Living together, being out of London, being around humans who knew who they were, Aziraphale and Crowley relaxed into those parts of their new life like a sigh of relief. Other parts were less simple.
“It’s not that I’m sad that we aren’t looking over our shoulders anymore,” said Aziraphale. “It’s, oh, like we’ve been pushing on locked doors our entire existences and suddenly they’ve opened and I’m stumbling a bit because there’s nothing to push into.” He was sitting at the kitchen table, working on a crossword puzzle.
Crowley raised an eyebrow from across the table, where he’d been watching Aziraphale do the crossword. “You want it to be harder?”
“No, of course not. It’s just, I keep finding myself looking over my shoulder, worrying one of them is going to catch us, and then having to remind myself that they know and they’re not allowed to care.”
“Hmm,” Crowley agreed, then abruptly stood up and made himself busy with one of the plants hanging over the sink.
It wasn’t that everything was easy for Crowley. He was all for not having to worry about Hell, but truth be told, he’d wasted very little energy on that most of his long life, and so it wasn’t that big a shift, not really.
The thing that was throwing Crowley was sleep.
He could do it, sure. It was, if anything, faster and more pleasant to have Aziraphale pet his head as he drifted off. Sometimes Aziraphale slid in next to him and slept, too.
No, what was confusing him was trying to figure out if Aziraphale wanted more without actually asking, which wasn’t so much terrifying as awkward, and while Crowley had been a dab hand at fear over the years, the awkwardness was far more unbearable.
So of course, it was Aziraphale who finally brought it up again, after their new normal of more cuddling and less drunkenness was well established. This time they were in the bedroom, Aziraphale settling into his squashy chair with a book while Crowley puttered around the room ostensibly getting ready for bed but really avoiding going to bed until he could figure out a way to convince Aziraphale to cuddle.
“You know that thing we talked about, about reconsidering the boundaries we set before?” Aziraphale was looking up at him from over his unnecessary spectacles as he spoke.
Crowley managed to keep his body from visibly twitching and said with careful nonchalance, “Told you, I’m leaving it up to you to decide if you want more.”
“I don’t know if I want more forever,” Aziraphale said. “But I’m pretty sure I’d like to try a few things out so that I can make an informed decision.”
“A few things?” Crowley echoed, abruptly thumping down to sit on the edge of the bed nearest Aziraphale, and then going still.
“Would that be all right?” Aziraphale asked.
Crowley’s eyebrows went up and he shrugged. “Can’t see why it wouldn’t.”
Aziraphale frowned. “But you don’t actively want to.”
Crowley watched the conversational track shift dangerously towards a cliff. “I wouldn’t, I don’t… It’s not that.”
“Well, I just feel rather at a loss at how one would initiate such a thing. The books make it all sound as though there’s a great mutual clashing of lips and other body parts, but they don’t say who starts the whole business. But someone has to.”
“Do they now?” Crowley said, as the conversation skidded sideways, traction lost.
“Well, I mean, if we are to, well, try these things out, one of us ought to make the first move.”
Crowley blinked, then made a halfhearted attempt to spin the conversational wheel away from the cliff. “One of us ought? Have you considered, oh, I don’t know, making a move?”
Aziraphale’s eyebrows drew together and he actually pouted. “You seem more, oh, aggressive than I tend to be.”
Crowley did not quite manage to suppress the slightly hysterical laugh that wanted to bubble up. It came out as a strange squeaking whine from his nose. “I told you I was waiting for you to be ready. Didn’t want to go too fast for you.”
Aziraphale stared at him with his jaw dropped, in frank astonishment. “Are you… did you… tell me you didn’t take my comment on your driving over fifty years ago as some sort of relationship mantra. I’m literally suggesting we have sex, and have been considering a variety of things to try, and you’re worried about going too fast?”
Crowley saw the conversation fly off the cliff and plummet down toward a really unpleasant crevasse of an argument when he realized that he had, both metaphorically and physically, wings. He felt almost disembodied from his own voice when he heard it say, “Aziraphale, put your book down and come over here.”
Aziraphale set the book down without marking his place, set his glasses down, pulled off his nightcap and stood up, a second book falling to the floor. Two steps and he was in front of Crowley, in his nightshirt.
Crowley reached out and gently took the bookmark out of Aziraphale’s hand, and set it on the nightstand. “Right. Let’s start this again. Are you asking me to take the lead?”
Aziraphale sighed with relief and nodded.
Finally. “Do you have anything you specifically want the first time?” Crowley asked.
Aziraphale frowned a little, “I… I just want to see what it’s like. Nothing too fancy, the first time, I suppose. They say it feels very good. That sounds nice.”
“Do you have any idea whatsoever what you might like?” Crowley asked.
Aziraphale looked out the window into the darkened forest. “I don’t have much personal experience, but, well…”
Crowley raised his eyebrows and gave a little nod to encourage Aziraphale to continue.
“It’s har… difficult to explain, but when I was, er, possessing Marjorie, I know a lot about what she enjoyed. It sounded rather fun.”
“Wasn’t she into whips and such?” Crowley asked.
“Oh, that was just her job. I get the impression that her personal preferences were much more, hm, simple.”
“So you’re thinking about starting out with a vulva?” Crowley asked.
Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “I suppose I could, but I thought you might want to… Do you have a preference? For what shape I take?”
Crowley didn’t blink at all for a full minute, then said, “Aziraphale, you could be in any shape at all and I’d still want to make you happy.”
“Oh!” Aziraphale said, blushing. “I suppose we could try a variety of configurations, I just don’t really know where to—”
Crowley silenced him with a kiss, as much to prevent another indecision loop as anything.
Aziraphale responded enthusiastically. After a few minutes, Crowley nibbled back along Aziraphale’s cheek to his ear, and said, “Why don’t we start like this?” Then he dropped his head down and laved a kiss onto Aziraphale’s neck.
Aziraphale nodded and leaned into it curiously. “Good idea.”
They pulled at each other’s clothing, still kissing, and then stopped to remove their own when they got stuck, and then stood there, face to face for a long moment.
Aziraphale glanced down. “I thought they usually did more than that,” he said, studying their respective cocks, both of which hung flaccid before them.
“Stimulus, response, isn’t it?” Crowley asked.
“Have you ever tried using it that way?” Aziraphale asked.
Crowley shrugged. “Never really got much out of it.”
“Maybe we’re just not wired for it?” Aziraphale suggested.
“I mean, technically you aren’t wired for food but you get pleasure out of that. Did you start out that way? I know I had to make an effort to get more than a brief sensation of alcohol out of wine.”
Aziraphale stared up at Crowley and then smiled. “No, it took years. They enjoyed it so much, and I wanted to, and finally I just did something, well, kind of like making an Effort, but more about the tongue and taste buds and nerve endings, and then someone gave me a spiced honey nut cake and I thought I was going to discorporate there was so much sensation. It took a little trial and error to get the nerves working at, hm, the right intensity.”
“And did you ever apply that principle to the rest of you?” Crowley asked, eyebrows raised.
“Oh heavens no, too much sensation on my body all the time would be intolerable, I keep that tamped down. Wouldn’t do to get so distracted with the feel of the paper that I forget to read.”
“You were enjoying kissing,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale nodded. “You’ve already primed the nerves there. Maybe for now, turn up the volume for the rest of it, allow that system to be more active? I mean, we’re here for trial and error.”
“You’ll try it, too?” Aziraphale said hopefully. “This isn’t only for me, or, I hope it isn’t only for me.”
Crowley hesitated, then nodded. “But I’m lying down first. Wouldn’t want to fall down if it’s too much.”
Stretched out on the bed, on top of the bedding, they both lay on their backs, concentrating. Aziraphale’s lamp was on, the night outside bright with an October full moon, the shadows inside warm.
“Anything?” Aziraphale asked anxiously.
“Hard to tell,” Crowley said. “Here, what if I help you pinpoint the right levels?”
“Er, yes, perhaps that would help? You’ll touch, I’ll try, and then vice versa?”
Crowley shifted sinuously up to his knees, and reached out.
Aziraphale startled and said, “Oh! I was expecting that somewhat higher.”
Crowley sat with a hand on Aziraphale’s left ankle, resting gently. “Figured we ought to calibrate with something less fraught. Wouldn’t want you to get all jumpy every time I touch your willy.”
“Oh good Lord, please never call it that again,” Aziraphale said, cringing.
Now it was Crowley’s turn to wince. “Please don’t invoke Her when we’re naked.”
“Hmmm,” Aziraphale said, worried. “Yes, I see your point.”
“I’m going to touch your ankle lightly,” Crowley said. “See if you can find a level of sensitivity where it feels pleasant, but not ticklish.”
“Well I’m not completely numb,” Aziraphale said. “I can feel that you’re touching me.”
Crowley traced his fingers up and down Aziraphale’s shin, lightly, watching as Aziraphale’s eyes closed, his mouth pursed with concentration.
“Just there, you think, or the whole thing?” Aziraphale asked.
“Might as well do the whole thing.” Curious, Crowley thought about his own nerves, and pictured an amplifier, set to a 4. He dialled it up to 8, and could feel the individual hairs on Aziraphale’s ankle shift as his fingers dragged just over the top of them. Up to 9, and he shivered.
“Are you cold?” Aziraphale asked, opening one eye to look at him.
“I just pictured my nervous system, all those branches and neurons and connections, and thought about amplifying it. I keep it, oh, at about a 4. 8 is hugely sensitive, and 9, well, that rather tingles.”
“Amplifying… Oh, like the gramophone?”
Crowley dropped his head in his free hand. “No, like a bebop amplifier. The kind you can dial up to eleven.”
“Surely ten?” Aziraphale asked.
Crowley sighed a long, beleaguered sigh. “Yes, fine, ten. Just think about letting your nerves be louder, or brighter or whatever makes sense to you.”
Aziraphale closed the open eye and his brow furrowed for a moment. Crowley trailed a finger up the inside of Aziraphale’s calf. Right as he got to the knee, Aziraphale shuddered hard, his whole body quaking as his leg jerked away from Crowley’s hand.
Aziraphale squeaked a gasping inhale. “Goodness!”
“Too much?” Crowley asked.
“How would I know?”
“Just take it back a notch, and let me try again,” Crowley said.
“Perhaps not the knee?” Aziraphale quavered.
Right. Crowley considered for a moment, and then shifted upwards.
Aziraphale watched, wide-eyed, as Crowley settled in, sitting next to him on the bed, resting on his hip, leaning a little into Aziraphale’s shoulder as he reached out to run a gentle finger along one blushing cheek, from temple to chin.
Aziraphale closed his eyes. “That’s lovely.”
“I’m just going to touch you for a while,” Crowley said.
“Should I… Do you want me to touch you, too?” Aziraphale asked.
Crowley made a dismissive hmph, and then said, “Nah, not yet. Still getting used to it myself. My fingertips are buzzing.”
“Buzzing… is that nice?” Aziraphale asked.
“Haven’t decided yet,” Crowley said, adjusting his own sensitivity down a quarter step. The buzzing gave way to a pleasant hum as he let the backs of his knuckles trail down Aziraphale’s neck. That got a soft, surprised sigh.
“You’re touching my neck, yet I feel it in many places at once,” Aziraphale said. “It’s, oh, how can something feel so calming and yet energizing?”
At that, Crowley smiled. “Think we might be onto something, Angel. Try keeping your sensitivity right where it is now.”
Aziraphale nodded, his cheek brushing against Crowley’s hand.
Crowley drew in a shuddering breath, and Aziraphale smiled. “Oh, good. It was starting to feel a little odd. It can’t all be for me.”
“Oh, it’s not, Angel, it’s not,” Crowley said, and drew a finger down the soft flesh of the top of Aziraphale’s chest, a little firmer, then out to the shoulder, lighter to the elbow, and Aziraphale twitched again and then laughed.
“Oh, that, that tickles!” Aziraphale said.
Crowley lifted his hand away.
“That didn’t mean I wanted you to stop,” Aziraphale said.
“We have, er, had, that is, an entire department dedicated to tickle torture,” Crowley said. “Awful place.”
“Well, I assume that they didn’t stop when those poor souls asked,” Aziraphale said with a little huff. Then he softened. “But you do. And I know you always will. If I can trust you that way, will you trust me to tell you to stop when I’ve had enough?”
“You want me to tickle you?” Crowley asked, perplexed.
“I find that I would like you to keep touching me. Don’t worry about a little tickle. I’ll tell you if I don’t like it. I trust you.”
There was something so openly vulnerable in Crowley’s expression that Aziraphale reached up and cupped his cheek. “Enough of the scientific approach for now, dearest. You look like you need a cuddle.”
“You wanted to try…”
“I did, and I do, but that’s curiosity. For now, just come stretch out with me, and let me hold you. We have all the time in the world, and more, to explore other things. Besides, I know how cuddling feels when things are damped down and we’re wearing pyjamas. I’d like to find out how it feels without pyjamas, with more sensitivity.”
Crowley gave an amused smile and a half nod and said, “Oh, would you?”
“Oh, just come down here,” Aziraphale said, holding out an arm, invitingly.
As soon as Crowley gingerly settled his body against Aziraphale’s side and tucked his head up on Aziraphale’s shoulder, there was a little snap behind him and the duvet they’d been laying on top of was suddenly settling over them.
“Mmm, I like how you think,” Crowley said against the skin of Aziraphale’s chest.
“It buzzes when you speak there,” Aziraphale said, his arm wrapping gently around Crowley’s shoulders, his hand hesitating, and then settling on top of Crowley’s arm.
“Good buzz or bad buzz?” Crowley asked.
“I think it would be fine as long as you weren’t saying things like, ‘buzz’ and ‘mmmm’.” Aziraphale said.
Crowley shifted and slid his knee up across Aziraphale’s thighs, and then after a moment’s consideration, settled his arm across Aziraphale’s middle.
“Oh, I see,” Aziraphale said. “Am I to be your pillow then?”
“Mmmm hmmm,” Crowley said, just because he knew it would tickle a little.
But Aziraphale only squeezed his shoulder a little, and smiled. “I find myself content with that notion.”
Crowley was almost asleep when he felt Aziraphale’s free hand come across and trace the lines of his face. He raised a drowsy eyebrow, and made a questioning, “Hrnm?”
“Hush,” Aziraphale said. “I just… Your face has been endlessly fascinating to me for millennia, and you’re close enough for me to touch it, and I just…”
Crowley shifted his hand from where it had settled at Aziraphale’s side and trailed it up, under the hand on his cheek, to find Aziraphale’s face, “’sfine, just, turn about, yeah?” He let his hand settle cupped around Aziraphale’s cheek, and let his thumb toy with his angel’s lip, just brushing it lightly.
“Of course.” Aziraphale dropped the softest kiss onto Crowley’s thumb. “Whatever you like, beloved.”
They drowsed like that, wrapped up together, until both fell fully asleep.
While they slept, nerves which had just been getting the idea of things solidified their positions, as it were, routed a few new-to-them pathways along ways made easier by their humanish corporations. Their central nervous systems, which had been more of a suggestion than anything really necessary in the past, metaphorically looked up the blueprints in central planning, and set up the necessary bypasses for efficient transmission of sensation. Neither had prioritized it before, so it hadn’t been done, but the expectations that their bodies might be able to respond the way humans responded to one another did the equivalent of bribing the city council and slamming the relevant structures into place.
It was a small miracle they didn’t wake in the middle of it, but one readily granted.
It was still dark out when sleep let go of them.
Waking up was something Aziraphale had not done terribly often in his life, but he had absolutely never done it like this.
The sensations were too overwhelming to classify, at first, but they made him wiggle enough to rouse Crowley.
Crowley had woken many times before, of course, but never, ever had he woken up hard as a rock while wrapped like an octopus around a wriggling, naked angel.
“Hmmh, all right there, angel?” he murmured, trying for casual and then failing as his hips, seemingly having acquired a new purpose in life, ground against Aziraphale’s side.
“Just, I feel so… everything, and I want, want something,” Aziraphale gasped.
Crowley nuzzled against Aziraphale’s chest, stretching a little, and…
Aziraphale gasped as Crowley’s thigh shifted, and his wiggle turned into a more directed thrust, pressing his cock against Crowley’s leg. “Oh, oh my. That feels… How overwhelming.”
“You’re still talking, can’t be that… grnhhh.” Crowley’s words were lost as Aziraphale rolled them, found his mouth, and rutted against Crowley’s groin.
Suddenly Aziraphale tensed, arched his back, gasped, and said, “Oh, oh dear,” and then collapsed against Crowley.
Crowley blinked, realized what he was feeling, stared at his angel, and started giggling helplessly.
“It’s a terrible mess,” Aziraphale muttered into Crowley’s shoulder, his voice oozing mortification.
Crowley gave an experimental thrust up against Aziraphale, and abruptly stopped laughing. “S’a mess, but it's a pleasant one.”
“Hm?” Aziraphale mumbled. “I’ll clean it up in a moment, I’m afraid I can’t move right now.”
“Don’t move,” Crowley agreed, and rutted up against Aziraphale’s slick belly. He was tingling, everywhere, his thighs tightening, his whole body one wired nerve, and the solid bulk of his angel bearing down on him just sent him over the edge.
He came with a gasp and an unintelligible string of consonants.
Aziraphale said, “I must be getting heavy.”
“’Sfine. Sstay.”
“Can I at least clean up the messy bit?” Aziraphale asked.
“Thought we weren’t miracling all that,” Crowley said. “Though honestly if I did it, Hell wouldn’t likely bother us about it.”
Aziraphale groaned, pushed himself up a little, looked down between them, and winced. “Is it always that messy?”
“You’re the one who’s been reading up,” Crowley said. “Felt good, yeah?”
“I have no idea how it felt,” Aziraphale said. “I was too preoccupied by losing complete control of bodily functions that I didn’t even know I had.”
“Perfectly natural bodily function for humans.” Crowley reached down between them, dragged a finger through the mess, and said, “Want a taste?”
Aziraphale stared at him, fascination and revulsion warring on his face.
Crowley grinned and stuck his finger in his own mouth, then immediately regretted it, sticking his whole tongue wide and flat out of his mouth. “Yeaaccch, why?”
Aziraphale suddenly looked intrigued. “You know, I hear that what humans eat can affect the, er, taste.”
“Anything would be better than that,” Crowley said. “Gyuuurch.” He banished the rest of the mess with a wave of his hand.
With the stickiness gone, Aziraphale rolled off and settled in on his side, gaze fixed on Crowley, who was keeping his eyes closed. “That wasn’t what I expected.”
“First crepe is always lousy,” Crowley said.*
*He’d learned to make them once he realized how fond Aziraphale was of them, but had never quite mastered them enough to make it worth doing it himself vs. swiping them from France with a snap. The little evil of baffled chefs discovering missing crepes was just a bonus.
“I’m afraid I don’t follow, my dear.”
“Can’t expect everything to be like the books the first time out. We can take our time the next time, if you want. Dial the sensation back a notch, so it’s not quite so overwhelming.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it, I said it wasn’t what I expected.”
Crowley rolled onto his side, propped his head on his hand, and said, “Oh? Do, pray, tell. I’m so curious.”
“It was just so… I mean, I thought I needed crepes in the 18th century, but I didn’t, did I? I just wanted them. And oh, I’ve been yours for longer than either of us knew, and you’ve been mine, and I read about making love and wondered what it would be like, but that was…” Aziraphale paused, then blew out a hard breath through his lips and shook his head. “It was consuming. Like the sex was having us, if that makes any sense. Also, one can read all about the mess involved and it doesn’t really do it, hm, justice, now does it?” He winced a little, remembering. Then he looked sharply at Crowley. “What about you? Did you like it?”
“That was, well, not anywhere on the list of things I thought it would be,” Crowley said. “Thought I’d be a little more, hm, cool about it. Suave.”
“What is it the young people say?” Aziraphale said thoughtfully. “Ah, yes. You lost your… chill!”
“They don’t say it like that,” Crowley grumbled.
“Oh, don’t feel too bad. I never had any ‘chill’ to begin with.” Aziraphale actually used air quotes.
“I cannot believe you’re using air quotes,” Crowley said.
“I learnt them from you!” Aziraphale huffed indignantly.
“I could see the potential,” Crowley said. “Might not be an all the time thing, but under more…”
“Chill?” Aziraphale supplied.
“No, and please, if you keep saying it that way, I’ll never,” Crowley glanced down and quirked his eyebrows suggestively, “again. What I was trying to say was that I’d like to try again but maybe with a little more deliberation. Less mindless rutting.”
“The burn is gone,” Aziraphale said. “So that does make it more promising.”
“Burn?” Crowley said quizzically.
“You know, like that one time…”
They had, in fact, kissed once, a sloppy unplanned thing deep into the evening after their failed executions. Kissed and then pulled back sharply when it burned… it had not been perfectly comfortable swapping corporations, they’d had a tingly wary moment as they started the switch, but it never became completely unbearable. The kiss, however, was much sharper.
“Your spit is holy?” Crowley said indignantly.
“Your saliva was beyond spicy, and downright painful.” Aziraphale said, regretful.
“Demon’s spit would be a great hot sauce name and you know it,” Crowley said.
“Yes, but I don’t think people actually want damnation in a bottle,” Aziraphale said, then reconsidering, “No, I take that back. In that darling little shop down the road they had both Devilspit AND Satan’s blood, and how can that be advisable?”
“S’jus peppers,” Crowley said. “Is it that bad?”
Aziraphale sighed. “It’s not on my top hundred experiences I’ve had with you. I don’t need to kiss you to know that there’s no one in the world more important to me. And it can’t have been comfortable for you, that’s downright dangerous! Anything that can make US feel that much pain? Is it something you need?”
“Nah,” Crowley said, sprawling on the couch. “Like being with you. Just, you know, here, and talking. Doesn’t ever have to be more. I’m not going anywhere, I mean, unless you want me to.”
“No, I find I’ve grown accustomed to your face,” Aziraphale said, and at Crowley’s raised eyebrow, he hurried to add, “Well, and the rest of you. It’s much better with you here, really.”
“It doesn’t hurt when you just brush against me,” Crowley said. “I… If you… I wouldn’t mind…”
“Yes?” Aziraphale said.
“I liked it when you held my hand on the bus. Felt good. Like it would all be, you know, all right.”
Aziraphale beamed at him. “We could hug!”
Crowley grumbled, but then melted into a hug that went on for a very long time without going anywhere at all.
“First time you hugged me, really,” Crowley said.
“I don’t know why it surprises me when you’re so tactile, but it does.”
The night lay thick in the room’s corners, the sky outside dark, moonless. Crowley looked out the window, and said, “I was so afraid for so long, I forgot how to be anything else, and then… I could. And now I am.”
“Does it bother you?” Aziraphale asked. “The differences?”
“Hey, I’m not the only one, you’re different, too. Does it hurt being separate from Heaven?”
“She was always the core for me, not them. I just thought… I thought they were the same. But knowing they weren’t, no, I don’t miss Heaven. They were never kind to me, and I’m not sure I can forgive that. Anything you miss about hell?”
“Not a damn thing,” Crowley said. “It was a job, and one I was sure I was failing the whole time.”
“Because you didn’t know your real job,” Aziraphale said. “You were so, so brave.”
Crowley made a grumbling small noise, and rolled forward to bury his face in the awkward spot between Aziraphale’s shoulder and his head.
“At the end, you know, it was you I put my faith in,” Aziraphale said, making room.
Crowley made a strange whimpery noise.
“You did so very well,” Aziraphale said.
Crowley was shaking. “Didn’t do it alone,” he mumbled into Aziraphale’s shoulder.
“But still, you were operating with incomplete information, with half your brain tied behind your back, and you made it work. You found the words. After all that, you fulfilled your destiny.”
“We, Angel. We did it.”
“You stopped time,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t think I had the oomph to even try.”
“You’d had that corporation for less than five minutes—you might not have found the energy but you found the words,” Crowley said, pulling back a little. “I had six thousand years of pent up whatever in my body.”
“Still, you did the right thing, and here we are,” Aziraphale said, pulling Crowley back in and pressing his cheek against the dark red curls.
Crowley tolerated it for a moment and then pulled back again. “Can we… the kissing, I liked that.”
“Mmm,” Aziraphale said. “Yes, you don’t even have to ask.”
They toyed with it, the lips pressed to lips, then tongue to tongue, and that went on through the slow brightening of the room into day before Aziraphale pulled back with a gasp and said, “I… I want… need…”
“Yeah,” Crowley said articulately. “Slower this time, hm?”
“I don’t,” Aziraphale said, “know how.”
“Shhh,” Crowley murmured. “Roll on your back. I want to try something. Dial it down if you have to. Breathe.”
“We don’t have to breathe,” Aziraphale said, rolling on his back.
“Yeah, but if you concentrate on it, it helps.”
Aziraphale rolled on his back and then forced his corporation to breathe slowly and consistently as Crowley moved down his body. After a few moments, Crowley looked up and said, “Does that feel good?
Aziraphale blinked. “You told me to concentrate on breathing.”
Crowley stared at him, and then said low, almost growling, “Concentrate on me.”
Aziraphale did, and then things got interesting. He watched as his cock disappeared into Crowley’s mouth. Then the feelings swarmed through him and he lost control with a shout. When he opened his eyes again, Crowley was making faces and wiping his tongue on the duvet cover.
“Oh, dear, I was going to try to make it taste better,” Aziraphale said, when he’d regained control of his faculties. “Do you want to let me try or would you prefer to, er, bugger me?”
Crowley blinked very slowly.
“Is there another word I should use?” Aziraphale asked. “There aren’t any particularly appealing words, and after what happened at Sodom, I’m not going to call it sodomy.”
“Fuck,” Crowley said.
“Well, that’s not very specific,” Aziraphale responded, propping himself up on his elbows.
Crowley looked confused.
“Oh, was that not an alternative word choice?” Aziraphale asked.
Crowley rolled on his back and threw his arm up over his face, stuffing his nose into the crook of his elbow.
Aziraphale rolled onto his side and propped himself up, resting his head on his hand. “Please, darling, you knew I would be terrible at this. But I thought that practising might be fun.”
“Wrft.” Crowley muttered into his elbow.
“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale said.
Crowley pulled his arm away a little and muttered, “Was it?”
“Well, I don’t know yet, but I’m game to give it a good try,” Aziraphale said. “If you want to. I want it to be good for you, too.”
“So you’d just, what, let me take you up the ass?” Crowley asked.
“Of course,” Aziraphale said. “I’m curious about that, too. It’s not like you can damage me. I suppose I could change my Effort if you’d prefer another orifice.”
“You’re fine,” Crowley said automatically. “You don’t have to change for me.”
Aziraphale beamed at him, and then reached past Crowley, grabbed something off the night table, and then rolled onto his stomach. He put whatever he’d grabbed onto Crowley’s stomach, and then said, very matter of fact, “There’s the lubricant jelly. You can do me now.”
“Angel, it’s lube. Literally no one in the throes of passion would ever bother saying, ‘lubricant jelly.’”
“I just read it off the label,” Aziraphale mumbled into the pillow. “Am I in the throes of passion? Is that what it was earlier? I’m not sure I like being in the throes of anything, but I’m very curious about what it would feel like to have part of you in part of me, so would you, please?”
Oddly enough, it was the “please” that did it. And it wasn’t actually that tricky, Crowley discovered, once he was aroused, to slick things up and, well…
Sliding into Aziraphale surprised him, but it seemed to surprise Aziraphale even more.
“There are a startling number of nerve endings,” Aziraphale said, panting, after he got the first gasp out of the way.
“Good?” Crowley asked, not sure he was capable of any more syllables than that. His hips, never really all that firmly under his control, were starting to move on their own in an entirely different way, and it appeared to be short-circuiting part of his nervous system every time he pushed in.
Then Aziraphale groaned and pushed his bum up into a thrust and said in the most un-angelic way, a low, growling, “More.”
Crowley obliged.
At the peak, there was a moment where things seemed to blur, where the world went hazy, where the light was brighter than it should have been at whatever-the-clock it was, and then Crowley was collapsing on Aziraphale’s feathery back, breathing hard, laughing for no reason he could remember, and dropping a rain of kisses on the available skin and feathers until the angel wiggled and shifted and wrapped him tight in arms and wings, and where had those come from?
“Sgdfrooo?” Crowley tried.
“It was very good for me,” Aziraphale said. “But I think we might have been, er, trying for the wrong goal.”
“Hrm?”
“At the end, it stopped being about trying to do a human thing,” Aziraphale said. “When you have your breath, I’d like to try something else.”
Crowley snorted halfheartedly against the angel’s skin. “’nsashbl, ’swut you are.”
“Insatiable? Not really, I’m just not finished exploring.”
But they drifted off to sleep, woke up wingless, and had a lovely breakfast before they were ready to even talk about trying again.
Crowley watched, nibbling on a little of this and that, as Aziraphale pulled apart the layers of a perfect croissant. The angel seemed completely absorbed in the experience, the pull, the butter, the crisp flakes, the tender layers.
Crowley waited until Aziraphale had a good sip of coffee (because if you’re going to go through the bother of snagging a croissant from Paris, you might as well grab a café au lait to go with it) to say, “So, what else were you wanting to try?”
He’d expected, nay, hoped for a spit take, but Aziraphale merely froze for a moment, swallowed, and then said, “Well, it’s just that there at the end, didn’t it seem to you that things got, well, blurry?”
“I’d have said it was brilliant, but yeah, there were wings involved. Those usually involve a little more conscious thought,” Crowley said thoughtfully. “You wanting to try something other than human canoodling?” He drew the last word out suggestively.
Aziraphale snorted. “I thought the intercourse was quite satisfactory, but it does seem to, er, raise some, hm, possibilities.”
“Intercourse?” Crowley said, raising his eyebrows.
“Canoodling?” Aziraphale responded.
They stared at each other for a moment, and then Aziraphale put down the last bit of croissant and waved a hand vaguely at the table. The purloined dishes vanished, to appear with fifteen euro on a café table in Paris.
“You’re not pulling it down?” Crowley asked.
“I figured out that I didn’t have to, a few weeks back. She is everywhere here, and it all, ultimately, comes from her, no matter who’s asking for it.”
“You didn’t finish your croissant,” Crowley said quietly.
Aziraphale gave him a rather predatory grin. “It occurred to me that I was much more interested in tasting you.”
Crowley had long wondered what it would feel like to be looked at the way Aziraphale looked at confectionery. It was actually more intimidating than he’d expected. He raised his eyebrows. “What, now?”
“Do you have anything more important to do?” Aziraphale asked.
Crowley opened his mouth, then closed it. “We can do anything you want, Angel,” he said finally, trying to sound insouciant and failing completely.
The interest in Aziraphale’s eyes did not diminish, but the predatory gleam disappeared. “Anything? Oh, excellent.” He tapped his fingers together and then reached out, grabbed Crowley by the wrist, and led him back to the bedroom.
Inside, he turned and said, “Crowley, will you let me lead? Follow my direction, as it were?”
Crowley blinked at him. “You want to top?”
“I would like to pursue a certain line of inquiry, and if I have your leave to give you direction, it would, er, simplify things.”
Crowley suppressed a grin, almost. “You want to top,” he said, amusement and curiosity leaking through.
Aziraphale considered this for a moment as he removed his own waistcoat and tie. “Yes, I suppose I do want to, as you put it, ‘top’. Please remove your clothes.”
Crowley rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers, and his black silk dressing gown vanished. “I don’t know why you bothered getting all the way dressed.”
“It just seems more respectful to the food, I suppose,” Aziraphale said as he carefully removed his shoes.
“The food wouldn’t care if you wore a dressing gown or ate naked,” Crowley muttered.
Aziraphale sniffed. “I care.”
“You don’t have a dressing gown, do you?” Crowley said. “Remind me some time to whip you up one. Something silky and cream coloured. They feel decadent.”
Aziraphale gave a vaguely interested shrug as he lost patience with his buttons and miracled the whole business onto the valet stand in the corner. Crowley wasn’t sure there’d even been a valet stand in the corner, but there was now, and the clothes hung neatly from it.
“Right, so, on the bed, please,” Aziraphale directed. When Crowley faceplanted into a pillow, the angel said, “No, other way around. I’d like to make this a scientific exploration, as it were.”
Crowley flipped over, and discovered that as ridiculously brisk as Aziraphale was being, his new wiring had taken a definite interest in the proceedings.
“As it were,” he said, amused, and stretched extravagantly against the smooth duvet.
“So I’m thinking,” Aziraphale said as he climbed onto the bed. “Is the loss of control dependent on the mutuality of the thing? Or the climax?”
“And your scientific method?” Crowley asked, his pitch rising a little as one of Aziraphale’s hands ran up and down his leg with almost the exact same measured precision as the angel had used putting napkins in his own lap.
“Oh, I’m going to fellate you and bring you to orgasm and see if your wings pop out,” Aziraphale said. “And if they don’t, I shall mount you in order to pursue, hm, further inquiries.”
“That should not be turning me on as much as it is,” Crowley muttered. Then, louder, “By all means. I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of science.”
“All means? I’m sure it won’t take all means.”
Crowley would have commented upon that if the angel’s directed attention (and tongue) had not suddenly been concentrated entirely on his cock. Instead, he was reduced to a gasping wheeze of incoherent noise as his higher functions fled to his lower regions.
He’d never been so thoroughly tasted before in his very long life. And the angel had been working on his oral dexterity and sensitivity for millennia. He floated on a growing tension in his thighs and an increasing inability to hold still until Aziraphale’s careful study yielded a technique and then he was shaking and thrusting and coming and shouting.
His wings did not appear.
The angel was, however, extremely smug.
“Need… a minute… please…” Crowley managed when he had regained motor control.
Aziraphale was clearly studying something in his mouth, and nodded, absentmindedly.
Crowley propped up on one elbow and said, “You can spit that out. I won’t mind.”
Aziraphale swallowed and said, “It’s not what I expected, but it’s not toxic.”
“Now I’m curious if I tasted better than you,” Crowley muttered.
“We could arrange for you to try,” Aziraphale said.
“Not that curious.” Crowley shuddered. Then he asked, “But what were you expecting?”
“Well, it could have been spicier,” Aziraphale said. “It was mostly bland and bitter with a peculiar texture.”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “Take it up with the maître d’.”
“I doubt that’s a conversation I’d be willing to ever have with Her,” Aziraphale replied. “Are you ready to proceed?”
Crowley mentally poked at his body, which suddenly decided that refractory periods were for other people, and nodded. “How do you want me?”
“Pliant and attentive,” Aziraphale said, looking around for the lubricant jelly. He found it exactly where he expected it to be, in the night table, despite the fact that the odds of Crowley having remembered to put it away were exactly zero.
“Pliant?” Crowley asked.
“Just… relax and let me move you where I want you,” Aziraphale said. “The relaxation is, I think, very important. When I was under you, I, hm, surrendered to it completely. Let myself feel everything. Try that.”
“Should I roll over?” Crowley asked.
“Let me move you if I need to. You’re good at languid and boneless. Try that.”
Crowley thought about it for a moment, and then let his body truly relax. He watched as Aziraphale opened his legs, letting his knees fall apart, and didn’t even twitch as warm, slick fingers (and he remembered how cold the lube had been on his cock the previous day, the angel must have warmed it on purpose) touched his hole a little hesitantly, but then more firmly, anointing him with slick lube and testing his relaxation. Aziraphale looked incredibly focused as he slicked his own cock, and then Crowley’s.
As the angel’s hand moved, he shifted and moved over Crowley, hesitated for a moment, then something lifted Crowley’s hips into a better position so the angel could push into his unresisting body.
Crowley realized he was arching and had his eyes closed. He forced his eyes open to find the angel meeting his eyes more intently than anyone had ever. No glasses, no hiding, just that intense gaze and his body spiralling rapidly out of control.
“’M not going to last if you keep that up,” Crowley gasped.
“This is a means to an end, Anthony,” Aziraphale said, calmly, though he was starting to glow a little. “Surrender to it. I’m about to.”
“How are you so calm?” was what Crowley wanted to ask, but all that came out was, “How?”
“Let go. Let whatever happens, happen. We’re not human.”
Crowley reached up, his hand cupping his angel’s cheek, and then closed his eyes and let go.
Aziraphale, who had dialled his sensation level down two notches, dialled it back up, and everything went brilliant.
There is probably a complex mathematics to describe what happened next, only most beings who have ever undertaken to study such things have either gotten distracted or simply didn’t have the capacity to do the relevant field work, so to speak.
The pulsing bliss of pleasure and the feeling of complete unity went on for an undefinable period of time which felt like aeons but was later determined to have been about three and a half minutes. Then, just as they realized how complicated it had gotten, they startled apart and back into their now-exhausted corporations.
“That was…” Crowley shook his head.
“Wasn’t it just?” Aziraphale asked. “One hears rumours, of course, but…”
“It shouldn’t actually require…” Crowley murmured.
“No, but I think we should leave a corporeal pilot light on, so to speak, if we try it again,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t think our bodies breathed at all while that was happening.”
“’Zat why I’m so tired?” Crowley asked.
“Can you think of another reason?”
“Should just be an act of will… hmm… like this.” Crowley’s hand flopped over blindly to find Aziraphale’s, and showed him what he meant.
“Oh, exactly,” Aziraphale said. “Not so much a pilot light as a pocket out of time. Shall we see if we can achieve that state without coitus? It felt so… It was quite marvellous, actually. Like coming home, only more.”
“Just remember to stash your body somewhere it won’t expire. I’m not quite ready to shuffle off this immortal coil, even though it did feel…” Crowley stumbled, unable to find a word sufficient to the feeling.
They both exerted enough miracle to tuck their bodies away, and then, as easily as rolling over, curled their holy beings into each other, into a welcoming, warming merging of self into us.
The result of this appeared on the Earthly plane as a glowing amorphous ball of light with too many wings, eyes, and scales, roiling and turning and radiating love and pleasure. After a time, they grew curious about their form, and in a laughing, incorporeal game of tug of war, managed to try to change it into something less blinding. Somehow they managed to find the mirror and point something eye-ish at it, and the result was so startling they sprang apart and landed in their respective corporations, which popped back into being a half a foot off the bed and landed with a soft thud.
“Were we a dragon?” Crowley asked.
“I suppose we were,” Aziraphale murmured, staring at the ceiling. “Crowley, that felt so… Why did anyone ever stop doing that?”
Crowley shook his head slowly. “I could live like that, with you.”
“I couldn’t live like that with anyone but you,” Aziraphale said. “It would be horrifying to be so known, but you already know me so well.”
“So many eyes,” Crowley said under his breath. “One forgets.”
“Again?” Aziraphale asked.
“Oh, yes, absolutely,” Crowley replied, and they rolled into each other.
When Aziraphale and Crowley didn’t show up in the main house for film night, the Them showed up at the cottage and knocked.
There was a blinding light, a whole lot of thumping, and then an oddly rumpled looking Crowley running his fingers through his hair and pushing his sunglasses up his nose opening the door.
“Yeah, so no one’s seen you in days,” Pepper said. “You even missed church.”
“We were busy,” Crowley said.
“What have you got to be busy with?” Brian asked. Adam elbowed him.
“Just… stuff.”
“Are you coming to film night? We’re doing a Steven Universe marathon,” Wensleydale said.
“Um, sure,” Crowley answered. “Just give us a minute. We’ll be right there.”
“Bring snacks,” Adam said.
They were hours into the first season when the first gem fusion appeared on the screen.
Adam noticed their response first, and paused the show.
“Why are you both staring like that?” he asked.
Crowley’s mouth shut with a snap and Aziraphale looked remarkably flustered.
Crowley finally snapped, “I cannot believe this is a children’s show.”
“Dear, they wouldn’t, if you… Oh dear.” Aziraphale lapsed into silence.
Wensleydale and Brian both looked confused. Pepper cocked her head thoughtfully at them. Adam sighed.
Locke said, “So, you’re saying that fusion is, like, a thing?”
“It’s not… I mean, it’s personal,” Crowley said.
“A thing angelic-types can do?” Locke pressed.
“I’m not sure very many of them have ever tried,” Aziraphale said dryly. “But, well, though it’s not gems, I suspect that to the human eye it would be very similar.”
“They’re going to want to see it,” Crowley muttered.
“There’s nothing obscene about it,” Aziraphale said. “Quite the contrary. It’s one of the most holy things there is.”
“That might be a problem. We should probably send them to the bathroom first. They’re not likely to go mad from being in holy presence at this point, but knowing humans, it might be a wee bit startling.” Crowley looked around and said, “Piss break. Save your dignity. Trust me. Go on.”
Looking at them oddly, the children went to find the loo.
“It’s not sexual, no matter how we figured it out,” Aziraphale said, after the children had gone down the long hall.
“I know, but… Which form?”
“Dragon, probably, though we could definitely manage a ten foot tall man with three hundred eyes and a snake tail, if you wanted to make it as gem-like as possible.”
“Dragon,” Crowley said. “No point complicating things. Small-ish dragon, perhaps. This room isn’t that big.”
“Oh, I think I know just how,” Aziraphale said. “Let me lead?”
“Always,” Crowley said.
As the children came back, Aziraphale stood, reached down a hand for Crowley, and pulled him up into a completely unnecessary and showy twirl. The angel looked over his shoulder and asked, “Ready?”
“Yes,” they chorused.
There was a flash of light, and when it faded, a cloud of potentiality with too many wings and scales and eyes was coalescing into a dragon of just the right size to curl up on the couch. It was snakey and long and winged and eyes lined the top edges of the wings, all of the wings, too many wings to count, but it settled into a cosy coil, pointed some of the eyes at the television and some at the gape-mouthed children, and said, in an oddly resonant but familiar voice, “Well? Someone start the show, and someone pass the popcorn. We’re peckish.”
“You’re… just going to stay like that?” Brian asked as Wensleydale scrambled to the popcorn bowl.
“It’s comfortable,” the dragon answered.
“Could you turn down the glow a little? It might be hard to see the television like that. For us, I mean,” Pepper asked, gingerly sitting down at the other end of the couch.
The glow dimmed. She wiped her eyes dry, though they hadn’t been watering from the light, but from something else that she had no idea how to name.
“Is that the only form you can take together?” Adam asked.
“No,” the dragon replied, but did not elaborate.
“I think it’s the only one they’re willing to share,” Locke said. “Which is fair enough. We’re privileged that they let us see this one.”
They looked over at Locke with an approval he could feel, and he picked up the remote control and they all resumed watching.
The dragon did not uncurl into two beings until the children had fallen asleep. Crowley snapped to turn off the television, Aziraphale tucked a blanket around each child (long and gangling and teenage as they were, they would always be children to him) and they tiptoed out into the night.
“We could fly like that,” Crowley murmured. “No one’s looking.”
And they did.