Happy Holidays, Emma Grant!

[goe_mod]

Title: Forget the Opera

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Aziraphale has been looking forward to the opera for weeks but when Crowley shows up at the shop with someone Aziraphale has never seen before, the angel realises there is something he wants far more than to see the opera. And Crowley is more than happy to give it to him.

Aziraphale let out a sigh and checked his pocket watch once more. It was twenty minutes after he expected Crowley, and the demon had yet to show. Most of the time they spent together these days was in a more casual fashion. Without fear of Heaven or Hell hanging over their heads, they could finally behave like the friends they were.

Best friends, as Crowley had said.

It had been the best year of his very long life. Being able to openly spend time with Crowley without coming up with excuses and alibis made Aziraphale’s heart warm in ways he still wasn’t prepared to examine. But he did know that every time he saw Crowley, that warmth in his chest grew exponentially brighter.

Tonight, however, was not one of their informal get-togethers. Tonight they had opera tickets, a show they’d both been looking forward to, even if the demon didn’t admit it in so many words. Aziraphale thought he knew him well enough after six millennia that he didn’t need words to know what Crowley was thinking.

But Crowley was running late and Aziraphale was torn between being annoyed and worried. It wasn’t like Crowley to disappear without warning, at least not in the year since Armageddon didn’t happen. What if Hell had finally come for him? Or Heaven? Or he was stuck somewhere and couldn’t use a demonic miracle to get himself out of it? Many situations ran through Aziraphale’s head, each more horrific than the last.

Soon enough, though, the Bentley came tearing up the street - far faster than would be considered safe in this crowded corner of London - and squealed to a halt outside the shop. Aziraphale smiled and straightened his coat, mentally building himself up to give Crowley a good scolding the moment he walked through the door.

But he continued to wait and Crowley still didn’t appear. The walk from the car to the shop should only have taken seconds but minute after minute ticked by. Finally, with an annoyed huff, Aziraphale went to the door to find out what was taking Crowley so long. Before he could throw it open and start his snit, he caught sight of the demon standing outside his car, talking to someone. They looked...friendly.

The man speaking with Crowley stood next to the car, smiling at the demon like he was the most beautiful thing in the world. Aziraphale could understand that. He, too, looked at Crowley in that manner, which made the fact that this other person was doing it all the more offensive. Gritting his teeth, Aziraphale looked from the man to Crowley and grew even more upset.

Crowley was smiling at him. A true smile, not that little smirk he used when he thought he was being clever, not that slightly besotted smile that he sent Aziraphale’s way whenever the angel was being clever. No, this was a bright, bonafide smile and it was directed at a human.

Aziraphale had never seen Crowley interact with any human like that, in over six thousand years. Why did it have to be here? Why did it have to be today?

They were going to be late for the opera. That was the only reason Aziraphale was upset, of course. He didn’t get jealous. An angel of the Lord had nothing to be jealous about.

But that curling bitterness in his stomach, twisting around his heart and lungs, made the basic human functions of his body stutter and stall. His corporation didn’t like it, but Aziraphale didn’t care what it wanted. He couldn’t look away from Crowley and that man. That man who was so unworthy of his demon.

Not his demon. The demon. Crowley was never his, not in any way that Aziraphale would have liked. They were friends. They were best friends. That was all they would ever be because Crowley would never look at him like that, no matter what those besotted little smiles might have suggested.

Aziraphale still felt some ownership, though. They were one another’s only friend, the only one who could truly understand, the only one who had been there all along. What could that human offer him that Aziraphale could not? He would never get Crowley the way Aziraphale did.

Maybe that was the appeal? The man outside seemed familiar in a way that made the hair on the back of Aziraphale’s neck stand on end. The blond hair, the tailored clothes that looked loved but dated. Not as tall as Crowley, thicker around the middle as well. He smiled at Crowley like he was the greatest thing since sliced bread.

He reminded Aziraphale of himself. And didn’t that set off a cascade of questions through Aziraphale’s quick mind?

Where had the man come from? Did Crowley just happen to meet him outside the shop? Had he arrived at the shop with Crowley? Had he ridden in the Bentley?

None of those questions made Aziraphale very happy and he was out the door before his mind caught up with where his legs were taking him. “Pardon me,” he said to the two men, voice polite but the cold undercut of steel told Crowley, at least, that Aziraphale was pissed. “I really must steal Crowley away. We have tickets to the opera and we are going to be late.” He didn’t wait for the new man to argue, just grabbed Crowley by the arm and dragged the demon into the shop.

Crowley could have escaped if he wanted to, so Aziraphale didn’t worry about manhandling him a bit. The demon had him on edge and he deserved to know it, though Aziraphale couldn’t quite explain his behaviour to himself, let alone to Crowley.

The shop door opened obligingly and they stepped inside, the door slamming shut the moment they were both through. “Angel, what is this all about?” Crowley asked, shaking off Aziraphale’s hand and pulling off his glasses now that they were alone.

Aziraphale could have said something about being late for the opera, or that Crowley was dawdling too long, or any other number of things that would allow him to save face in front of his closest and dearest friend. But, when he opened his mouth to say something, nothing came out. He closed his mouth, licking his lips, ready to try again when he saw Crowley’s eyes track the way his tongue darted out.

Before he could think better of it, Aziraphale closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Crowley’s in a tentative kiss. He did hope he hadn’t read the situation wrong, otherwise, this would be dreadfully awkward.

But Crowley returned the kiss with passion, gripping the lapels of Aziraphale’s jacket and hauling him closer. “We’re going to miss the opera,” he mumbled against Aziraphale’s lips, not interested in moving an inch away.

“Forget the opera. I don’t care anymore.” Even twenty minutes ago, Aziraphale would have been shocked to hear those words come from his own mouth. Now, though, knowing that Crowley was feeling this too, he couldn’t bring himself to care. There were things he’d wanted for thousands of years, things he’d denied himself because Heaven would punish him and Hell would kill Crowley. Aziraphale couldn’t risk it before.

Now, though? Now they were free and if Crowley was on board, nothing Heaven, Hell, or anywhere in between could throw at them would stop Aziraphale from pursuing him.

“Not complaining, angel,” Crowley said, pushing Aziraphale back until his back hit a bookshelf. The sensation of Crowley’s lean form pressing into his softer one pulled a groan from deep in Aziraphale’s chest. He wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist to keep him there. “But I’m pretty sure the opera was the only thing you’ve been thinking about for weeks.”

“Perhaps, but I’ve been thinking about something else for much longer.”

Growling, Crowley kissed him again, a messy thing with too much tongue, too much teeth; all passion and no finesse. Aziraphale loved it, loved that he could bring his normally suave demon to this state.

There was so much Aziraphale wanted from his beloved Crowley, but more than anything Aziraphale wanted to remind Crowley just who it was he belonged with. The next time their lips met, Aziraphale miracled them from the bookshop to the small flat he kept on the second floor. He could count on one hand the number of times he had used it, but right now, Aziraphale was thankful he didn’t need to put in the effort to miracle it into existence. Not when he was making an effort in a very different way.

“Angel,” Crowley breathed out as the backs of his legs hit the mattress and he toppled onto his back. He stared up at Aziraphale as if he hung the moon and stars and Aziraphale recognised the expression from so many times throughout their history. But now he knew what it was and kicked himself for not seeing it earlier. He’d always hoped Crowley felt the same for him but now he realised Crowley always had. Aziraphale had seen that expression in Eden and so many places and times since.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, his tone just as reverent as Crowley’s. He had not treated his beloved the way the demon deserved to be treated, but that all ended tonight, Aziraphale promised. Crowley would know in every possible way just how much he meant to Aziraphale. He might be Aziraphale, Principality and Guardian of the Eastern Gate, but what he wanted to be was Crowley’s lover.

He supposed it was possible to be both at the same time.

With a snap of his fingers, their clothes were gone and while Aziraphale hoped he’d hung them up in the closet as he intended, his mind was on more important things than sartorial matters. Namely, the long, beautiful form of Crowley spread out in front of him, completely stripped of all his layers. Aziraphale once commented that Crowley’s clothes did very little to cover him, that he left nothing to the imagination.

How wrong he had been.

He’d imagined the graceful lines of Crowley’s body, the way his legs would seem to go one forever, the way his back would arch and his hips undulate. But Aziraphale’s imagination left him woefully unprepared for the reality of Crowley’s corporation. Aziraphale wanted to touch, to stroke, to lick every part of him. Then savour him like the most delicious meal he would ever have.

And then he wanted to do it all over again.

Unembarrassed by his own form, Aziraphale climbed onto the bed and moved to straddle Crowley’s hips.

Running his hands over Crowley’s chest, Aziraphale pinched his nipples, just to watch and feel him squirm underneath him. “Sensitive, my dear boy?” Aziraphale didn’t even try to hold back the smile as Crowley shimmied and cried out. He pinched Crowley’s nipples once more for good measure before leaning forward to kiss Crowley again.

When Crowley started to relax, Aziraphale slid back to settle between his legs, causing the demon to whine in need when Aziraphale stopped touching him. But Crowley had tried his patience earlier so Aziraphale intended to try Crowley’s patience now.

He rested one hand on Crowley’s hip, rubbing small circles into the skin with his thumb. “I’m going to have you, my dear. And only when you remember nothing but my name will you get your release. Do you understand me?”

Crowley didn’t answer and Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “I asked you a question, Crowley.”

“I understand. Please, touch me, angel. Please.”

The pleading almost got to Aziraphale. He’d gotten a lot worse at denying Crowley anything since they defied their sides to save one another. Something deep inside never wanted to hear that broken, desperate tone in Crowley’s voice again. But this time, Aziraphale knew they would both enjoy the result.

“You’re going to be fine, my dear. I’m going to take care of you,” Aziraphale promised once more. He slicked his fingers with a quick miracle and slipped two inside Crowley’s willing body.

With a snap of either of their fingers, Crowley’s body could be ready for him and they both knew it. But Crowley’s hands stayed fisted at his sides and Aziraphale remained determined to draw this out for as long as possible.

He stared, mesmerised, as his fingers disappeared inside Crowley and slid them back out. It amazed him how beautiful a sight it was. Even more beautiful was the bow of Crowley’s back, the warmth of his moans, the absolute trust he was placing in Aziraphale by being the one Crowley allowed to do this to him.

Watching Crowley shake his head from side to side, snake-eyes closed tight and dark lashes splayed along pale cheeks, Aziraphale didn’t want to wait any longer. He was almost as desperate as Crowley was. He removed his fingers, watching Crowley’s body clench around something that was no longer there and the bereft whine that left the demon made Aziraphale smile in spite of himself. “Just one more moment, my dear. Let me get myself ready for you.”

Crowley calmed a little and nodded, eyes cracking open to look at Aziraphale with such love and devotion that Aziraphale could hardly stand it. No one looked at him like that. No one loved him like that. No one but Crowley.

Aziraphale had been a fool to ever think otherwise.

Once lubed, Aziraphale lined himself up and braced himself with his hands on either side of Crowley’s head. “Are you ready, love? Are you sure this is what you want?” Because while Aziraphale had no doubt in his mind that he wanted this connection, this experience with Crowley, he didn’t want to make the other feel like there was any pressure. Plus, it was a little amusing to see the look of disbelief on Crowley’s face, as though Aziraphale was out of his mind to even consider Crowley might not want this.

“For the love of Go... Sat... SOMEONE, angel! Just fuck me already.”

Aziraphale smirked at the inappropriate language and pressed in, both of them groaning as Aziraphale filled Crowley completely. Like coming home, Aziraphale relished how perfectly he fit inside Crowley. They were two pieces in a puzzle, two halves of a whole. He understood now the feeling he’d been fighting against and why it had been so hard to ignore. She had made them for one another and only now was Aziraphale seeing how true that was.

Crowley’s warm golden eyes swam with unspoken emotion and a pang of guilt hit Aziraphale hard for all the times Crowley had hidden his eyes away. He never wanted Crowley to have to hide again. Not from him anyway.

Three words sat on the tip of his tongue and while he wanted to say them, to set them free into the air and let them settle on Crowley’s skin, in his heart and soul, Aziraphale knew this wasn’t the time. Instead, he dipped his head and kissed Crowley again, finally starting to move. With small rolls of his hips, Aziraphale worked himself in further, taking Crowley slow and deep. He wanted to savour this, wanted it to last as long as possible. They might be immortal but they only had one time, at least like this.

The only thing that kept his control from slipping was the knowledge that Crowley was still mostly coherent and Aziraphale wouldn’t give him what he wanted so easily.

“Ang...angel,” Crowley moaned, wrapping his legs around Aziraphale’s hips, driving him in even deeper. The thrust had them both gasping and Aziraphale looked into Crowley’s eyes, making sure he was okay before moving again.

All he saw was lust and something he hesitated to call love though he didn’t know what else it could be. Love was too fragile of a word to describe the way Crowley looked at him. But aside from that, he also saw permission, a desire for Aziraphale to let loose. Sliding his hands down Crowley’s arms until he reached his wrists, Aziraphale pulled them so they were over Crowley’s head and pinned them to the bed.

“You belong with me. Do you understand that?” he asked, voice firm. Crowley nodded and was rewarded with a sharp thrust deep into his body. “You are mine as I am yours.” Another nod and another thrust. “No one else can have you like this, Crowley. Just me.” He repeated the motion and Crowley cried out wordlessly, hands straining against Aziraphale’s grip on them.

He stopped talking then, knowing Crowley was beyond answering him anyway and just let go, driving himself into Crowley over and over again. Aziraphale watched as Crowley tossed his head from side to side, moaning and lifting his hips, silently asking for more, which Aziraphale was happy to give. The only sounds that passed Crowley’s lips were moans of pleasure and bitten off versions of Aziraphale’s name. It felt akin to worship and Aziraphale soaked it up.

He wouldn’t last long like this, not with Crowley so hot and tight around him. Reaching between them, Aziraphale wrapped a hand around Crowley’s effort and began to move it in time with his hips. Crowley whimpered and writhed, each motion pushing Aziraphale closer to the edge. And when Crowley arched, emptying himself onto Aziraphale’s hand and his own belly, the angel thought he’d never looked more beautiful. He was as close to holy as Aziraphale had ever seen, a glow about him that had nothing to do with grace but everything to do with love.

That was the thought that let the waves of pleasure crest over Aziraphale. He gasped and pushed himself deep inside, filling Crowley with his release.

Slowly extracting himself, Aziraphale miracled away their mess and pulled Crowley into his arms, holding him close as they both lay in silence, contemplating what they’d just done. They’d agreed that there was only their side now but it was one thing to say it and another thing to blur the millennia-old lines between angel and demon so completely. And, if he was being honest, Aziraphale was a little embarrassed at his lack of control. He’d had six thousand years to control himself around Crowley and it snapped in an instant, the moment he saw someone who only had the vaguest resemblance to himself speaking to his demon.

And Aziraphale no longer doubted that Crowley was his demon.

Crowley was now laughing, which didn’t seem the appropriate response to any of this. “What, my dear, could possibly be so funny?” Aziraphale asked, adopting his most prim and proper mannerisms once more.

“You, angel. If I had known it would be this easy to get you in bed, I would have done that ages ago.”

Frowning, Aziraphale pulled back to look at Crowley. “Done what exactly?”

“Hired a guy to stand outside your shop and talk to me. I thought you might get a little perturbed at the delay to the opera because that is always entertaining. I didn’t expect...this.” He grinned broadly, though it softened a moment later into something small and intimate. “Not that I’m complaining. I’ve been wanting that since about, oh, Rome.”

“You could have said something!”

“Hereditary enemies, remember?” Aziraphale flushed at the remembrance of his vehement denials of their friendship. “And then the apocalypse didn’t happen and I didn’t know how to broach the subject.”

Aziraphale huffed. “It’s well and truly broached now.”

“You don’t regret it, do you?”

Crowley sounded so concerned that Aziraphale didn’t think there was any proper response besides kissing him then shaking his head. “No, darling, I don’t.” He bit his lip to stop from laughing but it slipped out anyway. “You really hired someone to stand outside and talk to you to make me annoyed that we’d be late to the opera?”

“Well, it sounded like a good idea in my head.”

Considering where they were now, Aziraphale was inclined to agree. And as he pulled Crowley close, he said so, in his own personal way. “You wily old serpent. I do love you.”

“And I you, angel. And I you.”

Comments

[hsavinien]

Crowley, you sneaky ass.

[kujaku_myoo]

That was perfectly enjoyable in every way. Thanks!

[qtheallpowerful]

I’m grinning like a fool. This is sweet. Crowley just being himself, and Aziraphale finally getting himself together. Lovely.

[emmagrant01]

Eeeeee!! I got the notification of this fic this morning, then was completely swamped all day. Now it’s 10:30 pm and everyone else is asleep, which means I finally have time to myself to read this!

And totally worth the wait! Thank you, dear author, for jealous!Aziraphale and plotting!Crowley finally getting it together! I love Aziraphale taking (and even slightly losing) control, and Crowley just hanging on for the ride. I adore that they were both idiots who spent a year pining before one of them finally snapped!

I was also wondering if that poor guy was hanging out by the Bentley waiting for Crowley to come back, heh. I love that he was in on the plot to make Aziraphale jealous!

Thank you so much for this fantastic, hot, smutty gift!

[(Anonymous)]

I love imagining Crowley’s point of view through this whole thing, as his plan is successful beyond his wildest dreams! Finally getting caught in one of his own schemes turns out for his benefit. Thank you so much for sharing!

~threequarters