Happy Holidays, Xpouii!

[goe_mod]

Title: Sex Teaching As A Practical Problem

Summary:

 It's been a year since Aziraphale went back to Heaven, and honestly, Crowley is coping about as well as anyone could have guessed, despite the best efforts of Maggie, Nina, and Muriel.

Everything is turned on its head when Beelzebub shows up, demanding advice on how to initiate sexcapades with new beau Gabriel. Crowley can't think why he ought to be considered the expert.

By the time he works it out, he finds himself in a predicament from which only Aziraphale can save him. Probably sexually.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11,865

Content Notes: Sexual content includes some wing kink, mutual masturbation, and penis in vagina sex. Aziraphale has the penis, Crowley has the vagina.

 

*******

 

It wasn't that Crowley was doing poorly, all things considered. And there was a lot to consider, so really, once you had considered all of it, you might even say he was doing well. Crowley would absolutely say he was doing well. 

A year since Aziraphale – no. A year that Crowley had been on earth alone. A year since, you know, a humiliating romantic declaration that had been firmly rebuked. Which made sense, really. It had been embarrassing, and Crowley probably hadn't been in his right mind, and he hadn't quite worked his way through the shame of it that still curled up in his horrible little fingers and toes. And also he was really used to having Aziraphale close at hand, had been for millennia, so it made sense that being suddenly alone was hard to bear. There was also the trouble that he knew that something was coming, he wasn't entirely sure what, and no information was forthcoming from any quarter.

It was a lot, right, which is why Crowley thought that once you had considered all of that, it wasn't even worth mentioning that he could hardly sleep, that even the most decadent red wine had lost its appeal, and he scarcely left the relative security of the Bentley. He was up and moving and that was what counted, so once you thought about it, he was actually doing pretty well.

"Hello, Mr. Crowley!" The chipper voice was muted through the windows of the Bentley and Crowley looked up against his better judgement. That was Maggie on her way to work. He had meant to drive away from Whickber Street before the shopkeepers started arriving for the workday but the time must have got away from him. He was always doing that.

"Hi," Crowley mouthed, waving vaguely in her direction. A bit of hair flopped over his face. It had got long again, almost to his chin, and grown out unevenly. He really ought to style it. It wouldn't take much. But he just pushed it out of his face.

"Howaoooing?" Maggie said. Crowley scowled up at her, sitting up straighter in the seat.

"What?"

"How! Are! You! Doing!" Maggie was really in a happy mood more often than not, especially since she and Nina had got together about six months ago. It made Crowley's stomach turn. The woman didn't even drink coffee and it was some heinous hour of the morning – he checked his watch – barely – oh. 9:30 in the morning. Well, anyway.

Crowley rolled the window down, grimacing slightly. "Hii, Maggie, I'm great, thanks. Off to work?"

"Of course I am. It's ever so nice that Constable Muriel is honouring that generous lease agreement from Mr. Fell." She made a little face. She tried not to mention Aziraphale to Crowley, sensing it was a sore spot. "I mean, er. Yes. Off to work, I am."

"Right, right," Crowley said, and trusted that he didn't do anything stupid like go all white in the face, or maybe green. "Well, I just was getting on." He reached for the ignition switch. He didn't need to, but he'd learned it was a good visual cue.

"You could come in to the shop if you like. Listen to some records?" Maggie offered, but Crowley could tell it was half-hearted. She'd been making the same offer whenever she caught him outside her shop for the last year, which happened at least once or twice a week. It was the same way Nina offered to bring him a cup of espresso when he parked closest to her (once or twice a week), or the way Muriel asked him in to the bookshop when he was closest to there (once or twice a week) under the pretence of learning some human custom. He tried to keep away from Whickber Street for his health, but nights were hard. He only really ever managed one night away a week, and sometimes not even that. You'd think he would leave before people started arriving. You'd think he'd learn.

You'd think that.

He rarely said yes to any of them (well – with one notable exception, not that he liked to think about it), but they kept it up, and Crowley said yes often enough, he supposed, to make it worth their while.

"Nah, Maggie, places to be, you know," he said, switching the car on. Her face fell a little and Crowley looked away.

"You take care of yourself," she told him.

"Yeah, yeah. Mind how you go." And he pulled away from the kerb and drove off, leaving Maggie on the pavement, waving after him as he went.

A few moments later found him parked in one of his favourite little alleyways where he often spent his days, playing a seek-and-find game on his phone. It passed the time.

He was trying to figure out how best to decorate his island in the game when a fly landed on his hand. He blinked at it.

"No," Crowley said, instinct and millennia of memory kicking in slowly. "No."

"Yezzzz!" filled the cab of the car as flies did the same.

"Hullo," Crowley said miserably, barely looking up from his phone as Beelzebub manifested in the seat on his right. His heart started to beat a little faster, then faster, then it was pounding in his chest as realisation dawned. There couldn't possibly be a benign reason for Beelzebub's presence. Surely Hell had caught up to them, or Heaven had, or they had caught wind of The Big One. Crowley wasn't ready to know what. He'd known it was coming but he'd held out some stupid, wild hope that Aziraphale would come home before it did. His whole body tensed and braced for whatever Beelzebub had to say.

"Hello, Crowley," they intoned. "You're going to give me advize."

There were very few times in life, no matter how long it was, when spit-takes were a real possibility, and Crowley had just experienced one, although he had missed it on account of not having had a sip of anything in his mouth at the opportune moment. Most rare opportunities for spit-takes passed like that. He did sputter and cough a little and thereby manage to choke on his own spit, though.

"You need advice," he said, coughing and wheezing and trying not to look embarrassed.

"I need advize," they repeated. "And you are going to give it to me." They paused, menacingly. "Or there will be. Conzequenzez."

"Yeah, consequences," Crowley said. What else was new.

"Ztop repeating what I zay," they snapped.

"Stop repeating, right," Crowley said, because he couldn't help himself. Beelzebub glared at him.

"Gabriel and I," they began, with great dignity. "Are doing very well. Thank you for azking."

"Oh, yeah, sorry, rude of me. You know, demon, hard habit to break. Yeah, that's great, Lord Beelzebub – er, Beelzebub. That's great. I'm glad to hear it." Crowley privately felt that he didn't know two people who deserved a happy ending less than Beelzebub and Gabriel, but that was naturally need-to-know information considering the present company.

"There iz just one problem," Beelzebub continued. "In that we have not yet managed. Intercourze."

Crowley did not choke on his spit for a second time in the space of five minutes, but it was a near thing.

"Wowwwww," he said, stretching the word out to give himself some space to think. "That's. Hmm. Ah. Wow." (The space to think hadn't quite worked out as quickly as usual.)

"Indeed." Beelzebub glared at Crowley. "Wow. And so I am forzed to come to you for advize. Which you will give me. Or – "

"No, yeah, you've made that very clear, I'm giving you advice, you don't need to worry about that," Crowley said hastily. "So, uh, advice? About?" His throat constricted. "Intercourse?"

"Don't be ztupid," Beelzebub said tersely. "I have the zurveillanze tapes from your time with the angel."

Crowley felt, momentarily, that it might have been less painful for Beelzebub to smash him in the stomach with a baseball bat. "Er. What?" he managed, because it seemed like Beelzebub was waiting for something from him.

"What'z the matter with you?" they asked instead of continuing. Crowley hadn't thought he'd been that obvious.

"Oh, uh, Azir – that is, the angel, er." He cleared his throat, made himself choke out the next words. "Back in heaven."

"Oh," Beelzebub looked vaguely but honestly concerned. It wasn't an expression that fit well onto their particular configuration of facial features. "That'z too bad, Crowley."

It really would have been less bizarre without the sympathy.

Crowley waved a hand, trying to move forward. "Anyway, yeah, don't worry about it, all things come to an end, blah blah blah." He had a very human feeling that he might be sick, but it passed. "So yeah, about the advice you're needing?"

"Right," they said, back to business, which was honestly a relief. "Yez. Intercourze with Gabriel. And me. I should fuck him, right?"

Crowley's nerves were not built for this conversation. He wasn't sure what his face did, but he knew he had to work very hard to get it under control. He was pretty sure he made a noise like a tea kettle somewhere in there.

Beelzebub scoffed. "What, zo you think he should fuck me? Zort of reductionizt if you azk me, Crowley." They cocked their head to the side, considering. "Although I'm not oppozed."

A lot of things had happened to Crowley over 6,000 years. This one was up there.

"I think," Crowley said, and he couldn't believe he was saying this to his former boss, "That you should. Ah. Have a nice time. However you both like."

"Oh, that'z very big of you, Crowley," Beelzebub said acidly. "Thank you ever zo much for the blezzing."

"Not a blessing, Your Grace – er, Beelzebub. Just. I don't think anything about you and – and Gabriel and – and intercourse. Nothing at all. Wish you the best."

"Hmm," said Beelzebub. "The Bezt. Well, it will be the bezt, onze I can figure out how to zeduze him. Which iz why I need the advize."

They were getting impatient. They always ended up getting impatient and it was rarely pleasant. But Crowley couldn't help it, he had one more clarifying question, no matter how stupid –

"And you want me to give you advice on how to seduce Gabriel?"

"OBVIOUZLY," Beelzebub roared. "I will return in three dayz. And you will give me thiz advize which I zeek. OR ELZZZZZZZZZZZE."

They disappeared in a cloud of flies.

"Okay," Crowley said to the empty cab, inhaled one of the flies which Beelzebub had left behind, and choked on it.

 

*******

 

How was Crowley going to get out of this one? Hell in general, and Beelzebub specifically, had asked him for a lot over the years, and he'd very often felt out of his depth, but this was a new level.

Why in the world would they come to him for advice on seduction? He'd never even been on succubus duty, or incubus for that matter. Any jobs of a seductive nature had been routed to appropriate departments. He hadn't even supervised any of them – managed a couple, sure, but all those guys reported directly back to Hell, not to him.

Had he made any suggestive comments in one of his reports? Let them think he took the lead on a project someone else covered? He didn't think so. 

Maybe it was just his charming personality. That had to be it. And the fact that Beelzebub had probably lost all contact with Hell, and only had Gabriel to conspire with. More power to them. Crowley shuddered. He couldn't imagine.

He'd been so agitated following his conversation he'd got out of the Bentley and started pacing, and at some point he just hadn't kept turning and turning to pace in the same fifteen feet of alleyway. His stupid feet had gone on much without his say-so and dragged him the nearly half mile back to Whickber Street. Crowley really needed to get it together. This was starting to become concerning.

He'd turned onto the road right by the little market which set up at the corner a couple times a week. He grimaced at the cheery spectacle and went to tear himself away.

"Hii, Mr. Crowley!" Maggie said, for the second painfully cheerful time that morning.

"Hi, Maggie," Crowley said, automatically, before he could pretend he hadn't seen her. Drat.

"You've come back!" she said, and turned back to collect the pie from the little vendor stall where she was apparently buying her lunch. Crowley wondered if he could duck away while her back was turned.

He couldn't, of course, because Maggie was already turning back to him with a chipper, if somewhat apprehensive, smile. "You never come back during the day," she told him, and Crowley tried to pretend she wasn't reading him for trashy, trashy filth. "It's nice to see you up and about!"

"Thanks," Crowley managed. 

"Only, are you alright? Because you look sort of peaky."

Crowley cleared his throat. Maggie had no reason to be friendly with him and he had no reason to tell her anything. "Weird conversation with my boss. Ex. Boss. I mean," he said, without really planning to.

"Ooh?" Maggie said. She started to move as if walking back to her shop, and against his better judgement, Crowley joined her, walking next to her as if he didn't have anywhere else to be.

"Wants help with their new boyfriend," Crowley continued. Maybe Maggie would have some ideas.

"Relationship troubles already, is it?" Maggie asked. She sighed in that way that horribly contented people did. "Me and Nina fit right together, but lots of people don't." Crowley felt the sick feeling in his stomach again and hoped it would pass. "What do they need help with?"

"Nngh, not – not like that. They want to be more. Intimate. With him. You know." Why was Crowley telling her this? This was more conversation than they'd managed in nearly a year. Was he that starved for connection that this was what he was stooping to?

"Aaah," Maggie said, nodding. "Maybe they know about how you like to meddle in other people's relationships."

Crowley looked up at her sharply. That sounded pretty passive aggressive for Maggie. But she was grinning at him out of the corner of her eye, playfully, they were on the same side of a joke. 

"Would you like to come in?" she asked, as they came to the front of her shop. "We can talk about your friend some more. It might be nice."

"Don't like nice. Not my friend," Crowley said. He felt like a broken record. 

"You could come in anyway?"

"Better not," Crowley said, aware he was being rude and feeling a little bad about it. "Was going to, er, get coffee anyway. So. You go on. Thanks for the chat." And he peeled off to cross the road like the Hounds of Hell were at his heels, leaving Maggie staring after him for the second time that day. 

She really was lovely. Awful woman.

And crafty, too, because by the time Crowley got to the front of the queue of Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death Nina was glaring at him.

"Maggie texted me. You don't need to like my girlfriend, but you can't be rude to her," she said by way of greeting.

"I like Maggie fine," Crowley protested.

"Stop being rude to her, then," Nina said. "You want your usual, cupcake?"

"Did you just call me cupcake?"

"I said what I said."

"Er. Okay. Yeah, usual's fine."

Nina brought him his coffee by the counter and set it down in front of him, but didn't let go of the cup when Crowley reached for it.

"Maggie says you're in a weird mood. I could guess that, since you only ever show up on this street in the dead of night or the wee hours, and here you are at lunch rush." Nina kept looking at him steadily, and it was unnerving. This was why Crowley didn't hang around lesbians much. They were too perceptive.

"Just a weird day," Crowley said, giving a sharp little shrug of his shoulder and reaching hopefully for the coffee again. Nina still didn't let go.

"Maggie's good to talk to," Nina said. "So's Muriel. You showing up all keyed up and sudden like this, you need help. Go talk to one of them. You meddle enough, let one of them meddle with you for a change."

"We're already talking?" Crowley pointed out.

"Yeah, and it's the middle of lunch rush and I'm not your therapist. Go on and have a chat with someone who cares." She paused, rolled her eyes slightly. "Alright, someone else who cares, and someone who's better at talking than me."

"Right," Crowley said faintly. He pulled at the coffee but it was still held firm.

"And let me know if you ever want a drink you actually enjoy. Mr. Six Espressos," she said, with a fond little scoff, and shoved the cup gently into his hand before heading back to the queue.

Crowley stumbled out of the coffee shop, feeling chastised and faintly confused. 

This was why he liked Nina better. Caring and absolutely awful about it. Lovely woman.

He stood outside the coffee shop, choking down his six shots of espresso and staring at The Bookshop. It was always The Bookshop, anymore, ominous capital letters included.

Maybe Nina was right. Maybe he needed help. Maybe there was a reason his stupid snake feet had brought him here.

He'd already talked to Maggie more than was comfortable, and Nina seemed to think Muriel could help. Crowley couldn't imagine how, as they resembled nothing so much as a newborn lamb. And they were in The Bookshop. 

It wasn't like he had been in The Bookshop much. Well, maybe he had been there more than Nina's or Maggie's. Combined. He did find himself in there maybe once a month, maybe twice a month when it got really bad. Muriel was just sort of helpless, and Crowley was a sucker. And the pull of The Bookshop was so great he could hardly keep out, even if stepping into it felt like jumping into a pit of knives every time.

So maybe Nina thought he should talk to Muriel because he did, actually, talk to Muriel sometimes. Far more than he ever wanted to admit to himself.

"Right," Crowley said, knocking back the remaining shots of espresso and chucking his cup to the side. (It landed neatly on the top of a nearby bin.) He marched across the street.

"Hello, Muriel," he said as he threw open the door of The Bookshop. Grandiose entrances mitigated some of the emotional pain.

"Mr. Crowley!" their voice drifted through the stacks faintly.

A faint crashing noise sounded, followed by an "ouch!" and a few moments later Muriel was standing in front of Crowley, beaming up at him. Crowley felt a sort of pang of hurt wash over him when he saw them. There was something about The Bookshop that got to people, and Muriel had given up the Inspector Constable get-up and taken to wearing cute sweater vests and corduroy trousers in pale colours. They didn't look like Aziraphale, but the clothes were too close for comfort. 

"It's nice of you to call, Mr. Crowley," they said. "I didn't even have a problem I needed your help with. Very thoughtful of you to pop in to say hello!"

They said something to that effect every time Crowley "popped in" to help them with whatever query was troubling them. It was mortifying, but Crowley had stopped correcting them outright. He still corrected anyone else, as a matter of course, but Muriel was an angel who was so good and sweet and didn't seem to call him nice as if they were surprised a demon could be so, and it actually felt sort of good. So in one tiny little corner of his life: fine. Nice. Thoughtful. Whatever.

"Don't put too fine a point on it," Crowley grumbled (he hadn't give up token resistance, just outright objection), but his heart really wasn't in it.

"Cuppertea?" they asked him. Several months ago, Nina had taken pity on Muriel and showed them how to put the kettle on, and Muriel delighted in offering this small human service to as many people as they encountered. That was another reason Crowley kept visiting The Bookshop – he had to ensure that the number of visitors never reached above the level which Aziraphale had considered "unacceptable". Left to their own devices, Muriel might welcome enough customers that Aziraphale would have considered the quantity of them "tacky" or "irresponsible" or even "deplorable." Crowley couldn't talk Muriel into running everyone out, the way Aziraphale had, but there had to be some limit. What if Aziraphale came back and the books had been sold?

Not that he tried to think about Aziraphale coming back. Not that he would.

"Mr. Crowley?" Muriel prompted him.

"Oh," said Crowley. "Yes, please." 

They trotted away to the little kitchenette and Crowley followed them, trying not to look about the place, which only ever exacerbated his general malaise.

It was sweet, to watch Muriel with the kettle and mugs and tea bags. They were so much more comfortable with physical matter than they had been when Crowley first met them. Touching things still seemed to take a good deal of their concentration, so Crowley had learned not to interrupt them at their work.

It gave him time to think about what in the world he was doing here.

By the time Muriel looked up from the freshly prepared mugs of tea and handed him one, he had just about developed an opening sentence.

"Nina thinks I need help, actually," he started, sipping at the scalding tea. Muriel always made it exactly right. He wondered if it was their ferocious attention to detail or if the bookshop subtly made sure they always timed everything just so and plopped in just the right about of milk. He preferred to think it was all Muriel, but he had his doubts.

"Oh, how exciting!" Muriel said, and took a sip of tea. "Oh wow, it's hot!"

"You drink tea now?" he asked, impressed despite himself.

"Oh, yes, ever since Maggie came by for tea last month. She made it sound so nice and I tried it and it is nice! I haven't quite got the hang of temperature though." They stuck their tongue out balefully. 

"You'll pass for a human yet, Muriel," Crowley told them. Despite himself, he really was fond of them. Muriel beamed.

"I still haven't had anything except for tea, and I don't think I will, but it is a fascinating human ritual." Muriel blew on their tea. Crowley wondered if Maggie had taught them that too, or if they had tried it on their own. "But Mr. Crowley, you said you needed help? That is exciting! You've helped me so much and now I can help you! What can I help you with?"

"Weeell," Crowley said. "I never said I needed help. I said Nina thinks I need help."

Muriel frowned. "Oh. That's too bad." Then they brightened up. "But! Nina's very clever. If she thinks you need help, you probably do."

That was actually pretty good logic. He'd thought he'd found a clever way to deflect but he couldn't argue with Muriel there.

"It's nothing, really," he said. "Only my old boss came to me for some advice. And I have no idea what to tell them. Or why they've even come to me."

"That's Lord Beelzebub," Muriel said, nodding into their tea. "The one that Archangel Gabriel ran off with."

"Right."

"Well, what do they need help with?" Muriel looked sincerely curious. Bless them. Er. Whatever.

Crowley considered what to say next. He wasn't sure how much Muriel knew about matters of a more intimate nature.

"Beelzebub wants," Crowley began, speaking slowly as he chose his words carefully. "To take their relationship with Gabriel. And, er. Become more, er, intimately involved." He avoided Muriel's gaze as he spoke. They just seemed so pure.

"Oh!" Muriel cried, delighted. "Are you saying they want to have intercourse with him?"

Crowley missed the days when no one said "intercourse" near or around him.

"How do you know about that?" he asked them, trying and failing not to sound accusatory. 

Muriel rolled their eyes at him like he'd said something outrageous. "It's all part of basic training. Making more humans was sort of the whole point of the project in the beginning, wasn't it?"

"You didn't know about love!"

"I knew it was important! They just don't cover the mechanics of romance in basic training. But they do all the physical stuff." Muriel flapped a hand airily. Crowley couldn't believe this. 

"All!?"

"Well," Muriel became quite serious. "You know, probably not all, now that I think about it. I'm not sure if an angel and demon could have babies. But I do know about the basics. And the euphemisms!"

"And the euphemisms?" Crowley echoed faintly.

"Oh, those were my favourite!" Muriel said. "Shagging, making love, rumpy pumpy, 'ow's your father – "

"Right, of course, euphemisms," Crowley interrupted desperately. "Love a good. Euphemism. Anyway. As we were saying."

"Right," Muriel said, musingly. "So Beelzebub want to have intercourse with Gabriel." Crowley yearned for a time of his life when he had no reason to hear that sentence. A simpler time. "And they've come to you for advice. Well, that does make sense, doesn't it?"

"What?" Crowley said.

"I said it makes sense they came to you for advice about that kind of thing," Muriel explained, patient and beatific as ever.

"Why? Because I'm a demon?" Crowley asked.

"No, silly," Muriel said. "Because you and Mr. Aziraphale did that sort of thing all the time, didn't you?"

Crowley had been primed perfectly in that instant with a mouthful of tea, and the spit-take was truly a work of art.

"Excuse me!?"

"Well, there was a memo," Muriel said.

"A what!?"

"Mm-hmm. Once Mr. Aziraphale defected. They told us all you'd been in cahoots. The language used was very correct, you know, but they managed to make it sound quite naughty."

Crowley gaped at them.

"And!," Muriel continued, warming to the theme. "I've gone back over the reports since I've been here. I got curious, being in Mr. Aziraphale's shop! And between the memo, and seeing how close you two were, all of the things he used to get up to make so much more sense. He was always meeting you for intercourse, wasn't he?"

"Stop saying intercourse!"

"All right, calm down!" Muriel said, reaching out and plucking Crowley's mug from his hand. He'd been gesturing madly with his tea and it had sloshed alarmingly. "It only made sense, is all. You were very close, and you both know so much about love, and Mr. Aziraphale always made up these little excuses for why he had to run into his adversary. Beelzebub was getting the same reports, right? I bet they saw what was going on, is all."

"Absolutely nothing was going on," Crowley thundered.

"Oh all right, I said calm down, didn't I?" Muriel said. "Only it seemed that way. Once I was looking at the reports and knowing how close you two were. And Beelzebub was much higher ranked than me – er, lower. So they probably knew even more."

"Aziraphale and I have not," Crowley could not believe he was saying these words. "Had intercourse."

"I thought you didn't like to use that word?" they asked, blinking at him as if they hadn't just torn down the frighteningly fragile peace he had been clinging on to for the better part of a year.

"Aargh!!!!!!" Crowley said, sinking into a chair and grabbing his long shabby hair with his fists.

Muriel gave his shoulder a little pat.

 

*******

 

Later on, Crowley wouldn't be able to say how he made it through the next three days before Beelzebub's return. If the days were filled with thinking, or if he sort of carefully switched all functions of thought off and acted on instinct. He tended towards overthinking, so he would lay money on that one, but later he recalled everything as if he had blinked in the bookshop and opened his eyes three days later with Beelzebub sitting in front of him in a wretched, cosy little booth in The Dirty Donkey. 

The suggestion that not only did Heaven and Hell believe that he and Aziraphale were not only connected, but, well, connected, and that perhaps the evidence really could skew that way, and now he thought about it, what had been up with Aziraphale always setting up these apparently sexually coded meetings? – well, it was all a lot to bear.

"Good to zee you again, Crowley," Beelzebub sounded almost friendly, which was very disconcerting.

"Yeah," Crowley said, wishing he could remember the walk here, or that he could go back to playing June's Journey in his car. "Er. Yeah."

"I truzt you have had a pleazant few dayz," they continued, and if Crowley didn't know better he would swear they were being sincere. 

"You could say that," Crowley said, because what else could you say?

"Queztion for you," Beelzebub continued, with a faintly dopey looking smile. "When you and the traitor angel had intercourze, did you uze protection?"

Crowley was beyond the point of choking out of shock anymore. He just put his head down on the table.

"Becauze, I have zeen the public health mezzaging – well, Gabriel haz – and I do not think it countz. For uz. But Gabriel keepz inzizting on uzing zpermizide."

Spermicide. Crowley would not process that sentence. He refused. He simply hadn't heard it. His shoulders shook on the table where he still had his head down and he wasn't sure if he was laughing or sobbing.

"Crowley, you are behaving in a very unpleazant manner," Beelzebub told him.

"Sorry," Crowley said, forcing his head off the table. "My bad. We er. Never. Anyway. I thought you needed advice on how to seduce him?"

Beelzebub laughed like a creaky old gate. "Oh, yez. Well, no. I waz at an impazze and thought you might have pointerz. But moztly I thought, 'let'z go give that znake a good threat for old time'z zake." They laughed again, apparently delighted by their joke. "I went home and zorted it that night. I thought, if Crowley can do it, zo can I!"

"Well, I haven't – " Crowley began, peevishly, when there was a faint woomph of celestial energy and Gabriel popped into being next to Beelzebub. Crowley flinched.

"Hey, babe!" Gabriel said, and kissed Beelzebub on the top of their head.

"Hello, petal," Beelzebub said. Their face looked caught between a grumpy scowl and a delighted grin. 

The whole spectacle was absolutely vile.

"Hey, buddy, thanks for the help," Gabriel said warmly, reaching his hand across the table for a handshake. Crowley stared at it. This wasn't happening.

It was, though, because Gabriel was looking at him with that affable smile with a hint of steel and Beelzebub had started growling faintly, and Crowley took the large paddle of a hand in front of him and shook it, wordlessly. He had no idea what to say in this situation.

"Do you know, petal, that Crowley had juzt finished telling me zomething very interezting," Beelzebub said, grinning wickedly up at Gabriel.

Oh no.

"What's that, babe?" Gabriel asked. He sounded like a doberman that had left off being menacing to have a really grand game of fetch. Crowley hated him.

"You know how we zuppozed that the traitorz had been having intercourze?"

Crowley started looking for the exits.

"It zeemz that we were wrong." Beelzebub turned the full force of their gleeful malice on Crowley."Crowley, have you ever even had intercourze?"

Crowley could only press his lips together until they disappeared entirely and squeeze his eyes shut behind his glasses. Out of the frying pan, into the fire, indeed.

"Whoa!" Gabriel cried.

It kept getting worse.

"We thought for sure you and Aziraphale were having intercourse," Gabriel said wonderingly.

"Why is everyone calling it intercourse?" Crowley wondered aloud.

"Yezz," Beelzebub said, laughing their creaky laugh again. "In Hell, we all thought Crowley waz a mazter of zeduction. He'd tempted an angel."

Horrible Gabriel started chuckling along with his horrible partner. "And in Heaven, we thought Aziraphale was an expert at thwarting the attempts at seduction! Until we thought he'd probably given in, that is."

"Actually," Crowley said, because apparently hearing his reputation as a tempter be questioned was more than he could stand for, but he could hardly make his voice heard over their laughter. "Actually! I'm pretty sure Aziraphale was, er, tempting me. Actually."

"Aziraphale? Master of seduction?" Gabriel asked, wiping his eyes. "Hah!"

"And zo you thwarted him?" Beelzebub said, trying to catch their breath from laughing. "Zome demon!"

"I'm just saying," Crowley said. "I am good, you know, at temptation. So it's not like I was trying to seduce him or anything."

"No!" said Gabriel, clearly having the time of his life. "He was trying to seduce you!" He paused for a minute as something seemed to click. "Ooh, so you two weren't actually together, like that? That's rough, buddy."

The vaguely kind condescension was somehow worse than the outright mockery. Wow.

"We could've been," Crowley said, defensive.

"That is a shame," Beelzebub said, as if Crowley hadn't spoken at all. "All that carry-on and not even carrying on."

"And Beelzebub said Aziraphale was back in Heaven?" Gabriel sucked his teeth. "That's just too bad."

"Supreme Archangel," Crowley said. He couldn't help himself. "Actually."

Beelzebub and Gabriel both recoiled.

"Yikes," Gabriel said.

"Ooph," agreed Beelzebub.

The table was silent for a moment as they both took in the news and Crowley felt sorry for himself for so, so many reasons.

Then Gabriel broke the silence. "Actually. You know what would be really funny," he said.

 

*******

 

Crowley felt like for all his wiliness and general tempting know-how, he couldn't deny that he'd had more than his fair share of being played for a sucker. These last three days might have taken the cake.

He could not believe he'd let not only his former boss but Aziraphale's former boss talk him into this. He had to have been suffering from some kind of suggestible state after the acute trauma of the previous three days, to say nothing of the preceding year, or the preceding failed apocalypse, or any of it. Something had to have snapped, seated across from Beelzebub and Gabriel in that pub and hearing them cackle over a plan to "screw over Heaven and get Crowley laid," as Gabriel had put it in that exuberant voice of his. 

Something must have snapped, because Crowley should have walked away. Under no circumstances should Crowley have allowed them to pay a visit to Muriel, who quickly became an all-too-eager participant. There should not be a world where the three of them set up in the bedroom in the little apartment above the bookshop, drawing summoning circles and wards designed to look as if they were from both Heaven and Hell as Crowley watched in horror. Beelzebub should not have said to him, with malicious cheer, "have fun with the zex, Crowley," and given him a fist bump, and Gabriel should not have uttered the words "go get 'em, tiger!" with a little punch to Crowley's shoulder before they both zipped back to their happily-ever-after on Alpha Centauri.

"Alpha Centauri was ours," Crowley whined to himself, trapped for the moment in the sigils Beelzebub and Gabriel had sketched out. Because what really shouldn't have happened is that Crowley stepped into the damn – blessed – thing, which immediately stripped off his miracled clothes (aside from the tiny black boxer briefs) and forced his wings out, then wrapped wings and limbs alike in ethereal and occult chains. He was definitely at least partly culpable here, because no one had forced him to take this final step.

"What was that, Mr. Crowley?" Muriel looked up from the missive they were drafting to Heaven. That was the last part of the plan. The idea was, Muriel would have "hastily scrawled out a frantic message to the former proprietor of the shop" after it was besieged by rogue forces of Heaven and Hell, reporting Mr. Crowley's tragic hostage status and their own narrow escape, and wouldn't Supreme Archangel Mr. Aziraphale please, please help, they were awfully frightened for Mr. Crowley's sake.

"Nothing," Crowley said. "Muriel, you should unbind me. This is stupid."

They finished off their little missive with a flourish and held it in the air speculatively. "I could do that," they said. "I don't need to send this."

Crowley thought of seeing Aziraphale for the first time in a year. He thought of the way Aziraphale had always needed rescuing, and how much Crowley had liked the rescuing. He wondered if Aziraphale would like the rescuing too. He wondered if Aziraphale would really, really like the rescuing.

This was the worst idea he had ever been talked into. This is why Aziraphale was the only teammate he had tolerated for most of his existence. Other people came up with the stupidest ideas, and then there he was, going along with them, because he didn't have much else on.

"You can send it," he said, quickly, before he could think better of it. The missive zipped out of their hand and, presumably, into a memo box on Aziraphale's desk. It was a handy little piece of miracle work.

"Ooh, this will be fun!" Muriel said, clapping their hands. Crowley couldn't believe he used to think they didn't know anything about sex, and here they were, integral to the most ridiculous sex plot he'd ever encountered. "Have a nice time, Mr. Crowley! Tell Mr. Aziraphale hello from me! I'll head to Nina's for a nice cuppertea." They booped him on the nose as they passed by and out of the room.

"Maybe the memo will get lost," Crowley said to himself, comfortingly. The thought of seeing Aziraphale again was making his stupid, unnecessary, ever-present heart pound away in his chest.

He tried to flex his wings a bit but they were held fast. Uncomfortable, but he trusted it made a good visual.

"Maybe he'll send someone else," Crowley said, but that was still somehow not as frightening as the idea of Aziraphale showing up.

There was no answer, of course, from the empty room.

"Maybe he won't care at all," Crowley said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable around the shoulders by now. "Maybe he won't even come. Maybe he'll look at the memo and decide, well, nothing lasts forever, that's it for the demon Crowley. He's got all sorts of archangel business to get up to, nowadays. Probably bringing about the end of days. Takes the time it takes. No space for rescuing irritating former adversaries."

He was starting to really work himself into a lather and think about wrenching himself free of his bindings, getting his clothes back on, and taking himself as far away from London as he could find, when the front door of the bookshop crashed open and shut and he heard his favourite voice in the whole world frantically shouting his name for the first time in over a year.

"Oh God," Crowley whispered. He couldn't help himself.

Then there were  footsteps thundering up the stairs and through the little flat, and the bedroom door was thrown open and Aziraphale was stood there in the doorway, flaming sword in hand, staring at Crowley as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

"Who's done this to you?" he asked in a low voice. His hair was styled nicely and his suit was of an extremely flattering cut. He didn't look quite like himself but he still looked. Well. Hot. Crowley gulped.

"Hullo, Aziraphale," he said. "Flaming sword in the bookshop, eh?"

"If there are enemies," Aziraphale said, mincingly. "One likes to be prepared."

"Just us," Crowley told him. His voice sounded all breathy, which was ridiculous, but Aziraphale's sudden presence and all-consuming confidence as he came to save Crowley was a lot to take in and remain fully coherent.

"For the moment," Aziraphale said, nodded, and extinguished the sword before stashing it in a scabbard he wore slung across his chest. 

Crowley was pretty sure the noise he made just then could be described as a whimper. Why was Aziraphale so hot still? Why was he here? Why had Crowley agreed to this? Whatever came next was bound to be excruciating. There really wasn't any plan left, just tie Crowley up, make it look like it was the work of their respective sides, bait Aziraphale, and the rest was history. But the rest was happening now. That had a funny habit of happening to them.

Aziraphale, hearing the embarrassing whimper, was on Crowley in a flash, peering at sigils and reaching out as if he wanted to touch Crowley, but stopping himself at the last minute. "Are you alright? Really, Crowley, who did this? And why? Where did they go?"

This was the part where Crowley should carry the story. And he would have, he probably would have, but Aziraphale was standing so close to him and looking searchingly into his face and their faces were very close together and did Aziraphale just look at Crowley's lips? And Crowley was definitely looking at Aziraphale's lips and Crowley couldn't remember what he was supposed to say and so he just said the truth, "Beelzebub and Gabriel. And Muriel."

He regretted saying it immediately, partly because now he had to come clean about the stupid, stupid plan, but mostly because Aziraphale stepped back as he processed this new information, breaking their close contact.

"Why would they attack you?" he asked, his eyes stormy as they darted around the room as if the instigators would show up at any moment. "And why would Muriel help? They're the one who contacted me."

"Yeah," Crowley said. "Er. Um."

"Hold on," Aziraphale said, advancing toward the window. "That's Muriel sitting outside Nina's with a book." He frowned, and the effect was devastating. Crowley was so gone. He was so handsome. "Their note said they had to flee for their life, but they're sitting there with a book and a nice drink."

He turned back to Crowley, still frowning. "What's going on?" he asked, and his voice sounded more like the slightly petulant, put-upon Aziraphale that Crowley loved so much.

"Well," Crowley started. "Silly idea, really."

"Silly?" Aziraphale asked, raising one bitchy eyebrow. Oh, Crowley adored him.

"Well you see, Beelzebub wanted advice," Crowley said. Aziraphale's other eyebrow joined the first, raised high above his eyes so his dear forehead scrunched up. "About having, er, sex, with Gabriel."

Aziraphale made a face like he'd smelled something disgusting.

"I know!" Crowley said. He'd missed Aziraphale; he'd missed talking to him about everything. "And they thought I'd know how to go about it. Because. Because, well." He cleared his throat and looked away. "Well, you see, both sides thought we'd been. Having lots of. Er, intercourse. Sex, I mean. They thought we were having sex."

Crowley just knew his face was bright red, but when he glanced up to see how Aziraphale was reacting to this, Aziraphale was blushing too.

"Oh, really?" Aziraphale said, in a very high voice.

"Yeah, on account of the – the, you know, fraternising, and, and…well, you know, the, er, rescues, also, I think, played into it a bit."

"The rescues," Aziraphale said. "Naturally."

"Anyhow, so Beelzebub was all, you have to help me seduce Gabriel, because you know all about that, and of course I don't, but then Muriel said, well you know everyone thought that – we, you know, us two, were, well. And Gabriel thought it would be funny to mess with Heaven. And also thought that maybe, um. Anyway. Just thought it would be funny, is all."

"So did they enact this scheme against your will?" Aziraphale asked softly.

Crowley felt humiliated. What had he been thinking? He shook his head.

"Ah," Aziraphale said. He nodded his head, once, but his eyes were so very soft, and Crowley realised he was feeling hurt and trying to hide it. "And so did you choose to participate because you, also, thought it would be funny?"

"What?" Crowley said, loud and sudden before he could think better of it. "No! I didn't care about messing with Heaven." Aziraphale gave him an incredulous look. "Well, not now, I haven't wanted anything to do with you lot since. You know. Angel, I wouldn't mess with you like that." It was more intimate than Crowley maybe had any business being but it was also true, and he wanted to stop Aziraphale feeling hurt.

Aziraphale nodded again, but it didn't look like he was hiding anything this time. "Why, then?"

Ooph. There was the crux of it, though.

"I just thought," Crowley began, and had to swallow a few times to try and wet his throat which was suddenly horribly dry. This next bit was going to be painful. "I do like rescuing you," he said eventually. 

Aziraphale cocked his head. "I like being rescued," he agreed.

That helped, actually, in a way Crowley hadn't anticipated. Aziraphale was with him so far.

"Thought I'd try on the other hat," Crowley said, watching Aziraphale carefully. "So to speak."

"I see," Aziraphale said. He miracled away the scabbard he'd been wearing (Crowley took a moment to regret it – it had been a very dashing look), then took a deliberate step towards Crowley. "And what do you think of this particular hat?"

There was an amount of intention washing off Aziraphale that gave Crowley a shiver all over. "A little embarrassing," he admitted. He was blushing again, which was even more embarrassing. "Maybe not all bad though. Bit of fun, even." Aziraphale took another step towards Crowley, who had the strangest sense that Aziraphale was egging him on and it made him feel almost brave. "Liked seeing you dashing in all heroic." Another step. "How do you like your, er, hat?"

"Aside from the abject terror I began with," Aziraphale began drily, and Crowley couldn't help but feel a little satisfied that Aziraphale had admitted so easily to being terrified for Crowley's sake, "Now that I know you are safe, it does have its, ah. Gratification." He took another step closer to Crowley. They were quite close now, but not yet close enough to touch.

"I always saved you," Crowley said, feeling almost brazen, "And we'd usually go out dining."

"Yes," Aziraphale agreed.

"Is that all you wanted?"

Another step. In arm's length now. Crowley thought he could feel Aziraphale's warmth on his skin.

"No," Aziraphale said.

He took one last step towards Crowley, and again they were face to face, sharing breath with one another. Crowley's heart was pounding like it had earlier, but for an entirely different reason.

"Shall I take you out for a meal? Is that all you want now?" Aziraphale asked, his voice so soft Crowley could barely hear him, but he felt the breath of the words on his lips all the same.

Crowley took back every single complaint he had ever lodged about the last three days. If they had got him here, they were worth it.

"No," Crowley breathed, and Aziraphale kissed him!

He had thought about kissing Aziraphale almost every single day for the past year. He had remembered their kiss, wished he hadn't kissed him, wished he had kissed him more, imagined Aziraphale had kissed him instead, imagined future kisses. He had thought a lot about kissing, basically.

And now Aziraphale was warm and solid in front of him and was kissing him and he had never once imagined that he might be tied up, nearly naked, wrapped in Aziraphale's strong arms with Aziraphale kissing him like he was starving.

Aziraphale had a hand in Crowley's hair and another hand wrapped around his waist and Crowley's bonds had just enough give that Aziraphale could pull him tight into his chest. His lips were soft and insistent and when his tongue pressed into Crowley's mouth Crowley groaned, loudly, and his hips snapped forward without his giving them any thought, seeking sensation and pressure and Aziraphale.

He pulled away from the kiss, not wanting to, but gasping, "Please – please get me out of these – "

And Aziraphale clicked his fingers and the ethereal and occult chains fell away (Beelzebub and Gabriel had snickered when they wrote in the clause allowing Aziraphale to dissolve the bindings) and Crowley threw his arms around Aziraphale, kissing him again and throwing a leg instinctively around his waist too, so he was held up by the one leg he was standing on and the rest of his limbs clinging to Aziraphale madly.

Aziraphale kept kissing him like that, as if he'd never do anything else again ever. Crowley's hips kept bucking forward, rocking into Aziraphale's hips, and Aziraphale, that bastard, had indeed made an Effort, a nice hard one, and Crowley ground into it, gasping into Aziraphale's mouth.

"Wanted you," Aziraphale said, pulling away just enough to crush the words next to Crowley's ear, into his hair. Crowley had no idea what he was doing with his own mouth, but it landed on the soft fold of skin under Aziraphale's jaw and when he kissed it Aziraphale moaned, which sent another jot of heat down in between Crowley's legs, so he figured he'd keep going. "Always. But I didn't know how much until you kissed me."

Crowley licked at the place he'd been kissing and Aziraphale shouted, which felt like triumph. "Wanted you too, angel."

"Come here – " Aziraphale moved a bit, managed to dislodge Crowley's clinging leg without them both crashing to the floor, although it felt like a near miss for a second there, got them turned around so he was sitting on the edge of the bed with Crowley practically in his lap, gazing down at Aziraphale like he was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, because really, he was.

Aziraphale was looking up at him much the same way, and Crowley felt so exposed with his whole scrawny chest out, wings flaring out behind him. The look of awe on Aziraphale's face soothed the feeling, made him preen a little.

"This was a ridiculous idea," Aziraphale said, as if he was trying to sound severe, but he missed the mark by a wide margin.

Crowley's stomach still swooped, even though he knew Aziraphale and knew the answer before he asked. "Are you complaining?"

"That is the last thing I'm doing," Aziraphale said. He ran his hands up the outside of Crowley's bare thighs, held onto Crowley's waist. "You're stunning." 

He pulled Crowley forward a little, leaned forward to meet him, and kissed lightly at Crowley's collarbone. Crowley caught his breath. He hadn't known touch could feel like that, so electric and present and all-consuming. Aziraphale bit down where he had kissed as if he couldn't help himself and Crowley said "fuck!" before nearly collapsing down against Aziraphale, overwhelmed with sensation. They both caught their breath and laughed, foreheads knocking together. 

Then they were kissing again, for long minutes, wrapped up in each other. Crowley had not done much kissing (and neither, he suspected, had Aziraphale) but it occurred to him now that they should never, ever stop doing that.

Until he realised that Aziraphale's fine wool suit, which felt so tantalising pressed against Crowley's naked skin, was in fact stopping Crowley from feeling Aziraphale's naked skin, and he pulled away abruptly.

"Naked," he gasped, fingers stumbling on Aziraphale's tie. He wasn't wearing the bowtie Crowley was used to, and that was a shame, because Crowley had had thoughts about the bowties, but the horrible unfamiliar necktie was quickly dispatched with despite Crowley's clumsy fingers.

"Yes," Aziraphale agreed, shoving his arms out of his jacket with no regard for it as Crowley attacked the buttons on his shirt. Crowley couldn't imagine Aziraphale treating his proper clothes with this lack of care, and he wondered if there would be more times in the future, times when Aziraphale would pause to hang his things up, or scowl or pout at Crowley until he did it for him. Crowley gulped. There was a thought. 

Crowley barely had time to consider his hopes for the future, though, before Aziraphale's shirt and jacket were done away with and Aziraphale was yanking off his overshirt, revealing his soft chest and stomach and Crowley all but tackled him, lying flat on top of him on the bed to feel the press of their skin together.

"Wow," Crowley said, struggling to run his hands over Aziraphale while blanketing him with his own body. 

"Indeed," Aziraphale agreed. He held Crowley's face in his hands, and Crowley was forced to stop his frantic touching and hold himself up, just a bit. Aziraphale ran a thumb over Crowley's cheek. "My dear. My Crowley. Have you never – "

"Never," Crowley said, shaking his head hard enough it was a wonder he didn't dislodge Aziraphale's soft hand. "I wouldn't – there was never – have you?"

"No, nor me," Aziraphale said. "But have you – that is to say, er, have you developed the…capability?"

Crowley peered down at him, confused. "What?"

Aziraphale rocked his hips up, pointedly, and Crowley hissed and ground down against him.

"Vulva," he gasped, and Aziraphale took a turn at looking confused. He also looked unbearably turned on, his hips hitching up against Crowley's, and it was an unfairly precious combination.

He grabbed Crowley's hips and forcibly lifted them up (!!!) and his eyes cleared marginally. "Ah, I see," he said, "Vulva."

"Fits into the jeans nicer," Crowley said, managing to shrug even as he braced himself over Aziraphale. "That okay?"

"Darling, you may have whatsoever you please," Aziraphale said. He wrapped his arms around Crowley's back, his hands landing on the place Crowley's wings connected to his back.

"Aziraphale!" Crowley shouted, writhing in pleasure as Aziraphale's fingers buried in the base of his wings. There was no way that was an erogenous zone. Crowley cleaned them once a month (well, he had before the last year) and they had never felt so good, but something about Aziraphale's touch made pleasure ripple all over his wings and back.

"Oh," said Aziraphale in wonder. "That's nice, is it?" He reached further along Crowley's wings, and Crowley moaned and wriggled and gasped. "Not enough," Aziraphale said, and Crowley was almost entirely gone on the pleasure and couldn't imagine what more might look like, when Aziraphale tumbled Crowley off him unceremoniously and manhandled him onto his stomach on the bed.

Okay, Crowley thought. He can rescue me more often if it comes with the manhandling.

That was the last coherent thought he had for the next few moments, because Aziraphale straddled his hips and leant over his wings and back and went to town. 

He ran his hands over the arches of his wings, over and under them, got his fingers in the midst of the feathers and ran them through again and again. Crowley squirmed and yelped and pressed into the touch, pressing up on his hands so he could lean into Aziraphale. His hips were bracketed by Aziraphale's soft thighs and he could feel Aziraphale hard against his bum. His hips were bucking wildly, trying to find friction against the flat mattress or to twitch up enough to feel Aziraphale's cock where he wanted it so desperately, and finding neither.

"Aziraphale," he gasped. "Please – oh – fuck, angel, please – "

Without thinking, he shoved a hand under himself, cupped himself over the boxers, and it gave him just enough friction to grind up against.

"Yes," Aziraphale said, rubbing at the base of Crowley's wings with his thumbs while his fingers reached up into the feathers, which made Crowley mad with the sensation, "Yes, Crowley, yes."

Crowley snapped his hips into his hand, three sharp times as he was held all around by Aziraphale's hands and thighs, and his orgasm crashed over him almost violently. His eyes prickled with tears. 

He felt, distantly, that he should be embarrassed by that, or embarrassed by the way all he could seem to say was "angel…angel," in a soft, broken voice. But Aziraphale had taken his hands off Crowley's wings and braced one against Crowley's hip and the other seemed to be jerking above Crowley's bum. Aziraphale was saying "Crowley…Crowley!" in a voice that sounded just as affected and he stilled, just moments after Crowley had, with a rough cry. He collapsed on top of Crowley, kissed the back of his neck messily. 

"Dearest," he said, after they had panted together and begun to catch their breath. "Crowley. I didn't know – "

"Please will you still fuck me?" Crowley interrupted. "Sorry, sorry. You will, right?"

Aziraphale rolled off him entirely, landing next to him, laughing with such unrestrained delight that Crowley couldn't help but reach over and pull him into a kiss, feeling Aziraphale's laughter against his lips and thinking that if everything ended right now, he might really be okay with it.

"Yes," Aziraphale said, when they stopped kissing. "It would be my pleasure. You precious being." He laughed again and pressed their noses together.

And Crowley had always been known for pushing his luck. "I don't want this to be our only time doing this," he whispered, half hoping Aziraphale wouldn't hear him. His eyes were wide and scared and he didn't know what he would do if Aziraphale didn't feel the same way, again.

Aziraphale stopped laughing and became very serious. He smoothed Crowley's hair back from his forehead and looked intently into his eyes. "I will not let this be our only time," he said. "We go forward together." Then his eyes watered and he looked less sure of himself. "Will we go forward together?"

"Yes," Crowley promised, tears coming to his eyes too. He didn't care about the logistics or the realities of the situation at that point. It was everything he had been missing for a year. "Yes."

There was nothing else for it, such declarations required passionate kissing in response, and both Crowley and Aziraphale were happy to oblige.

It didn't take long before Crowley had his hands on Aziraphale's belt buckle.

"Do they not let you wear suspenders up there?" he asked breathlessly, yanking the buckle out and going for the zipper. "Or button flies? I know you never got on with zipper flies."

"Different standards," Aziraphale said, hissing slightly as Crowley's knuckles brushed him as he pulled the zipper down. "Upstairs. Dreadful, if you ask me." 

They worked off Aziraphale's trousers together, leaving them crumpled next to the disregarded jacket. Crowley wondered if the boxers and undershirt were Aziraphale's standard or also a Heaven-mandated update from something embarrassing like a union suit, but before he could ask, Aziraphale was shoving said boxers down his thighs and Crowley could only stare at his cock, which was hard again and looked utterly inviting.

"Angel," Crowley said. "Do you mean to tell me you've been packing that thing this whole time?"

Aziraphale flushed down to his chest and said demurely, "A gentleman's tailor expects something to accommodate in one's trousers." As if that was a reasonable thing to say, and not the hottest and most ridiculous thing Crowley had ever heard in his life. "Now get your kit off, don't leave me alone in the nude."

Crowley nearly fell over in his eagerness to comply, and Aziraphale's hungry look was altogether satisfying. He'd seen that look for literal ages, and hadn't always entirely known what it meant. Seeing it turned on him while they were both naked and he was about to sit on Aziraphale's dick for the first time was something else.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale breathed. 

He reached out a hand to Crowley, who took it, feeling breathless and like a loser and excited all at once.

"So, angel," Crowley said, to cover up some nerves, because he felt like giggling standing there holding Aziraphale's naked, naked hand, "How should we go about this?" (Sexy, Crowley, nice move.)

"Can you lay down on your wings? Or might they pop away just for the moment?" Aziraphale asked, as if he wasn't at all perturbed by Crowley's awkward bluntness. "If we've not done this before, I understand, er, missionary position to be quite standard." Ah, right, Aziraphale, the king of awkward bluntness, would by no means flinch when it came from another party. Crowley loved him. He'd probably have to tell him that properly one day. "And I must admit I'm terribly desirous to have you under me again. And to see your beautiful eyes while I make love to you. As you deserve."

Crowley blinked. "Wow," he whispered. His eyes teared up, again, and he had always thought if they ever managed to have sex he wouldn't be quite so leaky around the eyes, but then he never imagined Aziraphale saying anything like that, either. "Okay. That's fine, yeah."

Aziraphale slowly guided him around until his back was to the bed, and then gentled him down onto it. Crowley's wings proved sensitive after Aziraphale's earlier attentions, and he hissed when they brushed the soft bedding, before encouraging them back into the ether where they spent most of their time so he could concentrate on Aziraphale's face. 

"Gorgeous," Crowley said, transfixed as Aziraphale slowly joined him on the bed, never looking away from Crowley's face even as he threw a leg over to straddle one of Crowley's thighs.

"I think you'll have to open up a little," Aziraphale said hoarsely, reaching out with one shaking hand to touch the thigh he wasn't braced over, a soft caress that nearly completely undid Crowley all over again. Crowley eased that leg open, hardly daring to breathe.

Aziraphale's eyes were far from Crowley's face, now, mouth dropping open as if in wonder as Crowley opened up to him. He reached out for Crowley's cunt but stopped short of actually touching it, which felt maddening.

"May I?" Aziraphale asked, and Crowley almost pulled something nodding as hard as he did. 

"Angel, touch me," he said, canting his hips up as much as he could while Aziraphale still held one of his legs down.

And Aziraphale did, then, his soft, blunt fingers making contact with Crowley's cunt for the first time. They traced up the sides of his entrance, dipped just barely into the centre of it, and came up to the top, seeking out Crowley's clit and rubbing there softly.

Crowley found himself making these broken cries that he thought he might have been embarrassed by, but Aziraphale was touching him, and no reaction could possibly be too much.

"I believe," Aziraphale said, stroking at Crowley's clit with increased determination. "That with this particular anatomy, the nerve endings are quite concentrated here," Crowley jerked into Aziraphale's hand, "But the sensations created are quite diffuse."

"Mm-hmm," Crowley said in a strangled voice. "Would have to agree."

Aziraphale let up on Crowley's clit, and Crowley couldn't tell if he was disappointed or relieved. But Aziraphale wasn't finished, and he moved his hand back down, stroking again at the sides of Crowley's labia with two gentle but firm fingertips.

"But you asked for penetration," Aziraphale said, ever so slightly dipping in towards the middle as he kept up the pattern of stroking first one side, than the other. 

"I asked for you to fuck me," Crowley corrected, gasping and twitching his hips.

Aziraphale slipped one finger inside, barely to the first knuckle, hardly inside at all.

"Nnnngh," Crowley said.

"May I? With fingers first?" Aziraphale asked, and he sounded as strained as Crowley felt.

"Yes!" Crowley all but yelled, and Aziraphale slipped his finger in to its base. They both groaned at the same time.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale said, stroking him inside, his finger rocking in and out steadily, a stark contrast to Aziraphale's broken voice. "You – you feel – "

"More," Crowley gasped. "Can I – both your fingers – please – "

Aziraphale was, it seemed, quite happy to comply. 

"There's a stretch with that one," Aziraphale observed. Crowley's eyes had closed under the onslaught of sensation but he opened them now to see Aziraphale watching attentively as his fingers slid in and out of Crowley. "Stretching you out for my cock."

"Angel," Crowley said, surprised at the dirty talk, although perhaps he shouldn't have been. "Yeah. Yes. Fuck. Tell me about your cock?" 

He looked away from Aziraphale's face, down to  his cock, which was hard and looked wet at the tip. That was going to go inside Crowley. Crowley had made use of the well-discerned dildo in his day, so it wasn't as intimidating as it could be, but he'd never had someone else inside him, let alone Aziraphale, and even with toys – it had been a while. 

"Well, I've every intention of sliding it inside you," Aziraphale said, clocking where Crowley's eyes had drifted to and grinning slightly, looking very pleased with himself.

Crowley snorted, and of course Aziraphale would make him laugh while he had two fingers inside him.

"Get another finger in me," Crowley urged him on. "Really open me up before you give me that cock of yours."

Aziraphale grinned even wider and did just that.

"Okay, okay," Crowley said, moments later, breathless and still half-laughing, breaking the spectacular kiss that Aziraphale had leaned down to give him as Crowley all but bounced on three of Aziraphale's thick fingers. If they couldn't have this once a day for the rest of eternity Crowley didn't know what he would do. "Angel, please."

"Are you ready to take my cock?" Aziraphale asked, sliding his fingers out and rocking his hips down, rubbing his cock against the crease of Crowley's thigh. He gasped at the pressure on his cock but then giggled. "The dirty talk is really good fun, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yeah," Crowley said, gazing up at Aziraphale with a soft, silly smile. "It is." He wriggled a bit, encouraged Aziraphale to get properly between his legs. "Do fuck me, though."

"My dear," Aziraphale said, playfully serious. "I shall fuck you whenever you like."

Crowley laughed again but they both became really serious when they rocked their hips at the same time and for the first time Aziraphale's cock made fleeting contact with Crowley's cunt.

"Oh my," said Aziraphale, at the same time Crowley said "hnghhh."

Crowley unwound one hand from around Aziraphale's neck and traced it down his chest and stomach. "Can I?" he asked, hovering it close to Aziraphale's cock. Aziraphale nodded and Crowley wrapped a hand around it, gave it an experimental stroke. Aziraphale bit his lip and gave a faint thrust. Oh, Crowley wanted him. 

"Alright, angel," Crowley said, wanting to be encouraging. "Please?" 

Aziraphale nodded, his eyes squeezed closed, and together they lined up Aziraphale's cock at Crowley's entrance, and with tiny, determined thrusts, Aziraphale worked his way inside Crowley's body.

"Aziraphale," Crowley whispered, overcome by the stretch and intimacy.

"Crowley," he answered, opening his eyes as he came to rest, buried fully in his cunt. "My own dear Crowley. You feel – oh, darling you feel incomparable, exquisite – "

"Aahhh, angel," Crowley tensed his muscles, delighted by the praise, and Aziraphale actually went and said "fuck!" in response. 

"Wow," Crowley said, as Aziraphale began moving, drawing out just to drive back in, gentle but inexorable, "Language, angel."

"There's more where that came from, I'm afraid," Aziraphale told him, and that was the last coherent thing either spoke for a time.

It was their first time, and even with their previous orgasms neither of them was well set up to last very long, but they certainly made it count. Aziraphale kept one strong hand bracing him up over Crowley, and got his other hand wrapped around Crowley's hips, holding him up so he could fuck into Crowley at the best angle to make him yell with every thrust. He called Crowley beautiful, sweet, lovely, gorgeous, so many complementary words that they washed over Crowley in a haze. The way Aziraphale was holding him and the way their bodies joined meant that Crowley's clit got just a bit of pressure from the base of Aziraphale's cock with every joining, just enough to push him closer and closer to the edge. 

Crowley wrapped his arms and legs around Aziraphale so tightly he felt he might never let go, urged him on, even at one point whispered in his ear, "I knew you'd come back for me."

That spurred Aziraphale on even more, and he fucked Crowley with abandon, as desperate for the connection as Crowley was. 

"Won't ever leave you again," Aziraphale swore, locking eyes with Crowley, and that was it. 

Crowley came, harder than he ever had before, his whole body spasming in pleasure and contentment. His orgasm pulled Aziraphale over the edge too, and for the second time Crowley heard Aziraphale say, with feeling, "Fuck."

That was extremely satisfying. He was going to make Aziraphale say "fuck" more often.

They held each other as they came down, Aziraphale collapsed half onto Crowley's chest and half beside him, murmuring little half-formed words and sentences at each other, both sniffling and a bit teary again.

"You came back," Crowley was eventually coherent enough to say. They had rolled onto their sides, gazing at each other in the soft warm light of the room. "You came back for me. You came back to save me."

"I should have come back long ago," Aziraphale said. "Dearest Crowley. I was working toward coming back to you every day. Every day."

Crowley was momentarily overcome, and crushed his face against Aziraphale's chest to cope. That led to him being cradled in Aziraphale's arms, having his hair stroked lovingly, so it was really a net positive.

"You still wanted me," Aziraphale said, after Crowley had quieted. "I came back and you wanted me. You called me back."

"I always want you," Crowley said, leaning back so he could look up at Aziraphale, make sure he knew how sincere he was.

There would come a time, probably not too far afield, when old habits would take over and they would lose this level of easy intimacy. They would have to talk about what, exactly, Aziraphale had got up to in Heaven, and what more work had to be done. There would also come a time, significantly further afield, after that work had been done, when they would regain the ability to drop into spine-tingling closeness and honesty simply because one of them needed it, or felt like it, or because it was a nice Tuesday. 

For this one golden afternoon, though, they simply stayed in each other's arms, saying the sweet and honest things which were necessary. 

At one point, one of them observed that the rescue attempts, although not strictly necessary themselves, might stick around for the fun of it. The other agreed most readily.