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I'll see your heart (and I'll raise you mine)

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Somewhere in the late 1960s, the phrase ‘you go too fast for me’ had entered Crowley’s world and left him feeling like an absolute confused wreck for several hours after it was spoken by the angel at the center of his universe.  

 

“What does that mean? What does he mean ?”

 

His plants, unfortunately, had no answer for him, but after a few hours of languishing and laying himself dramatically across various furniture pieces, the puzzle snapped into place. 

Aziraphale wanted him. His angel wanted him, wanted to be with him, wanted the same thing as Crowley, he just wasn’t ready, wasn’t there yet. 

Fine. That’s fine, that’s okay , Crowley thinks, he’s waited six thousand years, what’s a few more? What’s six thousand more? The knowledge that Aziraphale wanted him back and just needed him to wait if he was willing, and he was so willing, was enough to sustain his pining for another twelve thousand years, if that’s what the angel needed. He would wait. 

Aziraphale had even been so kind as to set guideposts for their relationship, mentioning going for a picnic, and dining at the Ritz. Crowley had to fight to keep a giddy feeling from overtaking his whole being and scaring the plants. Well, not in a way he didn't intend, at least. By a year later, they had been meeting regularly, at least once a month, for dinner or sometimes lunch. Five years later to the day, when Crowley asked Aziraphale what he wanted for dinner, the angel suggested the Ritz while affecting an air of insignificance but they both knew this was a significant step. Neither would call it such, but in human terms they were officially dating. Or maybe it was courting? Human traditions and terminology changed so fast, it was hard to keep track. They continued to meet monthly for the next three years, then they met twice a month, then weekly. But still they kept a careful distance, never touching more than a delicate brush of fingers as one passed an item to the other, and certainly nothing so bold as kissing or embracing. Aziraphale was, as he ever had been, still too frightened of Heaven's wrath to move their relationship into the physical realm. When he really thought about it, Crowley knew he would be perfectly happy keeping their relationship like this, just being together and appreciating each other would be all he ever wanted, except… except he knew Aziraphale wanted more. All too often, he would notice a twitch of the angel's hand towards his, would watch in tortured silence as Aziraphale's eyes would linger far too long on the demon's lips. But he was terrified of falling, and Crowley would never push Aziraphale to take a step he wasn't ready for, would never dream of letting the angel even consider risking the fall. He had been there, after all. He knew how terrifying the thousand light year dive was, how painful the boiling sulfur had been. So he waited, hoping someday his angel would break free. 

Luckily for both of them, the catalyst Aziraphale needed to break free from his desperate devotion to heaven didn’t take quite so long to come about. In fact, it was a mere fifty two years between ‘you go too fast for me’ and a quiet bus ride from Tadfield to London, where Crowley’s world flipped on its axis as Aziraphale sat down beside him, and took him by the hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

The two hour bus ride may have seemed quiet, but inside Crowley’s mind was a whirlwind of questions. What does this mean? Is Aziraphale ready to call their relationship something official? Do they get to hold hands regularly, now? Maybe if they survive whatever Heaven and Hell throw at them, they can take a walk together at St. James, and keep holding hands? Crowley felt his face warm as he wondered, carefully, if maybe Aziraphale might even be ready to try for a kiss? But no, reign it in, Crowley thinks to himself. Don’t go too fast, don’t go so fast, let angel set the pace. He manages to contain himself to just squeezing Aziraphale’s hand, and smiling at him. That should be okay, right? Aziraphale’s answering smile melted him like warm butter, and emboldened him, just a bit. Feeling brave, daring even, Crowley slowly lifted their joined hands, and placed a kiss on the back of Aziraphale’s wrist. 

The look that kiss pulled from his angel’s eyes was. New. He had been prepared for a smile, a blush, even a scoff, for Aziraphale to pull away and scold him for pushing, but this. Aziraphale’s face had gone slack for the briefest of moments, his jaw working before his eyes moved up from their hands to Crowley’s eyes, his gaze completely ignoring the dark shades and meeting Crowley’s eyes directly. Aziraphale looked almost hungry . His gaze was intense with something of which Crowley had only gotten hints over the last six millennia, and Crowley had no idea what to make of it. It was several minutes of this locked gaze before Crowley realized he had been half hiding his face behind their still clasped hands. And he was blushing, somebody help him. He could only hope Aziraphale didn’t notice- nope, of course he noticed, if the twinkle in his eyes as they scanned over Crowley’s cheeks was anything to go by. 

They held like that for several minutes, each searching the other’s gaze for an answer to some unspoken question before Crowley simply couldn’t take it anymore. He slunk down in his seat and turned half towards the window, though refusing to relinquish his prize of Aziraphale’s hand, which he kept held close to his face. If he nuzzled and/or kissed the aforementioned hand a time or two during the remainder of the quiet bus ride, well, that was nobody’s business but his (and debatably the angel’s). 

 

When the bus sighed to a stop in front of Crowley’s Mayfair flat, Aziraphale rose from his seat, pulling Crowley with him as he refused to relinquish his prize of the demon’s hand. Crowley was dimly aware of the angel snapping a quick miracle, and that he should probably technically be the one doing the leading here, but Aziraphale seemed quite content to be the one taking charge. He said very little over the next few minutes as they made their way, only speaking up to direct them through the building until they got to Crowley’s door, which Crowley unlocked with a snap. His keys were lost within a barbecued Bentley, after all. 

For the last couple of hours, Crowley had been in something of a daze. From the moment Aziraphale had taken his hand, he had hyper-fixated on that point of contact, so you can imagine his surprise when he found himself shoved into the wall just inside the door, feet lifted just off the floor, Aziraphale’s strong hands finding a firm grip on his waist, their bodies flush. 

Crowley’s heart leapt into high gear, and his breath caught in his throat as his hands came to rest uncertainly on his angel’s shoulders. He knew in the back of his mind he must look like a fool, gaping and wide-eyed, but to be quite fair the very same angel who once told him “you go too fast for me” was now looking at Crowley like he was a five course dinner at the Ritz and Aziraphale was starving

“Angel?” he asked, barely squeaking out the word. 

Crowley realizes in that moment that Aziraphale had been waiting for something, and the tone and expression of his own question had answered the angel’s unspoken one. Aziraphale leans in, and Crowley meets him in the middle, their lips coming together in an undignified and desperate clash. Crowley’s hands move up Aziraphale’s shoulders, one coming to rest on his jaw, the other tangling into white curls as they delight in the simple sensation of lips sliding against lips. Aziraphale drags his tongue along Crowley’s lower lip, and the demon pulls back for just long enough to pull his sunglasses from his face and chuck them in some unimportant direction before diving back in. When Crowley bites Aziraphale’s lip and sucks, the angel moans , and Crowley feels like he’s about to come undone. He pulls back again, just enough to whisper against his lips. 

“What happened to I ‘go too fast,’ Angel?” he teases. 

“I’ve kept you waiting long enough my dear,” he answers fully serious, before trailing kisses and light nips down along Crowley’s jaw to his neck, to the curve of his throat where he nips and sucks a mark onto his demon’s skin, driven on by Crowley’s symphony of gasps and muttered praise. Crowley squirms, his arms going around Aziraphale’s shoulders searching for purchase as his every nerve comes to life under the angel’s lavished attention. Aziraphale’s grip loosens just slightly before he comes to the realization that he has Crowley lifted off the floor entirely, and he gasps, surprised at himself. Crowley senses that he’s about to be set down and simply cannot have that, so he ducks to bring Aziraphale’s lips back to his own; shifts the angle of his hips so that he can curl both legs around his angel’s lower back, hooking his ankles together… and pulls . The new angle makes their mutual efforts immediately evident, and if Crowley had any doubts about just how far Aziraphale would like to go tonight, they are banished in an instant. Their lips part, eyes searching each others for any doubts or hesitations, and finding none, permission. Aziraphale’s hungry gaze is intoxicating, and Crowley finds himself wondering what he could have possibly done to earn the desires of his companion, his best friend, his partner , and he finally finds he doesn’t need to know. Aziraphale wants him, Crowley wants Aziraphale, and they are both here, together, ready and enthusiastically willing to have each other. Crowley takes a deep breath, and lets it out with all his apprehension. 

“Heigh ho,” he whispers, pulling Aziraphale back into the kiss, then rolls his hips just right to illicit a moan from the angel. Aziraphale’s hands begin to wander, his right sliding from waist to hip to thigh, his left traveling around to the small of Crowley’s back, then taking a firm grip of his ass. Crowley can feel the bastard of an angel smirk into their kiss, just a bit, before he pulls his demon’s thigh wide and grinds their erections together. The sound this move pulls from Crowley is a delicious mix of moan and whine , and Aziraphale seems to come to a decision in that moment. He secures a firm hold of Crowley, left hand staying at the small of his back, the other curved under and around his ass, and moves them away from the wall. 

Crowley takes the opportunity to remove his coat, breaking their kiss to chuck it in roughly the same direction his glasses had gone. He has only a moment to regret the loss of the sensation of being so delightfully crushed between the wall and the angel of the eastern gate, before said angel was reminding Crowley of the experience of being at the top of a roller-coaster when it leaps into action as he quickly and smoothly transitions him to a bridal carry in order to navigate them both to the couch down the hall. 

“I- ngh, I can walk, angel.” 

“Oh, would you like me to set you down, my dear?” he asks.

Crowley has no reply to that because no, he would rather not, but he can’t go about saying things like that out loud with his mouth. Aziraphale, of course, receives his answer anyway, and a smug smile decorates the bastard’s lips.

“That’s what I thought.” 

The brief walk down the hall to the sitting area finds Crowley breathless and flushed; he would gladly repeat the experience of Aziraphale so casually displaying his considerable strength, and before he gets the chance to dislodge the bow tie he had begun to fiddle with, he is once again being maneuvered (as though he weighed nothing) and finds himself sitting firmly astride Aziraphale’s lap. 

“There,” Aziraphale says, his hands now free to roam Crowley’s hips, waist, ribs, back, thighs; his eyes starting on Crowley’s lips which he pulls into a kiss before traveling down his throat, his clavicle, his chest. 

Crowley is struck speechless as Aziraphale sets to work covering every inch of available flesh peeking through the deep V of his shirt with kisses. He drapes his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders to stabilize himself as his strength leaves him. 

When Aziraphale has done rather a good job of that, the angel seems to decide that Crowley is wearing entirely too much clothing, and sets to work removing it. Crowley has plenty of time to consider that this is its own form of torture, as Aziraphale does so meticulously. He removes Crowley’s narrow silver scarf first, setting it aside so the gleaming tassels lay together on the side table. Next he lifts his chain over his head, taking a moment to admire the simple necklace that Crowley love for how long he’s worn it. He folds it, and places it beside the scarf. Crowley has leaned back to allow Aziraphale to proceed, and watches the angel’s agonizingly slow process, but dares not interrupt. Watching Aziraphale unbutton his vest with unhurried ease is intoxicating. He leans back just a bit, moving his arms to allow Aziraphale to push the vest over his shoulders, which the angel then rebuttons, folds, and sets atop the scarf and chain. He takes Crowley’s left wrist in both hands, and places a kiss on the inside of his wrist as he unbuckles the absurd watch that rests there, and sets it atop the vest. Next is his dark grey Henley, and Crowley’s breath catches in his throat when Aziraphale’s fingers play at the small of his back, pulling it out from the waist of his jeans, working the hem out slowly from back to front, somehow agonizingly never letting his fingers brush Crowley’s skin underneath. He lifts the shirt then, revealing Crowley’s belly, then ribs, then chest, then sliding it up off his arms as the demon lifts his arms cooperatively. Once again, Aziraphale folds and sets the garment aside with agonizing patience before finally, finally turning his gaze onto Crowley’s exposed chest. Crowley leans back, hands resting on Aziraphale’s knees, allowing his angel to gaze at his leisure, even though being so exposed to him has his heart attempting to beat out of his chest. 

Crowley is about ready to start fussing when Aziraphale’s hands glide up his thighs, over his hips, and finally slide over the skin of his waist. Crowley closes his eyes, breathing heavily and reveling in the sensation of his angel’s hands exploring his bare skin, angel’s lips returning to task of exploring Crowley’s neck and shoulders. One of his hands travels slowly up Crowley’s back, pausing at that point between his shoulders where his wings would anchor to rub small circles over each point before continuing up to his neck, his hair. Crowley leans his head back eagerly into the touch, so Aziraphale cards his fingers through his hair continually, until he accidentally catches a lock and tugs on it. Crowley yelps, and goes rigid. Aziraphale stops, pulling back instantly to check in, looking into Crowley’s eyes to find… well, certainly not pain or displeasure of any sort. Crowley just barely hears the angel suck in a soft gasp before his hands slide into that rich red hair once again, slowly tangling his fingers into a firm grip. Aziraphale hesitates for just a moment, just long enough for Crowley to indicate either way whether he should stop or continue. Crowley bites his lip in anticipation. Aziraphale pulls

Crowley keens, his back arching to a degree that should not be strictly possible. The interesting thing about that being the delightful position Crowley finds himself in as a result, with his own hardening erection grinding deliciously against Aziraphale’s. When the fireworks clear from behind his eyes, Crowley is immediately aware of Aziraphale desperately mouthing his throat, the scrape of teeth followed by the caress of his tongue encouraging Crowley to roll his hips, again, and again, spurred on by Aziraphale’s hungry answering groan. 

As much as Crowley loves Aziraphale’s impossibly proper attire (and will never admit such), he decides now that the angel is entirely too covered up. He pulls him back into a kiss, finding both of Aziraphale’s hands and holding them in his before pressing them both into the couch at the angel’s sides. 

“My turn,” his whispers. He runs his hands up Aziraphale’s arms, over his shoulders, coming to rest at the base of his throat where his tartan bow tie is somehow completely unmussed. Crowley watches his own actions like a serpent waiting for its prey as he takes hold of the tie’s ends in each hand and slowly, slowly pulls the knot free. He tugs it from around his angel’s neck and goes to toss it over his shoulder but Aziraphale makes a sound of protest. Crowley freezes, and lifts a questioning eyebrow. 

“Don’t, ah, don’t lose track of that quite yet, dearest. I had an idea for it. For later.” 

“As you wish, angel,” Crowley smirks and drapes the tie over his own neck, tying it in a sloppy bow when he sees how Aziraphale’s eyes track his movement so nicely. He gets back to work then, slowly pulling apart the buttons of Aziraphale’s blue shirt. Crowley has managed to work his way to the third button when he feels Aziraphale’s warm, soft hands traveling up his sides again, and he shudders, overwhelmed and delighted by the sensation, but his hands are fisted in the fabric of the angel’s shirt and progress has absolutely halted on the buttons. He snatches Aziraphale’s hands from his skin, kissing each. 

“Please, angel,” he whispers, and places Aziraphale’s hands on his knees as a compromise. The wonderful bastard is failing to hide a smug expression, but nods his acquiescence, settling for tracing small circles on Crowley’s thighs. 

Crowley placed a soft, almost chaste kiss on Aziraphale’s lips before getting back to work on the buttons. It occurs to him, ever so briefly, that he could simply snap off the damnable layers, but after Aziraphale took such care in removing his own top layers, Crowley wouldn’t dare. Besides, he finds there’s something about this slow, methodical process that’s so much sweeter than skipping to the next step. Six thousand years he had waited for this moment; he wasn’t about to skip even a moment of it.  

Crowley dutifully gets back to work puling Aziraphale’s buttons apart one by one, placing tender kisses on each new bit of exposed skin as he goes. He has to scoot back a bit on Aziraphale’s lap as he goes lower, but the angel claims a firm grip on his knees, keeping him from going any further. Crowley eyes the waistcoat briefly, but his patience is wearing thin, and there’s so much delicious skin now exposed to him, just waiting to be kissed so he does. Pushing Aziraphale’s shirt aside as far as it will go he dives in, licking, kissing, and nipping as far as he can reach. He finds a spot, right at the point where the angel’s neck meets clavicle that makes Aziraphale gasp when he nips it, and he hones in on it, biting and sucking the spot until the angel, groaning the demon’s name, can no longer keep his hands to himself. Crowley groans into the skin but doesn’t release his bite as Aziraphale’s hands travel up his back, one settling in his hair and tugging oh, so gently. Aziraphale pulls harder, fingers twirled into the short hair at the base of his skull and Crowley growls, thrusting his hips froward to grind against the angel’s again. The demon finally relinquishes his prize to look Aziraphale in the eyes as he grinds against him, drinking in the way his eyelids flutter over needy blue eyes. It’s more than Crowley can bear. With a stuttered noise, he races to unbutton Aziraphale’s waistcoat, pushing it over his shoulders and barely constraining himself enough to set it aside gently before he’s opening the remaining buttons, which know better than to get stuck at this point, on the angel’s blue button-down. He attempts to pull the shirt free from Aziraphale’s trousers, but even a solid tug yields no results. When Crowley’s face approximates something nobody better dare call a pout, the angel fails to suppress a laugh. 

“Angel, what-” 

“Garters, dear,” he answers with a sheepish smile. 

“Oh,” Crowley answers, pausing in what must seem a moment of confusion. 

“We’ll have to, ah, remove my trousers to-” 

“I know, I’ve worn them, just-” Crowley sniffs, then clears his throat unnecessarily. If Aziraphale notices the blush not ghosting across the demon’s cheeks, he says nothing. After a few seconds of composing himself, Crowley slips back, standing up and pulling Aziraphale by the hands. “Up, Angel.” he orders softly, and Aziraphale complies. Crowley takes the opportunity to slide his hands into the angel’s open shirt, feeling the softness within as he nuzzles into Aziraphale’s neck to trail kisses from his white-hair-dusted chest, up his neck, and finally bringing their lips together. Crowley feels his angel’s hands exploring his backside, drawing a moan from the demon who promptly pulls back just enough to trail his hands down Aziraphale’s soft stomach to the hem of his trousers. He fiddles with the button for a moment before sliding his hands away, drawing a huff from the angel. Crowley smiles into their kiss, nipping Aziraphale’s lower lip teasingly as he finds the clasps of his suspenders and releases them simultaneously and pushing the straps over the angel’s shoulders. He finally pops open the button and opens the zipper oh so slowly, breaking their kiss to look Aziraphale in the eyes. He wants so badly to be teasing, to push the trousers down and ignore what they’re both after like Aziraphale had done with the demon’s shirt, but the draw is too much. His left hand slides past the open zipper, over the angel’s boxers, to drag his fingers over his straining erection. Aziraphale let out a broken moan, One hand grabbing Crowley by a belt loop and pulling him closer, the other taking him by the back of the neck and pulling him into another desperate kiss as Crowley continued to tease him. Aziraphale seemed to decide that was quite enough of the demon’s teasing, brushing that teasing hand away and taking hold of Crowley’s jeans. He quickly had them unbuttoned, unzipped, and both jeans and briefs shoved down over his arse, where they fell the rest of the way to the floor. Crowley gasped, scandalized at his angel’s bold speed, but that was nothing compared to the shock he felt as Aziraphale knelt in front of him, trailing kisses down his bony rib-cage, across his stomach and down to his hips. Crowley’s head fell back, savoring ever lick and bite that Aziraphale bestowed upon his naked flesh, but he nearly choked when the angel’s kisses moved dangerously close to his fully erect cock, and urgently pulled him back to his feet. 

“Angel,- I will not- last- if you do that right now,” he said, placing frantic kisses all over Aziraphale’s face to punctuate the statement. 

“Better get moving with what you were doing before, then, dearest,” he answers, and Crowley wastes no more time pushing Aziraphale’s trousers down so he can unsnap those damnable garters holding the pale blue shirt in place, finally freeing it so Crowley can shove it off Aziraphale’s shoulders and toss it aside with much less care than he showed the well loved waistcoat, but Aziraphale doesn’t seem to care much given Crowley has knelt down, and one by one he drags the garters down Aziraphale’s thighs  with his teeth. 

“Oh, Crowley, you serpent,” Aziraphale says, earning a wicked chuckle from the demon who remains on his knees as he reaches up to the waistband of the angel’s boxers and drags them down slowly, teeth claiming his lip as his eyes track Aziraphale’s cock as it finally springs free from the underwear. Crowley takes in the sight, once again wondering how he could be so lucky as he is in this moment. He leans in, placing a tender kiss just barely an inch to the right of his angel’s cock. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale admonishes, pulling the grinning demon back to his feet. 

“Need you, angel,” Crowley replies, hissing with pleasure as Aziraphale pulls him close, their cocks meeting between their flush bodies. 

“You can have me, my dear,” he answers, sitting back on the couch and pulling Crowley back into his lap now that they are both free of their confining clothing. 

Aziraphale’s hands come to cup Crowley’s ass, giving each cheek a firm squeeze. Crowley whines just barely, lifting himself up on his knees and bracing on Aziraphale’s shoulders as the angel’s right hand slides between his thighs and into the cleft to tease at his entrance with two fingers that have miraculously found themselves well lubricated.

Crowley's breathing hitches. He buries his nose in Aziraphale's neck as he focuses on the angel's smell that he had committed to memory so long ago combined with the thrilling new sensation being given to him. When Aziraphale finally presses in with a single finger, Crowley keens, pushing back onto him, chasing more of the sensation; of course Aziraphale obliges, unwilling to deny his demon anything, especially when he makes sounds like that. It isn't long before Aziraphale is adding a second finger, then a third, working them in and out of his lover gently but enthusiastically. He spends a good few minutes simply enjoying this, giving pleasure to Crowley who pushes back eagerly into the touch as they establish a rhythm. 

Aziraphale curls his fingers, trying out a new angle, and Crowley tenses before stuttering incoherent sounds and frantic kisses into the angel's neck, finally managing to form a single word. 

"Please," he gasps, but Aziraphale is just a bit too much of a bastard to give in so easily. 

"Please what, dearest?" he asks, turning his head to gaze at Crowley's wrecked profile. The last time he'd gotten this close of a look at him, the demon had him against a wall in a move that may or may not have inspired his own initiation of the evening's activities. Crowley's only answer is a groan, and that just won't do, so Aziraphale pulls his three fingers most of the way out. Crowley makes a wounded sound. 

" Angel ," he wines. 

"Tell me what you want, my love, and I will give it to you," he replies. Crowley sits up just enough to look Aziraphale in the eyes, searching for and finding the layers of truth within the angel's promise. He brings both his hands up to frame the angel's jaw, claiming his lips in a kiss that begs as much as it promises, only stopping to whisper his request against Aziraphale's lips. 

"Fuck me, angel." 

With that, Aziraphale withdraws his fingers entirely, using both hands to pull Crowley up and closer as he angles his own hips to get into a better position. Crowley braces one arm on Aziraphale's shoulders, and reaches between them with his free hand to give the angel's cock a few firm strokes, coating it in lube and drawing some familiar noises from his angel, reminiscent of crepes in Paris and Woodruff Mousse at the Ritz. Crowley deftly moves the head to his entrance, then brings his gaze to meet Aziraphale's. Carefully, carefully he lowers himself while maintaining eye contact, neither wanting to miss a fraction of the moment. They gasp together when the head first breaches Crowley's still tight entrance, the demon bringing his free hand up to card into Aziraphale's hair. Slowly he sinks lower, taking in the angel's length, unhurried, sharing the delight of their joining. It's almost too soon when he bottoms out, resting fully seated in Aziraphale's lap filled up by his angel. They press their foreheads together, breathing in tandem while Crowley adjusts. 

Aziraphale brings his hands slowly up the demon's sides, ghosting over his ribs, his chest, finally claiming his jaw and pulling him into a deep, slow kiss. Crowley feels a heat grow on his cheeks and wonders with some indignation how he can be blushing from a kiss when his angel's cock is buried to the hilt in his ass. He makes a strangled noise at the thought, and can't wait any more. He breaks the kiss and lifts himself up slowly, watching Aziraphale's expression with unblinking attention, then drops back down, relishing in the choked gasp it draws from the angel whose eyelids flutter and isn't that just the most scrumptious thing he's ever seen? Crowley has watched Aziraphale consume desserts at exclusive restaurants throughout time and across the globe, and he is absolutely intoxicated by the knowledge that nothing had drawn sounds from the angel like this, nothing had made his angel's eyes roll back quite so far. Crowley could live the rest of his existence on this moment, and the knowledge that he can have more nearly takes him apart. He rolls his hips, then again, and again, establishing a rhythm between them that Aziraphale matches perfectly. 

" Crowley ," he whispers, hushed not for secrecy but for the sanctity of the moment. 

" Aziraphale ," he answers, matching tone and volume. 

"Oh, Crowley, you're- you feel so good , my love, you're perfect , wonderful ," the angel adds. 

" Ngk ,"  the demon replies, the praise sending a thrill up his spine. He pitches forward, burying his nose in the angel's neck, without losing the rhythm they share. 

Aziraphale peppers the side of his demon's face in kisses as he takes hold of his hips with both hands, and takes control of the pace. Crowley finds with delight that he no longer has to do much at all as Aziraphale easily bears his full weight, changing the angle of his thrusts just so, and Crowley shudders. 

"Crowley, dear," Aziraphale murmurs into his ear. 

"Mmh??" is the demon's eloquent reply. 

"Can you do something for me, my love?" the angel asks, barely keeping his own voice steady. 

"Anything, angel. Anything ," he answers. 

"Oh, thank you . You see, I want you to touch yourself for me. Can you do that, my dearest?" 

Crowley nearly comes from the angel's entirely too put-together manner, but nods, taking his right hand from where it had maintained a grip on Aziraphale's golden curls to take hold of his own aching cock and stroking it in time with the angel's thrusts. 

" Good , just- just so," Aziraphale says, his composure slipping. "Now, couple you come for me, my dearest love?" he asks, and Crowley has never been able to deny his angel's requests. His back arches and toes curl as orgasm comes over him, spilling between them as Aziraphale thrusts two, three more times before coming within him, his head falling back to rest against the back of the couch. 

Several moments pass, nothing passing between them but their shattered breathing. At some point, Crowley released himself to wrap his free arm around his angel's shoulders, curling tight against him as the tremors slowly fade. 

Aziraphale comes back to himself first, of course , placing tender kisses along Crowley's neck where it stretches out so conveniently in front of him. 

"Crowley," he whispers, but the demon in question only hums his reply. "Crowley, dear, I have to- well, I have to pull out, my heart. Are you ready?" he asks. 

Crowley takes a deep breath and nods against Aziraphale's neck, though he still makes a tortured sound deep in his throat when the angel pulls himself free. The angel of the eastern gate once again lifts the serpent of Eden, turning him so his knees are together, draped across Aziraphale's lap. He then lays them down together on the couch, which finds that it is now plenty wide to accommodate them both, with Crowley's back snug to his chest, their hands and legs intertwined and the mess they produced together is gone in a blink. 

An hour or so later, Aziraphale is surprised to find himself waking up, having rarely indulged in the hobby of sleep and certainly not being in the habit. The key difference here of course being the warm, lanky body pressed flush to his. As his consciousness meandered back to him, Aziraphale became aware of the pleasant sensation of Crowley idly playing with the signet ring on his pinky finger. He watched silently for a while, just barely able to see over the crook of his demon's neck and his heart nearly burst when Crowley slipped the ring off the angel's finger and placed it on his own left ring finger. When he started to remove it again, Aziraphale curled his own hand around the demon's, placing the softest kiss on Crowley's bare shoulder. 

"Keep it," he said, voice just a bit scratchy from sleep. Crowley had frozen up for a moment, but relaxed quickly, shifting so he was on his back, better able to meet the angel's eyes. He leaned in for a kiss, and Aziraphale met him halfway, shifting up onto his elbow for a better angle. 

"You sure, angel?" he asked. Aziraphale nodded. 

"Quite sure, my love." he said, and leaned in for another kiss. 

He placed his hand on Crowley's chest, tracing meaningless patterns in the soft hair there, then gliding lower to curl around the demon's waist and pulling him even closer. Crowley hummed, reaching an arm around his Aziraphale's waist, and gave a tug that he answered eagerly, shifting so much of his weight rested on the demon who adjusted his legs to frame the angel's hips. Crowley squirmed happily under the soft weight, tracing love in ancient runes on the small of Aziraphale's back with one hand while the other threaded into his angel's curls. Through all the shifting and adjusting their lips hardly parted, both too delighted in each other, too taken with their newfound freedom to give up even a millimeter of space. It was Aziraphale who finally gave up the other's lips, but only so that he could lavish more kisses across Crowley's jaw to his ear, then down his neck, to his throat where the angel set about placing a new mark on his lover's skin. Crowley's breathing stuttered, gasping his partner's name into the air above them, finally pulling Aziraphale back into another kiss when he couldn't bear to wait any longer. 

It takes very little adjustment for them to come together again as they lay; Aziraphale has only to lift himself up to line up with Crowley's quickly readied entrance, the demon impatient to wait for things to progress the mortal way having snapped a minor miracle as soon as he had felt his angel's cock hardening against his widespread thighs. With the arm he isn't using to hold himself up, Aziraphale reaches a hand into Crowley's hair, pulling just had enough to illicit another delicious moan from the demon while also exposing the length of his throat. Aziraphale licks and kisses there, even biting once when Crowley's nails scrape down his back in response to the angel's perfectly angled thrusts. They each last longer this time, and Aziraphale has a thought that he would like to see how long Crowley could last if challenged. They would have to discuss that someday. The thought of there being a someday, of course, has the unfortunate effect of forcing the angel to think of their immediate future. He waits several minutes before bringing it up, again miracling away Crowley's come from between them in the meantime. 

When Aziraphale feels the requisite time between when one should keep any discussion to Pillow Talk and when it's appropriate to discuss Impending Doom, he takes a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh that he knows Crowley notices. 

"My dear," he starts softly. 

Crowley groans, recognizing the tone change, but meets the angel's eyes. 

"Of course I'd rather lie here and ravish you for the rest of eternity, dearest, but there is the matter of surviving to see it." 

Crowley nods, taking a deep breath of his own. 

"I know, angel. No clue what that prophecy's meant to tell us, though. We can put on whatever disguises we want, Heaven and Hell are still gonna find us if we go into hiding," he said, closing his eyes briefly, before bringing his gaze back to the angel atop him. 

"I suppose you're right," Aziraphale says. "I wonder what our punishments will be? I won't be getting a rude note this time, I'm sure. And if I haven't fallen yet, I'm quite certain I shant." 

"No," Crowley agreed. "They'll be aiming to kill us," and after a pause, his voice quivered over "I won't lose you again, angel. They can't have you." 

Aziraphale shook his head, peppering Crowley's face in kisses. 

"No, my love, no, you won't, I promise," he said, determining to ask later what the demon meant by again . "and I will not lose you either. We will survive this." 

Crowley focused on his even breathing for a while, composing himself before speaking again.. 

" Fuck . I'd take your place if I could. Whatever they could do to…" he tightens his grip on the angel "to kill you wouldn't kill a demon," he said, trailing off as he wondered what his own fate would be. Almost certainly holy water, if Beelzebub could get a hold of any, and the combined forces of hell would definitely have an easier time of it than he'd managed on his own on the down-low, but oh Aziraphale was making a face, what does that face mean?? 

 "Crowley, you are brilliant! Absolutely brilliant, my dear!" Aziraphale says, sitting up. 

"What? Whaddya mean?" following Aziraphale's movement. 

"Whatever they could do to kill either of us won't work on the other. We have to choose our faces, and that means choosing each others' faces! I will face your punishment in Hell, and you, well… you would have to face Heaven."

"No, no Aziraphale absolutely not, Hell's punishments are- I won't- no, I don't want you having to experience that, angel." 

"If Hell is anything like Heaven, dearest," he pauses and considers just how similar the two 'sides' really are. "Well, they will be wanting to get this mess over with as quickly as possible. Kill the traitors and move on with their eternal warring. Pretend it never happened. I don't enjoy the idea of you having to face the archangels either, but we can do this. If we play our cards right, we could have the rest of however long Creation lasts together, unbothered." he finishes, carding a hand soothingly through Crowley's hair. The demon frowns, trying not to let on how good that feels. 

"Right, say I agree to this. How are we supposed to go about it? It won't work to just look like each other, any of our former allies can sense the presence of an angel or a demon among them." 

"Yes, we would have to really be each other," Aziraphale muses, taking Crowley's left hand and fidgeting with the signet ring the demon now wears. 

Crowley's eyes lock on the movement for several moments, feeling his heart ache at the sight. He finally tears his eyes away, only to have them land on the angel's brilliant face as he puzzles out a solution. The fidgeting, or at least the location of it, gives him an idea. His uncertainty at the proposal has him stammering out several false starts of word-like sounds with no words in them. Aziraphale's attention is now squarely on him, though not impatient- the angel never has hurried him to speak when he falters as such. 

"We could, y'know, marry our essences," he says the last bit in a rush. The most well known modern usage of the word making the discussion a little awkward to bring up, though Crowley thinks that's also something they really aught to talk about. Later. When they're not figuring out a way to survive the wrath of Heaven and Hell. If Aziraphale's blush is anything to go by, the double meaning of the topic isn't lost on him. 

"Oh! That- Crowley, I do believe that might work. Has it ever been done before? In Hell? I can tell you for sure no two angels have ever done so." 

"Ngk. No. I'd thought Hastur and Ligur might have done for a while, but not as quickly as he recovered seeing Ligur snuffed," he says. Aziraphale nods, and takes Crowley's hand in a grip much like a modern handshake. 

"Well, what are we waiting for?" he says, and Crowley sputters. 

"What? Just like that? You don't- you don't need to think it over, make sure you're certain? We can't undo it, angel." 

"I am certain, Crowley. I'm already yours until the end, my dear, this just makes it official. What about you, though?" he asks after a pause. "Do you know for sure that you want this?" 

"I do! Yes! I just- thought you might want to think it over a bit longer." 

Aziraphale kisses him, and it's a soft, certain thing. 

"My essence is already yours, Crowley. You only have to reach out and take it." 

And so he does. Crowley squeezes Aziraphale's hand, sharing his own essence as the angel shares back, their true selves meeting in the middle. A brief eternity passes in the span of a few seconds as their essences marry, combining into one shared love, before flowing apart again and into their own corporations. They open their eyes to see each other, their bodies having traded places, and what a sight that is. 

"Nnh. Okay. Loving the whole, having you here with me thing," Crowley starts. Speaking with Aziraphale's face feels a bit strange; everything is technically the same except completely different. A mouth that's not his, forming words that sound like his angel's. He tucks his face into Aziraphale's neck which looks entirely too much like his. "But let's trade bodies back for now. I'd like to kiss you again but it's a bit too weird looking at my own face to do it." 

Aziraphale chuckles, rubbing circles on Crowley's back. 

"Very well, my dear," he says, closing his eyes and gripping Crowley's hand tight trading their bodies back. "You know, when all is said and done we really ought to talk about further definitions of marriage-" 

His words are cut off, though, as Crowley all but lunges to kiss him again, covering Aziraphale's face with gleeful kisses as the angel laughs and lays back on the couch, tugging the demon down with him by the bow tie still loosely around his neck. Crowley settles himself with a knee between Aziraphale's thighs, and reclaims his angel's lips in a slower kiss now, giving a few rolls of his hips to test his lover's readiness. Aziraphale moans into their kiss, placing his hands on Crowley's back, then traveling lower to grip his narrow waist and pull him closer as he hooks one leg around the demon's hips. Crowley pulls away from Aziraphale's lips to nip and kiss the angel's throat, his clavicle, his chest, finally pausing to drag his tongue over a nipple. Aziraphale gasps, back arching, spurring Crowley on. The demon doubles his effort on the little pink mound, sucking and nibbling until Aziraphale is a whimpering mess, then moving to the other to repeat his attentions. 

"Crow ley ," he gasps, barely able to form the name through his ragged breathing. Crowley has the decency to stop, raising up to grin triumphantly down at the angel's flushed, pleasured face. 

"Yeah, what's up?" He asks, as though the angel below him isn't about to come undone on touch alone. 

" Fiend ," Aziraphale gasps without venom, taking several steadying breaths. "Crowley if you don't fuck me right now, I am going to be very cross." 

Crowley, for his part, nearly discorporates on the spot hearing his angel use the fuck word so specifically. He sputters several attempts at the word what , but gives up in favor of honoring Aziraphale's very specific request. He wastes no time adjusting so both his knees are between Aziraphale's legs, his angel's thick, sturdy thighs framing his hips as he reaches a miraculously lubed hand between to prepare the angel's entrance. Aziraphale's head falls back as Crowley enters him with his fingers one by one. The demon watches his angel's eyes go wide, pupils dilating at the new sensation. As soon as Crowley is satisfied that Aziraphale is relaxed enough to take him comfortably, he takes his own cock in hand, stroking it once to coat it in lube before lining the head up with his angel's entrance. 

"Aziraphale," he says, waiting until he meets his eyes. "Are you sure, angel?" he asks. and Aziraphale huffs

"Yes, Crowley, yes, I'm sure, please- " and Crowley thrusts, pushing his cock deep into his angel. He is fully within him easily, and Crowley suspects Aziraphale of his own self-preparation miracle, but has no arguments there. He pauses just long enough to catch his breath and give Aziraphale a moment, just in case, before he begins to move. 

They establish a rhythm quickly, but take their time. Crowley grasps one of Aziraphale's knees, pulling it farther up his waist to improve the angle of his thrusts so his cock hits that most sensitive spot inside the angel with each pass, and Aziraphale moves his hands up, across Crowley's back to pull him into a close embrace. The hug reduces the length of the demon's strokes, but he is not obliged to complain; instead he buries his face in the crook of Aziraphale's neck as he continues his short but powerful thrusts, the angel meeting his every move. 

Crowley whispers Aziraphale's name like a prayer, releasing his grip on the angel's knee and pulling back just far enough to reach between them, taking Aziraphale's cock in hand. He strokes in time with his own thrusts, twisting his wrist just so and swiping his thumb over the leaking head with every pass. It isn't much longer before his angel shouts his name as he comes, Crowley continuing to stroke him through it as he gives several more thrusts before finding his own release within his angel. He pulls out, then collapses on top of Aziraphale, both taking their time to just breathe, both trembling with the aftershocks of their shared orgasms. 

"Sleep, Crowley," Aziraphale says softly. 

"Mmh, what about you?" he asks, starting to pull away so Aziraphale can get up, but strong arms hold him in place. 

"I think I may try having a bit of a nap as well, dear," he answers, moving one hand to Crowley's face to trace his thumb over an angular cheekbone. 

"Not worried you'll get bored just layin' here with me draped all over you?" Crowley asks, but Aziraphale just smiles. 

"My dear, I could lay here as your pillow for a hundred years and I wouldn't get bored so long as I have you in my arms." 

Crowley simply stares, silently. His chin wobbles just the slightest, and he buries his reddened face in Aziraphale's fine chest hair and whines. Aziraphale thinks he may hear a muffled bastard , but doesn't push the issue, simply smiling as he cards a hand through Crowley's well-mussed hair.  

Tomorrow morning, they will face each other's executions, and walk out unharmed. 

Tomorrow evening, they will walk home from the Ritz, arm-in-arm, and speak of plans and rings, cottages and the South Downs. 

But tonight, they sleep.