Happy Holidays, kingstoken! Gift 3

[goe_mod]

Title: Husband of the Night
Summary: The small village where Aziraphale lives enjoys peace only when the god of the Night is satisfied with a Husband. Aziraphale is selected to be the next Husband as a replacement for the candidate who died suddenly. While performing his husbandly duties, he learns things about the Night that no one else knows and finds love in the creature he'd been taught to fear.
Rating: M (fluffy sex, mild descriptions of character injury)

It was early, the sun had yet to rise enough to bathe the quiet village in adequate light to see. A few people stirred, silent movements barely visible amongst the houses. A few pairs of feet shuffled down the main street, kicking up dirt and gravel as they went. A yawn broke out, a cough into the cold air. One figure held a bundle of cloth. Within it; an accumulation of his life.

Aziraphale knew this was coming. Somehow, the reality of the situation still weighed heavily on him.

The group stopped in the main square where a large fountain trickled idly in the low light. Lamps were placed strategically around it, illuminating the faces of the men and women standing nearby. Aziraphale got a better look at their expressions. Tired, bored, indifferent. Mostly tired, though. He knew he had to be the odd one out. Panic clung to his heart. He’d never been terribly good at hiding his emotions.

“As you may have gathered, Aziraphale,” this from a taller man standing directly across from Aziraphale in the group, “Morris came home last night.” Aziraphale felt a shiver run down his spine. Morris had been the previous Husband of the Night—had served his time deep in the woods where no one dared go. “This means it’s time for you to go.”

Now is, perhaps, a good time to explain what is happening. The small village we find ourselves in for this story is called Heaven, a name given to it by those native explorers who found it millennia ago. Surrounded on all sides by thick vegetation and dense forests, Heaven is near impossible to reach. Heaven is a clearing, large in scale, filled to the brim with natural springs and fertile soils which make it the perfect place to live.

Except for the Night.

So named due to its penchant for coming out only at night, the Night is a being no one has ever seen but everyone knows to fear. In the early days of Heaven’s founding, the Night would ravage the village and steal food. It often killed livestock and burned crops. A guard was created to fight off the Night, but no one could see it and so no one could stop it.

That was, until Gabriel did.

Gabriel, hero of the village and legend among Heaven’s residents, had stepped into the forest voluntarily. He’d believed the Night to be a malevolent god, furious with Heaven’s citizens for settling in His fertile land without permission. With the aim to negotiate with the Night, Gabriel had entered the forest and didn’t return for a week. He entered the village one more time to inform the elders of the deal he had struck with the Night. Then he left and never returned.

The Deal was as such: the Night was to be provided a “husband” at all times. One member of the village, a man more specifically, would be provided as a sort of sacrifice to the Night where he would be expected to do whatever the Night instructed. Tradition followed the Deal and built into an expectation among the men of the village. Husbands would die or be sent back at old age and a new one was to be selected. To avoid a period of time where the Night was not satisfied, the new Husband was chosen on the previous’ 45th birthday. Whether the previous Husband returned early or died (no one knew how the elders knew when the previous one died, but they always did), there would be one ready to take his place.

Aziraphale’s turn was now.

“Does it really have to be so soon? I mean, M-Morris just came home. Perhaps the-the Night can do with some time alone?” As he said it he knew how stupid it sounded. No one had risked giving the Night time to himself in millennia. They weren’t going to start now.

“Yes, Aziraphale, it does.” The man, named after the hero Gabriel, was unapologetic in his words. The Night had sent Morris back into the village in the early hours of the morning when darkness had just settled. To give Aziraphale time to settle into the Husband residence, they needed to send him into the wood as soon as possible. “You have all your things?” This was one godsend Aziraphale appreciated about his role.

“All that I can carry,” he muttered, glancing down at the bundle in his arms. It was heavy, but he wouldn’t make anyone aware of that. Within it were his tools, mostly, to make books and to scribe. He’d wrapped a few extra articles of clothing, but had figured minimal was better. He would be alone out there, after all.

“Good, then you’re ready.” Gabriel gestured to an elderly man standing off behind the other elders; Morris. He stepped forward and offered a hand out to Aziraphale. Aziraphale took it, feeling the frail, bony fingers beneath his own plump hand.

Morris had been a sturdy young man in his day, Aziraphale had heard. He was born long after Morris had left and so only knew the man by pictures. Every Husband up to this point had been built, well sculpted and athletic. To appease the Night, was the excuse. If he was to have the Husband intimately, the Husband would need to be fit enough to keep up with the pace of a god.

Aziraphale was not fit.

Aziraphale had not been the first choice, in all honesty. The first choice, a young man by the name of Adam, had died valiantly defending the village from a naga; a half snake beast that roamed the woods around Heaven. There were many, this one had not lived. Neither had Adam. In their haste to choose another man around Adam’s age, they’d selected Aziraphale. He was the only single man in the village who would still, likely, be young when the Night required a new Husband.

Being a scribe meant very little effort was put toward Aziraphale’s fitness, a gripe Gabriel voiced often. In the years since Adam’s death, the elders had attempted to shape him into a proper Husband, but Aziraphale’s soft body refused to conform. Instead, he was round at the waist, had thighs thicker than an adolescent tree, and was scarred with stretch marks that shone pale against his skin. He was not, according to Gabriel, attractive.

But he would have to do.

Morris guided Aziraphale across the square and toward the edge of the wood. The elders followed behind, stifling yawns and sniffing against the bitter air. It was early fall and the nights were just starting to cool to bitter cold. It made Aziraphale shiver in his thick robe. Their footsteps all came to a halt as they reached the main gate at the edge of the wood. The treeline was abrupt and thick, the trail lost almost immediately.

Morris turned to Aziraphale. “Dear boy,” he started, kind eyes glancing up and down Aziraphale’s body, hands on his shoulders to keep him at arm's length. “I do think he’ll like you.” Aziraphale’s brows shot up in surprise. The Night would like him? him? He found that hard to believe.

“Wh-what do you mean?” He asked, glancing nervously at the trees and then back at Morris. The old man patted his shoulder gently.

“He is kinder than they let on,” Morris whispered, gesturing toward the elders with a thumb. “Let him come to you and never leave a light on at night. It’s best to sleep during the day. It’s not so hard as you think, there are thick curtains in the hut. He provides food and water, don’t ask him where from. And always do as he asks. He’s only kind so long as you don’t question him.” With this, Morris gave Aziraphale a gentle push toward the wood. Aziraphale took a couple of halting steps before he turned toward Morris.

“How do I get there? To the hut?” he asked, trying to delay the inevitable.

A knowing look lighted Morris’ face, barely visible in the low light.

“Keep going straight, it’s not hard to find.” Aziraphale stood for a moment longer before Morris gestured that he go. Aziraphale nodded, hugged the bundle tighter to his chest, and walked toward the edge of the wood. His feet stopped at the very edge, the path barely visible among the brush. As he turned to look back, he found everyone but Morris had left. The man waved, his expression impossible to make out now. With a shaky deep breath, Aziraphale started down the path.

Morris was right, the hut was easy to find. The path, though very well hidden below leaves and branches, was still possible to pick out and appeared to maintain a straight course through the wood. Aziraphale wandered deeper into the forest, in awe of the nature around him. The village had trees and bushes and the like, but no one ever experienced uncontrolled nature like this. It was stunning, especially as the sun rose and bathed the green in a yellow light that made it glow.

Birds sang in the trees above him, water bubbled somewhere nearby, unseen. The smell of dirt and wood lighted across Aziraphale’s nose as he took deep breath after deep breath. The village was well kept and organized, tidy and easy to manage. The woods were chaos incarnate. Somehow, Aziraphale liked the change.

Around what he assumed had to be midday—the sun was difficult to see clearly through the canopy—Aziraphale came across a sort of clearing. The ground was flat and smooth, dirt packed tightly from years of footsteps. Around a clump of trees, Aziraphale caught sight of something surprisingly straight against the crooked growth of the trees. As he approached, he realized it was a hut. It was unassuming and well hidden between the thick growth around it. Despite its age, it was extremely well kept, the wood on the front almost pristine.

Approaching it, he observed the way vines draped from the roof line and moss clung to the boards. Somehow it lived in a paradox of old age and new build. It was oddly beautiful and Aziraphale found himself brushing a hand reverently over the smooth wood of the door. With a deep breath, he turned the knob and entered.

The space was small, a single room packed with everything he would need. Immediately off the door was a single chair and a table, across from which was a small storage area with a basin dug into the ground. An inside well, he noted as he approached it. Nearby was what appeared to be a fire pit, built a few inches into the ground and surrounded by blackened stones. He tutted at this, it couldn’t possibly be safe to start a fire inside.

Beyond the sitting and cooking area was a bed, sparse but large, it looked surprisingly soft, one blanket draped elegantly across the surface. Beside it was a wardrobe with drawers from top to bottom. Next to this was a large, flat table with a single chair tucked underneath it.

“That’ll be the perfect workspace,” he whispered to himself, startled at how loud he sounded in the space. With a heavy swallow, he placed his bundle onto the large table and untied it. Carefully, he extracted the clothes and placed them delicately into the top drawer, barely filling the space inside. His tools he lined intentionally across the top of the table. As he observed the space one last time, he felt a yawn bubble inside him and he recalled what Morris had said.

“I suppose I better rest now,” he muttered, glancing toward the four windows, one on each wall. Like Morris had said, there were thick curtains pulled back by string on each. He worked his way around the room, pulling the curtains open and drenching the space in darkness. He threw back the covers on the bed and looked down at it. It was entirely too much space for a single person, but he decided not to question this as he slid into the cool sheets and settled against the softness of the mattress.

“Oh, I have never felt anything so soft,” he muttered contentedly, feeling sleep already slipping in to take him. He dreamed of a handsome young man who spoke in gentle tones and read him poetry as he enjoyed the sun.

----

Aziraphale was awoken by a loud noise. Sitting bolt upright, he blinked against the darkness, eyes refusing to adjust. There was no light from outside, the curtains doing their job well. Panic welled inside him as he searched the space in hopes of locating what had made the noise. It was silent.

Hesitantly, he threw off the covers and slipped out of the bed. His feet found his sandals and he slipped them on. Across the packed dirt floor, Aziraphale approached the door. He didn’t hear any more loud noises, but there was definitely rustling in the bushes outside the hut. He had not been provided a weapon. Not that he’d know how to use it if he had.

Slowly, he pushed the door open. The night was dark and Aziraphale blinked, thrown by the way the moon cast shadows in stark contrast to the daylight. The thick canopy sheltered the moon from view and very little light pierced the thick leaves. It was nearly as dark as the inside of the hut.

“H-hello?” Aziraphale called into the dark, surprised at the way his voice seemed to echo. There was no immediate response. The forest was still. “Is anyone there?” He called again. Another beat passed before the rustling from earlier resumed and Aziraphale’s eyes fixated on where he could hear it coming from.

“You’re different,” a deep voice startled Aziraphale as it spoke, causing him to jump slightly. “Sssorry, didn’t mean to ssstartle you.” The voice almost sounded like it was hissing, an emphasis on the way it made the ‘s’ sound.

“I-it’s quite alright,” Aziraphale lied, blinking rapidly as he attempted to calm his nerves. “What do you mean? How am I different? Who are you?” More rustling in the bushes and Aziraphale could have sworn he could see a figure near a tree there.

“The others,” the voice said, “they were tough. Hard. You’re… sssoft.” Aziraphale fought the guilt that surfaced at the use of that word.

“The others?” he asked instead. “Who are the others?” He’d nearly forgotten he’d asked the strange voice who it was. Instead of pressing, he let the conversation move in whatever direction the being allowed it. Aziraphale wasn’t going to push a potentially dangerous creature.

“The others,” it said, sounding perhaps a bit impatient. “The Husbands.” Aziraphale felt surprise at the knowledge the creature possessed. Did other intelligent beings reside on the wood? How could anyone except the Night know about the Husbands? Then it hit him.

Aziraphale dropped to his knees, ignoring the pain that came from the impact of hitting the ground so hard. “Oh, my Lord! I apologize, I didn’t realize it was You!” He exclaimed, bowing his head toward the ground, hands on the dirt before him. There was an indignant sound from the bushes. Could gods be indignant? Aziraphale didn’t know.

“Get up, you look ridiculouss,” came the low response, less intimidating somehow. Aziraphale hesitated, eyes glancing quickly toward the bushes. Even with the time to adjust to the darkness, he still couldn’t make out more than a vague figure in the trees. “C’mon, get up. You’ll get y’rself all dirty like that.”

After another moment, Aziraphale did as instructed. His knees ached as he did so, brushing dirt from his robe and his hands. He avoided looking up again, opting to look toward the ground. It was silent a moment before the bushes rustled again and Aziraphale could pick out the sound of footsteps.

“Look at me,” the Night instructed, voice closer, more distinct. It wasn’t nearly as intimidating now, almost friendly.

“My Lord, I cannot see you in the darkness,” Aziraphale responded, not looking up. There was an exasperated sigh.

“Yeah, tha’s the point. Now, look at me.” Aziraphale hadn’t anticipated the Night to be so… long-suffering. Perhaps it was the millennia of human mates. They hadn’t all been the most intelligent. Aziraphale took a shuddering breath and looked up, gasping immediately upon doing so.

Before him, no more than seven feet away was a pair of glowing yellow eyes. They illuminated the darkness like candles, almost glowing against the backdrop of dark trees. From corner to corner, where white would have been in a human eye was yellow. A warm, deep yellow that reminded Aziraphale of the sun. Within the yellow, barely visible in the dark, were thin black slits, not unlike a snake.

“I usually start with the whole eye thing,” the Night said, eyes moving as he spoke. It was odd, to not be able to see anything of the being except his beautiful eyes. “Usually takes a while to get used to, figure I should drop it right out the gate.” His phrasing and cadence was unlike anyone in the village. His tone, however, indicated a certain level of discomfort.

“They’re beautiful,” Aziraphale found himself saying. It felt out of place, he hadn’t been given permission to speak, but it wasn’t a lie. They were truly the loveliest eyes he’d ever seen.

“Nngk, no need to lie. Heard that one before,” he muttered—actually muttered—eyes darting toward the ground. Aziraphale blinked, finding it hard to look away.

“It’s not a lie,” he replied, following the way the Night’s eyes darted toward the ground and then back up to Aziraphale only to find the ground again when he noticed Aziraphale was looking.

“Eh, well…” the sound of a foot scuffing dirt caught Aziraphale’s attention. If only he could see the rest of the being. “What do they call you, then?” He asked, changing the conversation a bit.

“My name is Aziraphale, my Lord.” Aziraphale bowed deep as he introduced himself and he heard a snort—he sounded almost human in the way he communicated—from the Night.

“No need for all the ‘my Lord’ stuff. Just Crowley ‘sss fine.” Aziraphale blinked, glancing up but not coming out of the bow. “And stand up, no more bowing, alright?” More blinks. He’d been taught about the Night, about the malevolent god who resided in the wood. This, however, was not that god. Then again, none of the Husbands had ever been permitted to talk about their experience to anyone, so perhaps the elders were just… wrong. Aziraphale balked at the thought.

“I… I was taught to show you the utmost reverence, my…. Crowley.” It was unlike any name he’d heard before and felt odd on his tongue. Along with the knowledge that it was the name—the real name—of the god he had so long learned to revere.

“I’ll be having none of that,” the Night—Crowley— said. “Just treat me like you would anyone else.” Aziraphale blinked—he was doing a lot of that tonight. Morris had said… well, Morris had said a great number of things, all of which had implied to treat the Night—Crowley—as the god he was. Now he was being instructed not to? Oh, this was all too much.

“So… wha’did you do for work?” The casual nature in which it was asked surprised Aziraphale and he found himself telling Crowley. In fact, he found himself answering all the questions Crowley had well into the night. As the sky began to lighten, Crowley excused himself and disappeared into the trees. Aziraphale stood in the doorway of the hut until it was light out, watching into the wood where he’d seen the god disappear.

Well that was certainly a thing, he thought.

----

The next month followed a similar pattern to that first day. Aziraphale slept most of the day and found himself waking naturally before all light was gone. He used the time before night fell to work on a few projects he’d started in town. The large table in the corner was perfect for his binding and by the time he heard rustling outside, he’d tidied up what he’d been working on.

Crowley visited that night and simply talked. It was odd, Aziraphale had expected more from their nightly meetings, but he wasn’t opposed to the conversation. He’d never truly gotten along with anyone else in the village and Crowley seemed to get him on a level no one else had. They talked about literature, though Crowley admitted to never having read a book, and they discussed the stars. Conversation topics also included wine and food, though Crowley was really only a fan of the former.

Halfway into the second week, Aziraphale mentioned his book binding and Crowley asked to see. Unable to transport a drying project, he’d suggested Crowley come inside. A bit of hesitance was met, but the being eventually conceded and followed him inside. At no point on the trip into and out of the hut could Aziraphale conclusively make out Crowley’s form. Many nights following this, the conversation was held inside, seated in the two chairs provided to Aziraphale.

Morris had been right about Crowley providing food. The first morsels were fine, filling in the way large slabs of unflavored meat could be. It was never quite to Aziraphale’s taste, though he never said as much. One night, he unwittingly let slip his disappointment in not tasting gravy again until his duties were over. The next night, Crowley had produced the necessary ingredients to make a gravy. From then on, Crowley got him whatever he requested and, sometimes, surprised him with something new that was always delicious.

A whole month passed like this and Aziraphale found himself settling comfortably. He had never considered being a Husband would be so relaxing. His time in the village hadn’t been stressful but something about Crowley’s presence really soothed him. No more Gabriel, no more Sandalphon, Uriel, or Michael, and no more jabs at his size. Crowley made it clear on a number of occasions he enjoyed the change of form, though Aziraphale was still attempting to convince himself he wasn’t lying.

After finishing up a meal, the light outside the hut growing dim, Aziraphale tidied up the hut and waited for Crowley to arrive. The Night had gotten into the habit of simply knocking and being told to enter. Aziraphale settled in a chair and waited, unable to do much else. Even with how kind and amiable Crowley had been, lighting a fire at night was something Aziraphale continued to avoid. Remaining in the darkness was clearly something Crowley would not back down from.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” Aziraphale called, beaming at the figure that was silhouetted in the scant moonlight from outside. He had never seen Crowley’s full figure, was unlikely to, but he knew how thin and lithe he was, that he had long hair that snaked around his shoulders elegantly. It wasn’t much, but Aziraphale enjoyed imagining the details himself. “How are you, dear boy?” Aziraphale asked, watching as those yellow eyes joined him in the other chair.

“Nngk,” Crowley grunted, eyes closing, hiding him entirely from view. Aziraphale liked to imagine the Night threw his head back when he was doing this, a tired gesture he’d anticipated after a long day.

“Are you alright?” he asked, falling into the friendly back and forth that usually came from these conversations. Crowley would say he was fine, Aziraphale would insist, and Crowley would insist back. It was comfortable. It was familiar.

“No,” Crowley grumbled, catching Aziraphale by surprise. The Night had never been open with him, had never exposed himself in this way. Aziraphale blinked, catching himself before he made the silence too long.

“Oh? What’s on your mind?” he asked, head tilting to the side. Crowley made another sound, a half-hearted grumble.

“Frustrated,” he managed, voice gravely and low. Aziraphale nodded as if understanding completely. He knew he couldn’t be seen in the dark, but he still felt himself falling into familiar patterns.

“Did someone wrong you? Or inconvenience you? I know being inconvenienced is certainly enough to frustrate me,” he replied, thinking of all the things that could have bothered Crowley. The Night snorted, another sound Aziraphale had grown accustomed to. Just not in this context. He looked back over to find those yellow eyes on him again, narrowed to crescents.

“Not that kind of frustration, angel,” he drawled, a tone to his voice Aziraphale was unfamiliar with. Despite this sudden shift in voice, Aziraphale was thrown more by the word Crowley had used.

“A-angel?” he asked, blinking rapidly, cheeks heating.

“Yeah, you’re an angel,” Crowley said. Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest but Crowley cut him off. “You’re kind, even when you don’t need to be, you always try to see the best in everything. And,” Crowley paused, letting out a huff of breath, “you glow.” Hot from the compliments, Aziraphale’s brows pinched together at this last bit.

“I… glow?” he asked, looking down at himself. He could see his hands and robe easily in the low light, but he didn’t think of himself as glowing. He was just pale and wore nearly white clothing.

“Yeah, angel, you glow. I can see you so clearly, more clearly than any of the others. ‘S like daylight, when I look at you.” More heat rose to his cheeks.

“Y-you can see me?” he asked, trying to avoid confronting the way Crowley was describing him. The yellow eyes blinked, moved with Crowley’s head as he—presumably—nodded.

“Yeah, ‘s easy. I mean, I can see anything, comes with the eyes, y’know.” He blinked a couple of times as if to emphasize. “I can see you better than anything, though.” There was a moment as Aziraphale processed this information.

“Oh,” was all he could manage. The silence drew on for longer and, eventually, Crowley broke it.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, the sound of him shuffling in his seat drawing Aziraphale’s eyes back up. Kiss? Aziraphale locked eyes with Crowley, brows knitted together.

“I am the current Husband,” he said, rather redundantly, “you can do whatever you want with me.” Another huff of breath came from Crowley’s direction as his eyes closed for a moment before opening again. They appeared soft, softer than Aziraphale had ever seen them.

“I’m not gonna do anything you don’ want, angel,” Crowley said. Oh, Aziraphale thought, a warm feeling radiating within his chest at this news. Morris had made it sound as if the Night would simply take, wouldn’t consider his feelings relevant. Had Morris lied?

With a shaky breath, Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. You can kiss me.” He watched as yellow eyes rose and approached, closer than he had ever seen them. He’d never felt Crowley, had never been close enough to get an idea of what he felt like. As the Night reached him, yellow eyes impossibly large, Aziraphale felt warm breath against his skin.

With a gentle brush of warm lips, Crowley kissed him.

Having never been kissed, Aziraphale had nothing to compare it to, but it was likely the loveliest thing he had ever experienced. Crowley’s lips were rough, but felt like scratching an itch as they pressed against his own. The breath from Crowley’s nose was warm and smelled like the forest, which Aziraphale gladly breathed in. The kiss didn’t last very long, but Aziraphale felt himself chasing it, wanting more.

“Kiss me again,” he whispered, aware of Crowley’s presence still inches from him. The Night obliged, pressing back in with more fervor, parting his lips and pressing a hesitant tongue to Aziraphale’s mouth. Willingly, he parted for Crowley and felt the tongue slip into his mouth. The warm, wet sensation had him moaning into Crowley, longing for something more than this. Crowley’s body pressed closer, hands now on the armrests of the chair on which Aziraphale sat.

Occasionally they parted, but it was never for long. Crowley’s heat seeped into Aziraphale’s mouth and they mixed until Aziraphale couldn’t tell himself apart from the being. This lasted what felt like ages, but Aziraphale knew it couldn't have been more than a few minutes.

“Can I… can I take you to bed?” Crowley asked, a hesitance to his voice Aziraphale had never heard before. Panting into the air between them, Aziraphale fought to clear his head. Crowley seemed to genuinely want an answer. He was determined to give one. He swallowed, opened his eyes to find Crowley’s only inches away. Heat rushed southward as he realized just how warm Crowley was, heat radiating off him in waves.

“Yes,” his mouth answered before his mind, but he knew it was truthful. Crowley pushed himself into a full standing position and a rough hand trailed its way down Aziraphale’s arm to his hand. Taken by the sudden contact, Aziraphale’s body didn’t immediately react when Crowley tried to pull him to his feet. When he realized what the Night was doing, he obliged as quickly as he could, not wanting to make the being doubt his willingness.

Very little effort was needed for Crowley to guide Aziraphale to the bed. Between the fact that it took only a few strides to reach it and Aziraphale’s willingness to experience this, the two were there quickly. Crowley stopped just at the edge of the bed and turned toward Aziraphale, his eyes the only indicator of where he was in the space other than his hand in Aziraphale’s.

Rough hands grabbed Aziraphale on either side of his face and pressed another fervent kiss to his lips. Leaning into the feeling, Aziraphale’s hands found them on bare elbows, fingers catching on something on Crowley’s skin. The being pulled away with a wet sound, eyes opening slowly. Aziraphale heard the audible click of Crowley swallowing.

“Remove your robe,” Crowley instructed, stepping back to give Aziraphale space. Swallowing against his dry throat, Aziraphale grabbed at the robe and began pulling it up over his head. The nature of their society involved a robe—thickness varying depending on the season—and a thin slip underneath. Aziraphale grabbed both simultaneously, removing all his clothes in a single go, exposing himself to the chilly air of the hut.

Yellow eyes raked down his figure and Aziraphale felt himself shiver from something other than the cold. Heat pooled in his stomach and he felt himself reacting to the careful attention Crowley was paying him. He still couldn’t see the being, was unaware what he was wearing if anything at all. He felt exposed and vulnerable like this, but something about it was arousing.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” Crowley asked, voice raspy in the silence. Aziraphale shook his head, mouth too dry to say anything. Crowley’s eyes bobbed and then dropped, the sound of him sitting on the bed a soft rustle of sheets. “Try it now,” he instructed, tone too casual for what he was suggesting.

Regardless, Aziraphale nodded and reached a hesitant hand toward his pelvis, wavering slightly over himself before he gently grabbed his length. A sharp gasp escaped his lips as his own soft fingers slid over sensitive skin. Touching his dick with only the pads of his fingers, he brushed gently down the shaft and shivered at the sensation.

“Try just under the head, little lower, yeah, there,” Crowley instructed, watching as Aziraphale’s body bucked at the sensation. His balance was thrown off for a moment but he caught it quickly. Reaching out his other hand, Aziraphale steadied himself against the wall near the head of the bed. Gently, he wrapped his entire hand around his cock, squeezing slightly and dragging his grip over the head and down the entire length.

“Hah,” he panted, stroking back up slowly. Crowley continued to watch him, eyes not wavering from where they looked right where Aziraphale worked himself. Despite the cold room, Aziraphale was hot, sweat beginning to prick his skin.

“Faster,” Crowley instructed after a bit and Aziraphale listened, picking up the pace and stroking faster. The increase in pace had him whimpering, breath puffing into the darkness. He continued at this pace for several minutes, eyes hooded as he attempted to watch Crowley’s gaze. Heat pooled around the base of his length, building the longer he went on.

“Faster,” Crowley instructed again, earning a whine from Aziraphale. Despite this almost protest, he did as he was told and sped up more. At this point his knees were going weak and his legs were threatening to buckle. His breath matched his pace and the sensation pooling in his stomach was threatening to release.

“Ah, C-Crowley, I’m… something’s…” he whimpered and bowed his head, no longer able to watch Crowley’s gaze. There was silence for a moment and then Crowley spoke.

“Stop.” The authority with which that word was said had Aziraphale releasing himself the instant he heard it. He whined again, opening his eyes to look up at Crowley, waiting for further instruction. Yellow eyes lingered on Aziraphale’s erection, a look in them Aziraphale couldn’t read. After a lengthy amount of staring which had Aziraphale feeling self-conscious, Crowley finally looked up.

In a quick movement that had Aziraphale yelping, Crowley scooped him up into surprisingly strong arms and laid him gently on the bed. The weight of the being’s form pressed into the mattress on either side of him and Aziraphale was distinctly aware of the heat radiating from his entire body. Crowley pressed onto him, kissing him hard, using his whole weight. Aziraphale took the kiss with hunger, lifting his hands to grab at Crowley’s jaw and into his hair. His jaw was sharp, his hair surprisingly soft.

As the kiss lingered, Crowley’s hips began to rock, causing Aziraphale to gasp at the sensation of fabric rubbing against his sensitive dick. Crowley took the gasp as an opportunity to move his kisses along Aziraphale’s cheek, jaw, and down his neck. He lingered at a crook in Aziraphale’s neck, sucking and lapping at the sensitive skin over and over and over. The arousal which had faded slightly was building again, bringing itself to the forefront of Aziraphale’s attention.

“C-Crowley… I…” sensation disappeared in an instant at his words. Crowley’s weight had disappeared and the heat had vanished. Aziraphale whimpered into empty space, afraid he’d been dreaming this whole time.

“Do you have any oil?” Aziraphale fought the sigh of relief at Crowley’s voice beside him. He nodded.

“In one of the cupboards,” he said, listening as Crowley opened cupboard after cupboard, rummaging through bottles and containers. Eventually, the sound ceased and the room was quiet. After what felt like longer than necessary, a rustling sound came near Aziraphale’s head and he turned into the darkness. He couldn’t see anything but the corner of Crowley’s yellow eyes as he moved about the space.

“Cooking oil isn’t exactly the greatest,” Crowley muttered, his weight returning to the mattress as he sat at Aziraphale’s feet. “But it’ll have to do.” Aziraphale had no idea what he was talking about, but shuddered when Crowley pressed his thighs open. He’d never been so exposed before. Silence lingered for a while longer, the faint sound of something wet echoing into the room. Aziraphale was about to ask what he was doing when he felt the wet tip of a finger press gently around his asshole.

Gasping loudly, his entire body bucked away from the sudden sensation. “Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Crowley whispered, warm hand pressing against Aziraphale’s stomach. “Jus’ gotta prepare you,” Crowley explained vaguely, the finger at Aziraphale’s hole doing gentle circles around the puckered muscle.

“P-prepare me for what?” he asked, finding the sensation pleasant after the initial shock.

“’M gonna fu-nn, make love to you,” Crowley whispered, pressing the finger harder against Aziraphale’s hole before it slipped inside. Aziraphale gasped again, this time not bucking away from the sensation.

“M-make love?” He asked, feeling the wet slide of Crowley’s finger arousing. Despite the mild discomfort, it was intimate having someone within him.

“Yeah,” Crowley replied, eyes getting closer before a kiss was pressed to Aziraphale’s forehead. His finger pressed in deeper until Aziraphale could feel the rest of his hand against his ass. The digit wiggled a bit and Aziraphale felt himself whine against the sensation. “You know what that means, right?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “N-no. I h-hadn’t even touched myself before today.” Crowley’s wiggling stilled and he pulled his face back, yellow eyes locking with Aziraphale’s.

“Oh, you dear lamb,” he whispered, eyes surprisingly soft. “It means I’m going to be inside you.” Aziraphale blinked, brows knitted together. “My cock, angel. It means I’m putting my cock inside you.” Aziraphale’s mouth formed a small ‘o,’ his face now radiating heat much the same way Crowley was.

“That’s alright with you, right? I don’ wanna do anything you don’t.” Crowley pulled his finger back, almost out of Aziraphale. Aziraphale’s hand flew forward, stilling the movement at his elbow.

“That’s fine, dear. Please continue,” he was surprised to hear his own voice come out like a plea. Crowley’s eyes blinked a few times before they narrowed in a hungry way, finger pushing all the way back in. He pulled it nearly out again before pressing in a second finger, the stretch burning gently through Aziraphale.

Hands now gripping Crowley’s sharp shoulders, Aziraphale let the being continue pressing his fingers into him. The more he worked Aziraphale’s insides, the more he adjusted to it. After a few moments, it had become almost pleasant, the way he stretched around Crowley’s fingers. When he felt he was finally comfortable, Crowley pressed a third finger in.

Aziraphale hissed at this sensation, relaxing as Crowley pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. The Night was working him slowly, deliberately, and it was a good thing they’d started early. As slowly as the first two fingers, Crowley worked the third in. Eventually, Aziraphale relaxed into the stretch, head thrown back against the pillows, mouth open. Once more, Aziraphale had fully relaxed into the sensation, only to be startled back to full attention by Crowley curling his fingers inside him.

“O-oh,” he whined, head falling back again as Crowley massaged within him, the curl of his fingers stretching him wider. Aziraphale’s breaths caught in his throat as he moaned against Crowley’s persistent fingers, flinching when they brushed against something within him. Before he could ask what was happening, Crowley was pressing again and again and again. Within moments it went from strange and foreign to pleasurable enough to unravel every one of Aziraphale’s muscles.

“C-Crowley, ah hah, d-don’t stop,” he whimpered, hips bucking in an attempt to deepen Crowley’s reach. He could feel the same pooling of arousal from earlier, was chasing it at this point, wanted to learn what happened when he caught up.

Crowley stopped.

“Patience, angel, we’ve just got to the good part,” Crowley replied to the whine of protest Aziraphale made. Eyes hooded in pleasure, Aziraphale watched the darkness and the small amount of yellow he could see. Crowley was doing something, a wet slicking sound coming from where his weight pressed into the bed, but Aziraphale couldn’t see what. After a moment, Crowley’s weight shifted and he was leaning over Aziraphale again.

“You ready?” The Night asked. Aziraphale nodded impatiently, not sure what he was ready for, but welcome to continuing anything that would bring him back to that pleasure. Crowley’s eyes looked down and something smooth and wet pressed against Aziraphale’s entrance. It was far thicker than a single finger and took more effort to press into Aziraphale.

With a gasp from both of them, the object—Aziraphale realized it must be Crowley’s cock—pressed into Aziraphale. They both stilled for a moment as Aziraphale breathed into the intrusion, willing himself to relax around it. Almost as if reading him, Crowley began to move the moment Aziraphale felt ready. The burn of this stretch was different, one thick intrusion as opposed to several thin ones. Aziraphale’s head dug into the pillows behind him, mouth open and silent against the air.

“Ffffuck, angel,” Crowley whispered, face now by Aziraphale’s, voice low and gravely. With finality, he paused, hips pressed against Aziraphale’s ass. They were still for another moment, Aziraphale giving all his attention to the sensation of himself stretched around Crowley’s hard length. It was a gentle burn, one that felt indescribably wonderful. He could exist like this forever, but Crowley had other plans.

With no warning, but a level of gentleness he’d displayed on numerous occasions, Crowley started to pull back out. Once just the head was in, he pressed back in. Aziraphale moaned at this movement, hands gripping tightly into blankets below him. Slowly, Crowley picked up the pace, thrusting back and forth carefully. The building arousal returned once more, and Aziraphale felt himself approaching it again.

“C-Crowley, I’m…” Aziraphale whimpered, hips bucking in an attempt to help Crowley along. The being pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s throat.

“Me too, angel,” he replied, breath hot against Aziraphale’s skin. His pace quickened and Aziraphale felt the chase was nearly at an end, back arching into Crowley’s movements. “Come undone for me, Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered, words completely unraveling Aziraphale’s last modicum of control.

With a cry, Aziraphale felt his body spasm, back arching him into the air, fingers losing circulation from the strength at which he gripped the blankets. His dick splattered a substance across his stomach and chest, twitching as it attempted to let the last of it out. Crowley continued to move, hips thrusting against Aziraphale’s ass in measured movements. He began to stutter as Aziraphale’s hole spasmed around his cock and was releasing something into Aziraphale within seconds.

They both came down from their highs together, breaths panting into the same air, muscles relaxing against each other. Once their breathing had slowed, Crowley rolled off Aziraphale and pressed his body against him, the most Aziraphale had ever felt of the being.

“Wha…” Aziraphale swallowed, throat dry. “What’s this?” he asked, pressing a hesitant finger into the substance on his chest.

“’S semen, angel,” Crowley replied, hot breath against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Did those assholes in the village really teach you nothing?”

Aziraphale felt embarrassed, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. “No, intimate marriage relations were-are sacred. They do not get discussed in… thorough detail.” Silence lingered for a moment. “What is it for?” he asked, fingers pressing together, substance stretching between each digit.

“’S for making babies,” Crowley replied, chuckling at the gasp Aziraphale made at this news.

“You just… you just put a bunch of this into me,” Aziraphale whispered, hips wiggling as he felt the substance dribbling out of his ass.

“Y’re fine, you don’ have the right organs to make a baby,” Crowley whispered, voice stretching out into what sounded very much like a yawn. Some part of him had known that, had never seen the men in the village with child. Another part of him was almost disappointed. He’d always loved children, now he’d never have that privilege.

“Well, that’s good,” he muttered instead, somewhat honestly. At the moment, something like having a child seemed a bit too much. The idea that he’d just performed his first intimate spousal role was starting to catch up with him, anyway.

Aziraphale yawned.

“You should get some sleep, angel,” Crowley whispered, a warm kiss pressed to Aziraphale’s cheek. The man mumbled something of a protest, but he felt himself drifting quickly.

When Aziraphale woke up, there was no one beside him. He was still warm, unnaturally warm for the season, and was covered in his blanket. His stomach had been cleaned, but he could still feel the substance—the semen—dripping from his hole.

He promptly threw up over the edge of the bed.

----

After that night, intimate relations happened with more frequency. Aziraphale asked Crowley more questions and got more information. The Night appeared to have limited experience with the human reproductive system despite having had human Husbands for millennia. He pointed out, when Aziraphale said as much, that he had never had nor desired a woman lover and Aziraphale conceded. Crowley did, however, know far more than Aziraphale and instructed him on what everything meant and how to conduct himself in bed.

They found themselves there a lot.

Prior to or shortly after making love, they’d still talk. Surprisingly, it was easy to find something to discuss every day. Aziraphale genuinely didn’t know how he could ever possibly lose interest in Crowley, something he’d heard was common among the couples in the village. Losing interest in Crowley would be like losing interest in food, and he would never dream of the day that occurred.

No, the two never lost interest. Not in the first year, nor the second, nor the third. Time pulled on and Aziraphale nearly forgot about Heaven. Occasionally he’d recall Morris’ warnings about Crowley and ponder the meaning to them but always brushed them off. He clearly knew Crowley better than Morris. Perhaps it was his being “different” that had encouraged Crowley to be more honest. Aziraphale realized, one day early into the third year, he might never know the answer to that question.

Sometime late into the third year, Aziraphale realized his book collection was getting to be too much for the hut. How any of the previous Husbands had ever lasted without material objects was beyond Aziraphale. Crowley was so keen to give gifts, too, he often popped by with a new book for Aziraphale to read. It had been Aziraphale’s brilliant—though ill conceived—idea to build an extension on the hut. Crowley brought supplies and tools and did much of the work when night fell, as Aziraphale couldn’t see. It still wasn’t complete, since neither of them really knew what they were doing, but they enjoyed the time together.

On one of these occasions, Aziraphale had gotten to talking about what it was he loved about reading. Crowley never read himself, he’d explained as much years ago, because he simply couldn’t. His vision was that such certain fine things could not be viewed, such as words on a page or stars in the sky.

Aziraphale protested, explaining how they’d spoken to each other about stars before, but Crowley simply informed him he’d lied about seeing them. All the information he’d ever gotten was from listening to other beings and creatures explaining the stars to each other. Eavesdropping. That was, apparently, how Crowley got a lot of his information.

He was wise, of course, he’d been alive for many millennia. Crowley regaled Aziraphale with tales of his life over the years. On more than one occasion, it ended in the death of someone close to Crowley, and Aziraphale would empathize with him, much to the being’s chagrin. On those occasions, Aziraphale fought the nagging reminder that he was mortal and would eventually leave Crowley as well.

When these thoughts surfaced, Aziraphale did his best to live in the moments he had with the Night. Intimate or friendly, their conversations were long and engaged, occasionally ending in light-hearted bickering that had them both laughing. In the moments where intimacy was involved, Aziraphale learned a lot about Crowley.

He was gentle, every single time he laid with Aziraphale, Crowley was careful not to hurt him. His skin was silky with rough edges almost like raised scars. He had a tendency to hiss when he was overwhelmed or his emotions ran high. He enjoyed watching Aziraphale pleasure himself just as much as he enjoyed doing the pleasuring. He showed up every single night without fail.

Aziraphale still hadn’t lit a fire at night.

That was one conversation they never seemed to have. Crowley’s desire to remain hidden was something Aziraphale never asked about. Even now that they were so familiar with each other, he didn’t feel it was his place to ask. Crowley would tell him if he ever wanted to be seen.

For now, Aziraphale would do his work by daylight, which was fading fast in the late fall season. Getting up from where he’d been sitting at his work table, Aziraphale stretched and pulled the curtains. They weren’t necessary at night, but he often fell asleep after Crowley left and didn’t want the morning light waking him. He busied himself with making a meal, completely dousing the fire, and eating while he waited for his love.

The food was finished before Crowley arrived, the dishes cleaned before there was a knock on the door, and the smoke from the fire had completely dispersed with no sign of the Night. Aziraphale tapped his fingers together worriedly, wondering what could possibly be keeping the being. After waiting what was likely an hour or two, Aziraphale opened the door to the hut himself, looking out into the darkness, breath puffing into the cold air.

“Crowley!?” he called, listening to his voice muffled against the dense trees. He stepped around the corner of the hut to where the extension was sitting, half finished. No sign of Crowley there. “Crowley!” he called again, this time digging deep within himself for the loudest he could be. Still nothing. He called a few more times and waited another hour or two before going back inside and curling up in bed. He didn’t want to sleep, but he was of no use to the Night when it was too dark to see.

When the sun finally rose, Aziraphale awoke from what had been a fitful sleep. He was groggy and a bit disoriented, but he rose to his feet and began packing a bundle of food. In a last minute decision, he added medicines and clean cloths. He hoped not to need them, but he never knew. Slinging the bundle over his shoulder, he headed out into the wood.

There was no path beyond the hut and the underbrush was thick against Aziraphale’s legs. Within minutes he already knew he’d have to treat his legs with the medicines as soon as he returned to the hut. As it was, he couldn’t stop to tend to them. Wouldn’t, was really the better word. No, he needed to press on, to find Crowley. If something bad had happened, he needed to know.

Aziraphale searched well into the day, the shadows shifting to indicate the sun's position above him. He’d never been beyond the clearing where the hut sat and seeing the rest of the wood was a wonder. He saw creatures he’d never seen before, heard birds he hadn’t known existed, and jumped at sounds that made him worry he was making a big mistake. Despite these sights and sounds, he pressed on.

The sun was getting low and Aziraphale grew worried he would need to turn back soon when he came across a clearing. It was small, smaller than the hut, and shaded by the dense foliage above. In the middle of it lay a massive figure, completely limp. Approaching with caution, Aziraphale looked on from behind a tree, watching the shallow rise and fall of their chest.

It was a naga.

The half snake creatures had existed within the wood for as long as Heaven’s records go back. They were a threat to the well being of the village and kept at bay by the village guard and the Deal with the Night. This one, however, was no threat.

It had a long black tail with a red belly heaped into a pile around the clearing as if it had been dropped from a great height. The human torso was shrouded by an awful lot of blood and red locks of hair tangled with leaves and twigs. Its face wasn’t visible from where Aziraphale stood, but it was clear the thing was desperately injured and fighting for its life.

Aziraphale bit his lower lip and glanced back the direction he had come. He needed to get back before night fell. Nagas were dangerous creatures; who knew what this one would do when it woke to find him there. Despite the thoughts that raced through his head, Aziraphale found his feet rooted to the spot. With an annoyed sigh—directed at himself—Aziraphale stepped carefully into the clearing.

The naga’s torso was twisted in a way that indicated something might be broken, but Aziraphale did his best to locate the largest of the wounds. He was no healer, but he had learned a thing or two from books. Perhaps he could do enough to encourage the wounds to not fester at the very least.

Gently he brushed the tangled hair from the creature's face and awed at the angular jaw and cheekbones, the odd sort of beauty the face held. The creature's brow was pinched together in clear pain, mouth mumbling moans and nonsense Aziraphale couldn’t make out. It wasn’t awake, though, and that was enough. With a hesitant hand, Aziraphale reached forward and pressed his fingers to the creature's eyelids. He was hastily attempting to remember the purpose of this check while he pressed one eye open only to be so startled he fell back, scrambling away from the beast.

It was Crowley.

Aziraphale shook his head hard at this thought. It couldn’t possibly be Crowley. Crowley had legs and walked on feet. He had long hair and sharp angles and hissed when he was upset. He had bright yellow eyes with black slits like a snake.

“Shit,” Aziraphale whispered involuntarily, looking down at the creature before him. The evidence for far outweighed the evidence against, even if the evidence against was compelling. It couldn’t be Crowley because this creature was a naga. But it had to be because everything else made perfect sense.

For a moment, Aziraphale simply sat there, staring at the strained expression on the beast’s—Crowley’s—face. This was the being he loved, the one who had been there for him for the last three years. Had given him gifts and food and taught him about the world. Had loved him with his body, heart, and soul.

He was also a naga.

Once more, his argument for rather than against was stronger. Helping Crowley despite the very obvious secret he’d been hiding only made sense. With a sigh, Aziraphale got back onto his knees and approached Crowley again. Carefully he scanned the being’s body and found the worst of the wounds. With shaking hands, he tended each and every wound with what he had on hand. Finding a nearby stream, he cleaned the blood from Crowley’s body and righted him into a position that looked less broken. By the time the sun had started to disappear, Crowley was clean and his face less pinched.

Aziraphale lit a fire.

In the warm glow of firelight, Crowley looked almost peaceful. His features were sharpened in the dramatic light in a way that had Aziraphale longing to reach out and cut himself on them. The man kept his hands to himself, though, and simply watched the being sleep, taking bites of food every now and then. The night continued to drag on and Aziraphale felt himself wanting to sleep. He couldn’t, especially now that he was hearing strange noises and rustling in the bushes. He couldn’t leave Crowley like this and he couldn’t sleep lest something dangerous make itself known.

“’Ziraphale.” Aziraphale whipped his head over to Crowley’s face, eyes slightly open, voice weak. “Wh...what’re you doin’ here?” he asked, blinking slowly against the firelight.

“You didn’t show up last night. I was worried.” To be honest, he was still worried, but he also wasn’t sure how to feel about Crowley’s being a naga.

“How’d you know it was me?” Crowley asked, looking down toward his tail which remained where it had been when Aziraphale had arrived.

“Your eyes,” Aziraphale responded, voice soft, almost reverent. It felt like something he needed to be reverent about.

“My eyes,” Crowley echoed, a pained laugh escaping his lips. “’Of course my eyes gave me away.” The laugh built into a chuckle and then a cough before Crowley took a shuddering breath and attempted to calm himself.

“You’re not a god, are you?” Aziraphale asked suddenly, the revelation coming to him suddenly.

Crowley shook his head. “No, you all just… assumed tha’s what I was. Gabriel—th’original Gabriel, not that twat in the village now—was the only one who knew. He," a shaky breath, “he came to me to offer himself up. When he saw what I was he didn’t back down. He offered literally anything to get me to stop terrorizing you lot.” Crowley sighed, head shaking slightly. “So the whole Husband thing started. I-” Crowley’s throat caught. “I loved him.” A sob escaped his lips and Aziraphale scooted closer.

“Why did you keep it going?” Aziraphale asked, hand resting on Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley shrugged. “I hoped to recreate what we’d had. It was never the same. None of them were… him. They all jus’ got worse as time went on. I took them to keep you lot happy. Things got… out of hand a time or two.” Crowley shuddered as if reliving the memories. “But you,” another catch in his throat, “you’re so much like him.”

“I am?” Aziraphale’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Yeah” Crowley replied, looking over at him. “You don’ quite look the same, but y’re similar. Similar bodies. Both of you are kind to those who don’ deserve it, see the best in everything, want to know everything about the world.” A shaky hand lifted from the ground and caressed Aziraphale’s cheek. “So beautiful.”

Aziraphale sighed, smiling softly as he pressed a palm to Crowley’s hand. “As are you, my dear.”

Crowley groaned and looked back up at the tree cover above them. “You don’t have to stay,” he said, not moving his hand.

“I want to,” Aziraphale replied, pressing his hand harder against Crowley’s. A smile crossed the naga’s face.

“I don’t deserve you,” Crowley whispered, a glittering tear streaking down his cheek.

“You deserve the world, darling,” Aziraphale whispered back, pressing a kiss into Crowley’s palm. They stayed like this until the fire went out and the sun began to come up. Aziraphale was exhausted, but he could only imagine how Crowley felt. Once there was enough daylight to see around them, Aziraphale dropped their hands.

“We should be heading back to the hut. Can you, erm… slither?” He said this last word slowly and with the most hesitance anyone could muster. He wasn’t sure it was appropriate to say, but Crowley’s laugh broke the worry from his face.

“I can walk, angel, just give me a second.” Crowley screwed his eyes shut and pinched his brows tight. Aziraphale watched in awe as his coiled tail appeared to begin pulling itself into his torso. It started slowly but picked up speed the longer it went on. When the tail reached about the length of Crowley’s upper half, it transformed into a pair of thin legs covered in fabric of black and red.

“You’re a shapeshifter,” Aziraphale said in awe, leaning down to help Crowley up when the being attempted to stand himself.

“All naga are, others just don’ choose to use it much,” he grunted as he rose, putting a lot of his weight on Aziraphale’s side. Aziraphale watched his torso carefully, making sure the bandages remained in place and no extra bleeding began. When he was comfortable with Crowley’s state, they began the long walk back. It took much longer to get back to the hut than it had to find Crowley. They had to stop frequently for breaks and food. By the time they finally reached the hut, it was almost completely dark.

Without a word, Aziraphale laid Crowley on his bed and lit a fire. Crowley said nothing as Aziraphale tended to him, making sure he was comfortable and his dressings clean. Once his fussing was done, Aziraphale slipped under the covers with him and they slept for an entire day.

----

“Oh, you’re looking much better, dear!” Aziraphale exclaimed a week later as Crowley rose from the bed. His skin was still puckered and pink where he’d been injured and he still struggled with his shoulder occasionally, but he was healing nicely and rather rapidly.

“I feel much better,” the being grinned, rolling his shoulders and reveling in the ability to do so. The injuries, Aziraphale had learned when they’d woken after their day of rest, had come from another naga. The beings were rather territorial, it seemed, and the new naga had decided he wanted a piece of Crowley’s territory. Having gone uncontested for millennia, Crowley had nearly lost the fight. Though he hadn’t killed the other naga—the rules of naga combat were impossible to explain to an outsider, Crowley had said—he had collapsed the instant his opponent was out of sight.

“We should celebrate,” Aziraphale decided, opening a cupboard in search of some special ingredients. Crowley’s warmth pressed against Aziraphale from behind and he laughed.

“I agree,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of Aziraphale’s neck. The man squirmed, now pinned to the cupboards by the weight of his lover.

“C-Crowley,” he whimpered, cleared his throat and tried again. “Crowley, are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked, fighting the arousal between his legs at the feeling of the being behind him. He could already feel Crowley growing hard against his ass and it was difficult to ignore.

“Oh absolutely,” he growled. As soon as he bit down on Aziraphale’s neck, he’d won the fight. Aziraphale let himself get pressed into the cupboards further—which hardly seemed possible—moaning against the biting and rutting of his partner.

“Oh, oh Crowley,” Aziraphale whimpered, attempting to rub himself off against the cupboards against his front. It wasn’t very effective, the press too tight to give him much room to move.

“Tell me what you want, angel,” Crowley whispered, hot breath against his ear.

Aziraphale shuddered. “Take me,” he begged, head arching back toward Crowley’s shoulder. When his lover didn’t immediately move he continued. “Ravish me, darling. Undo me and make me weak.” This seemed to do the trick because one moment Aziraphale was clothed and pressed against the cupboards and the next he was nude and on the bed.

Out of breath at the rush of it all, he watched Crowley drop his cloth and crawl across the bed. He actually watched it happen, the taut muscles beneath skin, the black and red scales at his joints, the wicked grin on his face. He could see all of it in the daylight that streamed through the four windows in the room.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, looking up at Crowley who was above him now. The being snorted as if to protest but didn’t say anything, simply pressed kiss after kiss to Aziraphale’s lips until he was moaning and his mouth hurt.

“You’re… fucking… incredible,” Crowley praised between kisses, beginning a trail down Aziraphale’s jaw and neck. He bit and licked and sucked at various parts of Aziraphale’s chest, including his nipples, the expression on his face making it clear he was enjoying this.

“Ah, oh,” Aziraphale moaned, hips bucking in an attempt to find Crowley’s body. A thin hand pressed into his side to hold him in place as Crowley continued down his chest, kissing reverently at the stretch marks along his stomach. “C-Crowley” he whimpered, “p-please. Destroy me.” Being egged on, Crowley stopped his special attentions and immediately took Aziraphale into his mouth.

With a cry, Aziraphale’s hips bucked into the wet heat, increasing the sensation along his length. Crowley took his pace at breakneck speed and was sucking and bobbing with practiced ease. Aziraphale’s whole body shuddered and writhed under the firm press of his partner’s hands. He felt pleasure boiling deep within him, pressing close to his climax.

“C-Crowley, I’m going to-" he was cut off as the being dropped all the way down onto Aziraphale, the head of his cock pressed against the tight heat of his throat. Within seconds Aziraphale was coming down his throat, hot come swallowed completely. Aziraphale panted, head swimming at the sensation. He was vaguely aware of the loss of heat around his cock and the loss of Crowley’s weight over him. It came back when he was a little more aware and could see Crowley with the proper oil in hand.

“C-Crowley I just came,” he whimpered, now overstimulated. Crowley kissed him, the taste of himself trailing a little memory of arousal through his body.

“You said ‘destroy me,’ angel. I’m doing just that.” Aziraphale felt his body shudder as Crowley slicked his fingers up, took a moment to warm the oil, and immediately pressed two fingers into him. He whimpered against the intrusion, at the mercy of his partner’s whims. He writhed against the push and pull of Crowley’s fingers and cried out when Crowley found the little point of pleasure within him. It was all too much, but he couldn’t find words, only allowed Crowley to have his way.

Suddenly the fingers were gone and Aziraphale was feeling empty. Despite the overstimulation, he’d been enjoying the feeling of his lover within him. He knew, however, it wouldn’t last long. As expected, the tip of Crowley’s cock pressed against him and was halfway deep in seconds. Aziraphale cried out at the sudden intrusion, almost too far gone to notice when Crowley had pressed all the way in.

Quickly, Crowley set a devastating pace. Slipping in and out of Aziraphale at a speed they had never before achieved, Crowley’s hips slapped against Aziraphale’s ass with a wet sound. He was holding it together surprisingly well, though his curses and moans tangled in the air with Aziraphale’s own sounds. Time enough had passed since Aziraphale had come and, though still somewhat overstimulated, his dick was starting to react.

Crowley, eyes nearly squeezed shut, noticed and wrapped thin fingers around his length. Aziraphale moaned a deep, guttural noise and Crowley was coming in seconds. Aziraphale’s hips bucked in an attempt to milk Crowley’s climax as best he could, his own hand joining Crowley’s on his cock. In little time, he was joining Crowley, a second coat of come layering across his stomach.

Crowley dropped like dead weight onto Aziraphale and they fell asleep. When they woke, they were sticky and sore, but happy. In the years to come, these instances of rough ecstasy would become more common. In the years beyond that, well, no one is sure what happened.

Some say Aziraphale died as the last Husband of the Night, the next offering instructed to return to Heaven and never send anyone again. Some say Aziraphale lived with Crowley for the rest of time, somehow immortal by nature of their love. A few have reported, on their passages through the wood, an angel with white hair and a demon with scales sitting amongst the trees, laughing at something unheard. Always laughing.

Return to Gift 1

Comments

Wonderful

[holrose]

What a lovely tale. I really loved the world building and the situation between these two. They were both so sweet with each other. Loved the hurt/comfort too. And the ending was perfect. Delightful!

[kingstoken]

Lovely! Aziraphale was such a naive, sweet angel in this and I loved it! Crowley's story about trying to find another husband he could love was so sad, but I'm so glad they found each other, and they could be with each other openly. Aziraphale was brave in this. I loved that ending, it gives us hope that they found a way to be together always.

Thank you so much for writing this for me!

I was not expecting you to write for all three of my prompts, and receiving these three amazing gifts has exceeded my expectations. Thank you so much!

[maniacalmole]

“Perhaps the-the Night can do with some time alone?” Lol I mean he’s got a fair point!
“The woods were chaos incarnate. Somehow, Aziraphale liked the change.” Neat
Aziraphale glows to him :)
This was so creative! Their love is eternal :)

[irisbleufic_go_exchange]

This is just the right mix of sweet, surprising, and funny. That balance is so crucial to the dynamic these two have. Also, it looks as if you filled all 3 of your recipient's prompts? That is amazingly generous <3

[(Anonymous)]

Just beautiful! I love the romantic writing style and the fairytale imagery, and hot as well.