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“I forgive you.”
The words ripped like a bullet through Crowley’s chest, tearing something out of it and leaving a hollow space in its wake. The self-righteous fury on Aziraphale’s face was more than he could stand.
“Don’t bother.”
This was it then. Aziraphale had made up his mind. But Crowley wasn’t going to let him go so easily. Tearing off his glasses, he leapt forward and grabbed him again, pulling the angel into another bruising kiss. Only this time Aziraphale fought him. Crowley’s fangs started to slip through as he kissed him deeper, harder, tasting just the faintest bit of blood. He let go and Aziraphale stumbled backwards looking at him in horror.
“What is wrong with you?” Aziraphale shouted, his voice cracking.
Crowley stalked forward slowly.
“I’m one of the bad guys, remember?” Crowley said, letting something dark, and old, and dangerous, creep into his voice. “You just said so yourself.”
The angel paled a little. “Crowley, I didn’t mean it lik–”
“Six thousand years, and I’m still nothing but a demon to you.” Crowley was getting close to him now, crowding him and relishing the slight tinge of fear in the air. He was close enough to feel the angel’s rapid breath on his face. “Well if you want me to be a demon, then I’ll be a demon.”
Grabbing him by the lapels again, Crowley shoved him back, pinning him against the bookcase. Aziraphale grunted in pain at the impact, with a look of betrayal on his face. As if he had any right to feel that way.
“Why are you doing this?”
The tremble of his perfect lips, swollen and red already, spurred Crowley onward.
“You’re trying to leave me,” Crowley said simply.
“I’m trying to–” Aziraphale cut himself off, unwilling or unable to finish the thought. His eyes carefully turned away from Crowley.
“I won’t let you get away this time,” Crowley said. He grabbed the angel’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You’re mine.”
“Let go of me!”
“We love each other, Aziraphale,” Crowley hissed.
The disgust and confusion on the angel’s face as he shook his head sparked a rage inside Crowley. Grabbing a fistful of blond curls, Crowley wrenched his head back, pressing so close to him that his lips lightly brushed the angel’s cheek.
“Say it,” Crowley whispered darkly.
“Crowley, stop thi–”
“SAY IT!”
Crowley’s chest was heaving as he watched the tears roll from the corners of Aziraphale’s eyes.
“I love you,” Aziraphale said miserably.
It was like a shot of vodka in Crowley’s veins, relaxing and blissful. He grinned. His tongue slipped out, catching one of the angel’s tears as it fell.
“Say it again.”
Aziraphale shook with stifled sobs. Crowley was just about to slam him into the bookcase again, when he heard the trembling voice; this time more raw, more honest.
“I love you, Crowley.”
Relaxing his grip on the angel’s hair, Crowley let his hand slide slowly down: down his neck, down his chest, finally settling on Aziraphale’s waist.
“Now, was that really so hard?” Crowley asked.
He let his thumb rub circles across the worn velvet of Aziraphale’s waistcoat. He could feel the heat of the angelic corporation beneath, pulsing with adrenaline and something a bit otherworldly as well. Aziraphale didn’t say anything so Crowley stepped in close, pressing their bodies tightly together, breathing in the familiar scent of rosewater and amber that the angel had favored for so long. Crowley’s lip curled as he smelled the coffee on Aziraphale’s breath.
Bastards, all of them, they wouldn’t be taking his angel this time.
Aziraphale whimpered and tried to wriggle away as Crowley’s hand slipped over the front of his trousers to palm him, only to discover that there was nothing to grab. Crowley’s brow furrowed as his hand drifted a bit lower, and then his eyes widened.
“Well, now,” Crowley purred, “that’s not what you were wearing when we swapped four years ago.” He stroked his fingers lightly over the seam of Aziraphale’s trousers, making him gasp. Unable to stop his curiosity, Crowley unbuckled Aziraphale’s belt and trouser buttons.
“Crowley, please, don’t–”
The demon’s hand slid under the angel’s soft cotton knickers, finding a lovely slit right between his legs. “Oh, angel,” Crowley moaned. He let his head fall onto Aziraphale’s shoulder as he teased the opening, feeling it grow slicker with every touch.
Aziraphale held back his sobs, breath hitching as his hands pushed weakly at Crowley’s. Grabbing the angel’s wrists in one hand, Crowley held them fast and growled in his face. “You want this too. Don’t fight me.”
Tears flowed faster and Aziraphale’s eyes squeezed shut as Crowley continued to stroke his wet pussy lips.
“Don’t worry, Angel. I won’t hurt you,” Crowely assured him as his middle finger sunk deep into Aziraphale’s sopping cunt. He could feel the muscles there clenching around him as Aziraphale gasped. Curling his finger, he stroked the spot that, from his own experimentation, he knew would drive the angel mad.
Had Crowley not been holding him up, Aziraphale would have fallen to the floor the way his knees buckled under the sensation. The angel moaned and Crowley rocked his pelvis against Aziraphale’s hip, showing him just how much this was affecting him. When he pushed a second finger into him, Aziraphale’s legs started to tremble.
Desperate gasps of pleasure were interspersed with broken sobs and tears. Aziraphale was at war with himself yet again, fighting against what he truly wanted, and, like always, it was up to Crowley to join the battle, to be the face of his opponent –of his desire– and to win, forcing him to accept what he’d needed all along.
“That’s it, Angel,” Crowley whispered into his ear. “Let me make you feel good.”
“Please, stop this,” Aziraphale pleaded, even as his body shuddered under Crowley’s touch.
“And leave you soaking wet and wanting? Not even a demon would be that cruel.”
The heel of his hand ground against the angel’s clit as Crowley continued to work his fingers inside. Aziraphale’s sex was so soft and warm, Crowley could hardly breathe. Then the angel was gasping and shuddering as his cunt pulsed around Crowley’s fingers, gushing over them.
“Fuck,” Crowley breathed.
Crowley shoved the angel’s trousers down further, despite his weak protests. The little thatch of blond hair on his mound had Crowley biting his lip to contain himself. It wouldn’t do to lose control. He rubbed his thumb over the little nub protruding from puffy lips, making the angel convulse with pleasure yet again.
As Crowley withdrew his hand, Aziraphale’s thighs were tightly pressed together, even now trying to keep him at bay. There was always the option of turning him around, entering him from behind, but Crowley wanted to see his pretty face; cheeks flushed, lips bitten red, blond lashes wet with tears.
“Look at you,” Crowley cooed. “Gorgeous.”
Holding him in place with his legs, Crowley worked open his own trousers, groaning as he took his aching cock in his hand, still slick from Aziraphale’s sex.
There was fear in his angel’s stormy blue eyes as he glanced down.
“No! Please, no, Crowley… don’t do this.”
Crowley pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, silencing his pleas. Positioning his cock at the apex of Aziraphale’s thighs, Crowley pushed forward, rubbing against his clit, slipping along his dripping pussy. He wouldn’t take him like this, not fully, not now. He’d save that for another day; when they could dine at the Ritz, drinking champagne until they were both dizzy with it before Crowley led him to the penthouse suite and spread him out on the luxurious bedding then slowly took him apart piece-by-piece.
For now, tightly squeezed between his angel’s slick, luscious thighs, Crowley was content. Aziraphale’s forehead came to rest on Crowley’s shoulder, wet sobs and stifled moans falling from his lips. Crowley continued to fuck him with a slow even pace, every thrust spreading more of Aziraphale’s wetness, making every slide easier.
Aziraphale’s hips rocked forward; little aborted movements betraying the pleasure he was feeling, his desire for more. Crowley grinned against his neck, letting his fangs lightly graze the skin there.
“Don’t be shy, Angel,” Crowley whispered. “Grind against my cock.”
Aziraphale shook his head against Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley adjusted his hips, changing the angle so his length was rubbing firmly against the angel’s clit with every steady thrust. Angelic arms wrapped around him, clinging to him for support as Aziraphale’s moans became more desperate and needy. Crowley sped up, feeling the trembling of Aziraphale’s hips under his hands.
Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s hands gripping at his back as waves of bliss shook through the angel’s frame. His own climax was getting close, seeing Aziraphale lose control like this. The quiet whisper of ‘Crowley’ on Aziraphale’s lips as he came was the final straw for the demon. His orgasm pulsed through him. Pulling back, he painted the angel’s thighs with his spend, marking him as his own.
They clung to each other for a moment; holding one another through the aftershocks of pleasure. Then Crowley stepped back, and Aziraphale crumpled to the ground at his feet; his trousers still around his knees, cum staining his thighs. His lovely angel, Crowley thought, as he tucked himself back into his trousers.
Snapping his fingers, Crowley unlocked the bookshop. Aziraphale looked up at him, his tear-streaked face frowning in confusion. His expression shifted to horror as the front door bell chimed.
The Metatron stood in the doorway, taking in the scene with disgust clear on his face.
Crowley turned toward him, grinning darkly.
“Still want him now?”