seat with how giddy he was. He patted the spot beside him and said, “Come, sit! We have so much to talk about.”

“Yeah, we do,” Crowley said in a voice that was uncharacteristically solemn. Now Aziraphale really was getting worried. What exactly had happened while he was away?

Crowley sat with one arm over the back of bench and his legs open wide as he always did but there was a strange stiffness to it all as if he were on edge. Doing his best not to sound as worried as he was, Aziraphale asked, “Is Beelzbub alright?”

“What? How did you know I went to see them?” Crowley’s head snapped towards him and he swore his eyes went wide behind those shades of his. 

“Well, you said something came up so I thought maybe they needed help.” Aziraphale gave him a small smile as he added a sympathetic, “It wasn’t anything too terrible, was it?”

“Uh, no, everything’s fine now. Totally sorted,” he said with a wave of his hand. When he didn’t elaborate on exactly what it was Beelzebub had needed him for, Aziraphale felt it best not to pry. Hopefully it wasn’t too on the illegal side. Head swiveling in all directions, seemingly looking at anything but Aziraphale, Crowley continued with, “So, um, you’re not at the bookshop? Was actually thinking of heading over there but needed a bit of air first.”

“No, today was a little on the chaotic side so I thought I’d close up early,” he told him. Poor Crowley. Whatever happened with Beelzebub must have really gotten to him. Aziraphale broke into a wide smile as a genius idea hit him. “I know! Why don’t we go get a spot of lunch together? My treat.”

“You…you actually want to spend time with me?”

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I want to spend time with my-” Boyfriend. Partner. Significant other. He wanted to say them all but wasn’t sure if Crowley was there quite yet so did his best to reel himself in. “-my dear friend.” 

“I’m surprised you’d call me a friend after what I did to you,” Crowley muttered as he stared at the ground. “After all the things I’ve done to you.”

“Crowley?” His fingers twitched as the desire to reach over and take his hand grew. But he knew better. If he pushed it all Crowley would do would be to retreat more into himself so, instead, he gave him a small smile and looked over at the water. After a moment of silence he broke it by saying, “Remember how often we used to come here as children? I swear we were here more than at home.” 

“Well, with what was waiting back there for us I’m not surprised,” Crowley scoffed.

Aziraphale gave a small nod. He could still hear his mother’s shrill voice at how he’d gotten his lovely new dress dirty by "roughhousing like an animal” as she’d put it.. “What will the neighbours think? Little girls need to be proper and not look like they were raised in a barn,” was another favourite of hers. Nevermind the fact he was holding back tears from a scrapped knee and palms after a nasty fall. It had been Crowley to help him up and dust him off, to tell him it would heal up in no time and maybe he’d even get a cool scar out of it. The things they’d get up to weren’t even that outrageous. Running around, climbing trees, catching bugs, all activities young children of any gender would do but in the Fell household those just weren’t the type of things young ladies got up to. His parents were happiest when he was sat quietly with a book in his lap, silent and calm, like an obedient little statue. 

Aziraphale used to be so jealous of Crowley back in those days. He could get up to whatever he wanted and his parents would never say a word. They never even seemed to notice he was gone most of the time. There eventually came a day when he realised this wasn't the amazing thing his child mind had once thought it was.

“I was terrified, you know,” Crowley said out of the blue and Aziraphale must have looked confused as he added, “About telling you I was gay, I mean.” 

He was surprised Crowley was bringing this up so suddenly but maybe it was nostalgia. They were sitting on the very bench he’d told him, after all. “Believe me, I understand wholeheartedly," Aziraphale said with a chuckle. “I’d been trying to pick up the courage for months to tell you I was trans.”

“We were both a bit stupid looking back at it, weren’t we? Each thinking the other would care about that sort of thing.”

“And look at us now! I could have never imagined where being openly queer would have gotten us.” In an actual relationship was what he wanted to stay but was still too shy to utter the words. He was so deliriously happy that he liked to think the cringe he saw on Crowley’s face must have only been an involuntary tick. 

“Yeah, we really went places,” Crowley said, biting his bottom lip in a way that was far more concerning than enticing. “I’m surprised you even wanted to speak to me again after what I did.” Aziraphale eyed the way his adams apple bobbed as he swallowed. “You’re too good a person, you know that, Aziraphale? Wanting anything to do with the guy that abandoned you like that.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t got the foggiest idea what you’re talking about, Crowley. Exactly when did you abandon me?” Aziraphaled asked, a mix of concerned and confused.

“When haven’t I?” His voice was higher now, almost shouting. He paused for a moment, took in a deep breath, then said, “When I turned eighteen and I left? I left you alone with those people so I could travel across the country and to what? Find myself? I wasn’t looking for shit, angel. I was running from my rubbish existence and I left you behind.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale’s voice was barely above a whisper as he watched the way his friend’s face scrunched up in anguish. Crowley had worked two jobs throughout most of their teens so he could one day pack up and move far away from his parents, people who, much like Aziraphale’s own, regularly reminded him of how much of a disgrace he was. At least Aziraphale never went to school with a black eye that all the teachers mysteriously seemed to be unable to see. 

“I should’ve taken you with me.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “You and I both know I would have never gone along with it. I had to stay home, be the perfect daughter, and perfect daughters don’t run off with men who traipse around all in black leather. Back then people thought I was a woman and you were straight, remember?”

“Angel, you’re kidding yourself if you think anyone believed I was straight.” 

Alright, he had to admit he had a point. Even long before Crowley came out there were whispers about how he “wasn’t quite right” with how his hips swayed a certain way and his wrist was a little limper than what was considered normal.

Things really came to a head when Crowley discovered skinny jeans. It also happened to coincide with Aziraphale finding out that he quite liked looking at men in a way he hadn’t quite realised before. Funny thing that.

“You know,” Crowley began again, “I thought about not returning. A part of me wanted to find some flat in a city far away and never come back. Even considered moving to Scotland once. Love the accent.”

“Why didn’t you?” Aziraphale asked, a tingling in his chest at the thought he may have almost lost him. What would he have done with himself without Crowley?

Crowley sat up properly, back straight as he stared Aziraphale down. “Because I couldn’t imagine a life without you, angel.”

Aziraphale could hear his mother’s voice chastising him in his ear, telling him off over what he was about to do. They were surrounded by people, after all, everyone could see them and real ladies didn’t commit such public displays. Well, good thing he was no lady then. 

He gently took ahold of Crowley’s glasses, removing them to reveal those beautiful golden eyes he fell in love with all over again every time he saw them. After putting them down in the small space between them, he placed a hand on Crowley’s knee and gave it a squeeze. Touching him again, even in such a small way, was more thrilling than he could put into words. So, when he leaned in, eyes closed, to give him a kiss, he was surprised his entire body didn’t implode on impact. What shocked him most about the kiss, however, was that Crowley didn’t kiss him back.When he pulled away and opened his eyes, he was met with a slack jawed Crowley who was doing his best impression of a fish gasping for air.

“Y-y-you just put your face on my face,” he stammered, eyes wide to a size Aziraphale never thought possible.

“It’s called a kiss, my dear,” Aziraphale laughed. “Would you like another?”

“But…but why?”

“Because it’s nice?” Aziraphale was surprised confused for a moment at Crowley’s reaction then, remembering where they were, his cheeks turned rosey. Maybe sharing tender kisses with his lover in a public park was a little much. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” he quickly apologised. “I should have asked if that was okay first. If you like we can head back to the bookshop? I was planning on keeping it closed for the rest of the day so we’d have all the time we want to ourselves.”

He kept his voice low during that last part, hoping he was doing his best to get his message across, shocking even himself at how forward he was being but he couldn’t help himself. All he wanted was to slide his hand upwards to more emphasis his point but the whole still being in public thing stopped him. He was growing bolder after openly admitting his feelings to the other man but he wasn’t quite that bold.  

“But, but why? You seriously want to snog after what happened last night?” Crowley questioned with the face of a confused puppy. It was a look he’d been wearing ever since he sat down and was one Aziraphale was certain he was beginning to match.

Aziraphale stopped for a moment and tried to look at it from a different angle. Maybe Crowley thought they were moving too fast? A funny thought after what they’d done the night before but there had been quite a lot of alcohol involved. Inhibitions thoroughly out the window, they’d done something neither would have sober…which in itself was a sobering thought. Would either of them have had the courage to finally tell one another how they really felt if they hadn’t had one too many? Maybe, because of the suddenness of it all, Crowley was feeling a little on the cautious side now?

Trying to take a gentler approach, Aziraphale put on his best soothing voice as he gave his leg a reassuring squeeze and said, “I know this isn’t how either of us wanted our relationship to start but I’m still glad it happened. When you told me you loved me-”

“WHAT?!”

Nearly falling out of his seat due to the sudden yelling, it took him a moment to collect himself before he shot the man a look. “Goodness gracious, Crowley, what on earth has gotten into you?” Aziraphale snapped, now beginning to get annoyed at the other’s increasingly odd behaviour. 

Crowley grabbed onto Aziraphale’s shoulders, the man making a sound akin to a dog’s squeaky toy at the abrupt groping. With a determination in his eyes Aziraphale had rarely ever seen, Crowley said in a low and steady voice, “Exactly what did I say last night?”

“Come now, dear,” Aziraphale awkwardly laughed. “You’re acting as if you don’t remember what happened.” There was a flash of something on Crowley’s features and Aziraphale felt all the blood drain from his face. “You don’t remember what happened, do you?”

Crowley let go only to throw his arms in the air and yell, “Not a bloody bit! Okay, that’s not entirely true. I vaguely recall us playing hide the sausage but I’ll admit the details are a little foggy.”

“Oh dear,” was all Aziraphale could bring himself to say as his mind went into full panic mode. Crowley didn’t remember. He didn’t remember the details of their night together, of how they’d made love or their clumsy confessions. The desire to crawl into a ball of shame under the bench was a strong one. This whole time he’d thought they were a lovey dovey couple about to embark on the journey of a wonderful relationship and all Crowley could probably remember was eating him out. The ground really was looking more appealing with every second.

He was snapped out of his internal breakdown by Crowley giving a quiet, “Do you really love me?”

He seemed so vulnerable in that moment, his body tense and his gaze turned downward as if too afraid to look him in the eye. He’d barely looked at him the whole time he’d been there and Aziraphale was sick of it. He leaned in until the two were a mere inch apart, their breaths intermingling as he said, “Have for years, my dear.”

Aziraphale’s second attempt at a kiss went much smoother than the first, being recuperated immediately and with full force. Crowley’s hands quickly found their way into Aziraphale’s hair, clinging to his blond locks like his life depended on it as he pulled him as close as he could muster without literally climbing into his lap. Aziraphale’s own hands weren’t quite sure of what to do, wanting to grab and grope at every part of the man he could. He settled for a hand on that criminally thin waist of his at the same time Crowley decided it was about time to slip his tongue into Aziraphale’s perfectly eager mouth.

Crowley let out a little groan as their tongues explored every inch of one another that they could. He tasted like cheap beer, a flavour Aziraphale usually couldn’t stand, but on Crowley it was like drinking the sweetest wine. He needed more of him, to gulp down every last drop of that beautiful red-haired man. But before they could take things any further there was the sound of someone clearing their throat followed by a disgusted, “Um, get a room, maybe?”

The two pulled away to find a woman standing in front of them, bright neon jogging attire and a face that could curdle milk. “There are families here so maybe think about doing that elsewhere,” she said before whipping her ponytail as she trotted off down the path.

Aziraphale’s face turned ten shades of crimson as he tried his best to will the ground to open up and swallow him whole. “We did go a little overboard there, didn’t we?” he murmured.

Crowley snorted with laughter. “Worth it.” He paused for a moment then, voice a little quieter, asked, “So, you really like me, huh? And not in the best friends since we were kids kind of way?”

“Do you really think I would have partaken in such a display of indecency if I didn’t?”

“Knowing you? Probably not.” He broke into the biggest smile Aziraphale had ever seen and added, “So, this is real? Fuck, I can’t believe it. How could I not remember something like that?”

“Well, there had been quite a bit of wine.

“So, are we a couple now?”

“If you’ll have me.” Aziraphale’s smile was bright and genuine and the grin it earned him from Crowley in return was absolutely blinding.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been wanting you for years!” Crowley was just about bouncing on his seat but he stopped and his grin turned to a frown. “But if we’re going to do this I guess I need to be honest. There was no emergency this morning. I got scared and ran. I thought I’d taken advantage of you in a vulnerable state. I got scared and I left.” He reached over a hand to Aziraphale’s and, curling fingers around his, he said, “But I promise you I’ll never do that again. I’ll stand by you no matter how hard things get.”

While a little hurt at the discovery of why Crowley hadn’t been there when he woke up, the absolute conviction in his eyes put him at ease. “I know you won’t, my dear,” he told him, fighting the urge to give him the biggest, longest, and wettest kiss he could muster. But he’d rather not be yelled at by a soccer mom in blinding exercise gear again.

“You know what we should do?” There was the excitement bubbling up again. “We need to go on a date. A proper date. Maybe dinner? There’s this new restaurant that recently opened up that I was thinking of taking you to anyway but now instead of a friendly hangout it’s a date.” He muttered “a real date” under his breath while looking like a kid on Christmas.

“I’d love to go on a date with you tonight, Crowley. Pick me up at six?”

He nodded his head so violently Aziraphale worried for a moment that he might injure himself. When he calmed down a little he said, “Well, I guess I better get going home. Need to get ready and all that. You came here by taxi, right? Need a lift?”

Aziraphale didn’t drive. He never saw the point with public transport and Crowley being right there. He was a little disappointed at Crowley’s sudden ending of their time on the bench together. After all, dinner was hours away, but he only smiled and said he’d love it if he gave him a lift. 

The two stood with Crowley taking the lead, walking slightly ahead of Aziraphale to show him exactly where the Bentley had been parked. Aziraphale had to admit he was paying more attention to Crowley than where they were going. The long, confident strides, the way those snug black trousers hugged his form in all the right places, and the trim waist waiting to be grabbed, it was all a little much for him. The previous panic and excitement over their (frankly ridiculous) miscommunication had died down and he found his mind begin to wander. The previous kiss had left him more than a little hot under the collar and wanting more. 

When they were in the Bentley and on their way on down the road, Aziraphale found himself staring at Crowley’s mouth, only it wasn’t the words coming out of it he was paying attention to.

“And then it was just bloody gone! Can you believe it? Someone actually stole my chips. What world do we live in where a man can’t leave his chips on the table of a shady pub without worrying someone will nick them?”

Aziraphale gave a noncommittal hum. He wanted to listen to Crowley, he really did, the man sounded so excited as he chatted about mundane things, no doubt relieved that Aziraphale didn’t, in fact, want to push him out of his life like he’d initially thought. But as much as he wanted to give him his undivided attention, something else refused to leave his mind as he watched Crowley’s lips. Those lips that had pressed to his clit, his tongue working its way across his entrance in a way that left him seeing stars.

Aziraphale, for once, found himself glad he didn’t have a cock. After all, having to explain why he was suddenly popping a boner seemingly out of nowhere was a conversation he’d rather not be having. That didn’t mean he still wasn’t having a crisis in his trousers, even if it wasn’t as easily noticeable. 

Squeezing his legs together, he did his best to, in some way, ease the heat pooling in his underwear. He wondered for a moment if it would be too forward to invite him up to his flat when he dropped him off. They’d already had sex so it wasn’t that big a deal, right? What did it matter that their previous time together had been fueled by alcohol and Crowley could barely remember any of it? A twinge of guilt picked at Aziraphale as he chastised himself for such a thought.

“You alright, angel? You’re being awfully quiet,” Crowley said as they sped right through a red robot. Aziraphale was so distracted that he couldn’t even bring himself to give a panicked scream as they whizzed mere inches from a bus.

“It’s nothing, dear,” he said as he put a hand on Crowley’s knee. It was the same action he’d done at the park but now he wouldn’t be risking shocked gasps from onlookers if he went a little higher. He could risk a little flirtation, couldn’t he? Just a tiny bit of teasing wouldn’t hurt. 

Aziraphale’s eyes didn’t leave Crowley’s lap as his hand began to glide upwards.The feeling of firm muscle beneath his fingers pushed him forward until he found that spot between thigh and groin. He stayed there for a moment, thinking on what to do next. Pulling away and actually joining in Crowley’s currently one-sided conversation was the sensible choice. Too bad there’s no such thing as sense when all you can think about is going down on the beautiful man right in front of you.

When his pinkie brushed against the front of that succulent bulge, he jerked forward thanks to Crowley taking on a sudden sharp turn into an alleyway before slamming his foot on the breaks, bringing them to an abrupt stop. 

“Crowley! What on earth are you doing?” Aziraphale snapped. Thankfully he’d been wearing his seatbelt or there would have been a very large Aziraphale shaped hole through the windshield. 

“What am I doing? What are you doing? Seriously, what on earth was that?” Crowley said as he waved his hand vaguely between Aziraphale and his lower area.

“Oh, um, yes, I suppose I did get a little overeager, didn’t I?” Aziraphale mumbled with a shy smile. “But can you really blame me? After what happened last night, how can I not get a little carried away? There’s so many things I’ve been wanting to do with you, to you…”

Crowley looked shocked for a moment at Aziraphale’s boldness but that only lasted a moment before he was shooting him a smirk. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

Oh dear. He’d walked right into something, hadn’t he? Well, it would be rude of him not to continue. Aziraphale undid his buckle as he said, “I find it a terrible shame you don’t remember much from last night and I want to make it up to you.”

“And how do you plan on doing that exactly?” The raised brow and that wide smirk were all Crowley needed to do to make Aziraphale’s belly do flips. Having him be so explicitly flirty was going to be the end of him, he knew it.

Reaching over, Aziraphale placed a kiss to Crowley’s lips, one the other was more than happy to return. With the man distracted, Aziraphale made his attack and soon the sound of a zipper being lowered could be heard within the Bentley. 

Aziraphale couldn’t believe himself. Was he really about to give Crowley a blowjob in a filthy old alley next to a large dumpster that seemed to be leaking…something? He didn’t really want to think about it. Their first sexual encounter as an official couple (they had a date planned so they were actually a couple now, right?) should be a little more romantic than this. Or at the very least in a bedroom. Then again, they had been doing things a little backwards when it came to this whole relationship thing, weren’t they? Sex first followed a declaration of love and only then planning their first date? He supposed a quickie wasn’t too out of left field for them at this point. A strange sort of thrill ran through him at the thought. This was so out of character for him and he wondered in what other ways he would step out of line due to his insatiable lust for the man in front of him with his legs slightly parted and tongue jutting out to lick the bottom of his lip. Aziraphale was royally (as the youths say) fucked.

He pulled Crowley out of his underwear, breath catching at how he twitched under his fingers. He began to slowly stroke him up and down, marveling at how quickly he was growing hard. It seemed as though a certain someone wanted this as much as he did. Or at least a certain part of his anatomy did. When Crowley was sporting a semi was when Aziraphale decided to attack. 

His hand was stuck working on his shaft when his mouth decided to wrap around his head, giving a sudden and sharp suck that made Crowley groan. “Fuck, angel, you’re not gonna go easy on me, are you?” Mouth too full of dick to respond properly, Aziraphale instead flicked his tongue sharply over his slit as if to say, “No, my dear, I’m not.” 

One of Crowley’s hands was placed on Aziraphale’s back while the other gently rested on his head. It wasn’t gentle for long what with the blond man deciding now was the perfect time to speed up his strokes while his tongue worked its magic over every inch of Crowley’s head that it could. In ecstasy, Crowley’s grip tightened to the point Aziraphle genuinely grew concerned he might cause some damage to his beloved jacket. He’d for sure lost a few lovely locks on his blond hair from that death grip.

Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s member to slide his hand down to his thigh once more, leaving plenty of opportunity for his mouth to go on the full offensive. In an instant Crowley’s entire cock was engulfed into that eager mouth, causing the man to give a strangled cry of, “Ngk!”

The taste of Crowley on his tongue was far more exquisite than anything he’d had before. Forget oysters or a finely aged wine, he’d take a good dick over any of that any day. And, fuck, was it a good dick. He could feel his underwear cling to him as he grew wetter with every bob of his head and, most certainly not for the first time, Aziraphale found himself cursing not having a member of his own, wanting nothing more than to throw Crowley into the backseat to take him then and there in that disgusting alleyway.

“God, angel,” he moaned as Aziraphale flicked his tongue beneath his cockhead. He was twitching like crazy, pre pouring out of him like a fountain. It didn’t take a genius to tell Crowley was close. Too bad for the poor man that Aziraphale wasn’t quite done with him yet. 

He pulled off of him with a wonderfully wet sound, Crowley giving a small groan of confusion at the sudden loss of that skilled mouth on his member. He didn’t have much of a chance to complain before Aziraphale was kissing him hard. Tongue against tongue in the messiest way possible, Aziraphale found this the best distraction while his hand made its way beneath Crowley's top.

The scrape of a nail across a far-too-sensitive-than-it-had-any-right-to-be nipple caused Crowley to gasp, a sound that was absolute music to Aziraphale’s ears. He continued to kiss him deeper while his fingers went to work on the sensitive bud that made Crowley sing. Aziraphale could have gone for hours, touching, kissing, licking every part of the man he could reach, but then there was a low groan and a gentle full body shake to tell him it was all over.

Pulling away, Aziraphale looked down to find a string of cum across Crowley’s belly and all Aziraphale could bring himself to say was, “Oh my.”

“Wha?” was Crowley’s dazed response.

“Did you come from a kiss and a little light petting?” He had to admit he was a tad proud of himself.

“Couldn’t help it. I was already close from that mouth of yours.” Crowley’s cheeks were red. Whether from exertion or embarrassment Aziraphale couldn’t tell. Hopefully a little bit of both. He put a hand on his angel’s knee and added, voice dripping with honey, “Want me to return the favour?”

Aziraphale was about to jump at the chance to have a little bit of hand action when the two were so rudely interrupted by a knock on the window. Crowley grumbled a, “What now?” before winding down his window to be met with a pimply faced teenager wearing an apron featuring the logo of some takeaway place and an expression of someone who had checked out long ago.

“Hey, uh, could you move your car?” he asked as he held up a bag of rubbish. “You’re blocking the dumpster and, like, my boss gets mad when I just leave stuff out in the alley.”

“Oh, yes, sorry about that. Come along, dear, let’s go,” Aziraphale said, trying not to sound as panicked as he felt. After all, Crowley was sitting there with his goddamn dick out . They really needed to stop fooling around in public.

As the engine roared to life and Crowley sped the hell out of there, Aziraphale sat there red faced after their second interruption in only an hour. They really, really needed to stop fooling around in public. 

Chapter Text

A date. He couldn't believe it. After years of pining he finally had an actual honest to God dinner date with someone who really could do better but for some reason in the end still chose him. 

Crowley didn't really go on many dates. Don't get it wrong, he went out with men all the time but calling those dates was pushing it a little. The last time he even came close was a few months back when some guy offered to buy him McDonald's after a sloppy nightclub bathroom hookup. It was strange to think how he wouldn't be going back to that life. No more messy makeout sessions with men whose names he couldn't remember, no more running into the arms of strangers he couldn't care less about in an attempt to forget about how the true love of his life was right there and yet so unattainable. Funny now to think about how much of a load of bull that was. Unattainable? Only via his own stupidity. If only he'd said something sooner then so much time pining could have been saved. All this time it could have been Aziraphale he'd been fondling in sketchy nightclub bathrooms. 

Not that Aziraphale would ever be caught dead doing something like that. Such a display in such a public place? Definitely not. At least, that's what Crowley would have said if someone had asked him a few days ago if he'd ever do such a thing. Now he wasn't so sure after what had happened only hours before. He still struggled to believe it and wouldn't have if he hadn't been the one it'd been done to. The prim and proper Aziraphale, who used coasters for drinks and daintily dabbed at the corner of his mouth while eating cake, had given him head in his Bentley in the middle of a foul smelling alleyway. Then there was also that kiss at the park. Two instances of the man being unable to keep his hands off of him, sexually charged in a way Crowley could have never imagined.

Crowley still struggled to wrap his head around it all. Aziraphale loved him, had loved him for a while. The amount of shagging time they'd wasted dancing around one another as ignorant lovestruck idiots was infuriating. They had a lot of catching up to do and Aziraphale's earlier actions showed he was in full agreement. The blond cherub of a man was for sure going to get his dick wet that night. If he wanted to, of course, but after that earlier display he highly doubted a "No" would be anywhere on his lips. Unless it was followed by a "Don't stop". 

In only the past few hours he'd seen a new side to the other man he'd only ever thought he'd bare witness to in his wildest dreams. Turned out those fantasies could never compare to the real thing. The way his mouth moved on him, hands clinging to any part of his body he could, moaning as his head bobbed up and down with abandon. He could still hear the sounds they made together, a chorus of ecstasy that he'd been playing in his head over and over again until the day he died. Not that he really needed to do that, did he? After all, he'd be getting a lot more chances to experience it in person from now on. The very thought of it made his dick twitch in anticipation. He sucked in a sharp breath to calm himself. Crowley didn't have time for distractions, not when he had something so important to deal with. Namely, what was he going to wear on his first official date with a man who, he'd only recently discovered, could suck the soul from his very body?

Crowley stood in front of his open wardrobe in nothing but a pair of briefs and painted black nails. He needed to pick something that screamed dead sexy. It would've been nice to have worn something the other had never seen him in before but there was simply no time to go clothes shopping. He'd have to work with what he already had.

Rifling through the various items of clothing, Crowley did his best to try and find something he knew Aziraphale liked. This was easier said than done. Aziraphale always complimented his clothes because that was just the kind of man he was. Saying anything outright nasty about his fashion sense wasn't in his nature, making it hard to decide on what he could pick he knew the other genuinely liked. His eyes landed on a shock of bright red and a devilish smile spread across his lips. Removing the long sleeved button up from its hanger, he examined it with careful precision. Aziraphale had always seemed to approve whenever he wore something such a striking red and this item specifically had seemed to be a favourite of his. Crowley liked to leave the first few top buttons undone, showing off a nice little bit of skin with a dash of red chest hair, and more than once he'd caught Aziraphale looking at that one particular spot. All this time he'd convinced himself he'd simply been imagining it, no way had he actually been checking him out, but now he knew the truth. Now he knew exactly what had been going through Aziraphale's mind whenever he saw that extra bit of skin. It was probably what Crowley would think whenever the other man took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves to reveal wonderfully thick arms that he absolutely needed wrapped around him.

Top picked he now had to decide on the bottoms. That was an easy one. 

The black leather trousers were a sure fire item in Crowley's collection of slut-tastic outfits. They weren't exactly the most comfortable bit of clothing but they for sure made a statement. That statement being "I want to see these on your bedroom floor this instant." Aziraphale was a smart man so he had high hopes he'd get the message. Especially seeing as these were also something he was fairly certain had made the other sweat. The first time he'd walked into the bookshop wearing them, Aziraphale had stared at him wide-eyed and squeaked out a, "Aren't those, um, a little on the tight side, my dear?" Back then he'd stupidly thought maybe he'd been worried they'd come apart at the seams if he so much as bent over. Now he knew he was secretly praying that they did. 

The final garment was a pair of boots with a heel some would consider a little higher than what was really necessary. Those other people were wrong. He'd had a few of his flings in the past sulk if they made him even the tiniest bit taller than them but with Aziraphale he'd done nothing but compliment on how beautifully long and slender it had made his legs look. That was another thing to add to the every growing list of "Yeah, I really should've known he was interested in me sooner".

Now dressed in what he hoped was an absolutely fuckable outfit, he made a few more adjustments to his hair in the mirror, mind racing over how the night would undoubtedly end. Clearly they were going to have sex. There was absolutely no way they weren't after what they'd done earlier. The very idea made him melt and Crowley wondered if he'd even be able to make it through dinner without sliding to his knees and asking Aziraphale to take him then and there right next to the salad bar. His whole body began to grow hot as his thoughts on how the night could possibly end continued to grow. He'd already come twice in as many days and yet the urge to rub one out was growing by the second. It was absolutely ridiculous. He wasn't a horny teenager anymore, he was downright middle-aged. A sudden fear struck him. That was right. He was middle-aged. He might feel a tingle now but what if he couldn't later? What is his little Crowley (or not so little, thank you very much) wouldn't be able to rise to the occasion? It'd never happened before but there was a first time for everything and just his luck it would happen right when he needed it most. 

Oh God. That was exactly what was going to happen, wasn't it? He'd be all dressed up in his slutty best ready to go when a certain part of his anatomy would be all all "No we're not doing this today". What would Aziraphale do? What he laugh? No, that would be a little too cruel for the living embodiment of kindness and understanding. It was far more likely he'd tell him it was okay and suggest they do something innocent like watch a bit of telly all the while inwardly thinking to himself over how much of a failure of a man he was.

Crowley wanted to slap himself. He knew Aziraphale, had known him since before they could even form coherent words and still found mushy pumpkin to be the top tier of cuisine, so, he should know better than anyone that that wasn't who Aziraphale was. He'd never think any less of him for not being able to stand to attention. Right? The logical part of his mind told him that was the case but another part, bitter and scared, that wondered if maybe his first assumption was the correct one?

The voice was small at first. Questioning. Wondering. And not only about a possible impotent incident. Exactly how else could this all blow up in his face? What if Aziraphale hated the restaurant? Or his outfit? Maybe he really had been imagining all those times he thought he'd been admiring him. There was so much that could go wrong it was astounding. The Bentley could break down or Aziraphale wore something white and Crowley ended up knocking a glass of red wine all over him. Maybe they wouldn't be able to think of anything to talk about and they sat their in awkward silence, only to be interrupted by it turning out their food had gone bad and so they spent the rest of the night with their heads in toilet bowls, a crescendo of retching as their guts waged war on them.  

Splashing water on his face, he did his best to keep the thoughts at bay as another more pressing issue arouse. It was time to pick Aziraphale up. He looked at himself one more time in the mirror, making sure once his hair was styled in just the right way and the perfect amount of shirt buttons undone, before grabbing his keys and marching towards his beloved Bentley like a man on a mission. 

With the amount of times he'd been to Aziraphale's bookshop/home, Crowley didn't even need to pay attention to the road, relying purely on muscle memory to get him there. In no time at all he was puling up to the building, mouth growing dry as he saw Aziraphale standing there, waiting patiently for what could end up being the worst night of his life. He wore a beige turtleneck that hugged his form in a most enticing way, along with a grey jacket that seemed to make his shoulders look wonderfully broad. Crowley recognised the items of clothing instantly, having seen the man wear them several times before, but there was something about them now that hit different. It felt as though Aziraphale was also trying to dress to impress and he found himself smiling at the thought. Had he also standing in front of his wardrobe, mulling over the perfect outfit combination that would make Crowley want to immediately rip it off? 

He leaned across the seat to pop open the passenger door, giving a cheery, "Hop in, angel."

Aziraphale climbed in with a smile and soon the two were zooming off at speeds that were a little concerning.

"Crowley, you just ran a red light," Aziraphale tutted over his companions disinterest in obeying common road laws.

"It's find. I promise I'll stop next time," Crowley lied, earning him a sigh from the man who could see right through him.

"Where is this place? Is it close?" Aziraphale asked, clutching the door handle for dear life as Crowley made a sharp turn.

"Yeah, just five minutes away. Never been there myself but I heard it has great desserts."

"I'm a little surprised you'd pick somewhere like that. You've never been one for sweets."

"I mean, no, but you are," Crowley murmured, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.

"Oh." Aziraphale gave him a little smile. "Thank you, dear. It's very nice that you-WATCH THAT PEDESTRIAN!"

A quick veer to the right had them narrowly missing an old woman, but before Aziraphale got the chance to tell his adrenaline junkie other off, they were pulling up to a building that had Crowley give a triumphant, "We're here. And good time too, right?"

"And terrifying. Maybe next time you can go at a more reasonable pace?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

Giving up on a battle he knew he'd never win, Aziraphale only let out a heavy sigh as they both climbed out the large, black death machine.

They were seated fairly quickly once inside and Aziraphale wasted no time in running a pair of hungry eyes over the menu. "This all sounds positively wonderful. I don't know how I'll be able to choose."

"Don't need to think too hard about it, angel. You can always try something else the next time we come."

"Planning our next date already? We don't even know if the food here is good yet," Aziraphale said with a light laugh and Crowley could have sworn he saw a tint of a blush on his cheeks. The little bit of shyness was a stark contrast from how he'd acted mere hours ago, his lips wrapped around a certain part of Crowley's very eager anatomy. He liked that bold part of Aziraphale and hoped to see a lot more of it going forward. Maybe a little teasing could bring it out?

"Did I mention how good you look?" Crowley asked, knowing very well he hadn't.

"My, thank you, dear. You look rather fetching yourself," Aziraphle responded, eyes roaming over his chest, more specifically at the exposed bit of skin. Nice to know he'd made a good choice. Aziraphale's gaze turned downward to the table and Crowley was surprised when he suddenly took his hand in his, his previous bit of bravado melting away at the feeling of those warm fingers holding onto his own. Aziraphale lifted his hand, seemingly to examine it as he said, "Your nails are painted? Its been a while since you did that."

"Uh, yeah, thought it would make a nice change. You don't think it looks bad, do you?"

"Goodness no. I always thought it suited you quite well, actually. Where did you get it done? The place I used to get my manicures closed and I'm desperately in need of a new nail technician."

"Can't help you there, angel. Did it myself."

"Really? It looks so clean. Then again, I supposed you have had a lot of practice. I don't think there was a moment in our twenties you didn't have your nails a glossy black."

"Had to make up for lost time. Remember how often I used to get into trouble for it when we were in school?"

Aziraphale pulled a face. "I swear I can still hear Mrs. Schmidt yelling at you for having 'devil hands'."

In their school days Crowley had been what his teachers called a "little shit". He was a mini anarchist in training and doing things like wearing nail polish was one of the many ways he'd tried to fight the system and the rigid conformity he and many others were forcibly thrust into. That along with eyeliner and waiting a little too long to get his hair cut got him into a lot of trouble back in school (a boy with hair that reached below his ears? The audacity!). While their teachers hadn't exactly been his biggest fans, it was the other students where the real problem came in.

Children are merciless when it comes to anything deemed as other and Crowley was as other as they came. He was a rebel who dressed and acted however he wanted and how he wanted came off as a tad fruity. Everyone knew Crowley was gay before he officially came out, not helped by the fact that he never really ever tried to deny it, simply choosing to ignore the comments or shooting back with a witty retort. After all, it felt wrong denying something he'd known was true since he was twelve. That was to say, he was picked on a lot and being so close to him, Aziraphale often got caught in the crossfire. The guilt of putting the other through that made his chest ache.

"That old bat used to think anything black was demonic," Crowley said with a small chuckle. "She'd have a fit if she saw me now."

"Yes, she'd find those tight black trousers of yours especially scandalous," Aziraphale told him with a flirty smile. Ah, he was getting bolder again. This was a good sign.

Of course, Crowley had to ruin any good mood by going, "I'm surprised you spent so much time with me. In school, I mean."

Aziraphale frowned, clearly confused. "Why wouldn't I? You were my best friend. Are my best friend."

"Come on, angel. The only reason we spent so much time together when we were little was because we were neighbours and our parents were friends. When we got older, became our own people, you could have gotten a much better social group that didn't involve me. Being around the class freak exactly make things easy for you."  Aziraphale was still holding his hand, Crowley's grip on his finger's tightening as he said, "The other kids used to pick on you because of me. You deserved better than that."

"What on earth are you talking about, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, brow furrowed.

Now it was his turn to be confused. "Back when we were kids? The other brats in school and around the neighbourhood used to bully you because you were friends with the local weirdo."

Aziraphale let out the most tired sigh Crowley had ever heard a man make. "There you go jumping to conclusions again."

"What do you mean?"

"Like when you thought you moving away from your awful home life was you abandoning me? Really, Crowley, do you honestly think you're the only reason why a young, socially awkward child who couldn't play sports if his life depended on it, and always had his nose in a book, would be the target of ridicule? Believe me, you were not the main cause of me being an outcast."

Crowley paused for a moment. He'd never really thought about it that way before. That clumsy awkwardness of his was something or the way he could go on for ages about whatever novel he'd been obsessed with were things he'd always found charming . Not to mention Crowley never cared much for sports. Altogether what others might see as flaws were things he either didn't care about or loved about the man. Logically it made sense others wouldn't admire those traits the same way he did but that didn't mean he still couldn't be annoyed by it.

"Well, clearly they didn't have any taste," Crowley said with a scoff that made Aziraphale chuckle.

"Clearly."

When their waiter next time, they'd decided on what to have. Aziraphale chose an incredibly creamy pasta dish while Crowley chose a steak so rare it was practically mooing. To drink Crowley chose a glass of Bourbon, surprised when all Aziraphale had was ice water.

"Not drinking?" he asked. 

"Terribly sorry, my dear, but after last night I think I should ease up a little on the alcohol. I'm afraid I'm not as young as I once was and my body needs a little more time to recover."

Crowley's previous concern about his body failing him when he needed it most flashed before his mind. He wasn't really thinking of this now, was he? They were on a nice date and he was still worrying about whether he'd be able to get a boner later or not. Which was ridiculous in many ways, mainly being that there was no confirmation that was even where any of this was going. He hoped but what if Aziraphale actually didn't feel like having a roll in the hay after dinner? It was a possibility but damn if Crowley wasn't screaming for it to go that way. After years of fantasizing, playing out so many scenarios in his head, knowing that he actually had the chance to do any of it was quite dizzying. What the hell was taking the booze so long? He needed something to calm his nerves. 

When their drinks did finally arrive after what felt like eons (but was more like five minutes) Crowley took a swig of his, reveling in the way it burned going down. "That hit the spot," he said as he placed his glass on the table.

"My thoughts exactly," Aziraphale responded as he daintily sipped his water. The man could even make drinking water elegant. After he put down his glass, he smiled at Crowley as he said, "I wouldn't have left you, you know."

"Huh?" 

"When we were little. Even if I wasn't considered the class loser-"

"You weren't a loser!"

"-even if I was popular and had a lot of friends, I would have still rather spent my time with you. The simple fact is I couldn't imagine being with anyone but you. We were outcasts, yes, but that never mattered to me. All that did matter is that you were there to support me when I needed someone most. I didn't care about being on the bottom of the food chain because I knew you'd be right there to help me through any nonsense that came my way."

Crowley mulled over his words for a moment before he raised his glass towards Aziraphale. "To two losers that always had each other's backs."

"Preciously," Aziraphale said as they clinked their glasses together.

The chatter between them after that was much lighter. Aziraphale talked about a book he'd recently procured after a vicious online bidding war while Crowley mentioned how his newest plant was acting up, not growing at all at the rate he'd told it to which earned him a frown from the other.

"You're not still picking on those poor dears, are you?"

"Poor dears? They're plants, angel. Plants that are way more disobedient than they have any right to be. I give them sunlight, water, the best potting soil money can buy, and how to they repay me? Slow growth and spots. Yeah you heard me. Spots. Found a couple on one of my older ones. Couldn't believe it. After all this time you'd think it would know better."

"Please don't tell me you had that one destroyed like the last one. All they need is a bit of love and care and they'll be right as rain."

Crowley regretted Aziraphale finding out just exactly how he took care of his foliage. He'd stayed over one night and was aghast the next day to find Crowley disposing of one that dared not to bloom when it was supposed to. He hated to admit it but he'd actually been a little gentler with them after that. The look of sadness in Aziraphale's eyes for the little leafy delinquents was enough to give him pause. Of course, he wasn't suddenly going to become a saint that coddled them at every transgression but he had been going a little easier on them as of late, typically resorting to only telling them off instead of ending their little green lives. Sometimes Aziraphale really was a terrible (good?) influence on him. It didn't help that the plants really liked him. Of course, they couldn't talk or anything but he swore their leaves always seemed a little glossier after a visit from him. 

"You know," Aziraphale began, "you could always give any plants you're upset with to me. I've actually been thinking maybe a potted plant or two might look good in the bookshop. Spruce the place up a bit."

"Nah, that's a terrible idea. Last thing you want is dirt on your precious books, right? Or water. Plants need lots of both of those but books certainly aren't a fan."

"Oh dear. I hadn't thought about that," Aziraphale said, sounding genuinely disappointed. He quickly perked up, however, as he said, "But I'd be extra careful, of course. Or I could put them somewhere that isn't too close to the books. Yes, that'll work perfectly. So, you'll give them to me?"

As disastrous as he saw it all going, with the way Aziraphale was looking at him with those big eyes, well, "I'll think about it." That was as good as yes as far as his angel went and the other man knew it by the way he was positively beaming.

When the food arrived was when things really became difficult for Crowley. Not because the food was bad or anything (the steak was just the right amount of bloody rare) but actually quite the opposite. Aziraphale had this...thing...you see, when it came to food he found absolutely delicious. It was something that had tortured Crowley for years, sending the man into a spiral of want and desire that had kept him up at night more than once at the memory of it.

It was the sounds. Those goddamn sounds that Aziraphale insisted on making every time he ate anything his taste buds found top tier. He had no idea if he did it on purpose. It had to be a subconcious thing, right? Who in their right mind would purposefully make the sultriest bedroom noises known to man while downing a crepe with extra fruit or an especially moist slice of cake? 

Those sounds had haunted Crowley for years. Never had he gone through anything quite as torturous as sharing a meal with a famished Aziraphale who had just discovered a new favourite treat. The moans and the way he'd lick his lips would have Crowley shifting uncomfortably in his seat, crossing his legs as he fought to hide a growing chub. 

When Aziraphale placed that first bite of creamy pasta between his lips and he let out a low, filthy groan, the reaction was instant, seemingly stronger than before. He blamed it on how he was now familiar with the sounds Aziraphale made in moments of passion and the noise he'd just made was dangerously similar. He tried his hardest to ignore the sounds assaulting his ears but Aziraphale wasn't making it easy.

"This is absolutely scrumptious," he said with a low groan that made Crowley want to curl up into a ball and weep. "The noodles are the perfect texture and the sauce is so thick and creamy with a flavour not subtle but not too overwhelming either." He took another bite, made another torturous moan, then asked, "How's your steak?"

"It's, uh, great. Great," Crowley said with a lopsided grin. He was finding himself enjoying his own meal less and less with every bite, far too distracted by the main across from him to even think about food. 

"If this is what the main course is like then I can't wait for dessert," Aziraphale told him with a light sprinkling of laughter.

Oh no. Dessert. Aziraphale was a foodie in every sense of the word but sweets were his true weakness. It was the entire reason he'd picked this place, after all, hearing how good their desserts were. He'd been so caught up in the idea of making Aziraphale happy that he hadn't stopped to think about how horribly this would effect him. He'd be cooked before they even got anywhere close to going back to his place. 

A little smudge of sauce nestled itself on the corner of Aziraphale's mouth. The man quickly took note, his tongue parting through pink lips to swipe at the offending morsel. Crowley swallowed at the sight, wanting nothing more than to be that little dollop from a pasta dish. 

"Is there something wrong, my dear?" Aziraphale asked, snapping Crowley out of his stupor.

"Wot?" was Crowley's eloquent reply.

"Your food. You've barely touched it. Don't you like it after all?"

Trying his best to hide how much of a horny idiot he was, Crowley sliced off a bit of steak and shoved it into his mouth. A little on the large side, the man struggling to chew the piece of meat, fighting not to choke, as he gave Aziraphale a smile and a thumbs up. 

"She? Ish good," Crowley said with a mouth full of meat, wishing more than anything he had someone else's meat on his tongue.  

Despite how heated the dinner had started, Crowley was eventually able to cool himself down enough to have a nice, normal conversation with Aziraphale again. Things became sweat inducing once more when out came the cheesecake Aziraphale had ordered. 

"Aren't you having anything?" he asked at Crowley's now empty side of the table. 

"Nah, s'good," he had as he nursed his second drink of the evening. "Not much for sweets, remember?"

Aziraphale took a bite of his cheesecake, let outing a downright ecstasy riddle moan that had Crowley crossing his legs. "This is wonderful! You need to have a bite. Just a little taste."

Before Crowley got the chance to politely decline, a fork with a hearty helping of cheesecake was shoved into his face, an expectant Aziraphale smiling at him on the other end. He took the bite just to make him happy and, while it was good, he was more pleased with the fact he now had something in his mouth that had had Aziraphale's tongue wrapped around it mere moments ago. 

He swallowed and said, "Not bad," before breaking out into the biggest smirk and, remembering their kiss, added, "You have a much better flavour, though." The night was coming to an end so being at least a little horny now was okay, right?

"I could say the same about you," Aziraphale shot back with his own flirtatious line that sent a shockwave along Crowley's spine. Both were growing eager for where the night was taking them it seemed and Crowley now wanted nothing more than for Aziraphale to down that dessert faster than he had anything before in his life. It was hard not to think back on how he'd swallowed his cock so readily earlier that day, tasting it as if he'd never had something so delicious in his entire life. For a moment he wondered how good Aziraphale would taste if he went down on him. Then, as he bit his lip at the thought, an image ran through his mind of fingers in his hair and an arched back as he buried himself between a pair of shuddering, thick legs. Crowley's Adam's apple bobbed as he thickly swallowed. 

Crowley covered his mouth as he let out a low groan, starling Aziraphale. "Crowley? Is everything alright?" he asked, voice dripping with concern.

"So, uh, yeah," Crowley stammered out with a laugh as he leaned back in his seat. "Most of it's still fuzzy but it looks like I've started to remember a bit of our night together. You know, the one where we..." He trailed off as recognition flared in Aziraphale's eyes.

"You are? That's wonderful!" Aziraphale said with the world's biggest smile. "What are you remembering exactly?" 

He probably thought he'd start talking about their love confession or something of the sort so it was very amusing to watch his eyes grow wide in shock as Crowley said, "Just how amazing a certain part of you tastes when it's wet and eager."

"O-oh my," Aziraphale stammered, dropping his fork to the plate with a loud clank. After a moment he seemed to collect himself and with a small laugh, said, "Well, I'm glad to know some things are coming back. Still, I wouldn't mind redoing certain events. Purely to help you remember, of course."

"Of course," Crowley said with a devilish smirk. "And once you're done eating how about we go back to your place and try jogging my memory together a little bit more?"

"That sounds like a perfectly reasonable suggestion to me," Airaphale mumbled around a mouth full of food as suddenly his eating grew faster. After shoveling the final bite into his furiously munching gob, he raised his hand and frantically went, "Cheque! Cheque please! Where on earth is that waiter?"

Crowley had to fight not to laugh at how Aziraphale was just as eager as he was. When the waiter arrived (and after a short argument on who would be paying that resulted in them splitting the bill) the two got up, ready to go, only to be interrupted by Aziraphale saying, "I just need to pop off to the gents real quick. Will only be a moment."

"Alright. I'll wait outside by the car," he responded before turning and heading off to the entrance.

Outside the chilly night air greeted him, Crowley unable to stop the shudder as a particularly harsh breeze made it his way. He leaned against the Bentley, hands in his pocket, hoping Aziraphale wouldn't take too long. After all, he'd much rather be in a nice, comfy bed with large arms around him, doing their best to keep him warm, than out there in the freezing cold. 

As he looked up, looking for signs of possible rain, his nose twitched as a rather foul odor assaulted his senses. With a scrunched up face, he turned to look around to see if some dog had decided to do its business nearby when his gaze landed on an all too familiar and unwanted man. 

"Crowley? Is that you?" The newcomer said with a sneer. 

"The dog turd would have been preferable," Crowley muttered to himself before adding, louder, "Hello, Hastur."

Hastur looked towards the restaurant. "Did I just see you come out of there? Looks a lot side nicer than the clubs you're normally at."

"Yeah, well, I don't really go much to those places anymore these days," Crowley said as he folded his arms. He wasn't sure if it was to help block out the cold or a certain someone's presence.

"What? Finally get banned from all the fun places then?"

"No, I just grew up," Crowley said, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed.

"Then what exactly are you doing these days?"

"I really don't see how that's any of your business, Hastur."

The walking sewage scoffed. "You don't respond to my messages and now you're telling me to pound sand? So much for manners."

"I swear, Hastur, if you don't piss off-"

His was about to tell him where he could stick it when he saw Aziraphale stepping out of the restaurant and walking towards them. When Aziraphale saw Hastur he gave him a big smile, one wasted on the slime of a man. "Hello there. Are you a friend of Crowley's?"

"You could say that," Hastur said with a cruel chuckle before turning back to Crowley. "Who's the posh fella? Your new sugar daddy? He does know you're not exactly a spring chicken these days, doesn't he?"

"Angel, get in," Crowley snapped, inwardly flinching when he saw the way it made Aziraphale jump. He didn't deserve to be talked to like that. It wasn't his fault a certain someone had decided to appear and try to ruin what was a perfectly wonderful date. Well, he wouldn't let him ruin it further. Not if he had something to say about it. So, voice a little gentler, Crowley said, "Come on, angel. It's time we get going."

Aziraphale looked between the two men, an expression on his face as if he wanted to say something. In the end all he did was put on a smile before saying, "Alright then." He paused before turning to Hastur, adding, "It was nice meeting you," before climbing into the Bentley. Damn Aziraphale and his cliché British politeness. It was more than someone like Hastur deserved.

Crowley was considering sending some very choice farewell words Hastur's way but decided against it. Instead he only shot him one final glare before climbing into the Bentley, the door slamming hard behind him. He wasted no time in flooring it, wanting to get out of there and as far away from that trash heap of a man as possible.

As they made their way down the street, Aziraphale, dear sweet Aziraphale, asked him with a voice dripping with concern, "Crowley? Are you alright? Who was that man?" 

He should have told him. Needed to probably, but instead fell back on his old habit of ignoring his problems as he silently sped off down the road back to the bookshop.