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Aziraphale was no stranger to pleasure.  Ever since he’d first arrived on Earth, and felt the warmth of Eden’s soil against his bare feet, he’d sighed with the unexpected joy it had brought him.  Of course it feels good, he’d told himself at the time.  It’s part of the Almighty’s Plan.  She would not make anything that wasn’t good.

That’s how he’d justified his own hedonism, at the start.  Tasting food for the first time, or drinking water—and later, alcohol—had not been purely selfish acts, he’d told himself.  It was part of the Almighty’s world, and any pleasure derived from it was simply an appreciation, of the gifts She’d blessed the world with.  Seeking pleasure was, therefore, an act of worship.

His many forays into sexual pleasure—at least at the start—had been justified in much the same fashion.  He was meant to spread Good, and if he could bring delight and satisfaction to an individual human with his own body…well, that was surely a decent thing for an angel to do, right?  It wasn’t selfish.  It was part of his mission.  Surely, Heaven could not fault him for that.

xxx

His first time finding such pleasure with a human, was not in any memorable place.  He would later enthrall Crowley with mentions of his exploits with Eleanor of Aquitaine, and Empress Catherine the Great.  (And he had yet to tell him of Oscar Wilde.)  But his first tryst with a human was with no one of note.  No historical texts would mention her. 

Which was just as well.  Aziraphale was glad his memory of her would remain private, untarnished by the grand narratives told by others.  It made his recollection that much more special.

She was an innkeeper’s daughter.  Now, before anyone might judge him, scandalized that he had plucked up the nerve to deflower the daughter of the man hosting him—it wasn’t like that at all!  She had been married once, but her husband had been killed in a recent war.  With no children yet conceived from their union, she had returned home to her parents, not a day over twenty-five.  She could have married again, easily—while not a great beauty, she was quite pretty, with dark hair and eyes, and a gentle smile, still in the prime of her childbearing years.  But for whatever reason, she had contented herself with helping her parents at their inn.

Aziraphale had happened upon their establishment to rest from the road, grateful for the respite on his long journey to Gomorrah.  (Lord only knew what would await him there.)  The woman showed him to his room, fetched him fresh linens, and carried in pail after pail of hot water for a bath.  He finished his hearty meal, and relaxed in a chair as he watched her carry the last of it, grateful for the comforts offered.

But then…she shut and latched the door, and came close to him.  “Will there be anything else?” she asked gently, trailing a hand over the arm of his chair.

Aziraphale shook his head with a smile.  “No, that will be all.  Thank you so much for your hospitality, my dear.”

She smiled that sweet, kind smile back.  But she didn’t move from his personal space.  “Are you sure?” she purred.  And came even closer, leaning over him, her face just a few breaths from his.  “Is there anything I can do, to put your mind at ease?”

In hindsight, such tactics would have worked masterfully on a passing traveler; even Crowley would have been impressed at how well she’d offered such a temptation.  But Aziraphale, still in his naivete, didn’t pick up on her hints.  “Not at all,” he said, trying to ignore how his breath caught at her closeness.  “I’m perfectly well.”

“I know,” she said softly.  Her hand was bold then, and reached to caress his face.  “You’re quite well.  Very well, indeed.”  Her face lowered to his.  “I could make you feel even better, if you’d like.”

Aziraphale struggled to get another breath in, he was so overcome.  Later, he would realize these were the stirrings of sexual desire; but at the time, though he’d felt flutterings of such feelings in his stomach as he’d noticed certain humans, he’d never experienced it so acutely.  “How—how do you mean?”

She dropped some of the act then, as if realizing that honesty in her intentions would be the best way forward with him.  “Look, I know your kind.  You’re weary from the road, and haven’t had a woman’s company in weeks, perhaps months.  You must be famished from it.  And I’m right here, also famished, since my husband died.  So…”  She touched his arm kindly.  “Why should we both starve, when we’re right here, able to sate each other’s hunger?”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed.  He’d never felt true belly-hunger for food before, but he knew what it was to crave a good meal.  But it seemed she was not offering him more food, exactly.  She was offering…herself.

“I’m not—” he stammered, “I’ve—never—”

Her eyes widened slightly.  “Oh.  Forgive me, but…you’re quite handsome.  Truly, you are.  I had only assumed the obvious, that you’d known plenty of women before me.”  

Then her gentle smile returned.  “But perhaps you’d like to?  No strings attached.  You don’t have to marry me in the morning.  And this way, if you do wish to marry one day…you’ll know how to please your new bride.”

Of course, Aziraphale knew such a fate was never in the cards for him.  He was an angel of the Lord, flitting in and out of humans’ lives, blessing them with good harvests and healthy villages before he disappeared again.  He didn’t need to know how to please someone carnally.

Although…he was curious about it.  And here was the perfect opportunity to learn more.

“But…” he said, wondering about the only obstacle in their way, “your father, what if he—”

She chuckled, heading him off.  “What he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.”  She leaned in close, only a breath away from his lips.  “Is that a yes?”

Aziraphale exhaled, full of desire.  And nodded.

Then she leaned in, and gave him the first open-mouthed kiss of his life.  His eyes slid shut, his breath quickened through his nose, a small moan of pleasure left his throat.  He stayed still at first; but soon he grew bolder, and kissed back.

She taught him how to kiss.  How to coordinate his lips, to nibble and rub, to maneuver his tongue into the proceedings without being too forward.  He hung on her every instruction, both verbal and physical.

She taught him how to hold her, as she slid into his lap.  “Make sure to touch your lover’s whole body,” she murmured, in between their sighs of desire.  “Pleasure doesn’t just come from between their legs.  Any part can be pleasurable.  But especially this”—she guided his lips to her neck—“and this” —she placed his hands on her breasts—“and of course…this.”  And she insinuated a hand at his cock.

He eagerly drank down her lessons.  He made sure to touch her in as many places as he could, taking note of her reactions.  Kisses to her neck made her sigh, and his breath against her ear made her shiver and laugh.  Touching her breasts made her hum with pleasure, and lean into his touch.  Grabbing her waist made her swivel her hips, undulating in his lap.

Just when he thought it could get no more intense, she started undressing him.  He let her.  Then she rose from his lap, and let her own garments fall to the floor…and Aziraphale knew the best was yet to come.  He’d seen humans naked before, but had never joined them in nudity like this, and never with his cock so achingly hard as he took in her beautiful curves.

When she climbed into his lap again, the pleasure of their warm, naked skin together nearly made him lose all control.  His breath heaved against hers, his pulse raced, his cock throbbed and twitched with want.  Especially when she took it in her hand, and started gently stroking him.

“Now,” she instructed him, “the most important part of making love to a woman, is to hold yourself back.  As much as you want to finish right away, don’t let yourself.  Do whatever you can to hold on, and let the pleasure last.”  She smirked.  “Your wife will thank you for that, one day.”

Then she rose up, still with her eyes making full contact with his…and she sank down on his length, nestling it inside her slick, fluttering warmth.

Aziraphale moaned out loud.  He’d been trying to be quiet, lest her father hear in the next room.  But he couldn’t help his sudden noise, as for the first time, his cock was engulfed in the wet heat of another’s body.  His mind went blank with overwhelming ecstasy.  This was…oh my…

If tasting pleasure was an act of worship for the Lord, he was now the most devout angel to have ever existed, chanting Her praises over and over in the holy dark.

The woman went slowly.  He did as she’d instructed, using all his self-control to hold himself back from finishing.  It was difficult, especially with her breath so close to his, her body warm in his arms, her half-lidded eyes sparkling at him with delight.  

She moved gently in his lap, up and down, back and forth, over and over, sharing sweet pleasure with him again, and again.  He soon grew more daring, and tried moving his hips with her.  She gave him a soft cry at that, so he did it again.  And again, and again, and again.  

Her breasts were pressing against him.  He cupped one in his hand, trying to replicate the sound she’d made when he’d done it earlier.  This time, her head tipped back, and she gave a louder, breathy moan.  Her hips quickened her pace.  “Yes,” she whispered, “just like that.”

They moved their bodies together.  Aziraphale lost all sense of time, all considerations of his mission, of what he was supposed to be doing on Earth right now.  He’d lost himself in much the same way when he’d eaten food for the first time; back then, he’d been so overcome by tasting roasted meat, that he’d gorged himself for a week straight.  He’d only come back to his senses when he’d awoken in the middle of a restaurant, the empty plates of fifty full courses surrounding him—along with the astonished staff and other patrons.  Miracles of persuasion—that you’ve seen nothing out of the ordinary here, and had a lovely evening with your friends—had come in handy there.

But he didn’t want to do the same thing here.  This was not a pleasure partaken alone, but shared.  He didn’t feel right taking this memory away from her.  Especially if it was a good one.

So, he set out to make this a good memory for her.  He moved his hips with hers.  He touched her breasts, her waist, her back.  He ran his hands through her hair.  He kissed her breasts, her neck, her lips, her ear.  He tried anything he could to make this good for her.  

And not only did he think he succeeded, judging by her sighs and moans in response, not to mention the tightening of her body around him—but he also learned that focusing on his partner’s pleasure, also worked to heighten his own.  He shivered at her every reaction, and sighed a breath after she did.  Oh, this was wonderful.

But soon, her hips started writhing frantically, and she took one of his hands.  “Here’s how you finish a woman,” she breathed against his lips.  It was so difficult to stave off the impending explosion in his body, but he managed, hanging on her every word.

She guided his hand between her legs, and used his finger to rub tight circles over a small nub, just above where their bodies were joined.  “Right here,” she said, her voice nearly whimpering, “and not too rough, not too fast, it’s—ohhhh—”

Aziraphale felt her pulsing against his hand, and around his cock.  And he couldn’t take it anymore.  His hips stuttered fast, and he moaned, and for the first time, he felt the sharp heat of release in his cock, twitching and spasming, with heat radiating through his whole body.

Their breaths heaved together in the moments afterward.  She smiled at him, her eyes bright with contentment.  “You’re a quick learner,” she panted, and his chest warmed from the praise.

She rose off him then, and helped him into the (now-tepid) bath.  If he had needed a wash before, he certainly needed one now, given the sweat worked up from the exertions.  She joined him in the tub, helping to wash him, soothing his heated skin.

Afterward, they redressed, and Aziraphale got comfortable in his bed.  The woman leaned over him, and gave him a goodnight kiss.  “Thank you,” she murmured.  “That was wonderful.”

He smiled at her.  “Thank you.  That was absolutely lovely.  I’m grateful for your, ah…instructions.”

She winked at him.  “Thank me later.  You’ll make a wonderful husband, one day.”

And with that, she left him alone for the night.  And though Aziraphale had planned to spend the night reading in bed…he was so physically relaxed, he fell asleep within minutes.  

xxx

That night, he had another first.  He’d fallen asleep a scant few times, and had even fewer dreams.  But that night, he dreamed…a specific kind of dream.

He dreamed of nakedness, and warmth, and breath huffing against his neck.  He dreamed of touching warm flesh, and feeling wet heat around his throbbing cock.  He dreamed of sighs, and grunts, and soft moans of pleasure.

He couldn’t see the face of whoever it was in his arms.  But he knew he loved them dearly.  He cradled their body in his lap, feeling them moving up and down his length, fluttering around him, softly crying out into his ear.

“Aziraphale,” that voice whispered.  But it wasn’t the voice of the woman he’d just lain with.  It was low, and guttural, and slippery.  The tone of that voice made Aziraphale feel known so deeply, like the voice’s owner had reached inside his chest, to cradle his beating heart.

He sighed against his partner’s neck, wanting to give them as much pleasure as they were giving him.  He buried his face in red hair, and whispered, “My love.”

He woke to sticky sheets, and resolved that in the future, sleep—and the ensuing wet dreams—were pleasures best avoided.

xxx

Aziraphale’s first time with a man was different.  Since he was male-presenting himself, he knew it wasn’t nearly as socially accepted as to lie with a woman, but he knew the practice still existed.  He didn’t know what all the fuss was about regarding the distinction; beyond the reproductive functions of a heterosexual union, he didn’t think it made much of a difference which gender one’s partner was.  Now that he had experienced physical intimacy, he’d found himself noticing others in that way, and he noticed men just as often as women.

But the first time he did more than notice a man, was when he was visiting the wounded after a battle.  Wars were so commonplace among the humans, and he tried to soothe their victims as best he could.  It helped comfort him, and distract from the prospect that one day, it would be angels fighting demons on the battlefield at the End of Days, with no higher beings to soothe their anguished cries.

He was about to leave the bedside of one man with an injured leg, when the man called out to him.  “Wait.”  Hands grasped his robes, and he heeded the call.

But even when he stayed at the man’s side, the grip on his clothes didn’t let go of him.  “Please,” the man begged.  “I don’t know if I’ll ever walk again.  I just…want to thank you.  And make you feel good.”

Aziraphale smiled kindly.  “Giving you comfort is enough to make me feel good.”

“Then comfort me,” the man said.  “Please.  Let me?”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what the man meant.  But he decided to acquiesce, and let him do whatever he was referring to.

It turned out, the man had been referring to busying his hands in Aziraphale’s robes, and reaching in to touch his cock.  Aziraphale gasped, and pulled away slightly.  “Please, you’re injured, there’s no need to—”

But he cut himself off, seeing the heartbroken look in the man’s eyes.  “Please,” the man said again, looking like the most lost soul in the universe.  And oh, how could Aziraphale ever think to refuse such a plea?

So, he leaned in, and kissed the man.  Perhaps the man hadn’t expected such tenderness, for his gasped breath sounded more like a sob.  How long had it been since he’d had any real comfort?

When the man reached into Aziraphale’s robes again, he let him do it.  The man’s hands were callused against his cock, in sharp contrast to the softness of the few women’s hands he’d experienced.  Who had the man been, before he’d found his way to the battlefield?  Perhaps a farmer, as so many were.  Or perhaps his family had had a trade, a blacksmith or a baker, and he’d helped his father with his craft.  Until he’d gone to the army to make his fortune, with plans to start his own farm or business afterward, and settle down with a family of his own.

In the meantime, the man’s work-worn hands caressed Aziraphale’s flesh.  Aziraphale swiftly grew hard, and his heart ached with love for this man.  He only wanted comfort, and to show his gratitude.  Who was Aziraphale, to not allow him those things?

In the end, the man leaned over—and Aziraphale had to make sure he wasn’t further hurting his own leg—and swallowed Aziraphale’s cock down.  Aziraphale gasped, and leaned back his head, awash in the pleasure of the man’s mouth sucking around him over and over.

He stroked the man’s hair as he sucked him off.  It was clear the man had done this before; had he done this with some of his fellow soldiers?  Or perhaps he’d had a boyhood friend he’d experimented with, and hadn’t shared this pleasure with someone in many years?

In any case, when the warm rush of orgasm washed over Aziraphale, he was grateful for the man’s talent.  The man swallowed down his spend, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  “Thank you,” he whispered.  “I won’t keep you longer.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale.  “But surely…I can return the favor?  If you’d like?”

The man’s eyes widened, as if he hadn’t expected such an offer.  But he nodded.

So, Aziraphale gingerly undid the man’s trousers, taking care to not jostle his injured leg.  And when faced with the man’s hard, leaking cock, he stroked it gently, letting the man sigh and shiver with want.

Then, he did as the man had done with him.  He lowered himself, and took the man’s cock in his mouth.

He immediately decided he loved this.  Having things in his mouth had always been enjoyable, but this, knowing he was giving someone else pleasure while he did it…it was indescribable, the joy it brought him.  

He tried to remember what the man had done.  He sucked, and bobbed his head.  He followed his instincts, and swallowed over and over, creating as much suction as he could.  He was drooling, and wasn’t sure what he was meant to do with that.  Should he pull off and wipe it away?  Or should he ignore it, and keep going?

In the end, he decided on the latter option.  He didn’t want to interrupt the man’s pleasure.  And the man was pleased, if his sighing moans were anything to go by.  His hips stuttered up, and Aziraphale had to catch himself and adjust, lest the cock nudge too harshly into the back of his throat.  His eyes watered a little, but he kept going.

When the man groaned as he spent himself, Aziraphale held still, letting the man’s seed pump into his mouth.  It was slimy, and tasted bitter and salty.  Not bad, necessarily; just different from what Aziraphale was accustomed to.  Perhaps this was an acquired taste, then. 

The man finished, and Aziraphale copied what the man had done, and swallowed down his semen.  That was a lovely sensation, which he noted he would do again, if given the chance.

When he rose off the man, and helped refasten his clothing, the man was staring up at him with a soft smile.  “Thank you,” he whispered, to this undercover angel in the night.

Aziraphale gently smiled back.  “Thank you.”

And with that, he left, leaving behind only a blessing that the man would one day make a full recovery.  He never saw the man again.  But the memory would linger in his mind for thousands of years afterward.

xxx

The first time Aziraphale had penetrated someone’s ass had been…interesting.

He didn’t make a habit of falling into bed with humans.  He’d had maybe four or five such trysts in his two thousand years on Earth.  But up until that point, they had all been gentle and sweet, full of kindness and shared pleasure.

In contrast, the woman he now found himself in bed with in Nineveh, was anything but.  She was a small thing, but wild and rough once she got him between the sheets.  

Aziraphale had only just stepped off the boat that had been supposed to be carrying Jonah to this city, until the would-be prophet had become too frightened and departed for Jaffa instead.  The Archangels had said that Jonah was to be an important man, and carry God’s message to the city.  But if God did indeed have plans for Jonah, they were beyond what Aziraphale could see.

In the meantime, he busied himself with the woman beneath him.  He drank down her loud moans as he fondled her breasts and hips.  He responded to her biting kisses with his own.  When she rose up and positioned herself on her hands and knees, he rose up on his own knees, ready to join their bodies.

But when he prepared to enter her cunt, she stopped him.  “No, not there,” she said breathlessly.  “Here.”  And she parted her ass cheeks with one hand, indicating her other hole.

Oh.  Aziraphale had not considered that as an option.  No other woman had ever asked this of him before.  “But—won’t it hurt?”

She laughed.  “Of course it will.  I like a bit of pain with my pleasure.  How else do we know we’re alive on this Earth?”

But even with the permission, the thought made Aziraphale’s stomach turn.  He had no interest in hurting someone so intimately, even if they’d asked him to.  “I’m sure there’s better ways to feel alive,” he protested.  But he knew this type of penetration was a thing people did, both men and women alike.  “Surely there’s some way to make this less painful?”

She sighed, rolling her eyes at him.  “Fine.”  She stretched an arm toward a table by the bed, grabbed a bottle of some type of ointment, and pressed it into his hands.  “Use it on your fingers.  Put them in me one at a time, stretch me out.  But not too much!  Don’t want me so loose you’ll fall out.”

Aziraphale raised a brow at her crudeness.  But he agreed, and slathered the ointment on his fingers.  It was viscous, and made a mess, but the texture did feel nice.

He gasped as he pressed one finger inside her ass.  It was warm, yes, but tight, so much tighter than any mouth or vagina he was accustomed to being inside.  It pinched him a little, it was so much.  Perhaps she was doing it on purpose, wanting to feel it burn with the stretch.

Still, he took his time to be thorough.  She groaned with impatience, and thrust her hips back against him.  “C’mon, lover boy, I’m not a blushing virgin on her wedding night!”  Aziraphale pursed his lips at her impertinence.  (Although, her antics did turn him on a little.)

When he finally thought she was stretched enough, he took hold of his cock again, and this time, he pressed it against the hole she wanted filled.  And when he finally watched her flesh give way around him… oh.   It was so warm, and tight, and full of delicious friction, he couldn’t believe he’d never thought to try this before.  He’d been missing out!

When he seated himself fully inside her, she bucked her hips up against him.  “No more dawdling,” she urged, “give it to me, come on.”  So, he gripped her hips, and obliged her.

She was not quiet, or passive.  She moved against him harshly, dictating a fast, rough pace.  When he started giving it to her, she moaned loudly, letting herself drop down to her elbows as she submitted to the pleasure.  Her ass squeezed him like a vice, and he was sure he hadn’t used enough lubrication, from how roughly he was chafing inside her.  She may not care, but he made a note to use more the next time he tried this.

“Oh, yes,” she begged as he fucked her hard, “yes, yes, oh, God—”

Aziraphale was a bit surprised to hear that from her lips; this city was supposed to be Godless, until Jonah came to preach to them, urging them to change their ways lest they all be destroyed in the Almighty’s wrath.  But this woman—this rough, lewd woman—was crying out to God, as an angel fucked her in the ass.  Holiness did indeed come from the most unexpected places in the world.

He started grunting and moaning, too.  He was enthralled by watching his cock disappear into her body, spearing her ass open over and over again.  The pinching tightness inside her was overpowering; he knew he wouldn’t last long like this, despite his lesson from his first woman to always hold himself back and give his partner pleasure first.

“What do you need,” he managed, as he edged so close to orgasm he saw white in his vision.  “How can I please you?”

“Ugghh, fuck me,” she begged, “fuck me, take my ass, fuck me—”

Aziraphale slammed his hips in with a groan, and came hard, spilling everything he had inside her.  She squeezed around him hard, shouting, “Yes, yes, YES!”

He wheezed in breath afterward, nearly collapsing on top of her.  He was dizzy from coming so hard.  Perhaps there was something to her idea of having a rough time in bed.  Not something he wanted every time, but once in a while…this had been nice.  More than nice, even.

He tried to be careful as he pulled out.  When he did, his come trickled out of her, sliding in a tantalizing line out of her ass, toward her lower lips.  She sprawled out beneath him with a low hum of pleasure.

“Did you finish?” he asked.  “If not, I can—”

She kicked at him to shut him up.  “Don’t you dare ruin this,” she slurred.  “First time I get my ass reamed all year, and you start wanting to send me flowers?  Ugh, don’t make me sick.”

Aziraphale couldn’t understand this woman.  Had she wanted to be fucked in her ass so badly, for the sensation alone?  Did she care nothing for her own orgasm?  She was a funny one, to be sure.

But, he was never one to disregard his partner’s wishes in bed.  “Very well,” he replied.  “If you’re certain.”

She waved a dismissive hand at his concern, and fell quiet again, luxuriating in whatever sensations she’d gotten from their tumble.  Aziraphale dressed again, and departed, leaving her to her own devices.

xxx

It may have been stereotypical of him, to not be penetrated himself until the time of the Greek city states.  But it was the truth.  He wasn’t sure why he had waited so long; even when his partner was a man, they’d seemed perfectly content with his cock, either to suck it, or have it taken inside their own bodies.  They’d never pressed to have him the other way around.

But Aziraphale had wanted to try it.  And one night, he saw his opportunity.

It was in Athens, after the opening night of Lysistrata.  Aziraphale had given Aristophanes ideas of how to incorporate morals of chastity and fidelity into his work.  Instead, the playwright had turned such virtues into a farcical romp, of women encouraging their husbands to stop the Peloponnesian War by withholding sex from them.  The resulting comedy was crude, and had the audience in uproarious laughter.

Aziraphale was miffed at first, but was quickly taken up by the rather randy atmosphere during the afterparty.  It seemed that having a string of sexual jokes for an hour onstage brought the topic to everyone’s minds.

An older man soon picked Aziraphale out of the crowd.  He made Aziraphale laugh with his ribald jokes, and whispered teasing propositions in his ear.  Before long, he was leading Aziraphale by the hand away from the party, toward his home.

The hour was late, and Aziraphale was sure they would wake up the man’s servants with how they were carrying on—too much wine, perhaps.  He wondered if the man had a wife, who would be upset to see him in such company.  Or, perhaps she wouldn’t be bothered.  Perhaps she would even like to join in?  Aziraphale had never had sex with more than one person at once, but he’d heard of the Bacchanalian rites, and was so very curious about it.

But for now, his current partner was more than enough to satisfy him.  The man had them both naked in no time, and was sucking kisses onto Aziraphale’s neck.  He only let go to grab a jar of olive oil from a dresser.  “Go on then,” he said, “best if you’re on your hands and knees for this.”

Aziraphale raised a brow at the man’s assumption, that he would be the one penetrated.  But, perhaps it was no surprise.  In these parts of the world, the acceptableness of a sexual act depended on the person’s social status.  Surely, a wealthy, older man such as this wouldn’t be expected to perform the receptive role.  His days of being a soft, young boy ripe for pederasty were long gone.  

Not that Aziraphale had any objections.  He was rather looking forward to finding out what it was like to take a cock inside him.

So, he went onto his hands and knees, and smiled at the man as he knelt behind him.  The man kissed his shoulder, and eased an oiled finger inside him.

“Oh,” Aziraphale gasped, and leaned his hips back to take in more of the sensation.  It was intimate, and vulnerable, and so, so pleasurable.  He could easily see why so many humans tried sticking things up there.  He wondered why he’d never tried it by himself!

The man worked up to two fingers, then three.  He pushed them in and out, spread them open, swiveled them around, spreading the oil all around Aziraphale’s rectum.  Aziraphale clenched around the fingers, rocking his hips back to meet them, humming with delight.  

When the man reached in further, pressing downward, a certain spot had Aziraphale crying out sharply.  The man chuckled.  “I wondered where your spot was.”  

Aziraphale whined.  “Oh, please—please do that again—”

The man did.  He soon had Aziraphale reduced to a panting, mewling mess on his bed, leaking fluid from his swollen cock.  “Please,” Aziraphale begged, “please, inside me—”

The man withdrew his fingers, and oiled up his cock.  Then he started to push in.  “Breathe with it,” the man instructed him, seemingly picking up on Aziraphale’s lack of experience.  “Lengthen your muscles, and let me in.  It’ll feel like voiding your bowels when I move out, but don’t worry, you’re not soiling yourself.”

Aziraphale laughed breathlessly, not bothering to correct the man that no, he had no idea what it felt like to void one’s bowels.  Angels didn’t have to bother with such bodily functions.  

When the man was finally seated all the way inside him, Aziraphale breathed around the intrusion.  It was big, and warm, and firm.  It stretched his insides in the most delightful way.  He squeezed his body around the cock, and it took his breath away at how much pleasure that gave him.

The man groaned at the sensation.  “Yes, just like that,” he urged.  

And he began to fuck Aziraphale.  Aziraphale mewled and keened with every thrust, bucking his hips back to meet the man’s, delighting in the firm grip on his hips manhandling him back and forth.  That cock filled him up over and over again, stretching and rubbing against his insides with such wonderful friction.  Oh, he loved this.  He couldn’t believe he’d never tried this before, it was so good!

The man was soon hitting that spot inside him that made him see stars.  He moaned throatily with every shove, his eyes rolling back as he bounced on the man’s cock.  He was going to come from this, he was sure of it.

“That’s it,” the man moaned, “take it, take it, take it—”

Aziraphale keened high in his throat, and came untouched, wheezing and spluttering and sobbing out his release.  He went limp afterward, letting the man move him to his liking, his body a receptacle for the man’s pleasure.

When the man came inside him with a wild groan, Aziraphale’s breath caught, as he felt the flood of warmth against his insides.  So that’s what it feels like when someone comes inside you.  Oh, how lovely.

The man stayed inside him for a long time, as they both struggled to catch their breath.  Part of Aziraphale wanted him to stay inside him forever.  But eventually, the man’s cock softened, and he carefully eased his way out.  Aziraphale gasped at the feeling of the man’s seed dripping out of him.  Oh, what a warm, intimate sensation!  

The man cleaned them both up with a cloth, and relaxed in bed beside him.  “You did well,” he said, and kissed Aziraphale’s cheek.

Aziraphale grinned, and kissed him back.  “So did you.”

xxx

His chance at having sex with more than one person at once, didn’t come to fruition until the Roman Empire.  But oh, was it fun.

He’d popped in for a visit during Caligula’s time, wanting to try Petronius’s new restaurant.  He hadn’t meant to bump into Craw—to Crowley during that time.  He hadn’t seen the demon since the crucifixion of the Almighty’s Son.  But the demon had looked morose and grumpy, so he’d invited him along to cheer him up.  

And it seemed to have worked.  Crowley hadn’t eaten much of the oysters; he’d spent most of his time watching Aziraphale slurp them down.  Aziraphale wasn’t sure why he was being so scrutinized as he swallowed the salty morsels, but he wasn’t complaining.  It was nice to have the company of someone he didn’t have to pretend for.  Unlike humans, Crowley knew exactly what sort of being he was; and he didn’t find him grating or annoying, like the Archangels did.  His conversation was so delightful, Aziraphale could have carried on with him for hours or days.  And even then, they still probably wouldn’t have run out of things to talk about.

But in the end, they’d parted ways.  Crowley had temptations to see to, and Aziraphale figured he should probably perform a few blessings while he was in the city.  They were still on Opposite Sides, after all, friendly acquaintances or no.  He still needed to counter Hell’s influence.

After spending the next day performing a few quick miracles, he decided to relax.  And the place he decided to relax…was at one of Rome’s infamous orgies.

He’d never been to one properly.  He’d seen them in passing, but he’d always been on his way to or from a work assignment.  He’d never taken his time to sample them himself.

But now, he shed his clothes like all the other participants, and lounged back on a plush chaise lounge, idly palming his cock to hardness as he took in all the delights around him.

Sofas and cushions were set up everywhere.  Various fruits, cheeses, and other delicacies were being offered by passing slaves.  Some offered alcohol, or other vapors or mushrooms which were said to enhance the experience.  Aziraphale declined those, wanting to feast his senses unencumbered.

So, he sat and watched.  In one corner, two men were taking turns sucking another man’s cock.  In another corner, two women were tangled up together, laying in opposite directions, pleasuring each other’s cunts with their mouths.  A man was being fucked against one wall, by a strapped-on dildo attached to a woman’s hips.  On another table, a woman was being bounced in one man’s lap, sucking another’s cock, while a third was pressing fingers inside her ass, preparing to stuff her third and final hole.

Moans from all sorts of voices filled the air.  The room smelled of sex and sweat.  Skin slapped against skin, mouths gurgled and gagged around genitals, sharp cries rang out as climax after climax rippled through different bodies.

It was a hedonist’s paradise.  Aziraphale was enthralled.

Just then, a man looming in his periphery caught his attention.  He could immediately see the man was a slave.  He wore nothing but a golden belt around his hips, which connected to gold chains attached to rings pierced into his nipples.  Chains also connected to a ring adorning the head of his excessively large penis.

The man reached out toward Aziraphale’s cock.  But Aziraphale gently pushed his hand away.  “No, thank you,” he said politely.  “I’m content to watch, for now.”  The man bowed his head, and left to offer his services to another participant.

Aziraphale watched him leave, taking note of the huge, gold-plated dildo stuffed into the man’s ass.  It’s not that Aziraphale didn’t want to participate; he just didn’t want to do so with a slave.  That crossed a line of consent he wasn’t at all comfortable with.

He turned his attention back to the center of the room, where a large table was laid out like a banquet.  But instead of food, a woman was atop the table, being pleasured with the mouths of a man and a woman.  They had their fingers inside her cunt and ass, making her moan and writhe in ecstasy.  

Aziraphale was entranced by her.  He knew the Romans had little to no shame when it came to sexual pleasures, but this woman seemed to embody it.  Her ample breasts stood out starkly, her hair fanned out around her face, her limbs splayed wide to take in every bit of pleasure she was given.  She seemed to be coming over and over, bucking her hips into her partners’ hands, groaning when they lowered their lips around her clit again.

And then…she looked over, and made full eye contact with Aziraphale.  She kept moaning, looking hungrily in his direction.  Aziraphale’s cock twitched in his grasp as he smiled back at her.

After another round of climaxing, the woman urged her two partners away.  She rolled onto her side, displaying her curvaceous body for everyone to see.  She was in the middle of the room, and made more than one head turn as her olive skin caught the firelight.

But her eyes were still fixed on Aziraphale.  She crooked her finger at him, beckoning him forward.  His smile grew, and he obeyed.

When he made it to the table, she rolled onto her back again, staring lustily up at him.  “What’s a fine thing like you doing,” she purred, “skulking on the fringes, with no one touching you?  Is voyeurism all you’re after?”

He shook his head.  “I was simply waiting for the right partner.”

She grinned.  “Well, here I am.”  And she spread her legs in obvious invitation.  Her slick glistened between her labia from the earlier ministrations, promising wet warmth around his cock.  He groaned at the sight.

He didn’t waste any time with kisses or foreplay; he didn’t feel them necessary in such an atmosphere.  Instead, he hauled her legs up and around his waist, and sank his cock inside her.  They both groaned out loud as their bodies joined.

From there, it was pleasure, pleasure, pleasure.  He fucked her deliberately, hard and fast, as if wanting her to remember the shape of his cock for the rest of her life.  She cried out, again, and again, louder than anyone else in the room.  All eyes turned to them in appreciation.  Aziraphale felt their gazes, and his back tingled with the enjoyment of being watched and so wanted.

He fucked her even faster.  His hips pistoned over and over, plunging inside her with wet squelching noises.  Her arms sprawled out to either side, her hair mussed against the tabletop as she was rocked back and forth.  Her breasts bounced up and down with each thrust.  Her eyes stared at the ceiling, glazed over in pleasure.  Her mouth stayed open with moan after throaty moan.  

Aziraphale joined in.  He’d never been so unabashedly vocal during sex, but in such an atmosphere as this, there was no reason to keep himself quiet.  He quickly found that he loved making noises like this as he fucked, the same way he loved making moans of pleasure when he ate oysters.  And he loved being watched like this too, just like when Crowley had watched him slurp down fish over and over—

He had to pause himself from that line of thinking.  Any further, and he might start imagining Crowley here watching him have sex, with lids half-open over golden eyes bright with pleasure.  And surely that was a bridge too far, to imagine sex involving a demon, no matter how friendly that demon was.

He brought himself back to the present.  To the woman sprawled underneath him, clenching and squelching around his cock.  He couldn’t tell if she was just pretending to enjoy it that much, or if she truly was orgasming around him over and over.  In any case, he plowed her harder, wanting to prolong the sensations inside her.

A presence made itself known at his side.  He turned, to see a naked man standing next to him.  “Are you enjoying my wife?” he asked.

Aziraphale faltered.  The woman’s moans did, too.  “I—” Aziraphale stammered, “I didn’t know—”

The man laughed.  “Oh, don’t stop!  She was enjoying you so much.”  He leaned in closer.  “I could enjoy you too, if you’d like.”

Aziraphale nodded.  “Oh, yes.”  Beneath him, the man’s wife hummed in pleasure.  

He started fucking the woman again, slower, but still just as hard.  He kept his eyes on her husband though, curious as to what he had in mind.

The man jumped up onto the table beside his wife.  At this height, his large erection was directly at Aziraphale’s eye level.  He looked up at the man’s face, his mouth watering in anticipation.

The man smiled back at him, and guided Aziraphale’s mouth to his cock.  

Aziraphale moaned around it eagerly.  He built up the rhythm of his hips again, fucking the woman hard and fast.  He bobbed his head around the man’s cock at the same pace.  The woman cried out, and the man moaned in satisfaction.  He started fucking his cock in and out of Aziraphale’s mouth, and Aziraphale thrilled at the wet noises coming from his own throat.

He could feel all eyes on him now.  Cries of pleasure rose from every corner of the room.  As he chanced his eyes open, he saw one couple rearrange themselves, so the man being fucked could face Aziraphale as his partner bounced him up and down.  They didn’t want to miss the show being offered.

So, Aziraphale put on a show.  He’d always admired stagecraft, after all.  And now, he was making a man’s cock disappear into his mouth, while his own vanished into a woman’s cunt.  The sensations had his head spinning, his back prickling, his stomach clenching in bliss.

He closed his eyes, and gurgled another moan around the man’s cock.  The man was truly fucking his face now, huffing rhythmic breaths as he plundered in and out of Aziraphale’s throat.  Aziraphale felt drool roll down his chin, and he moaned again at how out of control he felt.  He was a column of pleasure, writhing and undulating from head to toe, made for nothing but this, this, this.

The man choked off a groan, and pulled out, just in time to spend himself all over Aziraphale’s face.  Aziraphale gasped in pleasure at the sensation.  He kept fucking the woman, as she hummed and mewled in delight at the display.

The man wiped up some of his own spend, and fed it back to Aziraphale.  Aziraphale greedily slurped it off his fingers.  “Well, go on then,” the man murmured.  “Come inside my wife.  Venus has truly blessed us this evening.  If any child is conceived, they will be touched by the goddess, and live a life full of love and happiness.”

Of course, Aziraphale knew better.  The only god watching was The One God, and She had been mum on anyone having any sort of evening one way or the other.  Besides, while Aziraphale’s body looked and acted like a human, it was manufactured in Heaven.  His cock might spill semen, but his seed would never quicken in any woman’s womb.

But, he knew the Romans to be deeply religious about their false gods.  They took such matters seriously.  And offending them was the last thing Aziraphale wanted to do.  

So, he kept fucking the woman, keeping his eyes enthralled on the man as he encouraged him.  And soon, he was coming inside her with a loud moan.  

When he finished, and panted to catch his breath, there was a smattering of applause from around the room—at least, from those participants who had their hands free.  He’d put on a good show, and the appreciation brought him nearly as much pleasure as the performance had.  Oh, what a happy angel he was now!

He pulled out of the woman.  She closed her legs up to keep all his seed inside her.  “You’re truly sent from the gods,” she said breathlessly.

As she reached over to kiss her husband, ecstatic in the thrill they’d just shared together, Aziraphale shivered from head to toe.  What a wonderful evening this had been.

xxx

Aziraphale’s next few firsts were…complicated, after that.

He still didn’t partake in pleasures of the flesh that often.  Maybe once every few centuries, when he had free time away from his work, and when a human approached him in that way.  All told, by the time the days of King Arthur rolled around, he’d had perhaps twenty-five lovers during his time on Earth.  None were ever as wild as his Roman orgy experience, either; they were often brief affairs with one human at a time, with quickened breaths and soft sighs and soiled sheets.

Pleasure by himself, with his own hand, however…that had become more frequent of late.  He was hungry for companionship, and wished he had more time to explore such pleasures.  But alas, his hand—and his favorite dildo—would have to make do on most nights.

Tonight, though, he was frustrated.   

He stomped in from the mists, through the halls of Camelot Castle, into his personal chambers.  The door slammed shut behind him with a loud boom.  He was in such a foul mood, his squire had kept a wide berth from him, and hadn’t helped him out of his armor.  

No matter.  He snapped his fingers, letting all the metal and cloth fall away from his body.  He stood there, naked and fuming.

He had met Crowley in the marshes.  But rather than striking up friendly conversation as he usually did, the demon had suggested something scandalous!  Him and Aziraphale, working together?   Shirking their work duties, as they’d just cancel each other out anyway?  Disobeying Heaven and Hell’s commands?

Had Crowley taken leave of his senses?!  Their Head Offices would check, and get them both in trouble!  And where would they be then?

No.  Not they.  There was no they.  There was him, and there was Crowley.  Opposite Sides.  Opposing forces in the world, bending it toward Good or Evil.  They had nothing in common, obviously!

Aziraphale took a heated breath.  He needed to work this tension out of himself.  Just a bit of self-pleasure, a quick orgasm, and he’d be feeling better.  He would put the demon’s proposition out of his mind for good, and carry on with his work.

He laid back on his bed, fluffing up the furs around himself to get comfortable.  He fished out the large, ivory dildo he’d carried with him since the days of the Romans.  That always did the trick to bring him over the edge.

He started off as slowly as he dared.  He ran his hands over his body, past the ridges of stretch marks on his belly, pinching and twisting his nipples as he hissed in pleasure.  His cock stirred in interest.  He spread his legs open in preparation, and fondled his balls a little.

And absurdly, he imagined Crowley fondling them from between his legs.

He closed his legs around his own hand in shock.  Where the Hell had that image come from?  Crowley wasn’t—it wasn’t like that—sure, he was rakish, and handsome in his own devilish way, and those yellow eyes of his glowed so tantalizingly in the dark, but surely—

He leaned his head back, and thought.  Crowley was…more than handsome, actually.  He was gorgeous, by the standards of a human or a demon.  He wasn’t rotting or mildewed like the others of his kind.  He had such a pleasing face, with the sharpness of his cheekbones, the cut of his jaw, the pout of his lips, and those eyes…

Aziraphale had noticed his body, too.  That slim, sinewy body, which did not have a line or angle which Aziraphale did not find pleasing.  He’d noticed it when they’d first met, on the wall surrounding Eden.  He hadn’t really known what desire was back then, but in retrospect, it was obvious he’d given the demon a once-over.

And every time they’d met since, the demon had been alluring.  Aziraphale thought perhaps he’d been appearing that way on purpose, to get a rise out of the angel.  But now that he thought about it, Crowley had been dressing in all different fashions, and the effect was the same.  It wasn’t a front he was putting on; it was simply how he was.   Beautiful, and desirable.

Surely, there was nothing wrong with thinking such thoughts?  It wasn’t like Aziraphale was going to act on them, and he didn’t want to, surely!  Could he imagine a more grievous crime, than laying with the Enemy?  Oh, perish the thought.

No.  Aziraphale would commit no such treason, the same as how he would not entertain thoughts of working with Crowley.  He would simply use such thoughts as fodder for his own masturbation.  It would yield the same result as if he’d thought of anyone else, right?

His mind made up, Aziraphale took himself in hand again, and allowed his mind to wander down forbidden paths.  He imagined Crowley naked, those expanses of pale skin begging for Aziraphale’s touch.  His legs would be so long too, as they climbed into Aziraphale’s lap.  He imagined those nimble fingers touching him, that they were the ones caressing his stretch marks and pinching his nipples.  He imagined Crowley’s low chuckle at the reaction Aziraphale gave.  That’s it, angel, he would say, and—oh.  Oh.

He nearly came on the spot, as he imagined that slippery voice calling him that.  Usually it was said as a statement of fact, for that’s what Aziraphale was.  Lately, Crowley had started using it as a strange sort of pet name, with a low amusement, as if it were his own private joke.  But to hear it said as an endearment, from one lover to another…

It made Aziraphale so hard and fit to bursting.  He was dizzy from how quickly it had turned him on.

He dared to lick his palm, and started touching himself again.  He imagined Crowley’s hand there, and thought of staring deeply into those golden eyes as the demon stroked him.  He imagined Crowley lowering his head, and taking him into his mouth, stretching his lips obscenely around Aziraphale’s girth, feeling that wicked tongue curling around him.  A shiver went up his spine, as he imagined Crowley gazing up at him through hooded lids, even as he bobbed his head up and down his cock.

Aziraphale quickly miracled some oil around the dildo, and nudged it against his hole.  He relaxed his muscles, and used some more of his powers to open and slick himself for it, and then—

As he breached himself with the dildo, he imagined Crowley’s cock seating inside him, stuffing him full of wickedness.  He moaned out loud before he could stop himself.

Would Crowley be generous?  Would he hold still, letting Aziraphale squirm around him, begging him to keep going, before slowly and gently obliging?  Or would he throw caution to the wind, and take him hard and fast, making Aziraphale mewl and beg for more?

Aziraphale wasn’t sure which one he would prefer.  All he knew was that he wanted that cock inside him.  He moved the dildo in and out of himself with lewd squelching noises, whining at the pleasure he imagined Crowley giving him.  “Oh,” he moaned, “ohhhh—”

Then, as he resumed pumping himself with his hand, he imagined the reverse.  He imagined opening Crowley’s body up, and sinking his cock inside him, making him cry out and writhe as an angel speared him open.  He imagined Crowley splayed out beneath him, taking in every bit of pleasure given to him.  Or maybe Crowley could be in his lap, working himself up and down Aziraphale’s cock, and they would cry out each other’s names and share breath and moan together and it would be so good—

Aziraphale bit off his own moan, as he came hard and fast into his fist, spasming around his dildo as he trembled with release.

As he lay there in the aftermath, the blankness in his mind started retreating.  His face flushed.  He’d just come to thoughts of being intimate with Crowley, of all people.  So what if he was attractive, and clever, and good for conversation, and unexpectedly kind at times?  It was still so forbidden!  What had Aziraphale been thinking, to get himself off from such thoughts?

In the end, he cleaned himself up, and stewed in shame for a while.  He resolved that he would never think such untoward thoughts about the demon again.

(Guess how long that promise lasted.)

xxx

The centuries wore on.  Aziraphale did end up agreeing to Crowley’s suggestion for a mutually-beneficial Arrangement.  As a result, he ended up seeing Crowley more and more often, as they traded blessings and temptations between them.

Eventually, he realized he couldn’t get enough of it.  He so looked forward to seeing Crowley every few years, and found himself wishing they didn’t have to go so long between meetings.  It was safer that way, he knew that.  But it didn’t stop him from wanting more.

He continued the occasional dalliance with a human or two.  They were discreet affairs, and ended soon after they’d begun.  No sense in staying attached to one person for decades, when he needed to leave them for years at a time for his mysterious assignments.  Not to mention, how they would inevitably notice him staying ageless, while they grew older.

Not that he wanted to settle down with any of them.  The physical pleasure was wonderful in the moment, but he’d noticed a shift in himself.  He’d started imagining them as…someone else.  A red-haired, golden-eyed, low-voiced someone else.  It always made him come harder than anything else could, but made him feel such twisting guilt and doubt afterward.  

No longer was he merely lusting after this demon, the way he’d idly fantasized about other humans in the past.  He was becoming attached.   And it was such an impossibility, he recoiled from his own behavior.

But finally, Crowley was the one to put such notions to rest, when he’d asked Aziraphale for holy water in 1862.  Aziraphale had rebuffed him, naturally, and they’d had a brief argument, before Aziraphale departed in a huff.

He still fumed about it, weeks later.  Surely Crowley knew that such talk of holy water only put him in danger?  What was he trying to do?  How dare he think of removing such a nice Arrangement from Aziraphale’s life!  (Because that’s all it was, an Arrangement.  Nothing more.)

So, Aziraphale ended up doing what he’d never done before: rather than accepting sex when it fell into his lap (literally at times), he decided to seek out sex.  And not simply for pleasure’s sake.  For revenge.

Not that Crowley would ever know he was being ‘gotten back at.’  It didn’t make rational sense.  But Aziraphale was far from rational in how he thought about the demon these days.

He had belonged to a gentlemen’s club at Portland Place for some time now.  He knew what certain goings-on happened behind closed doors there, during certain private meetings of theirs.  And this time, he resolved to attend the next such meeting, and take part in the proceedings.

He ended up not only participating…but becoming the center of attention.

The men had decided to take a break from their wives, to enjoy each other discreetly.  Aziraphale elected to join them.  And when they started disrobing, a hush fell over the room, as they saw what Aziraphale had on under his usual clothes.

He’d had this set of lace lingerie tailor-made in the 1830s, for his own personal pleasure.  It didn’t matter that it might be slightly out of fashion by this point.  It still got the job done, when he revealed the lacey bralette, the straps connecting to his garter belt, the intricately-patterned pouch for his cock, and the silk straps holding up his stockings.

All at once, the men stopped their ministrations on each other, and descended on Aziraphale.

He’d never had so many hands pawing at him at once.  Hands were on his chest, on his love handles, on his stomach, on his thighs.  Hands were palming his cock, rolling his balls around.  Hands were spreading his cheeks open, fingers probing inside his ass, oiling and stretching him for what was to—literally—come.

The hands forced him to his knees.  The first man to take Aziraphale’s cock in his mouth made him close his eyes in bliss.  They stayed closed, as his own mouth was filled with another’s cock.  He sucked hard and fast, glug- ing around the girth, thinking serves you right, Crowley, this is what you’ll never have from me, you suicidal idiot.

The first cock inside his ass burned a little from too quick of a preparation.  But Aziraphale didn’t care.  He bucked back against it, let himself be sat down in the man’s lap, and started bouncing himself up and down on his length.  He moaned loudly as he did it, determined to work out all his frustrations at Crowley on this man’s cock.

His ass was fucked.  His face was fucked.  His lace started tearing from being handled so roughly.  His nipples were rolled and tweaked in eager fingers.  One man laid down on the ground to gargle his balls.  Another bobbed his head up and down on his cock.  Two more cocks found their way into his hands, and he stroked at them each in tandem, becoming a mindless container for his partners’ pleasure.

He came from being fucked, and spent himself with a shout into a man’s mouth.  But still he was fucked, still roughly bounced up and down, still pawed at and groped as he drooled with a delirious look in his eyes.  He didn’t care that his cock was limp now, swinging up and down with the rest of his body.  All he cared about was that Crowley was somehow getting the message through the ether, that Aziraphale was happy without him, and it served him right for threatening to take himself away from his life!

One of the cocks in his hand spent itself, as well.  Someone somewhere came on his face and hair; it dripped down his face, painting him in lewdness.  Someone else positioned themselves in front of him, and jerked themselves off, spilling all over his chest as Aziraphale groaned in pleasure.

“More,” Aziraphale panted, “more…”

So they gave him more.  The man fucking his ass tilted him forward, putting him on all fours, and pounded a punishing smack-smack-smack rhythm against his ass.  Someone else offered their cock in front of his face.  He eagerly slurped it down to the root.  

The two cocks inside him—one in his ass, the other in his mouth—started working in tandem, shoving him backwards and forwards as he drooled and moaned and keened.  He could hear others fucking each other in the background, no longer able to access any parts of his body; but others still groped him, tearing his lace lingerie, making him as ruined of a whore as Babylon had once been.

Aziraphale soon grew hard again.  But he ignored it, letting his mind settle in serving others’ pleasure.  When the man fucking his ass finally did come, he pulled out roughly, only for another to take its place.  Aziraphale groaned, and pushed back against his new partner, begging for more.

It continued like that for the next hour, as his lace was ripped to shreds, and he serviced cock after cock after cock.  He came three more times in that hour, though he hadn’t ever been chasing it.  It just happened in the course of him being seen to so well.

He felt like the naughtiest, most desired angel to have ever existed.  And at the time, it made him feel almost like he’d gotten back at Crowley for the perceived abandonment.

But as the afternoon’s festivities concluded, and he lay in a spent, tattered heap on the floor of the gentlemen’s club, he realized how large that word almost loomed above him.  He’d gotten some base satisfaction, yes.  But he was no closer to solving his issues with Crowley than when the day had begun.

xxx

The first time he’d admitted to loving Crowley, was once he’d given him the holy water in 1967.

He’d had an inkling of it during the Blitz, when Crowley hadn’t just saved him from the Nazis, but had saved his books from the bombing, as well.  He’d been smitten and overwhelmed for days afterward.

But tonight, as he walked away from Crowley’s car, having dropped off his potentially-lethal present…he realized what every interaction of theirs of the last six thousand years had amounted to.

He’d fallen in love with him a little when they’d first met.  Some part of him had recognized that this demon was safe, and kind.  They’d talked, and they’d laughed.  Aziraphale had sheltered him under his wing from the first rainstorm.

Ever since then, Aziraphale had been trying to protect him, while trying to disguise his intentions—even from himself.  Did he have to look out for Crowley’s wellbeing?  No.  Letting him discorporate from his own recklessness would’ve helped Heaven’s cause overall.  But he couldn’t bear to see Crowley hurt.

He’d lusted after him since the beginning, too; although he hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on that for the first few thousand years.  But it had gotten to the point where he couldn’t make himself orgasm at all, by himself or with a partner, if he wasn’t thinking of Crowley somewhere along the way.

But it wasn’t just lust anymore.  It was friendship, but something else besides that, too.  It was a deep emotional intimacy, a longing for closeness, a yearning to forsake all others and make his demon smile for the rest of time.  (His demon?  Since when had he been thinking of him like that?  Probably for far longer than he’d let on.)

He adored Crowley.  He wanted him.  He was deeply, heartbreakingly in love with him.  

He’d had his fun with others for the last nearly-six thousand years.  But now, the thought of being sexually intimate with anyone else made his stomach clench in revulsion.  He had no appetite for that anymore.  

From here on out, he would be sadly bringing himself off in his bedroom above the bookshop, while trying to spend as much time with Crowley as he could for the rest of the time.  There wasn’t any point in deluding himself, after all.  They were on Opposite Sides still.  And Armageddon was due to arrive just a scant few decades away.

It was just his luck, that he’d fallen in love with the one person he could never have.  With the most wonderful demon to have ever existed.

He shuddered to think what would happen to Crowley, if Heaven and Hell ever found out.

xxx

True to his word, Aziraphale forsook all others.  He never had sex with any human again.

Little did he know, he still had some sexual firsts in store for him.

He would see Crowley naked for the first time.  He would undress him, and start gently touching him everywhere.  He would shower him with love and gentle encouragement that he was alright.

Unfortunately, it was nothing like he’d imagined.  Certainly nothing like Crowley truly deserved.  

Because the first time he saw Crowley naked, and touched his naked skin…was when he’d rescued him from four years of torture in Hell.

He’d thought they had separated from their former employers.  He’d thought they were safe, and could take their time arriving in each other’s arms.  But a month into their newfound freedom after the failed Armageddon, that fateful phone call had rang in his bookshop.  It was Crowley, telling him to “leave the shop, right now, they’re coming for us, but you might have a head start on them, I’ll catch up with you later, where we first ate oysters, I’ll meet you th—”

Then a crash had sounded on the other end, and the line had gone dead.  Confirming Aziraphale’s worst fears that they’ve come for us at last, and they might already have Crowley.

He fled.  He went to Crowley’s flat, only to find signs of a struggle, and a note that said Wake up and smell the burning bookshop, angle.

His shop had been burned down with hellfire, unable to be reversed by any of Aziraphale’s miracles.  So, he went to ground, and fled the country.

He went to Rome, where Crowley had told him to rendezvous.  No Crowley.  All he found there were angels and demons, hot on his trail.

He fled again.  To Florence.  Paris.  Prague.  Istanbul.  Jerusalem.  Everywhere he could think of where he and Crowley had shared significant history, following the cipher of their past that Crowley had memorized as well as Aziraphale had.  If they were going to meet somewhere secret, that was the only map of where to start.

No luck.  For three long years, he searched and searched, only to be run out of each city by the agents of Heaven and Hell hunting him down.  He had so many close calls, he’d worried Crowley wasn’t there to save him after all.

Until he finally broke down, at the Western Wall of the old Temple in Jerusalem, pleading for help.  And God answered him.  

You know where he is, Aziraphale, She told him.  And deep down, he knew it in his heart that yes, Crowley had been captured.  He’d been in Hell this whole time.

I will provide you sanctuary, God promised him.  Speak the word, and it is yours.

But Aziraphale asked God to hold off on that promise.  “I—I would rather wait, until I am with someone else, who also has need of Your sanctuary, Lord.”

Good luck, Aziraphale, was all She said.

So, Aziraphale had his mission.  He just needed the right tools.  

Tracking down his flaming sword from the International Express Company took some work; for being international, they were awfully hard to track down.  But once his sword was in hand, Aziraphale searched for secret entrances to Hell, hoping to chance upon a discreet way into finding his love.

A year in, he found it.  He snuck in, skulked through back hallways in Hell, slid past unsuspecting demons.  Until he found the hall of torture chambers he was looking for.

Opening that door of the cell at the end of the hall labeled ‘Demon Crawly, here for eternitee, hates butt stuf hehe’, revealed what he’d been hoping and dreading to find all along.

Crowley was naked, lying on his side, with his back to the door.  He was on some raised-up dais, and it burned Aziraphale’s nostrils with the scent of consecration.  Blessed chains were shackled around Crowley’s wrists and ankles, binding away his demonic powers.

Aziraphale stuffed down his shock and horror.  He knew he was on borrowed time here.  He had to get Crowley out, now.

In hindsight, if he could do it all over again, he would have approached Crowley in a kinder way.  But he hadn’t known the full extent of his torture, even with the gashes and bruises littering his beloved’s skin.  He just knew he needed to get Crowley free of his restraints, and he needed Crowley to stay quiet while he did so.

So, he crept up to Crowley—noticing with a breaking heart as Crowley’s back started shaking at the approach—and gently covered his mouth with his hand.  “Crowley,” he murmured, “I need you to be very quiet, alright?”

Crowley started shaking harder as he was touched.  But once he heard Aziraphale’s voice, and sniffed in his unmistakable scent…he froze still.

Then he turned, and his eyes widened through blurring tears, and he whimpered, as he locked eyes with Aziraphale crouched above him.

But a whimper wasn’t what Aziraphale needed from him; hadn’t he heard what he’d just said?  “Crowley,” he hissed, “I know, I know, but they mustn’t hear us, so you must be very quiet, do you understand?”

Crowley quieted, and quickly nodded.  Only then did Aziraphale release his hand from his demon’s mouth.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered, urgently, pleadingly.  “What are you doing here?”

The question threw Aziraphale for a loop.  “What do you think I’m doing here, you idiot?” he whispered back.  “I’ve come to bring you home.”

Crowley shuddered in a sob.  But he had no further words to say on the subject.  Until Aziraphale positioned his sword above the shackle on his left wrist.  “Azirapha—wait, what’re you—”

“Hold still,” said Aziraphale.  “Very still.  I don’t want to miss, and lop off your hand.”

Crowley obeyed.  In hindsight, his complete stillness disturbed Aziraphale, given how he’d needed to stay so still and quiet as he was tortured.  But at the time, he was merely grateful that Crowley was heeding his instructions.

He sliced through one wrist’s shackle.  Then the other.  Then one ankle’s.  Then the other.  Freeing Crowley from his restraints for the first time in four years.  He knelt next to Crowley then, expecting to help him to his feet, perhaps to conjure him some clothes…

When Crowley huddled into his arms, trembling so badly with what looked to be bitten-back sobs.  What else could Aziraphale do in response, except hold him close, and whisper, “It’s alright Crowley, we’re getting out of here, it’s alright, it’s over”?

After the fact, he wished that he had first seen Crowley naked in a different way.  He wished he had held him differently.  He wished Heaven and Hell hadn’t been involved, and Crowley had chosen to show him his body, and be gathered into his arms when he wasn’t in distress.

But that was how it had first happened.  And it was as loving as he’d needed at the time.

xxx

The first time he’d killed for Crowley, had been just moments later.

He conjured clothes for Crowley soon after he’d unexpectedly held him in that cell.  But then they were so rudely interrupted, by all seven of the Lords of Hell crowding into the cell, crowing that they’d finally captured the traitorous angel by using Crowley as bait.

Crowley pleaded for Aziraphale to run and save himself.  Aziraphale didn’t understand; save himself from what?   One Lord of Hell—who later Aziraphale would learn was Asmodeus, the despicable rapist—tauntingly asked Crowley to show them what he meant, by showing Aziraphale his wings.

Crowley did.  And Aziraphale nearly threw up, upon seeing the ruined, bloody remnants of his beloved’s once-beautiful wings.  

An angel’s wings, Fallen or otherwise, were sacred.  Made for evoking love.  God had designed them that way.  They were the most intimate part of any angel or demon’s body, even more intimate than genitals.  They were eternal, and powerful, and made for protection and love.

To see them ruined like that…and to know that other angels and demons had been the ones to ruin them…

A calm, cold fury settled in Aziraphale’s stomach.  He knew then what he had to do.

He gripped his sword, feeling flames dance along the edges of the blade…and got to work.

He didn’t remember all of what happened.  He didn’t know what had possessed him at the time.  He was a trained soldier of Heaven, yes, but he had always hated violence of all its forms.  He knew when under extreme duress, humans were capable of feats of extraordinary strength—a mother might lift a fallen tree trunk that was pinning her child, or a man might take on a burst of exceptional speed to outrun a charging bear.  They were old remnants of Adam and Eve’s first moments among the wilderness, using all their adrenaline to survive.

But Aziraphale hadn’t known such instinctual self-defense could be awoken within himself.   All he remembered was, when it was all said and done, he was breathing hard from the exertion, his limbs were sore…

And the burning, shrieking remnants of the most powerful demons in Hell were smoldering to ashes around him.

He turned back.  Crowley was huddled on the ground, terrified.  Aziraphale rushed to him.  “Now we really need to leave here,” he urged Crowley.

But then, the four Archangels walked in.  

Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to share in the terror.  He knew how powerful these four angels were.  He had no chance of outgunning them.  All he could do was quietly urge Crowley to run while they were distracted, and block their incoming burst of Heavenly power with his own.

The battle of white light was waged fiercely.  Aziraphale was rather proud he held his own for as long as he did.  But in the end, he could feel himself faltering.  There was no holding back power like this, certainly not by a mere Principality like him.

But then, Crowley yelled from behind him: “Angel, when I tell you to hit the ground, do it!”

Aziraphale dared to look behind him.  Crowley was holding some of the burning remains of the Lords of Hell, which had transformed into hellfire from being consumed by so many high-ranking demons.  Aziraphale trembled at the thought, that he’d been so close to the substance that could have destroyed him.

“Trust me!” Crowley shouted.

Well, that was one thing Aziraphale would always do.  

When Crowley shouted “NOW!”, Aziraphale stopped his display of power at the Archangels, and dropped to the ground.

Just in time for Crowley to hurl the fistful of hellfire at the Archangels.

Immediately, they caught flame.  The demonic fire spread throughout the entire cell, filling the room with the screams of angelic beings perishing.  And Aziraphale would have been among them, he should have been among them, only—

Only for Crowley to launch himself on top of Aziraphale, covering him with his own broken, bleeding body.  His mutilated wings fanned out above them, sheltering Aziraphale within their expanse.  

Aziraphale didn’t dare to move an inch.  He stayed perfectly still, lest the hellfire find a piece of his exposed skin and snuff him out in Crowley’s arms.  Crowley grimaced and whimpered above him as the fire seared into his many injuries, flinching as flames licked into his ruined wings.  But he kept them spread above them both, trembling as they protected Aziraphale with everything he had.

When the fire finally burned itself out, Aziraphale dared to move.  Crowley collapsed on top of him, his last bit of strength failing him.

There were no more Archangels.  No more Lords of Hell.  Aziraphale had killed Crowley’s former bosses, and Crowley had killed Aziraphale’s, to protect each other.

They locked eyes, astonished.  They were truly on each other’s Side now.  No pretenses.  No complications.  It was them against Heaven and Hell, from here on out.

“Can you stand?” Aziraphale asked in a trembling voice.

Crowley looked down.  “Not without help,” he rasped.

So, Aziraphale helped.  He gathered his arms under Crowley’s, and helped him rise with him.  Crowley tucked his pain-riddled wings away, but there were still so many injuries that made him wince and stifle down whimpers.  

With one arm braced on Aziraphale’s shoulders, and Aziraphale using his sword-free arm to wrap around Crowley’s waist, they both staggered out of Hell for good.  They rode up the usual escalator, and caught a bus back home.  Where home was, Aziraphale wasn’t sure.  But he knew he had to cash in on his promise.

Lord, he prayed, that sanctuary you promised?  I believe Crowley and I have need of it now, if that’s alright.

Very well, said the Almighty, with a smile in Her voice.  Although, you were already safe.

I was?

Who do you think has been praying for your safety, all these years?

Aziraphale glanced down, at where Crowley had sunk his head against his shoulder.  His demon was resting sideways on his hip, trying his best to rest on the ride home.

The thought that Crowley had spent all four years of his captivity, praying to God for Aziraphale to be safe…it made a lump rise to Aziraphale’s throat, that would not be banished by anything for the rest of the night.

xxx

The first time he’d undressed Crowley…had been later that same night.

The bus dropped them off at the bookshop.  It was as miraculously unharmed as when Aziraphale had last closed up for the night.  Not a book out of place, not a single dust mote disturbed.  Still his safe haven, as always.  God had provided.

He helped Crowley limp over the threshold, closing the door behind them, when Crowley spoke.  “They said they burned it down.”

“They did,” said Aziraphale.  “And it’s a long story, but I’d at least have you rest first, before I—”

He stopped, as he noticed the sprinkling trail of blood left in Crowley’s wake.  “Crowley…why haven’t you healed yourself yet?”

Crowley looked down.  “I can’t,” he quietly admitted.  “I’ve…I’ve been trying, but…”

He looked like he was about to break down.  Aziraphale couldn’t blame him; the prospect of going without his powers was enough to chill the blood in his own corporation.  “Perhaps it will just take time,” he softly reassured him.  He didn’t know if the hope was false, but he couldn’t just leave Crowley to wither away in despair.

“In that case,” he continued briskly, “I can heal you.  Perhaps upstairs, where you can lie down?”

Crowley eyed the staircase with trepidation.  “Lot of stairs,” he mumbled.

“Ah.”  Aziraphale cast about for a solution, but the easiest one was staring him in the face.  “Perhaps…”  He set his now-extinguished sword on a display table, and gathered Crowley closer to him.  “Wrap your arms around my neck, dear.”

Crowley stared at him for a second, uncomprehending.  But he gingerly did as Aziraphale asked.

In the next movement, Aziraphale reached down, and scooped up Crowley’s knees in one arm.  With the other arm underneath his back (oh, how painful that must be on his flayed-open wounds), he carried Crowley bridal-style up the stairs.  It was the first time they’d ever been that close to each other.  Awkward at first, but by the time they’d reached the second floor, Crowley had surrendered all his weight to Aziraphale’s arms, letting himself be cradled and carried.

Aziraphale gently deposited him on his bed (what was soon to become their bed, though he didn’t know that yet).  The navy-blue sheets were an apt choice in hindsight, as they hid any bloodstains Crowley was causing.  Crowley sprawled out, and closed his eyes, as if he might fall asleep from the softness he was lying on.

But Aziraphale had no time for that.  “In a moment, dear,” he said, as he removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves.  (When had he started calling Crowley dear?)  “Let me heal you first.”

Crowley blearily obeyed, and opened his eyes.  Aziraphale knelt beside him on the bed.  He took Crowley’s hands, which were bleeding, and had no fingernails.  Two of the fingers were bent at an unnatural angle, broken in the past and unable to heal properly.

He willed as gentle of a miracle as he could into those hands, and watched as the skin knitted itself back together, the bones realigning, the nails growing back in.  Crowley’s hands were whole again.

He did the same with his face and neck, healing what contusions and scrapes he could find.  (Had his face been scraped against that consecrated slab?  Lord, Aziraphale couldn’t imagine how that had happened.)  But the rest of his injuries were hidden in his clothes.  Which meant…

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, to get his attention.

Crowley seemed to understand what he was saying.  He reached to the buttons of his shirt, and started to undo them.  Aziraphale let him do it.  He would have offered to help, but he didn’t feel right asking that, when Crowley looked to be feeling so fragile.  It felt…wrong.

What he did help with, was when Crowley tried to peel his own shirt down his arms.  He cried out in pain, as his own blood was plastering the fabric to his skin, tearing his sinews as he tried to move it.

“Here, let me,” Aziraphale soothed.  He willed a miracle into the shirt, instructing it to not hurt his love as it was removed.  It obeyed.  He eased the shirt off Crowley, and vanished it into nothingness.  It was so blood-soaked, there was no saving it, anyway.

He steeled himself with a breath as he inspected Crowley’s injuries.  So many bruises, so many cuts and gashes.  He saw some charred, blackened flesh too, which looked to be like some sort of brand?  He had to purse his lips to keep them from trembling, as he imagined all that Crowley had endured.

With gentle hands, he poured more miracles into Crowley’s body.  Heal him, he willed, take away his pain, be gentle with him, give him relief, make his body whole again.  And it did.  His burns vanished, his broken skin knitted back together, his bruises faded.  Show me any internal injuries, Aziraphale willed; a few cracked ribs, some contused muscles, and a mild concussion made themselves known.  He healed and soothed those, as well.

Despite the occasional whimper as his injuries were touched, Crowley stayed quiet.  Aziraphale thought he could see the beginnings of tears welling in those golden eyes.  Was it any wonder?  After such pain for so long, the relief must be overwhelming.  Aziraphale was also overwhelmed under the surface, from finally being home with his beloved again.  But he buried that deep; he had a job to do first, before he descended into histrionics.

He attended to Crowley’s back last, gently turning him on his side to fully inspect the damage.  And oh, his back was ruined.  Hardly any flesh remained on his bones.  Aziraphale wasn’t sure what the crisscrossing, bloody marks were from.  Whips?  Hooks?  Claws?  He didn’t know, and wasn’t sure if he wanted to ask.  He simply healed them, letting Crowley shudder in relief as his back was made whole again.

Aziraphale went to his feet next.  He eased off Crowley’s boots and socks, miracling the garments free of the burns on the soles of his feet.  He willed his flesh to mend anew, so they wouldn’t hurt his poor Crowley whenever he tried to walk on them.  He’d walked out of Hell the whole way, on burned feet.  How?

The more wounds he uncovered, the more this was painting a picture of how much agony Crowley had been subjected to.  And these were just the most recent injuries, Aziraphale realized—who knew how many other wounds he had been dealt, only to be healed enough to survive it, before being torn to pieces all over again.

But now, all Crowley had on left was his trousers and underwear.  And if Aziraphale didn’t feel right unbuttoning Crowley’s shirt, he definitely didn’t want to take the initiative of taking these off.  Even though he knew Crowley must be hurt on his legs, too.

“Crowley,” he murmured.  “Can you…?”

Crowley understood.  With shaking hands, he undid his belt, button, and fly.  And just as he’d helped him with his shirtsleeves, Aziraphale miracled the fabric to not cling to him, as he helped ease Crowley’s trousers and underwear down his legs.  He vanished them, too; they were also too ruined by blood to be saved.

Aziraphale didn’t make a big show of Crowley now being completely naked.  Neither did Crowley.  It wouldn’t help anything, anyway.  There were only small signs of their discomfort: Aziraphale’s face heated up, as he quickly turned to a clinical approach, inspecting for where his injuries were; Crowley cast his gaze down, and moved one leg slightly, hiding his genitals from view.

Aziraphale decided to start at Crowley’s ankles, for both their comfort.  The red marks from the blessed shackles still lingered there, and Aziraphale wanted them gone as soon as possible.

He healed them.  He healed the wounds splitting open Crowley’s knees.  He healed all the bruises and burns littering Crowleys’ thighs.

When he’d made it to healing the gash on Crowley’s right hip…Aziraphale noticed what he hadn’t paid attention to before.

Bruises.  But not just any bruises.  Bruises on his hip.  On both hips.

Bruises on both hips…in the shape of fingers digging in.

But that meant…no, surely not…

Aziraphale healed them.  Crowley winced, perhaps from the embarrassment more than any pain.  Now there was only one part of his body left to inspect, which Aziraphale hadn’t known he’d needed to, but now he had to.

He looked.  And couldn’t help his hushed, horrified gasp.

There was blood there.  It gleamed in thin red lines, leading within Crowley’s body.  The skin of the rim was swollen and inflamed.  And…on the outside…streaks of dried, white fluids…

Aziraphale closed his eyes.  No.  It couldn’t be.  Crowley couldn’t have been—

He had to breathe.  He had to heal him.  There was nothing else for it.  Once he did this, he could get Crowley dressed and comfortable again, and they could move on with their lives.  Just one more miracle, just one more…

With his hand still at Crowley’s hip, he decided that this was as close as he would dare to touch him here.  He willed another miracle.  Please, heal him, from all his injuries here.  Please clean him up.  Please, be so, so gentle with him.

And so it was.  The wounds healed.  The inflammation subsided.  The blood and other fluids vanished.

But Crowley still jolted and whimpered.  Aziraphale’s heart ached, but it couldn’t be helped.  Feeling such intimate tissues healing… it must feel like being touched there, no matter how non-invasive Aziraphale had tried to be.

But it was done now.  Crowley need never be touched there again, if he didn’t want it.  He would only be touched now how he wanted to be touched.  No more violations.  No more intimate harm.  No more.

He called on another miracle.  Black silk pyjamas covered Crowley’s body.  Aziraphale hoped they were in a fashion his friend would like; they seemed stylish enough to suit him.  Still Crowley lay there, shivering, panting, avoiding Aziraphale’s gaze.  Aziraphale let him; he had no interest in violating Crowley further.

Although.  He realized there was one more thing he’d forgotten to heal.

“Crowley?” he called softly.  “I need to…to see to your wings.”

Crowley froze.  His breath stuck in his throat.

But just when Aziraphale had thought Crowley might refuse, and curl up to sleep for the night…Crowley moved, lying down on his front.  And with a soft whoosh, he unfurled his ruined wings.

Aziraphale had to take a moment, before stuffing down his revulsion at seeing another angelic being’s wings so wrongly mutilated like this.  His moral outrage would not help Crowley right now; his healing would.

So, carefully, trying his best to keep his touch respectful…he carded through Crowley’s remaining, tattered feathers on his right wing, and willed that wing to heal.

It did.  Bone, muscle, and flesh rebuilt themselves in layers, before glossy black feathers started growing back in.  Crowley gasped in a sob, as the most intimate part of his body healed itself again.

Aziraphale moved to Crowley’s left wing.  This one was the worse off of the two; a large, gaping, bloody hole had been torn in the crest of it.  Aziraphale’s own wings throbbed in sympathy, even from where they were folded in the celestial plane.

He touched the only scrap of flesh he could find on the wing, and willed it to heal.  It obeyed, and just like that, Crowley’s wings were whole again.

But Aziraphale lingered, despite his better judgment.  He could feel Crowley shaking underneath him, but he couldn’t stop stroking those black feathers.  He’d seen Crowley’s wings on two occasions; he’d never touched them.  Hadn’t dared.  But now…

Before he knew what he was doing, he leaned in, and pressed the most tender kiss he could muster, right at where the hole had been in his left wing crest.  He stayed there, feeling the love transmitted through those beautiful wings, and tried to transmit his own love right back, shouting I’m sorry, I’m so sorry they hurt you like this, I wish I could have stopped it, and then he was saying that out loud, and he was shaking, and starting to cry, and Crowley was shaking too, and then—

Then Crowley was facing him with tear-brimming eyes, and they moved in close, and caught each other in the fiercest, most sobbing hug they had ever shared in their entire lives.

So many words were exchanged that night.  Mostly I’m sorry and Don’t be and I had no idea, I wish I could have come sooner and You could have come later, or not at all and I spent all these years searching for you, I never stopped and I never told them where you might be hiding, I prayed you’d be alright.

But mostly, they huddled together on the bed, holding each other in their arms for the first time, and cried in heartrending relief that finally, finally, they were safe and together again.

xxx

The first time he’d kissed Crowley, was not the next ‘first time’ he’d had.  To be more accurate, the next first…was the first time he’d almost kissed Crowley.

It was after a panic attack.  Crowley had so many of those lately.  Aziraphale had come upstairs to check on him, after the poor dear had been asleep for almost two days straight.  Such was not out of the ordinary for him, these days.  He still couldn’t stay awake for an entire day, he was so exhausted.  

But when he woke, he had shivered and squirmed, his eyes unseeing in front of him, until he’d started shaking, and whimpering.  By now, Aziraphale knew what was needed; he went to hold Crowley in his arms, soothing him that “It’s alright, let it out Crowley, you’re safe now, it’s alright.”

He didn’t know how else to help him.  And he wanted so, so badly to help him.  To banish these flashbacks once and for all, so Crowley could breathe easy in his home again.  Would a day ever come when this would be easier?  When Crowley would finally smile again, and laugh again, and find joy in his earlier hobbies?  Would he ever again be at ease in his own skin?

In any case, Aziraphale held him, assuring him that it was safe to be in his own skin again, after four years of pain and terror and…violation.

(He was still coming to terms with that, that Crowley’s torture had involved him being sexually violated.  He hadn’t asked about any details, but it was obvious based on Crowley’s injuries.  It made him so angry, that Hell had dared to do that to his beloved.)

But eventually, this round of panic took its course.  “Sorry,” Crowley mumbled.  “Just felt their hands again.”

Once again, Aziraphale tamped down on his rage at what was done to his precious best friend.  “I—I’m so sorry.”  He didn’t know what else to say.

Crowley shrugged.  “Your hands help.  They’re gentle.”

Oh, if Aziraphale didn’t melt upon hearing that.  “I’m happy to provide that for you.”  He kissed his forehead.  “However you need.”

Crowley chuckled.  “I think I’m getting the hint, from all those forehead kisses.”

Aziraphale froze.  He had been kissing Crowley’s forehead a lot of late, hadn’t he?  They hadn’t discussed it.  

They hadn’t discussed a lot of things.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said hurriedly.  “I—I wasn’t thinking, I—I can stop, if they make you uncomfortable—”

“Angel.”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley raised his head up, those golden eyes looking so vulnerable at him, yet so trusting.

“That is the exact opposite of what I’m saying,” Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat.  He was suddenly hyper-aware of their bodies’ proximity.  How they were on the bed, in each other’s arms.  Their whole fronts pressed together.  Their legs tangled together.  Their faces but an inch away.

Did Crowley mean to…?

Just in case, Aziraphale tried to clarify.  “I wouldn’t want to…to take advantage.”

Crowley’s eyes shone at him.  “You wouldn’t be.”

Aziraphale breathed in.  Then out.  Before he could think about it, he moved a hand up, and brushed his thumb down Crowley’s cheek.  Crowley didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away.

Until he did.  He looked down, breaking the moment.  Aziraphale hadn’t been fast enough to catch up.  Again.

“Crowley…” he started to say.  But he trailed off.  He had no idea how he wanted to finish that sentence.  You’ve no idea how much I’ve wanted to kiss you all these years, was a strong contender.  But You just had a panic attack, of course it would be taking advantage, wasn’t far behind.

“Yeah,” Crowley mumbled, “you know what, on second thought, maybe this isn’t how I want to do this.”

“How exactly is that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe just having a fucking panic attack from remembering angels raping me isn’t the best mood-setter!”

It would have stung less if he’d slapped Aziraphale across the face.  Aziraphale gasped, shocked into silence.  How—how could he possibly reply to that?

Crowley seemed to realize what he’d said.  He squeezed his eyes shut, ducking his head, and started to tremble anew.  “Fuck.”

Then he was shuddering in Aziraphale’s arms again, but this time with tears of frustration, rather than the earlier flashback.  Aziraphale gathered him close once more, if only to avoid the heartbreaking memories playing across Crowley’s face.

But he wouldn’t escape from Crowley’s past that easily.  “You don’t know what it was like,” Crowley rasped.  “They would come into my cell at any moment, and—”  He cut himself off, and Aziraphale felt a distinct shudder ricochet through Crowley’s back.  “With demons, it was different.  They usually gave me a choice.  Knives, or fucking.  Whips, or fucking.  Branding irons, or fucking.”  He sniffed.  “Easy choice.  Didn’t mean they’d always listen to me, but, y’know.  But angels, though…”

He huddled closer in Aziraphale’s embrace, as more sobs overtook his voice.  “They didn’t pretend to let me ch-choose.  Th-they just…took what they wanted.  Every time.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, resting his chin on the top of Crowley’s head.  He hated this so much, hated seeing Crowley in so much distress.  

But what he hated even more in that moment, was himself.  Because all these thousands of years later, he still got stuck in Heaven’s propaganda.

Because when Crowley had first mentioned angels raping him…Aziraphale’s first automatic thought had been, Angels wouldn’t do that.

He was still such a naive fool.  Angels wouldn’t do that?  Who, then, were the four angels who had burst into Crowley’s cell when he’d come to rescue him, if not the highest angels in the Heavenly Host, who had probably known exactly what was being done to torture Crowley? Even if they hadn’t done so themselves, they must have surely signed off on rape being among those weapons used against him.

Angels wouldn’t do that?  Angels had done that.  

And the angels who had abused Crowley were still haunting him, torturing him in his memories, even as he trembled in the arms of an angel who would never dare to do that to anyone, least of all his beloved demon.

“Poor buggers,” Crowley sneered, but his biting sarcasm just felt wrong, far more wounded than usual.  “They must’ve been soooo repressed Up There.  Demons, it was just a job, but for the angels, it was personal.”  He laughed, a dry, humorless sound that made Aziraphale nauseous.  “Sometimes I thought they’d split me in two.  Like they were trying to fuck the evil out of me.  Can you imagine?”  

Horrifyingly, Aziraphale found he could.  He had to swallow down the thick bile rising in his throat.

Crowley scoffed again.  “They were so desperate for it.  Made me wonder…”  

He grew quiet.  Aziraphale thanked the Almighty for it.

That is, until he heard Crowley’s mumbled, broken whisper: “Maybe I wasn’t the only one who lost my virginity in that cell.”

Aziraphale stopped breathing.

Crowley was shaking with what could’ve almost passed for laughter.  Were it not for the pitiful, broken sounds he couldn’t keep locked in his throat.

Pressure was building behind Aziraphale’s eyes, as he struggled to hold in his own tears.  “You mean you never…?  Not even with a human?”

Crowley shrugged.  “Didn’t bother.  Just wanted you.”  He exhaled with a ragged sob, and tearfully whispered, “I only ever wanted you.”

Aziraphale clung to him even tighter.  “Crowley…” he whimpered.

The dam broke on his own silent tears.  Crowley’s sobs weren’t nearly as muffled.  

Aziraphale didn’t hold the concept of virginity in as high regard as humans sometimes did.  It wasn’t some special status, fundamentally changing who a person was once they lost it.  Having it, or losing it, had no bearing on one’s value.

But sex was intimate, and could potentially be very special, indeed.  Doing anything special for the first time—let alone sharing such an intimacy with another person—deserved to be treasured.  Aziraphale certainly had, with his first time with the innkeeper’s daughter all those thousands of years ago.

Crowley could have experienced that with someone who loved and cherished him.  Instead, his first experience had been one of violence and humiliation.  And now, no matter whether he would one day share such intimacies with a loved one…it would always be under the shadow of his painful memories.

He would never have a happy, carefree first time.

Aziraphale’s breath caught on a more audible sob at the realization.  Crowley whimpered into his chest.  It was a wounded, helpless sound that just made Aziraphale want to protect him even more fiercely, until he never had cause to make such a sound ever again.

As the minutes ticked by, the sudden surge of pain faded to a dull ache.  Their breathing evened out—though Crowley still hiccupped and sniffled against Aziraphale’s chest.   Still, they clung to each other desperately, huddling close for whatever scraps of comfort they could still share together.

As Aziraphale brushed his thumb up and down Crowley’s shoulder, feeling the supple strength still hidden in his best friend’s abused, ravaged body, he silently made them both a new promise:

He would bring Crowley joy again.

Not just an absence of pain.  Not just a few hours’ neutrality before fear and exhaustion crept in.  But pure, unrestrained delight.

He would see Crowley truly relax again.  He would see that familiar light in his eyes.  He’d catch him smiling to himself without realizing, absently humming one of those pop tunes he loved so much.  And he would hear him laugh.  Not the twisted, broken sound from earlier tonight, as he tried to defend his own mind from his memories.  But a true, full-bellied laugh that belonged solely to Crowley.

He didn’t know how they would get there.  It might take years, decades, or even centuries.  But one day, however far away, Crowley would know joy.  Aziraphale would stop at nothing to help him find it.

And perhaps, in the near future…he might be able to clear one such hurdle from tonight. 

“Dearest,” he whispered.  “I’m having a thought.”

Crowley didn’t respond, but somehow Aziraphale got the sense that he was listening.

He pressed on.  “You said this wasn’t how you wanted a potential first kiss to go, yes?”

Still no verbal reply, but after a few seconds, he felt Crowley nod against his chest.

“Well, maybe it doesn’t have as much spontaneity, but I wonder if perhaps we could…plan a day for it.”

Crowley shifted his head.  Aziraphale still couldn’t see his face, but it was something.  He sniffed loudly.  “What?” he asked.

“What I mean is, you could pick a day—it could be tomorrow, or next week, or at any point, really, and, um…well, we could fill it with your favorite things.  We could watch a film.  Or go for a drive, perhaps across town to that flower shop you like.  I’m sure your car would enjoy it.”

At the mention of his beloved Bentley, Crowley raised his head.  His eyes were still bloodshot and puffy, shining from his tears.  But underneath, Aziraphale could see a slight warmth peeking through, like a soldier creeping out of the woods, testing whether the battle was truly over.

Aziraphale smiled gently.  He tucked that stubborn lock of Crowley’s hair back from his forehead.  “We could go to the park.  The fresh air would do us both good, I think.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said softly.  “Could feed the ducks.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely,” Aziraphale encouraged.  “And there’s that coffee shop just around the corner that you’ve always liked.”

A corner of Crowley’s mouth twitched up.  Oh, what a good sign!

“And maybe,” said Aziraphale, “we could play something here from your music library, and, if you liked…I could offer you a dance?”

Crowley breathed a scoff through his nose.  “I thought you didn’t know how to dance.”

“I’ll have you know I once learned—”  

“Angel, after what you’ve done for me, I will be indebted to you for the rest of time, but I am not dancing the bloody gavotte with you.”

Aziraphale huffed.  “I presume you know how to dance, though?”

“Doesn’t mean I’m any good at it.”

“Fine.  Then we’ll play one of your horrid bebop tunes, and dance very badly until we step on each other’s toes too many times and call the whole thing off.”

Crowley’s face was lit up in silent laughter.  Aziraphale couldn’t help smiling, himself.  In this inning of his love vs. Crowley’s trauma, the first point had gone to the home team.

“Alright,” said Crowley.  “So we go for a drive, feed the ducks, get coffee, and dance horribly to Velvet Underground.  Then what?”

Still smiling, Aziraphale stroked his knuckles down Crowley’s jaw.  He was delighted to see Crowley lean into the caress.  “Then, when you’re feeling relaxed and safe, and your mind is only filled with happy memories…and if you feel the time is right…then we might revisit the subject of kissing.”

Crowley’s eyes grew bright.  From the remnants of his tears, yes, but also from what Aziraphale dared to call hope.

“Only if you’d like, of course,” Aziraphale added quickly.  “There’s no obligation, not ever.  And if it doesn’t happen, we've still had a lovely day, yes?”

Crowley didn’t respond for a second.  He just stared at Aziraphale with his bright eyes, shining like liquid gold.  Aziraphale could almost label it as awe, but he wasn’t sure of the reason.

“You know that I love you, right?” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale’s breath caught.

A tear fell down Crowley’s face.  “More than anything.”

Slowly, Aziraphale smiled.  His chest was filled with such warmth, he was surprised he didn’t rise into the clouds right then and there.  

At last, they were talking about it.  At last.  

For all the fear that had kept them from it, finally putting it into words wasn’t frightening at all.  There was only warmth, and relief.

“Oh, I’ve known for centuries,” Aziraphale said fondly.  “You’ve always been quite demonstrative, in your affections.  And that was before you shielded me from hellfire.  That’s twice now.”

Another tear fell from Crowley’s eyes as his lips quivered.  “I’d do it a thousand times to keep you safe, angel.”

Aziraphale gathered the kind, brave, selfless demon in his arms again.  He pressed a long, lingering kiss to the top of his head.  “And I hope you know that I love you, yes?  And the lengths I would go to in order to protect you?”

Crowley chuckled wetly.  “After all you’ve done for me, it’s kinda hard to interpret it as anything else.  That, and all the forehead kisses.”  Aziraphale laughed, and peppered Crowley’s forehead with a few more kisses for good measure.  Just in case the last few dozen hadn’t gotten the point across.

They lapsed into silence again, broken only by Aziraphale’s arms brushing against the blankets, as he wrapped them around Crowley more securely.  Perfect.  Now Crowley could drift to sleep in this embrace.

“How about next Wednesday?” Crowley murmured into Aziraphale’s shirt.  “For our Day of Pleasant Things.”

Aziraphale smiled.  “It’s a date, then.”

Crowley sighed, any lingering tension unwinding from his shoulders.  “Right.  A date.”

Crowley soon fell asleep.  Aziraphale stayed, holding him close, watching over him in his arms.

Tonight may not have been the night of their first kiss.  But it was the first time he’d told Crowley he loved him.  And perhaps that was even more important.

xxx

The actual first time he’d kissed Crowley, was not in fact that next Wednesday.

Oh, they tried to have a pleasant day.  They went to the park, fed the ducks some peas.  Aziraphale kept an eye on his beloved, checking how he was faring, and was pleasantly surprised to see Crowley…maybe not relaxed, but certainly more at ease than usual.

But that all changed when they passed near the ice cream vendor in the park.

Aziraphale thought perhaps they might want to stop and buy some; he knew Crowley had a secret sweet tooth he would never admit to indulging.  But when he turned to ask him, he was shocked to see Crowley trembling.  His demon had turned so pale, and his breath was coming faster, and faster, and good Lord, he was hyperventilating—

Aziraphale rushed them to a nearby bench.  He sat Crowley down, kneeling in front of him, holding his hands as he tried to rub feeling back into them.  “Just breathe, Crowley,” he murmured, “deep, slow breaths, that’s it, you’re alright…”

It took several minutes for Crowley to come back to the land of the living.  His pupils were constricted to miniscule slits, and he still quivered in terror, darting his gaze around every landmark he could see, as if angels and demons would burst out at any moment.

Oh.  Oh.  The ice cream vendor.  

They’d worn each other’s faces when they’d last bought ice cream there.  It was right before angels had kidnapped Crowley, while Aziraphale had raced after him, only to be knocked to the ground by demons.

This was not a good place for avoiding memories, then.  Aziraphale regretted mentioning the park now.

“Do you want to go home?” he asked softly.

Crowley’s face crumpled in defeat.  He nodded.

Aziraphale helped Crowley to stand, and with an arm around his love’s shoulders, he ushered them both out of the park.

xxx

That Wednesday was a no-go.  But they kept trying.  Aziraphale kept thinking it would happen, only for Crowley’s eyes to grow distant, his face to grow pale…and they’d reshelve the idea for the day.

Christmas Day came and went.  They gave each other small trinkets, muddled their way through a fudge recipe, and pulled apart four different Christmas crackers.  (Those had been Aziraphale’s invention, through and through.  A well-intentioned tradition for the Almighty’s Son’s birthday, as heartwarming as it was horrendously cheesy.)

They’d stayed up late watching the snow fall, snuggled under a warm fleece on the sofa.  Crowley leaned his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder as they sipped their mulled wine.  Aziraphale felt so heavy with love, so loose and relaxed.

He smiled at Crowley, his mouth an inch away. 

Crowley just smiled back.  

New Year’s arrived shortly afterward.  They’d watched the fireworks from the upstairs windows, before muffling the bookshop’s walls to drown out the noise of Soho’s revelers.  Aziraphale had fallen asleep with his head in Crowley’s lap.  He woke at dawn, to find Crowley still awake, tenderly petting his hair, watching over his friend.

Perhaps Valentine’s Day might’ve made Crowley more nervous; it was already a holiday full of romantic pressures, let alone for someone recovering from sexual and psychological torture.  But Aziraphale had anticipated that, and he kept it low-key.  

He gave Crowley roses.  Crowley gave him chocolates.  They spent the rest of the day in bed, cuddling.  Crowley told Aziraphale stupid jokes to make him laugh.  Aziraphale held him to his chest, and read him poetry.

There’d been no mistletoe at Christmas.  No New Year’s kiss at the stroke of midnight.  No steamy conclusion to their Valentine’s Day.   Instead, they’d focused on enjoying themselves in more familiar ways.  The result was them feeling more at peace with their world than ever before.

Crowley was safe.  He was cherished.  He was loved.  And he and Aziraphale both knew it.

xxx

It was an ordinary day at the end of May, when the old morphed into the new.

They had another wonderful day.  They drove to another bookseller Aziraphale had been in contact with about a rare Bible misprint.  Aziraphale left with ten times as many books as he’d intended to purchase.  Crowley helped him carry them to the car, with a pointed look that was more fond than irritated.

They had lunch at a nearby French café.  It was no Ritz, but quite delicious on its own merits.  Aziraphale stole bites of Crowley’s quiche when he thought the demon wasn’t looking.  Crowley pretended not to notice.

They spent the rest of the afternoon arm-in-arm, sightseeing, window-shopping, enjoying the day.  Crowley let Aziraphale lead the conversation, appearing more contemplative than usual.  

They had sushi for dinner.  Crowley hardly touched his sake.  “Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked.  “You’ve been quiet.”

Crowley shrugged.  “Just enjoying this.”

Aziraphale’s smile was a tad uncertain, but he let it go.

When they returned home, Crowley flopped down on the sofa while Aziraphale put his books away.  But as he finished with one bag of new purchases…his eyes fell upon his old gramophone.  And it gave him a wonderful idea.

Dear gramophone, he’d willed to the old machine, please play one of those bebop tunes Crowley likes so much.

The machine obeyed, and started the first chords of a soothing, hypnotic guitar melody.  Aziraphale didn’t know what it was, but he hoped Crowley would.

Sure enough, soon Crowley was standing next to him, his eyes dilated with want.  “Really, angel?” he asked.  “Since when do you own a copy of Velvet Underground’s Pale Blue Eyes?”

Aziraphale smirked.  “Ever since I promised you that we would dance to it.”

He held out his hand.  Crowley scoffed, but he took it.  And off they went.

Thankfully, Pale Blue Eyes was a slow-dancing song.  It was just as well; they would’ve struggled too much with anything more upbeat.  They were nearly bonking their heads against each other as they turned, trying not to laugh each time.

“Told you I’m no good at it,” Crowley said after the fourth such instance.

Aziraphale smiled.  “Then you’re a perfect match for my talents!”  They both laughed at that, having more fun than they had any right to.

They soon gave up on doing any actual dancing.  Instead, they just sort of…swayed?  But that was nice, too.  Aziraphale got to hold Crowley, and stare into his eyes.  Crowley looked right back at him, with more affection than Aziraphale knew what to do with.

“If I could make the world as pure,” the singer crooned out, “and strange as what I see…"

“You know how many times I just wanted to hold you?” Crowley quietly asked.

Warmth swooped gently in Aziraphale’s belly.  He smiled gently.  “I imagine, as many times as I’ve wanted to hold you."

Something shifted in Crowley’s eyes, becoming brighter, perhaps.  Aziraphale understood why.   They were holding each other now.

He and Crowley kept looking at each other.  Softly smiling.  Quietly rejoicing.  

The singer had come back to the refrain.  “Linger onnnnn…your pale blue eyes…”  Aziraphale soon realized that Crowley was doing as the song suggested.  Aziraphale’s eyes weren’t just blue, though.  More of a hazel-gray, perhaps.  Crowley’s, however…they shone like molten gold, still just as entrancing as when Aziraphale had first met him.

Everything came into sharp focus for Aziraphale.  In this moment, he was more relaxed, more seen, more held, more loved than he had ever been.  If everything in his life stayed this calm, this quiet and gentle, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle a life that perfect.

And then, as if the moment couldn’t get any better…Crowley pressed a soft kiss to Aziraphale’s face.

When he drew back, Aziraphale was blushing.  But his smile hadn’t faded.  He looked steadily at Crowley, yearning with everything he had.  “We’ve been dancing around this for a long time,” he murmured.

Crowley swallowed.  “Maybe we’re better dancers than we thought.”

They breathed a laugh.  It was only a breath, though.

The song had reached its guitar interlude.

“Aziraphale.”

His hazel-gray eyes didn’t waver.

“Can I kiss you?”

Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to swallow.  His lips parted.  “I think I would like that very much,” he said softly.

Crowley rubbed his own lips together.  His breath left his nose in a quiet rush.

The next moment hung in the air like spider’s silk.  Crowley inched his face against Aziraphale’s.  Their noses slotted together.  Their eyes closed.  Their breath mingled a centimeter away from each other’s.

Aziraphale knew how fragile this moment was.  He wouldn’t rush it.  He wouldn’t pressure Crowley into anything.  His beloved demon could still draw back now, if he wanted.  He must know Aziraphale wouldn’t fault him for it.  No matter what happened, he was safe.  He would always be safe, especially with this.

Crowley slid his lips home against Aziraphale’s, in the softest, barely-there kiss.

They held there for another few measures of the song.  Crowley’s lips had only made the most delicate contact with Aziraphale’s.  By most standards, this fragile thing could hardly be counted as a kiss at all.

But by the standards of Aziraphale’s pounding heart, his stuttering breath, the flush crawling up his neck, the way his eyes squeezed shut against all the love and gratitude that threatened to overwhelm him…oh, it counted.

Aziraphale took the initiative to move.  He nudged his head forward, angling it slightly, so he could press more of his lips against Crowley’s.  And oh, Crowley accepted it, with a rush of breath.

Aziraphale didn’t push any further.  He kept the kiss soft.  They didn’t move their lips; Crowley was probably too overwhelmed with the contact as it was, and Aziraphale didn’t want to cross any lines.  It held between them, a soft, warm glow in the darkness of Crowley’s inexperience.  Such a simple and chaste thing, gently heralding a new beginning like a nightingale’s song.

It ended as tenderly as it began.  Crowley’s lips drifted away from Aziraphale’s with the quietest pop, to rest that one centimeter away, in that zone of shared breath and unspoken gratitude.

The singer started up the next verse.  “Skip a life completely, stuff it in a cup…”   Later, Crowley would remark to him that the guitar solo before this had gone on several measures longer than usual.  Almost as if Someone was drawing out that precious moment, so they could properly savor it.

Aziraphale’s hand cupped Crowley’s cheek.  It drew his beloved out of the kiss’s trance, opening his eyes to see Aziraphale right in front of him, breathless and smiling with bright, watery eyes.  “Alright?” Aziraphale asked gently.

Crowley’s eyes lit up with even more warmth.  “More than.”

Aziraphale’s smile widened even more, if that were possible.  His eyes felt about to spill over.  He leaned his head against Crowley’s, foreheads touching, noses resting against cheeks.  

“May I kiss you again?” he whispered to the corner of Crowley’s mouth.

Crowley nodded.  “Yeah.”

Just as gently, his lips touched Crowley’s.  This gossamer kiss, so small and delicate, was threatening to make Aziraphale’s knees buckle.  You are loved, the kiss was saying, you are loved more than the bird loves the sky, more than the fish loves the sea, more than Adam loved Eve, more than any angel or demon could dare to understand… 

The surge of gratitude seemed to affect Crowley, too; he pressed his lips harder against Aziraphale’s, straining into it, squeezing his eyes shut as he poured more than six thousand years of affection and longing into their mouths.  The kiss had strengthened beyond measure.

Aziraphale’s hand on Crowley’s cheek slid into his hair.  Pressing him even closer.

Oh, but that must’ve been too much.  Gasping, Crowley broke the kiss with a smack, and retreated to Aziraphale’s cheek, resting his nose against his friend’s temple.  He was breathing hard, trembling slightly in Aziraphale’s arms.

Aziraphale took another chance, and pressed the softest kiss against Crowley’s neck.  

It didn’t linger long—though it was long enough to nearly discorporate Aziraphale from how tender it was.  Still, he kept it brief.  He wrapped his arms more securely around Crowley’s back, rested his head on his love’s shoulder, and just held him.  

“It was good what we did yesterday …” sang the singer.  “And I’d do it once again…”

Crowley gasped, as if recognizing the lyrics.  He adjusted his arms around Aziraphale, holding him tight.  Aziraphale held him just as close.  He, for one, knew he would do this all again, this whole song and dance, all the wanting and hiding and double meanings and secret rendezvous, if it meant he could arrive with Crowley at this moment.

But then the next crooned lyrics hit him like a bloody lorry.

“The fact that you are married…only proves you’re my best friend…”

He squeezed his eyes shut against the sting.  Squeezed his arms around Crowley.  Crowley turned his face, to bury his trembling lips at Aziraphale’s jaw.  One of Aziraphale’s hands began to move, rubbing up and down his shoulder blade, caressing right where his wing would manifest.  And you’re my best friend, he was saying.

They had long since stopped swaying.  They held each other for the rest of the song, breathing each other in, even as the last guitar chord settled in the air like a quiet Amen.

They kept holding each other in the silence that followed.

Six thousand and twenty-three years of Aziraphale finding pleasure with others, while Crowley had never been touched.  Four years of Aziraphale hiding and searching for him, while Crowley was being brutalized and violated.

And yet, after all that, their first kiss had been absolutely perfect.

xxx

The hours after their first kiss, led into the first discussions of how they might have sex.  But Aziraphale hated looking back on that night, because it had taken one of the most beautiful moments of his life with Crowley…and had nearly unraveled it all.

It started out sweetly.  Aziraphale sat on a sofa, reading The Hobbit.  Crowley dozed beside him, his head pillowed on Aziraphale’s thigh.  Aziraphale absently carded his fingers through Crowley’s soft hair.  It was tender, and perfect.

“We kissed,” Crowley murmured into the quiet. 

Aziraphale hadn’t realized he was still awake, but he smiled at the sentiment.  “We did.  Was it good?”

Crowley sighed.  “It was perfect.”

And there!  Aziraphale could have stopped talking, and let that perfect night stay perfect!  But he had to open his idiot mouth.  “Do you…ever want to do anything further?  Besides kissing?”

Crowley stiffened under his hand.  He was quiet for several long seconds.  “Yeah,” he finally murmured back, in a voice thick with some emotion Aziraphale couldn’t parse at the time.  (He would later recognize it as something called shame.)   

“Y’know, I’d always wondered if we’d end up in bed together,” Crowley continued flippantly—a little too flippantly, considering what they were discussing.  “And if I’d have the nerve to tell you beforehand, or after.”

“Tell me what?”

Crowley scoffed.  “That I was a virgin.  On one hand, I probably should’ve told you before, so you knew what you were getting into—literally.  But on the other hand…you might’ve made a thing about it.”

Aziraphale was so confused.  Did Crowley think it would have changed how he treated him, to know that he was a virgin?  Did he think his value was changed because of that status?

“Whatever,” Crowley muttered.  “Doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

A horrible emotion twisted in Aziraphale’s stomach.  “Crowley,” he said, a little too sharply.  “I hope you’re not implying what I think you are.”

“Enlighten me, then,” Crowley sneered, and raised his head up to glare at Aziraphale.  “What do you think I’m implying?”

Aziraphale took an even breath through his nose.  “That what they did to you in Hell,” he uttered lowly, “is the same thing as losing your virginity.”

“Well, it is, isn’t it?” Crowley bit out, venom pouring from his eyes.  “They touched me first.  More than that, they used me up and wore me out.  Probably won’t be tight enough for me to even feel you there, let alone—”

“Crowley, stop it!”

Silence settled between them.  Aziraphale’s heart was racing in his chest.  He had no idea how they’d ended up here, but he would give anything to never hear Crowley talk about himself in that horrid, disgusting way ever again.

Crowley retreated.  He slunk his head back into Aziraphale’s lap with a disgruntled sigh.  “Mm, yeah, don’t really want to talk about this anymore.”

Aziraphale had to agree.  Neither did he.

xxx

For days, they didn’t discuss it.  They still shared some kisses, but that was all.  Aziraphale felt more distance between them, as he tiptoed on eggshells over Crowley’s foul mood.  And for the life of him, he hadn’t the slightest clue why Crowley was brooding like this.

Until one night, when Crowley was thrashing so loudly in his sleep, Aziraphale had to wake him up from it.  Crowley’s eyes darted around in a blind panic, before letting Aziraphale’s murmured reassurances take root in his heart, and he dissolved into tears and shuddering again.  Aziraphale cradled him in his arms, willing him to find calm soon.

When he stopped trembling so badly, Crowley spoke in a rough, sleep-ragged voice.  “The thing you have to understand,” he said, “is that there were hundreds of them.  Angels and demons, all taking their turns with me.  And they…”

He whimpered again.  “There were four main kinds of fucks I’d get.  Two of them weren’t as bad.  The other two were…well.

“First one was most demons.  They were the ones just doing their jobs.”  He sniffed loudly again, trying to compose himself.  “We all have to log a certain number of torture hours each week.  Can pick any of the prisoners down in the cell block.  And if one prisoner responds best to being beaten with a piece of rebar, while another is tortured best by being fucked…which do you think most demons are gonna go for?”

Aziraphale was horrified.  It took him some moments to find his voice.  “Did…did you ever have to log such hours?  When you worked for Hell?”

Crowley shook his head against Aziraphale’s chest.  “Nah.  I was on special assignment, so long as I was topside.  Had an exemption of duties.  Still had to attend a bunch of continuing education seminars about how to torture, but mostly, I stayed clear of it.”  He huffed in another sobbing breath.  “And those demons, most of ‘em, they didn’t know who I was, or why I was there.  Could’ve been fucking a fleshlight, for all they cared.  I was just a convenient hole.”

Aziraphale buried his face in Crowley’s hair, trying to contain his own sobs upon hearing this.  Each new detail of Crowley’s torture sliced his heart open with another fresh wound, as if he were discovering Crowley lying naked in that cell all over again.  (He hadn’t yet figured out how to speak up for his own boundaries, when hearing such details.)  “And…which ones were easier?”

Crowley laughed such a heartless cackle.  “Angel, that was the easiest one to take.  Still hurt, but not as badly.  Didn’t play mind games, was just bodies slapping together.”  (Aziraphale shuddered, as he pictured bodies slapping against Crowley’s flesh.)   “No, the next worst were the angels who didn’t care.”

Aziraphale’s stomach twisted in even further knots.  He was still growing used to this fact, that angels had been among those who had raped his beloved.  They were supposed to be on the side of Good; how could they ever justify such a thing?  “How were they…not as bad?”

“Because they didn’t care who I was,” Crowley said.  “They just knew I was a demon.  They were…gentle, sometimes.  Tried to make it feel good for me.  It didn’t, and they didn’t really know how, anyway.  But they’d…run their hands all over me, and—”  Another sob.  Aziraphae’s heart shattered further with each sound he heard.  “They were trying to, I dunno, redeem me.  Make me repent, and become an angel again, I guess.  And the worst thing that I couldn’t handle about it was…”

He quieted.  Until his soft, haunted voice pierced the silence.  “Them being gentle…just reminded me of you.  And what I’d wanted you to do to me, all those years.”

Aziraphale sobbed at that.  “Oh, my love,” he whispered, with so much anguish in his voice.  “It’s not the same, and I would never treat you so cruelly, you understand that, right?”

Crowley quickly nodded.  “Yeah, I know.  Just…I missed you being gentle.  Talking softly to me.  They made me miss it even more.”

Aziraphale gathered Crowley even further into his arms.  As if he could give him all that gentleness and tender affection now, and make up for the thousands of years he’d neglected Crowley, and the four years other angels had violated him.

“Now, the third kind,” Crowley continued (and Aziraphale had half a mind to ask him to stop).  “Those could be either angels or demons.  They were… angry.  Must’ve known I was a traitor.  Maybe even knew I’d stopped Armageddon, and was in love with an angel.”  He chuckled humorlessly.  “And they took it out on my body.  While others made me hurt when they fucked me, the angry ones really hurt, tore me open until I was bleeding.  Made me feel like I was gonna die, it hurt so badly.”

Such a prospect was burning a hole through Aziraphale’s heart, which he might never properly heal from.  He’d had rough sex, yes, but what Crowley was describing was so foreign compared to Aziraphale’s own experiences.  He’d never been made to bleed from being fucked, and certainly hadn’t thought he would die from pain so intense during intercourse.  But not only had Crowley suffered that over and over again…it was the only thing he’d ever known.

“But the worst ones.”

Aziraphale’s chest constricted.  Oh, no.  There was something worse?

But Crowley couldn’t continue, as he dissolved into quiet sobs.  Aziraphale rubbed his back soothingly, stroked his hair, trying to soothe him, while praying that it meant Crowley was too overcome to keep talking.

His prayers went unanswered, as Crowley spoke again.  “They were sadists,” he whispered.  “Played mind games with me.  Made me…”  He hiccuped on another sob.  “Made me say I wanted it.  Tell them I wanted to be fucked by an angel.  That I was—a sss-slut, and a whore.  Made me fuck myself on their cocksss, made me moan to pretend I enjoyed it.  Made me…display my body to present myself, then taunted me for it…made me—”

But he couldn’t speak anymore.  He huffed quiet, rhythmic sobs into Aziraphale’s chest.  Aziraphale was crying too, at the horrifying images conjured for his mind’s eye.  

“I can’t—” Crowley sobbed into his chest, “I can’t do that again, I can’t just turn off those memories and let you fuck me, I can’t—”

“Shhhhhh,” Aziraphale soothed him, trying to cradle him as gently as he could, while still holding him securely to his chest.  “No one is going to make you do anything of the sort.  I don’t ever expect you to ‘just turn off’ your memories, that’s not what I want.”

They cried some more, long into the night, even as the lamp on the nightstand shielded them from the worst of the darkness.  Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s back, kissed his hair, tried to assure him in every way he could that he was loved, and would never be abused again, and it was alright that he was still healing from his abuse, because it had been so terrible that there was no simply forgetting it.

In the meantime, Aziraphale leaned down to whisper in Crowley’s ear.  “But what I can promise you now,” he intoned, “is that, no matter what we do together, from now until the end of time…it will never be like what you went through in Hell.  I will never hurt you, or abuse you.  It won’t be like that.  If we ever do have such intimacy, it will be as tender and loving as our first kiss.  I…I would never hurt you, certainly not like that.”

Crowley didn’t reply, still bubbling up more sobs from his diaphragm.  Aziraphale tried to soothe him through it.  “You will never be hurt like that again.  You will never be raped.  You will only be loved, however you wish to be loved.  It doesn’t ever have to be physical, but if it ever is…it will be nothing like what you went through.  Not ever.”

He held Crowley for the rest of the night, and hoped the message was received.

xxx  

The next morning, it seemed it was.  Crowley was at least talking to him more as they ate breakfast together.  He even apologized for unloading on Aziraphale the night before.

“Don’t be,” Aziraphale soothed him.  “I’m glad you told me, so I can better understand what you’re afraid of.  Which brings me to my question, which I probably should have asked you sooner.”

He swiveled to face Crowley directly.  “What do you want, if we ever have sex?”

Crowley’s jaw went so slack, he nearly let his toast fall out of his mouth.  He caught himself, chewed, and swallowed.  Until he ducked his head and said, “I dunno.  Haven’t thought about what I want since…”

He trailed off, but Aziraphale could fill in the blanks in that sentence just fine on his own.  “Alright, perhaps an easier question: if we do have sex, what do you not want?”

That made Crowley list his gaze to the side, avoiding the question for a while.  But finally, he mumbled out, “Don’t want it to hurt.”

Aziraphale nodded.  “Absolutely.  What else?”

“I…”  Crowley stuttered out a few vowels.  Blew out a flustered breath.  “I don’t…I don’t know if I could ever be face-down.  Definitely not on all fours. Or have my back to the room.  Still can’t, not really, no matter what I do.”

Aziraphale understood.  Even right now, Crowley was sitting in a chair against the wall.  “Well, that’s perfectly doable.  You could lie on your back, with me on top of you.  Or we could lie on our sides, facing each other.”

Crowley nodded.  “Yeah.  And that’s another thing, I…I want to see your face.  I can’t, if…if I don’t see you, it might feel like—”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said softly, heading off his fearful tirade.  “Again, perfectly doable.”  He smiled indulgently.  “It’s not at all a hardship for me to look upon your face, dearest.”  Crowley slid him a peeved glance of Really?   But he let the comment slide.

“I…”  Crowley started twirling his fork around, fidgeting with it.  When he did speak again, it was in such a small voice.  “I don’t know if I could do penetration.  With any body parts.”

“Of course,” said Aziraphale again, “I wouldn’t expect, right away, for you to want anything inside you—”

“No.  I mean, any sort of penetration.  Not you inside me, and not me inside you.”

Aziraphale had to pause at that.  He wasn’t quite sure where that prohibition was coming from, and he wasn’t sure if he should probe further.

But Crowley answered his unspoken question for him.  “They wanted to find you,” he murmured.  “And Michael, even, she promised me that if they ever found you…they’d do the same things to you.  And they’d make me watch.”

Aziraphale froze.  And blanched.  

He’d been so caught up in what Hell—and Heaven—had done to his beloved Crowley…he hadn’t even spared a thought for what might have become of him, had they caught up to him as he’d hidden on Earth.  And given what they’d tortured Crowley with…who’s to say they wouldn’t have also raped Aziraphale?

In hindsight, Crowley’s sheer terror in his eyes when Aziraphale had first found him in his cell…and his panicked pleas for Aziraphale to run and save himself when the Lords of Hell had cornered them…it all made so much more sense.  Crowley had known full well the true scope of the danger Aziraphale was in.  If anything had gone wrong during his rescue, and they’d captured him…

Well.  They wouldn’t be sitting at their breakfast table, having this discussion.  That much was clear.

“Alright,” Aziraphale said when he’d found his voice.  “We will not engage in penetration, either way.  But that still leaves plenty of other activities.  We could use our mouths…or our hands…”

“No,” said Crowley.  “Not our mouths.  Want to see your face with mine, right?”

“Ah.  Right.  So…that leaves our hands…?”

Crowley sighed.  “I guess.  And that’s another thing.”  He started shaking minutely in his chair.  “I don’t know if I can even take my clothes off.  The thought of it…even if it’s with you, I…I can’t—”

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale soothed him, reaching a hand to cover Crowley’s.  “And we don’t even have to do that.  We could stay dressed, and under the covers, even.  We could just…take out our necessary bits, as it were, to make love.”

Crowley gave him a deadpan scowl.  “So what you’re suggesting is: we stay in our pyjamas.  Under the covers.  In the missionary position.  With the lights on.  While you take out my cock and rub me off?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips at the crudeness of the last bit.  “Essentially, yes.”

Crowley gave such a put-upon groan, and tilted his head back in despair.  “Angel, that has got to be the lamest form of sex I have ever heard anyone describe.”

A touch of defensiveness threatened to leap from Aziraphale’s chest and out his mouth.  But he pulled himself back at the last moment.  It was Crowley’s own fears that were creating said boundaries, after all.  It wasn’t Aziraphale that he was frustrated with, then; it was himself.

So instead of arguing, Aziraphale decided to defuse the situation with a bit of levity.  “You said you have never had consensual sex with anyone, yes?”

Crowley lolled his head forward again, and nodded, his brow raised in skepticism.

Aziraphale grinned, and lifted his coffee mug to take a sip.  But before he did, he waggled his brow suggestively and said, “Then I believe the saying goes: Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

Crowley continued to glare at Aziraphale, with the exasperated look Aziraphale knew well after six thousand years beside him.  It was the Satan below, how the Heaven did I fall in love with God’s most ridiculous angel? look.

Aziraphale drank it all down, relishing every second of it.  That's right.  You do love me.  And to prove it, I shall be as ridiculous as I please for the rest of time, while you grow more and more besotted.

xxx

The suggestion sat for weeks afterward.  Then a month.  Then two.  And more, and more, and more.  Crowley had been free from Hell’s clutches for a year and a half, and he and Aziraphale knew they wanted further intimacy.  But still, though they had the occasional discussion about the hypotheticals, no movement was made to act on them.

Crowley started leaving the bookshop more.  He and Aziraphale would go shopping, or sightseeing, simply enjoying their time together.  They held hands, and kissed, and leaned into each others’ sides.  They cuddled in bed, and held each other, listening to their shared heartbeats.

The intimacy they did share now was wonderful.  Aziraphale had longed for it with Crowley for so many hundreds of years, if not thousands.  He still couldn’t believe his luck, that he could hold Crowley, and kiss Crowley, and cherish this beloved demon every moment of their lives now.  And Crowley felt the same way, and loved him just as dearly!  How blessed of an angel was he, to have such joy in his life?

And then came that one night.  The night that put to the test every bit of trust and tenderness they’d built together.

They were cuddled together on a sofa, watching some old film Crowley had suggested.  Aziraphale idly followed the plot, but mostly, he busied his mind with feeling Crowley’s hand in his.  Crowley ended up laying his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder.  They were close, and content.  It was beautiful.

And then…Crowley quietly spoke.  “You know how we’ve talked about having sex?”

Aziraphale stilled, but tried not to show it.  “Yes?”

“Well.  Maybe I want to try it.”

The confession was trying to be nonchalant, but Aziraphale knew Crowley’s tones of voice.  He could hear how nervous it made him, to suggest that.  Oh, how brave that was, to ask for this!

Aziraphale tried to meet that bravery with his own.  “And…” he said carefully, his heart in his mouth, “…When would you like to try this?”

Crowley shrugged one shoulder.  “Later tonight?”

Aziraphale took a calming breath.  Then another.  “Alright,” he said lightly.  “That sounds lovely.”

And it did.  It sounded more than lovely.  

When the film was over, they retired to their bedroom.  Aziraphale snapped his sky-blue silk pyjamas onto his body.  Crowley did the same with his matching black ensemble.  They stood on opposite sides of the bed, staring at each other.  (But they weren’t on Opposite Sides, of course.  Never again.  They were in this together now, in everything they did.)

Aziraphale took the initiative, and got himself comfortable on his side of the bed.  Best to keep himself still once he’d settled, so Crowley would know where he was, and could adjust to his liking.

Crowley did.  His whole body was stiff as a board as he climbed under the covers to join Aziraphale.  Oh, how Aziraphale wanted to soothe those nerves, and assure him that there was nothing to be afraid of here.  It was only potential sexual intimacy with the one person you’ve always wanted more than anyone, after being so hurt by so many others.

Okay, maybe there were valid reasons for Crowley’s fear.  But he had nothing to fear from Aziraphale right now, of course.  It was the ghosts of the past that might intrude on their happiness tonight.

Aziraphale took a chance.  He reached over, and stroked his hand down Crowley’s jaw.  Crowley leaned into the caress with a sharp intake of breath.

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale whispered.  “Nothing will hurt you here.  I’ll ask you before I do anything.  And I won’t do it, unless you tell me I can.  Does that help?”

Crowley nodded against the touch to his face.  “Yeah.  That sounds good.  Can you…”

He cut himself off.  Aziraphale tilted his head, trying to meet his gaze again with a kind smile.  “What can I do for you right now, Crowley?”

Crowley sighed, as if resigned to be vulnerable, after all.  “Can you just hold me, for a minute?”

Aziraphale’s smile broke into such heartrending warmth.  “Of course I can.”

He gathered Crowley up in his arms, holding him in a secure embrace.  Crowley returned it just as tightly.  Aziraphale could feel a slight tremble in his demon’s spine, and he stroked along his back, trying to soothe him.  “It’s alright, my love,” he murmured.  “We’ll go as slowly as we need to.  Nothing will happen here that you don’t want.  You have control over this.”  He gently kissed Crowley’s forehead.  “We’ll only do what makes you feel good, and what feels safe.  Nothing further.”

He heard a sharp exhale against his neck.  “Angel,” came that rasping whisper.  “One more thing tonight.  Can you…”

Crowley trailed off.  Aziraphale waited for a moment.  When Crowley didn’t continue after a few breaths, Aziraphale prompted him.  “Can I what?”

Crowley groaned inwardly.  It sounded like he was losing some sort of battle with himself.  Aziraphale didn’t understand what it was for, until he heard Crowley’s murmured reply: 

“Can you be gentle?”

Aziraphale’s heart stood still for a moment.  “Oh, Crowley…”

“Doesn’t have to be that way forever,” Crowley quickly mumbled, trying to salvage the remains of his cool, prideful persona.  “We could, y’know, work our way up to something else.”

Aziraphale smiled.  He reached under Crowley’s chin, encouraging him to meet his eyes again.  Eyes that now looked at him with all the tenderness he’d harbored for him for six thousand years.  “Gentle lovemaking sounds perfect.”

Crowley’s exhale was audible.  His eyes shone with gratitude, and relief.  “‘Kay,” he murmured back.

They looked at each other for a moment.  Perhaps there was some awkward waiting for whoever was going to make the next move.  But at the moment, it didn’t feel awkward at all.  It was quiet, and sweet, and more and more intimate the longer they drowned in each other’s gaze.  I’m listening, Aziraphale was thinking, hoping Crowley understood.  I see you.  I won’t rush in, guns blazing.  I want to share this with you, not race past what you’re comfortable with.

Crowley was the one who inched forward.  Aziraphale leaned in too, and then their lips met in a quiet, unhurried kiss.  

They didn’t move much at first; they just held there, easing into the intimacy.  Aziraphale felt Crowley’s breath against his face, how it stuttered and shivered on its way out.  He was still so nervous.   Aziraphale could feel it too, in how much tension there still was in Crowley’s back.  

He hoped it was just nerves.  Nerves, they could cope with.  Fear, though…if Crowley was afraid, they would need to pause things, and talk them through, and potentially set this aside for another night.  The thought of Crowley flinching from Aziraphale’s touch, or shutting down entirely as unseen horrors intruded on his senses…it broke Aziraphale’s heart to think about.

But for now, they kissed.  And slowly, Crowley started to move.  His lips started to rub and nibble against Aziraphale’s—cautiously and inexperienced, but still making Aziraphale shiver as he responded in kind.  The tension started to dissipate from his back.  He scooted closer, till his front brushed Aziraphale’s, and their legs could tangle together slightly.

Aziraphale eased a hand into Crowley’s hair.  He stroked his fingers across his scalp, and broke from his lips for a breath.  “Alright?”

Crowley sighed, and moved in to kiss him again.  Aziraphale cradled his head close, trying to convey every atom of his love and care through his lips.

He noted that he was fully hard already.  He was throbbing, aching for stimulation, while his breath burned in his chest with each inhale.  No one—no previous lover, no wild sexual romp with any configurations of bodies—had ever turned him on so swiftly.  His desire was cratering his mind flat, licking such heat in his veins, driven hotter than ever before by the intense love he felt for this precious demon in his arms.

But he breathed through it.  He knew now was not the time to be randy as an adolescent human, alone with their sweetheart for the first time.  Perhaps it could have been, were Crowley merely sexually inexperienced, instead of sexually traumatized.  But he was.  So Aziraphale would keep to his slow, careful course, and make sure Crowley was with him every step of the way.

His hand in Crowley’s hair slid downward, until he was cupping his love’s jaw.  “Tell me where you want to go,” he whispered between kisses.  “Where would you like me to touch you?”

A slight moan left Crowley’s lips.  Aziraphale drank it all down with their next kiss, until Crowley ducked his head away, panting hard as he tried to collect himself.  “I guess, just…”  He bit his lip for a second, and Aziraphale’s mouth positively watered as he stared at it.  “Just under my shirt, maybe?  On my back, and my chest?”

Those golden eyes darted to Aziraphale, as if checking if his request was acceptable.  Aziraphale smiled kindly at him, bursting with love for this wonderful demon.  “Alright,” he whispered back.

Their lips met again, gentle and kind and full of want.  Aziraphale decided in the heat of the moment that, while he could just run his hands up Crowley’s shirt…he also didn’t want to startle Crowley with any sudden touches.  Best to keep things as above board as possible, by letting him feel where his hands were at all times.

So, he brushed his hand down Crowley’s front—noting the shudder in his love’s body as he did so—until he found the hem of his pyjama shirt, rucked up slightly around his waist.  He kept his lips on Crowley’s, but paused his movements for a moment…

…As he brushed his fingertips underneath his shirt, and felt the heated skin of Crowley’s stomach for the first time.

Another small moan stuck in the back of Crowley’s throat at the contact.  There wasn’t a jolt, no stiffening of his body, no sudden freezing or flinching as fear overwhelmed him.  There wasn’t any fear, as far as Aziraphale could tell.  Instead, Crowley was unwinding from the pleasure, shivering with want as he pressed forward against Aziraphale.  

“Good?” Aziraphale asked softly, just to be sure.

Crowley answered by devouring his lips again, humming a quiet “Mm-hm” against his mouth.  Oh, this was wonderful!

Aziraphale fanned his hand wider.  He stroked soothingly against Crowley’s stomach, trying to touch him solidly enough that he wouldn’t tickle, while still as gentle and tender as he’d always longed to be with him.  Crowley was so warm.  Beyond a slight trail of hair leading down from his navel, his skin on his stomach—and then his back, oh, his back—was smooth.  He knew Crowley had a brush of hair in the middle of his chest, from when he’d seen it the night he’d rescued him; not to mention, when Aziraphale had worn Crowley’s body himself, the first time he’d saved him from Hell.  He wondered if he would feel that, one day.  If he could press kisses there, along with caresses from his hands.

But for now, the bunching of the pyjama shirt’s fabric wasn’t allowing much give, limiting his touches to Crowley’s waist and mid-back.  But there was plenty of room for Aziraphale to cherish him.  So he did.

“Can—can I—?”

Aziraphale’s breath caught at Crowley’s murmured question.  “Yes, please.”

He didn’t give further instructions; he didn’t want to risk pressuring Crowley into thinking ‘yes, you have to touch me here.’  He wanted to give Crowley free reign to explore his desires.

Crowley ended up copying what Aziraphale had done: he brushed his hands underneath the hem of Aziraphale’s top.  “Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, startled by how good it felt to have Crowley’s hands on his bare skin like that.  It was just the slightest touch; how was this so much more thrilling than any other time someone had caressed his flesh?

(Simple: because this wasn’t just any other time with someone.  It was with Crowley.)

They stayed like that for long moments.  They huddled close together in their bed, hands roaming and caressing waists and stomachs and lumbar spines.  They gasped, they shivered, they sighed.  They kissed, and kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

Aziraphale was slightly surprised when he felt Crowley’s tongue dart out against his lips.  But he smoothly recovered, and opened his lips eagerly, and then their tongues were moving against each other, and Crowley was humming a quiet moan into his mouth, and oh, Lord!

Crowley was shivering under his hands.  “Angel,” he whined, and then…

Then his hips moved.  A small, stuttered motion, and stopped just as soon as it began.  But Aziraphale felt the movement where he was stroking Crowley’s waist, and nearly felt it against the front of his own trousers.  And God Almighty who had given them sanctuary, but he swore Crowley was just as hard as he was.  

Crowley ducked his head.  He was breathing hard, trembling, and Aziraphale hoped—and got the feeling it was—due to pent-up desire, and not solely from nerves.  He stroked his thumb soothingly across Crowley’s lower ribs.  “It’s alright,” he whispered.  “Feel whatever you need to.  Is it good?”

Crowley nodded.  “It’s never been like this,” he whispered hoarsely.

Aziraphale caught several different meanings there.  Me being touched by someone else has never been like this, for one—and Aziraphale certainly hoped that was true.  But it also sounded like, Me getting so hard so quickly, has never been like this.  Which, perhaps, was wishful thinking on Aziraphale’s part?  He knew Crowley had never been with anyone else, but as far as his past forays into self-pleasure…they’d never discussed that in much detail.  

“If it’s good,” Aziraphale whispered gently, “then just enjoy it.  Enjoy yourself, Crowley.  Let yourself feel good.”

Crowley sighed quietly.  He raised his head up, and their lips met again.  Aziraphale resumed stroking up and down Crowley’s mid-back; in response, Crowley shuffled even closer.  And…oh.  Oh.

That was an erection in there, tenting Crowley’s trousers just as much as Aziraphale’s.  They both gasped at the contact, realizing that I gave this to him, he’s responding to my touches like that, I’m making him feel as good as I feel.

They moved in even closer, as close as they dared.  They devoured each other’s lips and tongues with their own.  They slid their hands up underneath each other’s shirts as high as they could, over ribs and spines and bellies and shifting muscles and trembling diaphragms.  Their hips weren’t bold enough to move together on purpose, but the pleasure sometimes made them stutter forward, bringing forth soft gasps and quiet moans between their lips.

Once such instance brought a louder moan out of Crowley, making him break from the kiss again, panting hard.  And against his previous caution, something in Aziraphale decided to break the seal, and ask his next, hushed question:

“Crowley…may I touch you?”

Crowley looked back up at him with wide eyes.

Aziraphale realized that he had to clarify.  He was already touching Crowley, after all; and if he wasn’t clear about what he was asking, Crowley might misinterpret, and would end up being touched somewhere he hadn’t known he was agreeing to.  No, Aziraphale had to speak his full meaning.

So, meeting Crowley’s cautious eyes with all the kind, patient love he harbored for him, Aziraphale spoke his real question:

“May I touch your cock?”

Crowley swallowed.  There were still nerves in there, after all.  He was quiet for one second.  Two seconds.  Three.

And then he nodded.  “Yeah.”

Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to stay quiet, as he inwardly collected himself.  The enormity of the moment wasn’t at all lost on him.  He knew what it meant for Crowley to say yes to such a touch.  And not just because they loved each other.  Not just because Crowley had never wanted anyone to touch him like this.  But because of all the others who had touched him before.  

This had to be different.  It needed to be.

Aziraphale kept to his earlier course.  He moved his hand from underneath Crowley’s shirt, and eased it to his chest, just above his solar plexus.  He would keep his hand in contact with Crowley’s body, so he knew where it was the whole time.

He eased his hand down.  The touch whispered against the silk of Crowley’s pyjama top, down the buttons, past his stomach, his navel…

To his waistband.

They both looked up at the same moment.  Crowley’s eyes fixed on Aziraphale’s, breathing shallowly, silently pleading.  Aziraphale smiled, hoping it gave him the reassurance he needed.  

Aziraphale realized at this juncture, he had to maneuver his hand more.  Keeping his touch gentle, he eased his hand under the waistband of Crowley’s trousers…then into his underwear…

And as he stared lovingly into Crowley’s eyes, he wrapped his hand around hot, firm flesh.

Warmth pooled in Aziraphale’s middle as he grasped it.  This was Crowley’s cock, and he was holding it in his hand!  It was so warm, and long enough to fit in his whole hand, and it was throbbing, and it was Crowley’s, Crowley’s, Crowley’s!

But what transfixed Aziraphale the most was Crowley’s face.  The second he was intimately touched, his whole face burst into a rictus of overwhelmed pleasure: his eyes went wide, his mouth went slack, his breath froze—

And when he found his breath again, it left his throat in a loud, ragged groan.  It was the most sexual sound Aziraphale had ever heard Crowley make, and it was only for the two of them, and it burst out Crowley’s mouth as if he’d had no other way to express the earth-shattering desire pulled from the depths of his being, as his cock was touched for the first time by the only person he’d ever wanted.

Crowley’s eyes still hadn’t left Aziraphale, and seeing him moan like that, while making direct eye contact with him…it was the most wondrous, most intimate sexual act Aziraphale had ever partaken in.  Aziraphale was so overcome with joy, his own breath left him in a hitched almost-sob.  

Still looking at him, eyes full to the brim with love and tender devotion…Aziraphale started moving his hand.  He experimentally stroked Crowley’s cock, down the shaft, to the root.  He felt pubic hair brush against his hand, oh, that was Crowley’s too, oh, oh, oh—

But then Crowley took over.  At least, his desires did—it looked like Crowley hardly felt in control of his own movements.  Still with that overwhelmed look on his face, with wide eyes, and his mouth hanging open…he started bucking his hips.  Not long, drawn-out movements; he gave short, jolting thrusts, desperately chasing the friction from that loving grip around his cock.  His breath huffed heavy with his movements, his vocal cords hovering on the edge of soft, vulnerable little cries. 

Aziraphale stared back at him, not daring to blink.  His smile only grew, spellbound by how beautiful Crowley was.  That’s it, my love, follow what feels good, make yourself feel good, you deserve it, I’m so happy I can share this with you.

He tried his best to shape his hand right, so Crowley could slide back and forth in it.  The sheets rustled with each pump of Crowley’s hips.  Faster, and faster, and faster, and faster—

Not ten seconds since Aziraphale had reached in, Crowley’s whole body locked up.  His eyes unfocused.  And his mouth opened in the most ragged “UHHHHHHH” Aziraphale had ever heard, while something hot and wet pulsed onto Aziraphale’s hand, out from his spasming cock.

Aziraphale’s breath left him.  His whole back tingled with prickling warmth.  His eyes grew misty.  In the back of his mind, he was vaguely aware of how hard his own cock was throbbing, with only a brush of friction needed to make him come, himself.

But he paid it no mind.  He stayed completely focused on Crowley, enthralled by his love’s shivering, spasming pleasure.  

He’d watched past lovers reach their peaks.  He’d felt them spasm around his cock as they found the heights of their own bliss.  He’d watched people writhe around in tantalizing configurations of bodies during an orgy or two.  He’d felt cock after cock spend themselves inside his different holes, and on his own skin, during his escapade at Portland Place.  He’d watched dazzling displays of sexual ecstasy that would make even the most experienced lover lose control of themselves.

But all those past displays paled in comparison, to the rapture and desire and love he felt, watching Crowley have a fully-clothed orgasm in his hand for the very first time.

As it tapered off, Crowley’s jagged moan became something softer, something far more vulnerable.  He was whimpering—mewling, even—as the spasms in his cock slowed.  He was still spurting hot semen onto Aziraphale’s hand, though; the question flashed through Aziraphale’s head for a heartbeat, of how long it had been since Crowley had last had an orgasm.  Certainly not for the last five years.  Maybe not since before Armageddon.  And how lonely that must have been, to spill his seed alone, as he had done for however many centuries, longing for the only person he’d ever wanted.

But he was sharing it with that person he wanted now.  With someone who loved him, who was completely safe for him to be with.  Who held him in his arms, and tenderly stroked him through it to prolong his pleasure, while gentling him down as he rode through its peak.  

“Shhhh,” Aziraphale soothed him, as the spasms in Crowley’s body tapered off.  Crowley moaned again, in such a tender voice.  “That’s it, my love,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley weakly jutted his hips forward again, as the last dregs of pleasure wrung their way out of his body.  He gasped, perhaps at the sensitivity in his spent cock.  And then he fully collapsed, his face buried against Aziraphale’s neck.

Aziraphale let out a long, slow breath.  Carefully, he let go of Crowley’s softening cock, tucking it back into his underwear.  He vanished the mess, and withdrew his hand, putting Crowley’s clothing back into place.

He leaned his head against Crowley’s, basking in the afterglow.  Even though he hadn’t reached an orgasm himself…emotionally, it felt like he had.  He’d taken care of Crowley’s body, doing his best to care for Crowley’s battered heart as well.  He’d done emotional work here; and as a result, they’d arrived at a place of such vulnerable intimacy together, closer than they’d ever been before.  He was just starting to take up Crowley’s habit of sleeping at night, but after the labors of tonight, he’d gladly curl up to sleep right now without his own physical release.  He’d reached an emotional climax, and connected with Crowley.  It was plenty for him.

He noticed then that Crowley was shaking.  No, not just shaking.  Shuddering.

Oh, he was…he was weeping.  He was huffing out quiet sobs against Aziraphale’s neck.

“Oh, my sweet Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered.  “Here, it’s alright.  You’re alright, you’re safe.  I know, that was so much all at once.  But it’s alright, you’ll be alright…”

He maneuvered his arms around Crowley’s back again, cradling him close.  He stroked his shoulder blades, feeling the juddering up and down as Crowley cried.  Oh, how he hoped it was just the emotional overwhelm from the first time he’d been given pleasure, and it wasn’t from anything darker…

“Was it good?” he murmured into Crowley’s hair.

Crowley tried to sniff in some of his tears.  He nodded against Aziraphale’s pyjama collar.

Aziraphale smiled at the gesture, some tension leaving his shoulders.  Crowley wasn’t in the grip of any past traumas right now.  He was alright, and he would be.  Aziraphale had taken care of him, had cherished his body and heart the way he deserved.  

He’d given Crowley a happy first time.

Crowley moved closer then.  And as he did so, his leg brushed against Aziraphale’s persisting erection.  Aziraphale hissed in a breath at the contact.

“Oh,” Crowley mumbled.  “Right, I…should I—”

Aziraphale gently held Crowley’s wrist, stopping his hand in its tracks from reaching down.  “You don’t have to.”

Crowley looked up, back to Aziraphale’s eyes.  He looked so confused…and perhaps a little afraid.  “But you…I can—”

Aziraphale shook his head, meeting Crowley’s gaze lovingly.  “This was your first time,” he murmured with a smile.  “Just enjoy it.”

Crowley took a breath.  Aziraphale swore he heard a touch of relief in it, though Crowley may not admit to it right now.  They were both so overwhelmed from the evening’s events; there was no need for Crowley to pull himself together, so he could attend to providing physical pleasure.  

(He’d been forced to provide that to too many others, while he’d been so emotionally destroyed by it each time.  Aziraphale had no interest in repeating that pattern.  Not tonight, not right after Crowley’s first time.)

(If they did want to explore changing that pattern, where Crowley could willingly give pleasure, and enjoy doing so…there would be plenty of time for it later.)

Crowley gave no further protests.  He huddled against Aziraphale’s chest again, his chest still constricting on quiet, relieved sobs.  Aziraphale cradled him close, rubbing his back soothingly, stroking through his hair.  

They soon fell asleep like that.  Bodies entwined, hearts aligned, wrung out with pleasure, safe and sound.

It was the first time Aziraphale was sexually intimate with the love of his life.  And though it wasn’t quite like the myriad of ways he’d imagined it coming to pass…

He wouldn’t have changed a thing about it.

xxx

Later that night, was another first for him.  And a first for Crowley.  So many of their firsts would be shared now.  It thrilled Aziraphale when that thought dawned on him, as he woke in the early morning hours.

It was raining, a soothing drizzle pattering against the roof and windows.  It made their cocoon of blankets and body heat even cozier.  Aziraphale yawned, and smiled as he remembered the events of a few hours ago.  

He and Crowley had made love.  He’d touched Crowley’s skin, touched his cock, watched him come apart in his arms.  Oh, how glorious.

A sleepy look at the clock revealed it was just past two in the morning.  Ah, well.  Aziraphale hadn’t gotten very good at sleeping through the night yet.  Perhaps, as human infants required, he simply needed more practice.

In the meantime, he contented himself with curling up comfortably in bed, holding Crowley in his arms.  He watched Crowley’s back ease up and down rhythmically, felt his soft breaths against his neck.  There were no signs of night terrors, no restlessness in his dear demon’s body or mind.  Crowley was, for the moment, at peace.

Aziraphale kept watching him, through the easy view afforded by the ever-glowing lamps on their nightstand.  He lost himself in cradling his best friend in his arms, delighting at how close they could be now, and how safe it felt to do so.  Nothing could make him a happier angel right now.

But he was wrong about that: perhaps thirty minutes later, Crowley stirred, himself.  At just past two-thirty in the morning, his dear demon arched his spine in a slight stretch.  Then met Aziraphale’s loving gaze.  Then, as the sleep cleared from those beautiful golden eyes, he smiled back.

Without words, they met in a kiss.  It was sweet, gentle, full of wonder and gratitude for what they’d shared earlier.  Thank you for being so gentle, and I will always be gentle with you, and You mean everything to me, and I love you, I’ve loved you for so long, I want you, I’ve only wanted you for so many years, passed silently between them.  But they understood every unspoken word.

At the closeness—and the memories of what they’d just recently done while this close—Aziraphale felt his cock stirring.  He pulled his focus away from it, but couldn’t help his hitched gasp when Crowley ventured out his tongue again.  He met it eagerly, drinking his love down, and let himself be consumed in return.

Then…Crowley pulled away.  He rolled slightly on his back, but his hands stayed on Aziraphale’s shoulders.  Pulling him closer.

Oh.  Oh.  Crowley was asking him to…

Aziraphale followed.  He rolled with Crowley’s motions, until he found himself on top of the demon.  Crowley stared up at him, his eyes wide and dilating, his lips kiss-swollen and parted as he panted in breath.  

“Is this…” Aziraphale managed to ask, just as breathless, “Is this alright?”

Crowley nodded.  “Yeah,” he whispered.  “Want you.”

Oh, as if Aziraphale’s heart, mind, and body weren’t all shouting the exact same thing right now.  It was all the invitation he needed.

He moved back in to kiss Crowley.  Crowley opened his mouth to him immediately, humming a quiet moan as their tongues wetly slid together again.  Their lips smacked over and over with suction as they kept breaking apart, as they tried to balance kissing with catching their breaths—although all they managed were soft sighs and moans before they dove back in.  

Aziraphale did his best to be mindful of his body’s weight; squishing the breath out of Crowley’s lungs would quickly halt the flow of desire.  He managed by balancing his weight on his elbows, resting on either side of Crowley’s head.  Crowley, meanwhile, wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s broad back, clutching onto the silk of his pyjamas to urge him closer, closer, closer.

Their cocks brushed together.  Aziraphale hadn’t meant to, but their bodies were aligned from head to toe, and they were both so hard, faster than Aziraphale had ever experienced with anyone else.  Crowley was checking all the boxes his body needed to rush his blood flow southward: he’s kind, and clever, and beautiful, and he knows me, deeper than anyone has ever known me before, and he loves me, he wants me, I want him, oh, OH—

“May I touch you?” Aziraphale managed, a breath before Crowley devoured him in another open-mouthed kiss.

They kept kissing, and Crowley rolled his tongue all around Aziraphale’s, making his erection throb.   Only then did he release his lips.  “Yeah,” Crowley rasped, “anywhere, everywhere.”

Aziraphale dove in for more kisses.  As he did, he maneuvered one hand between them.  He brushed it over the silk covering Crowley’s heaving chest and fluttering stomach, before sliding it underneath his shirt.  And oh, that warm skin underneath, stretching over his ribs as he gasped in breath, breaking out in gooseflesh at Aziraphale’s touch…

Crowley leaned his head back on the pillow, and moaned.  It was the most beautiful thing Aziraphale had ever seen or heard.  He started sucking kisses onto Crowley’s exposed neck, licking soothingly over his pulse point, as his hand reached up to his nipples—

Crowley shivered, and arched into the touch with another quiet moan.  Ah, Crowley liked when his nipples were stimulated?  Aziraphale was learning so many wonderful things about him in this arena.  He loved learning about what made Crowley happy, his likes and dislikes, his quirks and foibles; now there was a whole new realm of preferences for them to explore together.

His lips soon traveled to Crowley’s collarbone, and his fingers of one hand were roaming all over Crowley’s front, dipping into his belly button, circling his nipples.  Crowley had given up all coordination of his body’s movements; he leaned his head back, arching his back, moaning quietly, while his hips humped up at Aziraphale’s over and over.  He might’ve come just from this, if they’d kept it up.  Perhaps Crowley was oversensitive due to his lack of experience; or perhaps, it was due to the intense love that poured out of their every shared breath, every quickened heartbeat, every shiver of their skin meeting.  It might be the latter, as Aziraphale was no less affected.

“May I touch your cock?” he whispered to Crowley’s collarbones.

Crowley whined.  “Yes, please, angel—”

Aziraphale levered back up to look Crowley in the eye.  He still wanted to be careful with such touches, after all.  If Crowley suddenly became overwhelmed with darker emotions, he wanted to see it in his face as soon as possible, so he could know to stop.

And yet, though the caution was what initially motivated him to make eye contact with Crowley…it ended up making things so much more intimate and enjoyable, when his hand reached into Crowley’s waistband to cup his erection.  He got to see Crowley’s overcome face, his eyes widened in pleasure, his mouth parting in a ragged moan, as Aziraphale started stroking him.  It wasn’t just bodies; it was Crowley, connecting with Aziraphale as they shared such intimate sexual contact.

Crowley lasted longer than ten seconds this time.  His breath grew ragged, and he still humped his hips up into Aziraphale’s hand in quick, jolting thrusts.  He moaned, still so softly, as if afraid to make too much noise or betray his pleasure.  But something in that thrilled Aziraphale, that Crowley was saving his moans for his ears only.  This was something they were only sharing with each other.  It was intimate, and beautiful.

Crowley reached up suddenly, and took a gentle hold of Aziraphale’s arm.  Aziraphale halted his motions.  But just as he was about to remove his hand from Crowley’s pyjamas, and ask if something was wrong…

Crowley moved his hand to Aziraphale’s stomach.  “Can I touch you?” he asked.

He didn’t need to clarify; Aziraphale knew what he was asking.  And this time, he whispered, “Oh, yes.”

Crowley smiled slightly, and slithered his hand down lower.  His breath still heaved so audibly through his nostrils.  It might be from his own pleasure, but perhaps there were slight nerves in his gaze, too.

But then his hand dipped into Aziraphale’s trousers and underwear, and it was Aziraphale’s erection being held in a gentle grip.  And all caution from either one of them fell to the wayside.

Aziraphale moaned.  Louder than he’d intended, so sudden of a noise that it shocked him when he heard it.  His mind went blank.  For a moment, his whole world narrowed down to that long-fingered hand cupping his sensitive flesh, and how mind-blowingly good it felt.

Then his widened eyes fell on Crowley’s, on that hopeful look in that serpentine gaze, and it felt so much better than any touch to his cock had before.  No warm mouth, or slick vagina, or squeezing asshole, had ever felt as dizzyingly good and right as Crowley’s hand around him.

He dove in, and kissed Crowley soundly.  Crowley accepted it with a rush of breath through his nose.  Aziraphale let his hips move once, twice, three times, into Crowley’s hand, and Crowley caught him, and started lovingly stroking him.  It took him a moment to coordinate his hand’s movements with Aziraphale’s hips, having never stroked a cock that wasn’t attached to his own body.  But Crowley was clever, and he found a rhythm soon enough.

But then Aziraphale had a wonderful idea.  “Dearest,” he whispered, “can I take your cock out of your trousers…and you take out mine…?”

Crowley surged a kiss against his lips.  “Fuck, yes.”

They eagerly maneuvered their respective trousers and underwear out of the way.  Aziraphale still tried to make sure that Crowley was still mostly-covered, as per their agreed-upon boundaries.  But soon enough, he could feel Crowley’s cock unencumbered by clothing, and then…

Aziraphale grasped both their cocks together, holding them snugly in his hand.  And still staring in wonderment down at Crowley’s equally awestruck face, he moved his hand down, and his hips forward.

The pleasure of his own flesh sliding against Crowley’s like that, was instant.  He gasped with it, having to take a minute so he didn’t finish embarrassingly early right then and there.  But then Crowley followed suit, and grabbed both their cocks on the other side, and then they started moving their hips until they matched each other’s rhythm, and…

Crowley clutched the back of Aziraphale’s neck with his free hand.  Aziraphale went down willingly, drowning them both in more devouring kisses.  Their hips were working in tandem now, and soon Crowley was following the lead of Aziraphale’s hand, stroking downward as they fucked their cocks into the tunnel it made.  

They were having sex.  No, they were making love.  Aziraphale wasn’t sure when the last time was that he’d done so.  Perhaps he never had.  His past forays had been about bodies finding mutual pleasure, with the only emotional giving happening as he generously made sure his partner was satisfied.  But this…

This was about their hearts meeting, just as much as their bodies.  It made the pleasure soar to ever-dizzying heights.  It had Aziraphale’s toes curling, his back tingling, heat spreading up his spine and clouding his head, his mind attuned to sharp breath and gentle sighs and quiet moans and sweat-slicked skin. 

He knew then, he would never get tired of hearing Crowley moan like this.  He’d never be anything less than thrilled, as he felt Crowley move his hips back and forth to chase his pleasure.  It would never be lost on him how miraculous it was, to feel Crowley’s hand lovingly close around his cock, drawing out his pleasure just as generously as he gave Crowley in return.

He lost track of time as they moved together.  (When this round would end, he would notice the clock merely read 2:37 AM; it had probably been less than five minutes that they’d each lasted.)  But eventually, Crowley’s movements of his hand grew uncoordinated, while that of his hips became sharper, more desperate.

“Are you going to come?” Aziraphale murmured, and it thrilled him that he was asking Crowley if he was going to have another orgasm, because of what they were doing together.

“Uh-huh,” Crowley slurred out, staring desperately into Aziraphale’s equally-overwrought gaze.

Aziraphale decided to match Crowley’s faster rhythm with his own hips.  Crowley moaned a little louder as they both picked up the pace, rutting into each other’s hands.  “You can come, Crowley,” Aziraphale urged him, “just let go, it will feel so good—”

Crowley’s eyes flew wide open, staring open-mouthed at the ceiling, and he moaned out loud as he started coming.  His hips stuttered up again and again against Aziraphale’s, making soft little “uh-uh-uh-uhhh” sounds as he rode out the high—

The sights, sounds, and feel of hot semen in Aziraphale’s hand were too much.  His eyes rolled back, and with a bitten-back groan, he shivered in a powerful orgasm barreling through him.  They cried out an inch away from each other’s mouths, eyes unseeing, hips writhing frantically, hearing each other’s moans which just served to heighten their own pleasure.

“Ohhhhhh,” Aziraphale groaned as he started to come down from it.  Crowley moaned with him, making his back tingle with warmth.  His hips slowed.  He gently rode out the last waves of his orgasm, spurting out hot stickiness into his and Crowley’s joined hands.  He ground his hips forward, I love you.  Crowley glazed-over eyes gazed up at him as his hips moved, I love you too.

When at last the sharpness of the pleasure took its course, Aziraphale panted hard.  He felt like a puppet with its strings cut.  He collapsed on top of Crowley, but caught himself just in time to avoid squishing him.  He angled to the side instead, landing on his hip next to him, body still half-draped over his darling love as they heaved in joyful breaths.

It took several minutes for either of them to start thinking coherent thoughts.  Aziraphale’s mind was awash with nothing but love, love, love.  Words were still beyond him.

He heard a quiet rush of breath leave Crowley.  Then another, and another.  He looked over, worried Crowley might be crying again…

Only to be surprised to see Crowley’s eye corners crinkling, a dopey smile on his face.  Oh, he was…he was laughing.

Aziraphale still couldn’t come up with anything to say.  He could only gaze fondly at him, at this wonderful demon in his arms, who—it was dawning on him now—was the best lover he had ever had.  

“This,” Crowley wheezed, sounding almost drunk as he slurred out his words, “is so fucking good.”   

Aziraphale broke into a matching, delirious grin.  Yes, it was.  Oh, he’d never dreamed—certainly, he’d thought it would be good, but this—

Crowley turned to him then, still with a silly grin on his face.  “Why didn’t you tell me it would be this good?” he rasped out.

Aziraphale breathed an incredulous laugh of his own.  As he shook his head, all he could come up with for a reply, was the honest truth:  “It’s never been this good.”

That made Crowley’s delirium pause in its tracks.  He sobered a little, as he took in the full implications of what Aziraphale was saying.  Aziraphale had told him he’d had previous human lovers, after all.

Soon, the happiness in Crowley’s eyes returned.  But it was softer, gentler, filled with such heartrending love for this angel entangled in bed with him.  Aziraphale’s heart trembled at the sight.

He moved in closer.  Now it was his turn to cling desperately to Crowley, as the longing of so many centuries overtook him.  He hadn’t even known he’d wanted Crowley during their earlier history.  But all this time…he’d been so lonely, chasing something he hadn’t even known he was missing…and it was as gentle and tender and intimate and beautiful and loving as this…

Crowley held him as he trembled.  He held Crowley in return.  They curled their bodies into each other under the covers.  Though one of them—not sure which one—spared a miracle to clean away the mess they’d made, they didn’t bother readjusting their clothing.  Their cocks stayed out, though hidden under the blankets, resting against each other as they softened.

It was the first time Aziraphale had ever shared an orgasm with Crowley.  And after five thousand years of dalliances with humans…tonight’s simple handjob was the most beautiful lovemaking Aziraphale had ever experienced.

xxx

They would have many such firsts after that night.  The first time they made love on the sofa.  The first time Aziraphale took Crowley’s cock in his mouth.  The first time Crowley reciprocated with oral sex.  The first time they fully undressed to make love.  The first time Aziraphale ate out Crowley’s ass.  The first time Aziraphale took Crowley’s cock inside him.  The first time Crowley had sex while face-down, above Aziraphale.  The first time Aziraphale rode his cock in the crack of Crowley’s ass, and lovingly took care of him as his demon slipped into subspace.

So many firsts, each one just as thrilling as the last.  Far more thrilling than any such firsts he’d had with a human.  It didn’t have to be that way, he knew; an orgy might’ve easily made him come harder than the love of his life, getting him off on a lazy Saturday afternoon with his hands or mouth.  But it was the truth.  Because while so many humans had been very kind to him in bed, and many had been quite skilled in how to have sex with someone…those romps hadn’t been sex with Crowley.

Today, six years on since he’d helped Crowley stagger out of Hell, Aziraphale lazed back on some pillows propping him up in their bed, in their (still-new) cottage.  He’d been rereading The Tale of Genji recently, with half a mind to start rereading every human novel again, from the start of the medium onward.  Or perhaps he’d start that more recent series—what was it again?  Something about a game, and being hungry?  He liked games, and filling his belly.  And he had heard Ms. Collins’ novels were very good.  Perhaps he would try something more modern next.

As he finished the next section of the ancient text, he looked over toward the window.  He’d left them halfway-open, to allow the fresh air to waft through the room on the day’s gentle breeze.  Sunlight peeked through the patchwork of clouds overhead, adding to the light provided by the eternally-glowing bedside lamps.  

Aziraphale smiled as he noticed the ivy on the windowsill.  Crowley had added the little potted plant to their bedroom several years ago.  It wasn’t an interior decor choice Aziraphale would have thought of, but he so loved how it brightened the room with color.  

Right now, the little thing was curling its vines toward him.  It appeared almost cautious, as if trying not to be noticed.  But Aziraphale knew such caution was not needed, not around him.  He wasn’t the plant’s master, after all.

He took off his reading glasses, depositing them on the nightstand as he studied the plant.  “Aren’t you growing well,” he murmured, quietly enough that any passing demon wouldn’t hear him.  “You’re doing a marvelous job, you know.  I’m glad you’re getting enough sunlight in that spot.”  The ivy curled its vines out even longer, as if preening from the praise.

“I heard that.”

Aziraphale—and the plant—glanced up, to the demon leaning against the bedroom’s door frame.  As always, Crowley went without sunglasses in their home, allowing Aziraphale to see his golden eyes on full display.

But surprisingly…Crowley wasn’t being sharp with him, regarding his kind behavior toward the plant.  His body language was completely relaxed, his gaze soft as he watched Aziraphale.  His rebuke hadn’t been harsh, either; he’d spoken with that quiet, tired fondness he so often carried in his voice these days.

Still, Aziraphale responded to the banter in kind, tsking at Crowley’s remark.  “All living beings need encouragement, dearest,” he said.  “You may provide the standards, but I help the plants reach those standards.”

Crowley rolled his eyes.  “They were all growing just fine before we moved in together.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips at him.  He marked his place, and set his novel on the nightstand—revealing his unbuttoned shirt collar.  “Well,” he said lightly, “if it bothers you so much…”

Crowley raised a brow at him, clearly intrigued with this new game.

Aziraphale let his thighs fall open slightly.  “Why don’t you do something about it?”

Slowly, Crowley’s mouth tilted into a warm grin.  Without any further encouragement needed, he levered off from the door frame, and prowled forward, till he was covering Aziraphale’s body with his, smothering him in kiss after kiss after teasing kiss.

Aziraphale let loose a pleased sigh when he felt Crowley’s fingers near his throat, toying with his unbuttoned collar.  “What are you playing at, leaving this undone?” Crowley growled huskily against his lips.  “You know what it does to me.”

Aziraphale giggled.  “Darling, you have seen far more of my skin uncovered than just my collar unbuttoned—”

“Yeah, and seeing your collar unbuttoned makes me think of all that other skin, which I could be uncovering right now.”

Pleased as punch that his ploy had worked, Aziraphale wiggled happily against the pillows.  “Well?  What’s taking you so long?”

Crowley grinned wolfishly back at him.  Aziraphale met it with his own, coquettish version.  Oh, how he loved flirting with Crowley like this.  Even after all these years they’d known each other, and the several years they’d known each other carnally.  It wasn’t new anymore, but it still thrilled him so!

Crowley’s hands were soon busy with more than just his collar.  He worked his way down Aziraphale’s shirt buttons, with a comfortable speed that could only come from extensive practice.  Aziraphale followed suit, following the line of Crowley’s shirt buttons down, watching them reveal more and more of his demon’s chest and stomach before his eyes.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt any plans of yours this afternoon,” Aziraphale murmured as they worked.

“Pssh,” scoffed Crowley.  “We’re retired.  Plans can always wait.”  He grinned.  “‘Specially if they’re waiting because of this.”

Aziraphale hummed in agreement, and met Crowley in a quiet kiss.  Then they kissed again, and again, and again, and…well, it took a few minutes before they remembered to keep undressing each other, both chuckling at their foolishness.

But it was when Crowley stretched his arms behind him as he peeled his shirt off, that gave Aziraphale pause.  Crowley noticed, of course.  “What?”

Aziraphale shook his head.  “It’s not a very nice thought.”

“Uh-oh,” said Crowley, pausing as his shirt crumpled behind him.  “Having not-nice thoughts about me half-naked?”

“No, it’s—not thoughts about you, dearheart.  You know how I feel about”—he gestured vaguely at the beautiful expanse of his demon’s bare chest in front of him—“all of this.”

Crowley raised his brows in gentle curiosity.  “And yet?”

Azirpahale sighed.  “I only…I wish that the first time I took your clothes off, that the circumstances were different.  That’s all.”

Crowley’s eyes widened for a second, as understanding dawned on him.  He knew that night Aziraphale was referring to.  The night he’d been brought back from Hell.  When Aziraphale had needed to undress him, to see the full extent of his injuries to be healed.  When Crowley had cried out in pain, when his blood had plastered his shirt to his skin and exposed sinews, requiring an angelic miracle to break it painlessly free…

For a halting second, Aziraphale worried he’d killed the playful, sensual mood.  Reminders of the traumatic past could sometimes do that, even these days.  And it wasn’t always Crowley who got overwhelmed from remembering such details.

But this time, Crowley let it roll off his back, and rescued Aziraphale, too.  He eased a hand onto Aziraphale’s chin, tilting his gaze up to meet his.  “Hey.  I’m okay now.”  And he kissed him softly.  Aziraphale kissed him back in gratitude.

“Besides,” Crowley continued as they broke apart, “in my opinion, first times are overrated.”

“Oh?”

“Sure, our first times have been great, every time we’ve done something new.”  A slow grin spread over Crowley’s face.  “But the hundredth time?  Or the thousandth?”  He leaned in close to Aziraphale’s space, hypnotizing his angel like a serpent.  “That’s when things start getting really good.”

Aziraphale was soon grinning the same conspiratorial grin as Crowley.  He found himself agreeing wholeheartedly.  And as they continued undressing each other…he realized that that was a first for him, too.  For both of them.

He’d never before had a hundredth or thousandth time with somebody.  His affairs with humans had always been short-lived, at times nothing more than a one-night stand.  Even if there were repeat performances, he’d never spent longer than a few months returning to someone’s bed.  He’d had a job to do, which would far outlast a human’s mortal lifespan.  

And immortality aside…he’d never allowed himself to become truly known by any of his past lovers.  He’d pretended to be a human to them all, changing his cover story each time to suit the time and place.  They hadn’t known about his divine mission, or his miraculous powers, or how he had orders to treat human lives as nothing more than points on a scoreboard.  They certainly hadn’t known about his voracious reading, or his endless appetite, or his fussiness and bitchiness when he wanted to get his way.  

Other angels—and other demons he occasionally encountered—hadn’t known his full self, either.  To them, he was the face of the eternal Enemy to be thwarted, or an underling to be micromanaged and otherwise ignored.  He hadn’t dared to show his full self to any of them.  Based on his treatment during such interactions, he knew how it would be received.

The only one who had known him—really known him, all the bright and dark corners of his immortal heart—was his demon on top of him now.  His best friend, who he had met at humanity’s beginning.  The love of his life, who he had been chasing for far longer than he’d allowed himself to realize.

But now, he'd had hundreds—thousands—of times making love with Crowley.  Talking with Crowley.  Sharing meals with Crowley.  Laughing with Crowley.  Arguing with Crowley.  Endless days and nights, loving Crowley for all that he was, and being loved in return for the very same.

This was new for him.  For Crowley, too.  And no matter how many times they did this…it always would be.

The realization made him devour Crowley in a hungry kiss—distracting his demon from wriggling out of his jeans and underwear.  Crowley broke apart, rasping out, “Steady on, one second, angel,” before shimmying out of his last bits of clothing.  Aziraphale did the same.  Oh, he was so hard already, how did Crowley do this to him every time?

But he noticed he wasn’t the only one affected thus.  As Crowley turned back from flinging his trousers toward their dresser (and missed, which had Aziraphale snapping his fingers to clean up after him), the demon’s own erection bobbed between his legs.  “Oh, aren’t you just lovely,” Aziraphale breathed at the sight.

Crowley smirked at the praise.  “I keep telling you,” he said, settling in close, “you could really do with looking in a mirror sometime.”  Aziraphale chuckled at the returned compliment.

They kissed again.  After the commotion of undressing themselves, it was quiet now in how they kissed, how their bare skin whispered in teasing slides against each other.  They drank down each other’s soft gasps and grunts at the familiar pleasure.  Here you are, naked in my arms again.  At last.

Crowley broke away, and repositioned.  Aziraphale watched him, clutching lightly at Crowley’s sides, rubbing sweet caresses against his ribs.  He wondered where Crowley was going with this…

Oh.  Oh, this was new.

Crowley had moved closer…and sat himself in Aziraphale’s lap.  Usually, it was the other way around.  Or, perhaps one of them would lie on top of the other, or on their sides.  But this…

It was brushing closer and closer to a different possibility.  One they’d discussed a few times, in hypotheticals.  Where Crowley might be sitting in Aziraphale’s lap, and his ass might be near Aziraphale’s cock.  And they might do something with such body parts, which they hadn’t yet dared to attempt.

But such a first time was not fated to happen today.  Today, Crowley simply sat in Aziraphale’s lap.  His ass stayed on Aziraphale’s thighs, and Aziraphale’s cock stayed between them.  No such new union of their bodies was in the cards.

Instead, Aziraphale gathered his beloved close, and kissed him softly, kindly.  Crowley melted against his lips, cradling Aziraphale’s head in his hands.  They moaned quietly between their mouths as their tongues ventured out to slide together.  After all these years, they still enjoyed that.  Always would, most likely.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s back.  His palms fanned wide, caressing the jut of Crowley’s shoulder blades.  Crowley shivered, and Aziraphale knew why: it was right where his wings would manifest.

They didn’t bring their wings out often, even with this familiar physical intimacy they engaged with almost-daily.  When they did, it was far too intense a pleasure to be shared frequently.  Some things were sacred, and too special for most days or nights, and even the two of them respected that.  (In a way Crowley’s torturers certainly hadn’t.)

Crowley started swiveling his hips.  They weren’t touching each other’s genitals yet, but the slow rhythm did make their cocks brush together.  Aziraphale grunted in enthusiasm, and started canting his own hips, rising up to meet Crowley’s downward strokes.

After a few minutes, they broke their lips apart, still gently grinding against each other, staring in each other’s eyes, and smiling at the love they found looking back at them.  I see you, I’ve got you, I love you, I’m yours, I always will be.

“I have to agree,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Mm?  With what?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale chuckled, and reached one hand down between them, brushing his hand over Crowley’s stomach in clear declaration of his intent.  “The thousandth time is when things become so much better.”

Crowley’s lip curled in a fond smile.  He kissed Aziraphale soundly; and as they drank each other down again, he took Aziraphale’s hand on his stomach…and guided it to his cock.

(Even these days, when they were so familiar with each other’s wants and limits, Aziraphale still waited for permission to touch him there.  It was an old habit, which he knew had Crowley feeling so warm and loved, just as it thrilled Aziraphale to know his touch was wanted.)

Crowley reached in, too.  Aziraphale let that long-fingered hand wrap lovingly around his cock, and together, they started pumping each other, still swiveling their hips into their gentle touches.

And so it was.  They tenderly made love together with their hands, just as they had on that first night all those years ago.  It was so similar to how they’d started out, yet some things were so different.

Mostly, Aziraphale marveled at how different Crowley was, when they had sex these days.  His beloved had started out so nervous, so ashamed, and got so easily overwhelmed with any sort of touch.  He’d lean into any caress to his face, or his shoulders or chest, as if he’d never been touched gently and never would again, so he needed to soak up all the tenderness now.   He’d tremble in Aziraphale’s arms when he held him, as if he might break apart.  And any sort of intimate touch to his cock, or his balls…it always had him close to losing his mind, as he frantically writhed his hips into the overwhelming sensations.  Though he’d quickly built up more stamina than the ten seconds of his very first time…it wasn’t by much.

But now…Crowley was so relaxed.  He was turned on, of course, and still gasped and moaned and shivered at Aziraphale’s ministrations, as he was doing now.  But he’d grown so much more confident in the bedroom.  He knew his own limits, and how to tell Aziraphale where they were.  He knew more about what he wanted, and how to ask for it.  He knew how to soothe himself if something was getting to be too much, and how to ask Aziraphale to help soothe him.

Not to mention…so many things were no longer so overwhelming, that Crowley couldn’t reciprocate the pleasure.  Of course, Aziraphale would never pressure him to do so, and didn’t mind when such moments had left his own erection ‘hanging’, so to speak—in those moments, he would busy himself with making sure Crowley was alright, and helping him find calm again.  

But it hardly ever happened anymore.  Crowley was no longer afraid of his own body.  He wasn’t choked with shame about what had been done to him in Hell, or about his own elective inexperience for six thousand years before that.  He’d made peace with who he was, and what he had chosen, and whose fault it was when his choices had been taken away for four years.  

The result was that, while Aziraphale could still drive Crowley wild as he plied his body with pleasure…Crowley could just as easily do the same to him, and sent Aziraphale into the throes of loud, moaning ecstasy just as often as he was, himself.  “Go on, angel, let yourself come,” was heard just as often as “Yes, my darling boy, come for me.”

But this afternoon, things were on more of an equal footing.  They miracled lube onto their hands, and tugged and twisted at each other’s cocks.  They moved their hips together, making Crowley shift up and down where he sat perched on Aziraphale’s thighs.  They nibbled teasing kisses on each other’s lips, and sighed and moaned in between.

As they broke apart again, Aziraphale leaned his head back with a sigh, taking in all the sensations.  His back was tingling with heat, his stomach clenching in pleasure.  His cock twitched and throbbed with sensation.  Crowley’s breath huffed against his face, his body warm against his thighs. 

He moved his free hand up then, and started tracing his thumb around Crowley’s right nipple.  Crowley hissed in delight.  He leaned back too, and moaned louder, luxuriating in the joy.  He started rocking his hips faster, arching his back into it, still huffing and sighing and moaning, fucking up into Aziraphale’s hand to chase his pleasure.

Oh, he was a vision.  Aziraphale could probably come just from watching and hearing him like this.  (Maybe one day, they’d have to try that.)  

But for now, he teased.  His hand at Crowley’s cock slowed, and Crowley whined as he tried to fuck faster, chasing the friction he’d lost.  “Enjoying yourself?” Aziraphale asked lightly.

Crowley lolled his head back down, fixing Aziraphale with a (somewhat pouting) glare.  “Like you aren’t enjoying yourself, watching me.”

Aziraphale laughed.  “In fact, I am.  I’ve half a mind to watch you come apart like this.”

Crowley raised a teasing brow.  He leaned in closer.  “Not on my watch,” he growled.  And he started biting kisses onto Aziraphale’s neck, while his hand started working hard and fast over Aziraphale’s cock.  “You’re gonna be right there with me.”

Oh, Aziraphale loved getting a rise out of Crowley like this.  Pleased with his mischief, he gave as good as he got, clutching Crowley close with a hand on his lower back, while his other hand worked feverishly over Crowley’s cock.  They were writhing their hips again, this time at a breakneck pace, short, shallow little jolts that belonged more with teenagers than ageless lovers.

But they didn’t care what it might look like to anyone else.  This wasn’t for anyone else; it was always only for them.

They were moaning louder now as they chased their pleasure together.  Crowley was being nearly bounced up and down in Aziraphale’s lap as they fucked each other’s hands.  They’d gotten almost too good at learning each other’s bodies; now they knew how to make each other finish fast, and they were, Aziraphale was hurtling toward the edge, and it would feel so good to orgasm with Crowley like this, at the same time like they so often did, oh he wanted it, oh yes, yes, YES—

Aziraphale shouted into the air as his orgasm crashed into him.  Crowley growled out a long moan into his neck, as his hit at the same time.  They shivered and groaned together, still fucking their hips in short little jolts, as their cocks spasmed and shot out long ropes of semen onto their chests, their stomachs, their hands, oh, yes.

“Ohhh,” Aziraphale sighed, as it tapered off.  Crowley moaned softly into his neck.  Their hips slowed, though they still tried to make each other’s orgasms last as long as they could, squeezing each other’s cocks from root to tip.  A last, weak glob of come dribbled out of Aziraphale’s cock, onto Crowley’s hand.  

“Unnngggh,” Crowley groaned into Aziraphale’s neck.  And with that, they grew still, panting in the sex-humid air of their bedroom, as their limbs grew warm and heavy in the afterglow.

Every single time, this got better and better.  Crowley was right; first times were wonderful, but the thousandth time of being so familiar with his love’s body and heart was beyond compare.

Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s cock, and waved his fingers in a miracle to clean up their semen.  Crowley collapsed fully against him.  Aziraphale let him, and wrapped his arms around his beloved’s back, cradling him close as they breathed in joyful breaths.

They lay there, entwined in each other’s arms, for several quiet minutes.  Aziraphale felt his racing heart lull back to normal, calming with his precious demon so close to him.  Through his hands on Crowley’s back, he could feel Crowley’s heartbeat slow, too.  Safe and relaxed, with the one he loved.

Aziraphale leaned back fully against the pillows, taking Crowley with him.  This moment was perfect.  There was nakedness, and warmth, and breath huffing quietly against his neck.  He touched warm flesh under his hands, and his cock was warm as Crowley’s softened against his.  They sighed, and still gave occasional soft moans of pleasure.

Aziraphale couldn’t see Crowley’s face.  But he knew he loved him dearly, and he always would.  He would cradle Crowley’s body in his lap again, and again, and again, however many times Crowley wanted to be held like this.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley sighed, any remaining tension leaving his muscles.

Aziraphale sighed against Crowley’s neck, buried his face next to that sideburn of red hair he so adored.  “My love.”

And just like that, like a bolt from beyond, he remembered where he’d known this before.

It was the dream.  The dream.  The very first dream he’d ever had about this.  But…he hadn’t known then…but it was surely about…oh, Lord—

Crowley nuzzled his neck.  “You okay?”

Perhaps Aziraphale had tensed again, as his realization struck him.  But he couldn’t begin to find the right words for it.  “I—I just—I’ve been here before.”

Crowley moved, to look Aziraphale in the eye again.  “Uh…yeah?  This is our bedroom, Aziraphale.  In our house, remember, when we purchased it nearly two years ago?”

“No—no, of course I know that, you idiot.  I just…”  Aziraphale sighed, shivering as he remembered the dream in striking clarity.  “I dreamt of this.  This exact moment.  It was the first dream I ever had.”

Crowley tilted his head.  “You what?”

Aziraphale took a breath, attempting to collect his thoughts.  “It was…perhaps five thousand years ago.  After the first time I ever had sex with a human.”  (Crowley raised his brows at that, now very intrigued.)  “I was so relaxed afterward, I fell asleep for the first time.  And…”

The corner of Crowley’s mouth quirked up in the beginnings of a smirk.  “You had your first wet dream?”

“My first dream ever.  But yes.  And…I dreamed of someone in my lap.  I couldn’t see their face as I made love to them.  But I knew I loved them.  And they whispered my name in my ear, like…like they knew me, so intimately.  And I…I called them ‘my love.’  And…”  

His eyes shone up at Crowley’s.  “And all I knew of them, was that their voice was low.  And they had red hair.”

Crowley’s mouth fell open.  But the next second, the shock must’ve worn off.  

Because he exploded in laughter.  

Aziraphale pouted.  “Crowley, that’s hardly funny—”

“No, no, I just—” Crowley giggled, trying and failing to keep his laughter under control.  “You—you’re saying—the first time you ever fell asleep—you had a wet dream— and even back then, your—your goody-two-shoes angelic self was—was dreaming of me?”

Aziraphale huffed at the ridiculous display.  “I didn’t know it was you, at the time,” he clarified.  “I don’t think my ‘goody-two-shoes’ self would have allowed me to realize such a taboo desire.  And it’s not funny, Crowley—”

Crowley snorted.  “Yes, it is.”

“I’m—for goodness sake, you impossible demon, I’m sitting here realizing I’ve been unconsciously in love with you for at least five thousand years, and your response is to make light of it?!”

At that, Crowley started to sober.  His laughter trailed off, and he wiped tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes.  “No, I get it.  It’s a big deal, realizing you wanted me in your lap all this time.”  But then he smirked.  “It is kinda funny, though, you’ve gotta admit.  Sounds like we ended up reenacting your dream just now.”

Aziraphale cradled Crowley close again, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head—in part out of genuine affection, but at least in part to shut him up.  “Yes, we did.  And I mean it.  I have loved you for thousands of years, without knowing.  But I know it now, and I always will.”

Crowley nuzzled his neck in reply, with a low rumble that was the closest sound he could make to a purr.  When a thought occurred to Aziraphale.  “Did you…ever have such dreams about me?”

Crowley snorted again.  “Angel, I’ve told you, the only one I’ve ever wanted like this, is you.  And I’ve been indulging in sleep a lot more often than you have, over the years.”  He snuck a sly glance back up at his angel.  “Dreams of you were the only wet dreams I’ve ever had.”

Aziraphale unconsciously wiggled a little upon hearing that.  Crowley rolled his eyes.  “Oh, don’t go strutting your stuff about it.  S’not my fault you’re pansexual and went to orgies every other week, while I’m demisexual and stuck to sad wank-a-thons for a few hundred years.  I can’t help who I have wet dreams about.”

Aziraphale relaxed back again, still preening.  “Even so.  I’m flattered that your subconscious decided to lust after me.”  He paused.  “And it wasn’t every other week.   I only saw a few orgies during Rome’s heydey, and I only ever participated in one.”

Crowley fully melted, content to cuddle in his angel’s arms.  “Tell me about that when I’m able to get an erection again,” he said drowsily.  “I’m gonna need details.  Copious details, about what you did to the Romans with your cock.”

Aziraphale grinned at the ridiculous request.  But he wasn’t planning on disregarding it; far from it.  If tales of his past exploits, and how much he’d enjoyed himself in the past, were something that could turn Crowley on…well, why wouldn’t he regale him with such details while they enjoyed each other in bed?

Part of him was still a tiny bit surprised that Crowley wanted to hear about his past affairs.  It would be a perfectly normal reaction to feel hurt, or left out, or jealous of past humans who had enjoyed Aziraphale, while Crowley had pined alone for centuries.

But, perhaps it shouldn’t surprise him that Crowley wasn’t at all jealous.  It wasn’t like Aziraphale was looking for sexual fun outside their relationship anymore.  And he wouldn’t, ever again.  Not just because he believed in monogamy, if that’s what was agreed upon; he honestly had no desire to even look at others like that.  Any humans that passed by these days, while they might stir his brief appreciation, never sent his thoughts wandering down serious, more amorous imaginings.

No one captured his true sexual interest anymore, but Crowley.  As he’d told Crowley once (in accidental iambic pentameter), “They were all candles, to your Northern Star.”  How could anyone else compete, no matter how wild of a time they might promise him; when Crowley enraptured his heart, delighted his mind, and stimulated such powerful responses from his body, all in one fell swoop?

Yes, Aziraphale may have had his many firsts.  But Crowley would be his last.  He had chosen to be Crowley’s, and Crowley had chosen to be his.  His first and only love.  His always. 

His forever.