Happy Holidays, waterofthemoon!

[goe_mod]

Title: my hands are open (comfort me)
For: waterofthemoon
Rating: Explicit
Summary: Crowley, being of a reptilian nature, gets rather testy when he’s in the cold too long. Luckily, Aziraphale knows just how to warm him up.

A mid-winter storm raged heavily just outside the bookshop, a dreary mix of snow and rain that fell down to the streets of Soho. The snow piled in drifts as the rain pattered against the window. Aziraphale watched as the pedestrians slipped and slid their way across the sidewalks, hurrying to the warmth that awaited them at home (be it a loved one’s embrace or a crackling fire). He sipped his peppermint cocoa, stirring it gently with a candy stick, and shivered in his cardigan. A few minor blessings probably wouldn’t hurt, just to make sure they get home safe, is all.

After all, he was retired now. He could do as he liked.

In his focus on the pedestrians, he failed to notice a lanky shape slinking towards his door, nor did he notice the miasma of annoyance that followed it.

Not until the door swung open, bell jingling like a warning, and Crowley skulked in.

“Can’t stand winter in London, whose idea was this anyway?”

Aziraphale sighed and sat down his cocoa; it would be abandoned soon enough. Always was when Crowley was in a snit. “Dear, we’ve been in London for centuries now, you know how the weather is in mid-December.”

“Bah!” Crowley snarled, coming into view. He was clad in his usual flash attire, satin and silk, far too thin for the weather at hand. His peacoat was dripping onto the floor, as was his hair, and the scowl on his face only served to make him look like a particularly unfortunate cat caught in a rainstorm.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but giggle.

“Go on, laugh it up! Just like the bloody lorry that did this to me!” Crowley shouted, arms flailing, sending water droplets soaring through the air. “Roaring through the streets like it’s a sunny summer afternoon! I’ve seen smaller waves in the Pacific!” Aziraphale rolled his eyes, sparing a miracle for waterproof books as he pushed past Crowley and deeper into the bookshop.

Crowley followed, of course, shouting about horrible drivers and how they ought not to be on the roads in this weather. When that topic wore thin, he moved on to how clothing companies really ought to have this weatherproofing thing down by now ¹. Aziraphale merely hummed in agreement as he busied himself gathering blankets from the various corners of the backroom, arranging them neatly on the Chesterfield for maximum comfort.

“And it’s all a bloody racket anyway! I mean, can you believe, after everything, they still want to send me on bit assignments? I just wanted to retire!” Crowley was prodding at the logs in the fire, shaking the ash from them. A snap of his fingers had it roaring to life. He peeled his gloves off, hovering his hands in front of it while Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “S’not hellfire, just the normal kind.”

“I am well aware, darling; you just get so irritable when you’re cold.”

“S’the cold blooded nature,” Crowley said with a shrug, “Not my fault.”

Aziraphale just sighed, sliding up behind him and into his personal space. This was a thing they did now, for several months at that. Insinuating themselves into each other’s space. Kissing, holding hands. Affection. Funny thing, that.

The funnier thing, to Aziraphale anyway, was that it felt like they had already been doing it all along. It was such an easy thing to fall into. Like breathing, or a heart beating. Natural and easy.

Well, when Crowley wasn’t being a right bloody twit.

“Here, let me get that,” he said softly near Crowley’s ear, taking hold of the collar of Crowley’s wet jacket and sliding it off his shoulders. The effect was near instant, the proximity of Aziraphale’s voice and the gesture stilling Crowley’s movements, if only for a moment. Crowley shivered, still soaked through to the bone. Aziraphale placed a gentle kiss to the shell of his ear. “Let’s get you into something dry.”

He crossed round to Crowley’s front, met with a small nod. Gingerly and slowly he loosened Crowley’s black tie, sliding it off the silk shirt, folding it and placing it on a chair near the fireplace. Next, he set to work on the buttons of Crowley’s shirt. Slipping each one out of its buttonhole slowly and softly. Crowley would never admit it, but Aziraphale knew he found a certain comfort in the meticulousness. Brash and reactive as the demon could be, Aziraphale could tell that his methods were grounding him to the moment, calming him down.

Once Crowley was rid of his wet shirt, his belt and trousers followed ². He stood in his boxers, shivering against the chill of his damp skin. He was quiet, which was a good sign. Meant he got it all out of his system.

“Now then, let’s warm you back up,” Aziraphale crossed back to the Chesterfield, miracling a sweater down from his closet as he did. It was an old thing, with a bright red Fair Isle print, but one of the softest he owned.

“Absolutely not.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“You’re not trussing me up like a bloody Christmas elf, that’s what’s wrong with it.”

“Crowley.”

“Demon of Hell of the Highest Order, traipsing about in a fucking Christmas sweater–”

“It is the warmest one that I have, or would you like to stay cold?”

Crowley’s silence and slight flush to his cheeks was all the answer Aziraphale needed. The demon reluctantly lifted his arms, letting Aziraphale slip the sweater over his head. It was comically large on him, so much so that the neck kept slipping down his shoulder. The sleeves were too long, almost reached his fingertips.

Aziraphale had to stifle a bit of laughter. The vision in front of him was equal parts adorable and incredibly alluring.

“S’embarrassing.”

“Whyever should it be?” Aziraphale asked, taking Crowley’s hands and pulling him towards the sofa. “Who’s here to see except me?”

“I am, and it’s embarrassing.”

“Shhh,” Aziraphale cooed, sinking into the blanket nest and pulling Crowley along with him. “You’re so particular.”

“I’m a demon, I’m supposed to be.”

Aziraphale kissed the top of his forehead, not deigning to point out that Crowley could’ve miracled the sweater into anything he wanted, any style he wanted, but instead he had pulled the collar of it up around his face and inhaled deeply.

Sentimental old sod of a demon, if anything.

Crowley sank into him as easy as anything, curling up against his chest, shoving his bare legs in between Aziraphale’s clothed ones. His long fingers found their way under Aziraphale’s waistcoat, frigid even through the barrier of his shirt where they rested on his stomach. Aziraphale wrapped the blankets around them both, sparing a nod to the gramophone in the corner. Lilting pianos harkening to the jazz age began to filter softly through the shop.

It wasn’t long before Crowley started to snore gently in his arms, and Aziraphale couldn’t help the small smile that spread on his face. It was still new, being trusted like this. It made him feel brave; like he was charged with being Crowley’s protector.

Not that Crowley needed protecting, certainly not. But Aziraphale was a principality (now retired), and the charge of a principality was to protect and to guard. He hadn’t done much of that since Eden, not until he bought his bookshop. But there was something about the level of trust they had found, nurtured over a friendship of six thousand years, that made him feel awfully small in the grand scheme of things. In the way that a tiny seed can blossom into a beautiful flower.

Small and with purpose. Which suited him just fine.

After a time, Crowley shifted in his arms. Aziraphale let his hands fall to Crowley’s thigh, still chilled from the cold. He began to rub gently, trying to impart some heat back into Crowley’s cold skin. Crowley snuggled in closer, not quite asleep but not fully awake, nuzzling at the juncture of Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder. Like he wanted to burrow into Aziraphale’s essence and stay there, surrounded by love and warmth.

“Shhh, darling, it’s alright.”

“Hmmm,” Crowley hummed against his pulse point, nipping at Aziraphale’s skin along the line of his shirt collar. “Can think of how it could be more alright.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Aziraphale admonished. But there was no bite to it, not really. Just an infinite fondness and a stirring in his own trousers.

“You love it,” Crowley whispered against the shell of his ear. “There are faster ways to warm me up, you know.”

Aziraphale hooked a finger around Crowley’s chin, bringing them face to face. Crowley blinked at him slowly, besottedly. It was strange, now, to see the affection Aziraphale had always known was right there, just underneath, leveled at him with full force. But he reveled in it, thrived on it. Aziraphale pressed their lips together as Crowley wound his arms around his neck.

Calloused book-binder’s hands found their way under the sweater, enveloping the small frame of Crowley’s back, pulling him into his lap. Aziraphale ran his tongue along Crowley’s lips, licking into his mouth when the invitation was answered. He was met with an inhuman tongue and sharp teeth, a forever souvenir of Crowley’s time as the Serpent of Eden. But this, too, Aziraphale loved about him. Every inch of Crowley was his, just as every bit of Aziraphale belonged to Crowley now.

He let his hands slide up Crowley’s cold back, landing on his shoulders under the oversized sweater. Crowley’s hips rolled against Aziraphale’s. He was already fully hard, boxers disappeared to God knows where, already chasing friction where he could find it. Aziraphale’s hands slid back down his body, gripping him by the hips and pushing him back just a bit.

Crowley got the message loud and clear, fingers fumbling for the button on Aziraphale’s trousers, doing his best without being able to see under the blankets. He managed, pulling Aziraphale’s half hard cock out of his pants, stroking it a few times before reaching down to squeeze gently at Aziraphale’s balls.

Aziraphale gasped at the sensation, already so familiar but still so new, of Crowley’s hands on him in this intimate place. He gripped Crowley by the back of his neck, pulling him in and kissing him again. Crowley whimpered against his mouth, straddling his lap and rolling his hips. The sensation of Crowley’s cock against his made Aziraphale moan and throw his head back. Crowley took full advantage of this, licking and sucking at Aziraphale’s throat. Aziraphale’s hips bucked, sliding their erections against each other, no real purpose in it other than the closeness of the action.

With a thought, Aziraphale’s hand was slicked. He wrapped his hand around both of their cocks, cold slick against warm heat, and stroked them both from root to tip. Aziraphale’s other hand gripped Crowley’s hair, holding Crowley’s writhing body against him. He hoped Crowley left marks, hoped some customers would see them tomorrow and start rumors.

If he even opened the shop tomorrow. Might need to have a day in, keep Crowley in his arms and in his bed for a little while longer.

He was starting to sweat, between the fire and the blankets and Crowley, pliant and willing in his arms, but he found he didn’t care. The blankets stayed wrapped tight around them as Crowley rolled his hips, meeting the motion of Aziraphale’s hand stroke for stroke.

Crowley whined against his throat, motions no longer resembling kisses but an open-mouthed slide as he whimpered and moaned. Aziraphale let go of their cocks, hands landing instead on Crowley’s hips under the sweater.

“Yes, please,” Crowley whispered, lining himself up so that the tip of Aziraphale’s cock pressed against his rim.

“Always, darling,” Aziraphale sighed, kissing him as Crowley sank down onto him. He felt Crowley shiver again, not from the cold this time. “Alright, my love?”

“S’good, s’full.” Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck again. “You’re warm.”

“I’m glad.” Aziraphale kissed his forehead, held him tight as he set a slow and languid pace. They had all the time in the world now, to move in each other as slow or as fast as they wanted. And right now, on this dark and dreary Soho night, Aziraphale wanted slow and steady.

Crowley nuzzled against Aziraphale’s skin, gasping and whimpering with every thrust of their hips. Aziraphale cooed softly at him, kissing his temples, his cheeks, wherever he could reach. He lazily ran a finger up and down Crowley’s spine, admiring the curve of it, the whipcord strength held there as he moved and swayed.

Suddenly, Crowley’s breath faltered, tiny hiccoughing gasps as he ground his hips down harder. Aziraphale held him tight, thrusting up into him harder as he came untouched. Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s cock twitching, spurts of come splattering his shirt under the blankets. Aziraphale followed after a few short thrusts, spilling into Crowley’s body, crying out his name.

Ever the clingy demon, Crowley collapsed against his chest, grinding his hips down again, wanting to keep Aziraphale inside of him as long as he could. Aziraphale happily obliged, whispering sweet nothings in the comedown.

“You’re so good.”

“Shut it,” came the garbled reply.

“You take me so well, you know.”

“Do not.”

“Once again, incorrigible. Can I not bask for one moment in the glow of how well our bodies fit together? How fun copulation with you is?”

Crowley raised his head unsteadily. “Copulation? For heaven’s sake, Aziraphale, just say fuck.”

“Ok, ok,” Aziraphale said, hooking a finger under Crowley’s chin, “It is ever so fun, my dear, to fuck you exactly how you like to be fucked.”

Crowley’s cheeks turned a bright tinge of pink. “On second thought, don’t say fuck, otherwise I’ll never stop taking your cock.”

Aziraphale chuckled, Crowley’s head now squarely back on his shoulder. But there was a certain discomfort to be dealt with. He snapped his fingers, banishing their remaining clothes as well as their spend away. He breathed in deep, sighing as he let his wings unfurl into the bookshop.

The blankets fell from their shoulders, replaced by soft white feathers wrapping around both of their bodies.

Outside the freezing rain turned to gently falling snow. And in a bookshop in Soho, an angel and a demon slept wrapped in each other’s arms, shrouded in love.

—

¹ - Crowley was a master of conveniently forgetting things, and in this case conveniently forgot fast fashion had been one of his grand schemes.

² - No need to bother with shoes, Crowley never wore those anyway.