Chapter Text
Crowley was a bit apprehensive to say the least. He usually worked out of his flat, it was safer that way, to have clients coming into a space that he had complete control over. There were security cameras by the front door, an alert button disguised as a little trinket that would immediately call Mrs Sandwich, and he had cans of pepper spray and tasers the size of a tube of lipstick littered discretely around his flat should he need them.
But Mrs Sandwich had promised him that he’d be safe. Her agency was sending a car that would take him to the hotel where his client had booked a room and he wore another alert button in the form of a dainty bracelet.
He met the sleek black BMW idling by the curb in his best work attire. Mrs Sandwich had let him know that this client was paying quite the money, and so he had tight leather pants and a form fitting crop top that made him look elongated beyond belief. All black of course. Underneath lay a pair of crotchless, lacy red panties.
He dimly paid attention to the London nightlife as if passed by the tinted windows of the car, but his mind was too busy to absorb any details. Clients who paid for hotel rooms were usually excessively well off, entitled and liked to have cleaning staff to deal with whatever mess they left behind.
Entitlement could be dangerous and Crowley was sure to keep that at the front of his mind when he stepped out of the car and made his way up the steps to the hotel. It was a swanky place, marbled floors and too-bright chandeliers. Men with too much money to spend were usually stupid wankers, which was good for Crowley - the stupid part, not the wanker part - as it typically left him leaving with heavy pockets.
Stopping at the right room, he reapplied his lip gloss hastily before raising his fist to knock.
The blonde who opens the door appears nervous, his teeth gnawing at a bitten red lip.
"Hi, my name's Crowley." The red head says as he smiles softly. Nervous is good, he can deal with the nervous ones. "I'm told that you're expecting me?"
The blonde man opens his mouth to speak, but before any words can leave his thin lips, another voice rings out from inside the hotel room.
"Don't leave him standing in the doorway, Aziraphale." It's deep and profoundly American and it makes Crowley's blood freeze in his veins.
He backs away from the door slowly. "It didn't say there were going to be two of you."
"I'm sorry-" the blonde begins to apologise, but before he can properly the second man appears in the doorway.
"I'm not going to be around long, sunshine, just making sure everything is up to scratch before I leave Aziraphale here." When he smiles, it's wide, almost too wide for his face.
The shorter man, the blonde, huffs through his nose as though this whole thing is an annoyance. "Perhaps it would be best if we explained-"
Again the American cuts him off, that blinding grin not easing in the slightest as his eyes slink up and down Crowley's body. It feels slimy. "We're getting married soon and we've just got to make sure that Aziraphale is prepared enough for the honeymoon, if you know what I mean?" The wink he tacks onto the end of his sentence is atrocious but Crowley manages to school his face into something he hopes is pleasant.
"I'm afraid that because the contract agreed upon by you and Mrs Sandwich only specified activity with one other party, I can't-" He goes to say in his professional negotiation voice but apparently the American has made a habit out of interrupting people.
"I'll pay double." He states quickly in the tone of a man who isn't used to not getting what he wants.
The blonde man, who Crowley guesses is called Aziraphale, turns to the American with a pleading look in his eye. "Gabriel, if the man says he can't-"
"Triple." He says. His eyes haven't left Crowley's, as if he knows just how much he can't refuse such an offer. "As I said, I won't be part-taking, just…observing." His smirk is back and Crowley is quickly finding it unsettling.
Not unsettling enough, however, to refuse triple the money.
"Alright." He answers. "But if you do anything more than look, I'm going to have to leave."
"Fine by me." The American, Gabriel, replies, seemingly satisfied.
The two men step aside as Crowley enters the hotel room. The bed is ludicrously luxurious and at the foot of it lays a suitcase.
Crowley watches as Gabriel stalks over to an armchair, scraping it across the floor so that it sits closer to the bed. Crowley forces himself to take in details of his appearance. In a situation as risky as this, he wants to be sure that he could pick his clients out of a police lineup.
Gabriel is square-jawed, his brunette hair slicked to perfection and his athletic body filling out his pale lilac suit in the shoulders and arms. He must mistake Crowley's observation as interest as he cocks an eyebrow and spreads his legs further apart in the chair.
Arrogant. Rude. Entitled.
He turns quickly to Aziraphale, who has soft curves for each one of Gabriel's harsh angles. Milk-coloured hair that curls and crimps around the edges of his face. His upturned nose is framed by piercing green eyes and his cream and beige three piece suit makes him look like a history professor.
Timid perhaps, but handsome. Broad in all the ways Crowley was narrow. Older. Cute. Exactly Crowley's type.
"So what do you boys expect from my time here?" He asks, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Sometimes small talk was the best way to start a session, but Crowley was smart enough to know it wouldn't be appreciated right now.
He had been looking at Aziraphale when he had asked the question, but Gabriel answered anyway.
"I want you to have him on his hands and knees. We've vowed to stay pure until the ceremony but I also don't want him to be some bumbling, inexperienced mess, hence you. It said in the file that Sandwich gave us that you're a transgender?" His authoritative tone makes Crowley grit his teeth.
"I am."
"Good, show him the box, sunshine." He clicks his fingers at Aziraphale like he's a well trained dog and the blonde follows his orders to retrieve the suitcase from the bottom of the bed. "If it's not the real thing then he can't lose his virginity, now can he?" Gabriel laughs as if he's told a particularly funny joke and Aziraphale opens the suitcase to reveal an array of dildos, in all sizes, and a strap on harness.
Aziraphale continues to remain silent, tugging on the hem of his waist coat as if willing it to swallow him up.
"And this is all alright with you?" Crowley asks softly, nudging Aziraphale’s hand with his thigh.
The blonde nods too quickly, his face morphed into an expression of dread that doesn't match the affirmative gesture.
"Maybe just…start out with the smallest?" He asks like he's expecting Crowley to reject the idea.
"Of course, whatever you're comfortable with." Crowley assures him and he gets an appreciative quirk of his lips in reply.
"I've got a meeting to get to soon if you two could speed things up." Gabriel groans like a petulant child and Crowley is in half a mind to smack him. A deep, squirming feeling at the bottom of his gut is telling him not to do this, that something isn't right here, but his bank account is pleading with him to continue.
"We need a safe word before we begin anything."
"Bastille?" Aziraphale suggests bashfully.
So maybe he is a history buff, and doesn't that just make Crowley's heart sing.
"Sounds good. Can I kiss you?" He shifts slightly closer, pushing the suitcase out from between them.
The blush that tints Aziraphale's cheeks is beyond endearing. "Yes." He breathes and soon he is leaning in too.
Crowley adverts at the last second, moving to press a kiss against the blonde man's jaw, moving upward towards his ear.
"Are you really okay with this?" He whispers so only Aziraphale can hear. He walks his fingers down the line of his wrist to intertwine their fingers. "Squeeze my hand twice if you want this to stop and once if it's okay."
He continues to press light kisses to his throat in wait of an answer. Aziraphale's hand clenches once, but a second squeeze never comes.
He takes it as permission and allows his lips to trial over to the blonde's. They're soft, and swollen from where he's been biting at them, but Crowley knows for a fact that he's never been kissed this sweetly in his life. A firm, confident hand, in direct contrast with the shy man it belongs to, settles on the dip of his waist, thumbing over his sharp hip bone. Crowley feels himself melt further into the other man.
Aware of their impatient audience, however, he breaks away momentarily to strip off his black crop top, his fingers moving to the button of his leather trousers as he goes back to kissing Aziraphale. He hears an approving growl from Gabriel's direction and the zip of a fly.
"Both of you, strip, now." Comes the command and both men pull apart to obey, Gabriel watching with rapt attention as he strokes himself in his underwear.
As Crowley shimmies out of his pants, Aziraphale is primly unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt, his blazer having been pushed from his shoulders. Crowley moves to help him, their hands fumbling for a second before they manage to finally undo the shirt. And of course, Aziraphale is wearing an undershirt as well.
Crowley can't help but feel as though he is unwrapping a particularly delectable present.
Both naked now, Crowley desperately wishes the roles were reversed, he's only ever seen dicks like that in porn.
Aziraphale arranges himself onto all fours, hiding his face in his elbow as the rest of his body blushes in shame. Gabriel is still stroking himself, watching the scene before him with hungry eyes.
Avoiding that gaze at all costs, Crowley manoeuvres himself into the harness, connecting the smallest of the dildos to the front of it as Aziraphale requested. There’s a bottle of lube at the bottom of the suitcase and as Crowley smears it across his fingers, it leaves the surface of his skin tingling slightly.
He's gentle with Aziraphale, doing nothing more than curling his hole with a slick finger to start with, allowing the muscle to get used to the sensation, to relax before he slowly begins to apply pressure. It's not enough to breach his entrance, but it still causes a gaspy breath to escape his lips.
"Look at me, Aziraphale." Gabriel orders and his voice is breathy too as his hand speeds up its ministrations.
It takes a moment for Aziraphale to obey, and the small huff of his breath suggests it is to prepare himself.
Crowley drips more lube onto his fingers and Aziraphale’s arse, gently beginning to coax a finger inside him. The blonde hisses slightly, tensing around Crowley’s knuckle so he runs his other hand up his back and over his thighs to offer a soothing distraction. “That’s it.” He whispers. “You’re doing so well, angel.”
The words feel clumsy on Crowley’s tongue, it’s not often he’s asked to play a role such as this, but they seem to offer Aziraphale some comfort at least. If the aborted moan is anything to go by.
He allows the blonde to get used to the stretch, going slow as he pumps his finger back and forth into him. Gradually, he introduces another digit, and another once Aziraphale seems relaxed enough. Neither new addition seems to cause much reaction out of him though, so Crowley leans forward, allowing his hand to slip into Aziraphale's before giving it a reassuring squeeze.
His fingers cease their movement as he hopes Aziraphale remembers their non-verbal code from before. And then he squeezes Crowley's hand back. Once for yes, continue.
He removes his fingers, using the excess lube to slick up the dildo of his strap on before adding more from the bottle just in case. Gabriel watches on with his mouth agape and his eyes hazily half-lidded.
"Relax for me." He says softly, running his hands over the blonde's broad back and shoulders, pressing kisses over the knobs of his spine when he sees that it's clear Aziraphale needs the reassurance.
The dildo is only slim, possibly four inches long at most, and so it enters Aziraphale with relative ease. He lets a groan tear from his throat, much more out of playing to the performance for Gabriel than his own pleasure, the base of the dildo isn't even rubbing against his clit.
Aziraphale whines and Crowley comes to an immediate halt, unsure if it was a sound bred from pain or pleasure.
Gabriel is unfazed however, he stands from his chair to step in front of Aziraphale's face. His hand moves quicker over his cock and takes Aziraphale's face into his other hand. "Fuck." He growls. "It's so hot knowing you'll be nice and loose for me after the wedding, so ready for my cock-"
Crowley's only grateful that he comes in that he shuts the fuck up with the bad porno talk, but he doesn't miss how Aziraphale's body tenses as he comes across his face.
Gabriel has barely caught his breath before he's doing up his fly with one hand and checking the time with the other.
"Gotta dash, cheque is on the mantel." He says, ruffling Aziraphale's hair like he's a little kid rather than the man whose face he just came on, and winking that vile wink once more at Crowley in a move that he probably thinks is the definition of sauve.
As soon as he is gone, Crowley pulls out and unbuckles his harness.
"What's wrong?" Aziraphale asks, his eyes wide with the fear of rejection.
"You don't want this. He's gone now, you don't have to pretend to." Crowley says, ripping a tissue from the box on the bedside table and using it to wipe at Aziraphale's face. A pink blush paints his ivory skin and Crowley has to remind himself of that horrid man's jizz to resist leaning in to kiss at it.
"I…do…want this." Aziraphale isn't even convincing to himself. Crowley raises an eyebrow at him and the blonde huffs. "I've tried to like it, the whole…receiving end of the ordeal, but no matter what I do, I still find it mostly uncomfortable." He explains like a child who expects to be scolded.
"So don't do it then. Try topping instead." Crowley shrugs. He's satisfied that Aziraphale's face is clean but he continues to hold his chin between his fingers for just a moment longer, the skin warm against his own.
A bitter, humourless chuckle leaves Aziraphale. "Gabriel is the same, he likes to 'top' as you say, and we can't do that at the same time, so he says that I'll have to compromise."
"That's not a compromise, angel." Crowley states firmly, wishing he had smacked Gabriel while he had the chance. "That is him making demands of you that you aren't willing to make."
"Angel?" Aziraphale grins. Not quite the part of the sentence that Crowley wanted him to focus on, but he'll take it.
"Your name. Aziraphale, the angel of the eastern gate."
"Not many people get that reference." He murmurs, smiling gently to himself as if he's finding delight in the fact that Crowley was able to make the connection.
Wearing a smile of his own, Crowley moves carefully, watching Aziraphale's face for signs of discomfort as he straddles his lap.
"This okay?" He asks, wrapping his arms around the blonde man's neck.
"Yes." Aziraphale answers and this time his voice is different. It's darker, deeper, rougher and sends hot thrills through Crowley's entire body. It takes all of his will power not to roll his hips down into the plush thighs beneath him.
"Tell me how this would have gone if Gabriel hadn't been here. Tell me what you like."
Aziraphale's hands run up his thighs to rest on his hips and the glide of his warm, soft palms over his skin has him feeling dizzy.
Fuck, he hasn't gotten this worked up with a client in a long time.
Aziraphale grins and it's nothing like Gabriel's. It's softer, genuine and blinding in its loveliness. "I like this, but, yet again, not many people would dislike a pretty boy in their lap."
Crowley much prefers this Aziraphale, confident and cheeky. The meek, timid version that appeared when Gabriel was present was but a sad parody.
"You think I'm pretty?" He smirks. He traces the shell of his ear lightly with a fingertip, taking pleasure in the way it causes Aziraphale to shudder.
He rolls his eyes, hands moving back down Crowley’s legs, his thumbs drawing teasing circles on the skin of his inner thighs. "Oh do be quiet, my dear, you are fully aware."
“You’re a bit of a bastard, aren’t you?”
“I can be.”
Crowley bites his lip and presses into the blonde’s hands. “I like it when you are.”
“Can I kiss you?” Aziraphale asks on a breath. It’s still nervous, like asserting himself in any way is punishable but there is a small upward curve to his lips, something hopeful and daring.
“Please.” Crowley whines as he discovers that the magic of their previous kisses wasn’t a fluke. His lips are criminally soft and the feathery flutter of his eyelashes against Crowley’s cheek sends a swarm of butterflies to fizz around his stomach like an open soda.
Airaphale’s arms tighten around him until their bellies are pressed together and there's friction between the coarseness of their chest hair. Crowley won’t let himself admit how much he likes the closeness. For many clients, the perk of someone hired is the lack of commitment. A lot of them only touch him as a necessity to getting their rocks off, not purely for the sensation of skin on skin. He feels as though he can breathe freely with the change of pace that Aziraphale offers.
Aziraphale sucks on Crowley’s bottom lip like a starved man finally stumbling upon food for the first time. He takes his time, however, kissing deep but slow. As if Crowley is something to savour.
He knots his fingers in Aziraphale’s curls, pulling them impossibly close until the only space between them is the distance between the protons and nucleus of atoms. As he squirms in the other man’s lap, Aziraphale’s erection brushes against his clit. He shivers and breaks gasps into the kiss.
“Tell me what you want.” Aziraphale pleads.
It takes Crowley longer than he will admit to reply, distracted by the drag of the blonde’s mouth over his Adam’s apple. He huffs a laugh. “I feel as though I should be asking you that question.”
Aziraphale stops and moves away to look Crowley in the eyes. It’s startling, it makes Crowley’s heart stop. “Please, Crowley, making you feel good will make me feel good.” He says sincerely.
Fuck, this man is perfect.
“You’re not worried about staying ‘pure’ for the wedding?” Crowley asks.
“Gabriel is moronic.” Aziraphale snarls as much as a golden retriever puppy can snarl. “Just because I don't bottom, doesn't mean I'm pure. But we’ll let Gabriel have his little fantasy of deflowering me.” He scoffs.
“So if I said,” Crowley begins, interrupting himself as he rolls his hips against Aziraphale. “That I wanted to feel you inside me, you wouldn’t necessarily object?” He knows he’s being cheeky in his obviously fake coy tone, but he also suspects that Aziraphale rather enjoys it.
The blonde pretends to ponder his options for a moment before breaking out into the most gorgeous and bastardly grin that Crowley has ever seen. “No, I don’t imagine I would.”
"So that's what I want, want you to fuck me through the matteress." He smirks, punctuating the sentence by pulling away only what is necessary to run his hands over Aziraphale's chest.
"Here?" Aziraphale breathes in Crowley's ear and grazes his hands down Crowley's front, stopping at his navel before looking back up a question in his eyes. "You want me to fuck you here?"
Crowley's breath stutters. He takes the other man's hand and guides it to touch him. The tentative swirl of Aziraphale's thumb over the wet nub of his cock has him panting. "Now it's your turn, what do you want?"
"This." Aziraphale answers hastily. He leans forward, hoping to distract Crowley with a kiss, but Crowley is wise to it.
"Please, Angel." He whispers, cupping the man's face in his hand as he bucks his pelvis into his hand. "We do something I like, we do something you like. That is what a compromise is."
The blonde lets his forehead fall to Crowley's shoulder to hide his face. "I like…giving orders."
" Fuck ." Crowley whines, hot thrills shiver down each of his vertebrae and makes his thoughts deliciously hazy.
A small frown forms on Aziraphale's brow. "You… like following orders? You don't find it degrading?"
"God, no. I love it. Takes the pressure off me to make decisions. Honestly, with a partner like that, " He doesn't need to mention Gabriel by name, the disgust in his voice should be enough of an identifier. "Bossing you around all the time, it makes sense that you like to be able to make the demands sometimes." He watches as Aziraphale's eyes go wide and the hand stroking Crowley stops in shock. "No one has explained it to you like that before, huh?"
"I thought I was just being selfish."
Crowley shakes his head and encourages Aziraphale's hand to continue its movements. "Not selfish. Just human."
The blonde groans, digging his face back into Crowley's neck. His thumb speeds up on Crowley's clit as he slowly pushes a finger inside him.
"Tell me what to do, Aziraphale, order me around. I'll be so good for you, I'll do whatever you say." Crowley mumbles breathlessly. The wet drag of Aziraphale's finger inside of him making his words come out mindlessly, pleadingly.
"Get the lube and condoms." Aziraphale growls and the order makes Crowley clench around his finger.
As Crowley reluctantly crawls off Aziraphale's lap to do as he says, his knees feel weak. He hasn't been so far gone from a bit of grinding and fingering since he was fifteen.
By the time he returns from the nightstand with condoms and lube in hand, Aziraphale has positioned himself on his knees in the middle of the bed. He beckons Crowley closer and kisses him as soon as he's within range.
Crowley finds himself melting once more. The condoms and lube forgotten, they're dropped on the sheets in favour of slinging his hands around Aziraphale's shoulders and licking at the seam of his lips.
"On your stomach." Aziraphale says. Crowley finds himself growing dizzy from his smooth baritone voice.
Crowley finds his body obeying before his mind has even comprehended the words.
Aziraphale grabs one of the pillows and stuffs it under Crowley's hips. He runs his hands up the back of his thighs, spreading them lewdly as he presses kisses along the back of Crowley's shoulder blades. His tongue traces hypnotising patterns over his skin. Crowley tries arching up into the touch but finds a large hand pressing him back down by the back of his neck.
The dominant, confident touches feel as though they are scratching an itch within Crowley's mind that he didn't know was there in the first place, like a balm soothing away all his woes.
A finger trails back down his body between his legs. The moan that rips past his lips as two fingers press into him slowly is something primal and desperate.
"Please, please, please." He chants breathlessly.
Another finger joins the first two. Crowley screams with the stretch. "This what you want, sweetheart?"
Sweetheart. Fuck, Crowley's never been called sweetheart like that before.
"More. Want your cock, please." He's blubbering now, words half-formed and clumsy.
The fingers leave him and he squirms, relief washing through him when he hears the tear of a condom packet and the click of the lube bottle.
The first press of the head of Aziraphale's cock against him has his gut doing cartwheels.
"Ready?" The other man asks. Crowley takes no small amount of pleasure in the fact that he's breathless too, just as effected as him.
"Please." Crowley begs like it's the only word he remembers.
As Aziraphale pushes forward, going at a snail's pace so as not to hurt the man beneath him, Crowley can feel the slick heat of him filling him inch by thick inch. His breath becomes shallow. The muscles in his thighs tense as he tries to push back into the intrusion only to be stopped by a firm hand on the small of his back.
"Still." Aziraphale demands and Crowley doesn't even blink in his desperation to do as he says.
Once he's fully seated within Crowley, the red-head groans. He doesn't think he's ever taken someone so big, so thick, that stretches him in all the right ways, in all the right places.
Aziraphale's thrusts begin short and sharp. Gradually, they get deeper and longer, punching the breath out of Crowley's lungs and making his toes curl.
He's usually aware of how much he's moaning. He wants to lead his clients to think they're doing a good job, perhaps stroke their egos a bit so they pay a bigger fee.
But with Aziraphale, he's not sure if he's making sound or not. Too engulfed in the pleasure to keep count.
The blonde lowers himself over Crowley's body until the front of his thighs press against the back of Crowley's, the swell of his belly filling the arch of Crowley's back and his warm, laboured breath caressing the side of Crowley's neck.
There it is again, that closeness. Crowley feels surrounded by him. The pressure of his weight allows him to float without fear of taking flight.
He claws at the sheets beside his head until Aziraphale stills him by lacing their fingers together.
Has Crowley even held hands with anyone since his first date with Ewan Morgan when he was thirteen?
"Fuck, you feel so good, darling." Aziraphale groans into his neck.
Hearing Aziraphale swear feels mischievous, like tricking a teacher into saying a naughty word.
He turns his face and manages to land a messy kiss on the corner of Aziraphale's mouth. A hand tangles in his hair and pulls enough for his spine to bow. At this angle he can kiss Aziraphale like he wants to. The heady sting of the tugging at his scalp reduces him to merely panting into the other man's mouth though, not managing to gather the coordination to do much else.
He can feel himself getting close, clenching around Aziraphale as he drives into his pliant body hard enough to make the room echo with the slap of skin on skin.
"Beg me to come. Tell me how much you want to." Aziraphale whispers with his lips grazing Crowley's ear.
"Please, Aziraphale. Let me come, please let me come. You make me feel so good, you're so big-" Crowley finds himself blurting out. He's rocking his hips between Aziraphale's thrusts and the pillow beneath his hips that rubs against his swollen clit. He can feel himself on the knife's edge but won't allow himself to come until Aziraphale orders him to do so. "'m so close, please. Ngk, angel- Aziraphale!"
He's going delirious with need. He can feel himself bursting at the seams.
Aziraphale slithers his hand under him to stroke at his cock. "Come for me, Crowley."
Crowley's vision whites out. His body feels like it both weighs nothing and is as heavy as lead simultaneously. He's gasping wetly against the sheets, tears dripping down his nose at the intensity of his orgasm.
Aziraphale keeps pounding into him, the sounds growing wet from Crowley's climax, and he relaxes into that feeling of being used for someone's pleasure.
He can like feeling used from time to time. But not with a client, never with a client. The way Aziraphale is using him isn't impersonal though like how most clients made him feel, he uses him like he is still a person, not an object.
His hips grow faster, the rhythm going sloppy. Aziraphale's grip on his hand and hair tighten and the puffs of his breath against Crowley's shoulder quicken.
"You feel so good, sweetheart, you've been such a good boy-" his voice cracks as he comes, digging his face in the crook of Crowley's neck. Crowley can feel him pulsing inside him despite the condom and wishes it was enough to make him come again.
"Stay where you are." Aziraphale says once his breath has evened out some. Crowley whimpers when he pulls out and hears him move around the room, most likely to dispose of the condom.
The bed dips once more and Crowley is pulled onto his side into Aziraphale's arms, kisses pressed reverently to the nape of his neck.
"How're you feeling?" Aziraphale asks. His gentle fingers sweep the sweaty curls away from Crowley's forehead.
"Fan-fucking-tastic." Crowley sighs and finds the content smile on his cheeks is genuine.
Aziraphale's hold around his middle tightens, his knees fitting into the back of Crowley's thighs like puzzle pieces, no matter how overused the cliche seems.
"Good." The blonde whispers. "I'm sorry about earlier, with Gabriel. I hope he didn't make you uncomfortable."
"Nah. Not your fault he's a knob." Before Crowley can question whether it's a good idea to speak ill of someone's fiance, Aziraphale is chuckling softly into his hair.
"Perhaps not, but I’m still sorry. He wasn’t very kind to you.” The blonde man huffed as if it was an unmeasurable injustice and not just a normal work day for Crowley.
Crowley frowned and rolled in Aziraphale's arms to face him. He slings a leg over Aziraphale’s hip as their legs entangle. "He wasn’t nice to you either.”
Aziraphale shrugged one shoulder and trailed patterns through Crowley’s scarlet chest hair with a fingertip in lieu of an answer. Without Aziraphale looking at him, Crowley is free to observe him. He seems to be in his early thirties, but there is an almost child-like quality about him. His round cheeks are still pink from with exertion. The ruffled curls seated atop his head make him look like a cherub. Crowley wonders for a moment if it’s that innocence about him that makes Gabriel feel as though he can order this gorgeous creature around, have authority.
“He shouldn’t treat you that way.” Crowley whispers.
“It’s not so bad.” Aziraphale says. Finally, he looks back up at Crowley and offers what is supposed to be a reassuring smile. It seems more like a grimace. “It’s just sort of like having an annoying older brother around.”
“Annoying brothers don’t come on your face.” Crowley snarls. He goes white when he realises what he said though and buries his face in his hands. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Aziraphale laughed and gently peeled his hands away from his face. "It's okay, really. I suppose you're quite right. It probably wasn't the best analogy."
Face still flush from embarrassment, Crowley breathes, "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything you like, my dear."
"Why would you marry someone like that?"
Crowley knows that he's going too far. He is paid for a quick fuck, not to nose around in anyone's business. Sometimes clients will vent to him about this or that to get things off their chest they can't tell anyone else, but this is him actively grasping for the information.
Aziraphale's face sours slightly, the softness of his edges sharpening to a pinch, and Crowley's expecting him to brush off the question.
He doesn't, but then "It's more a marriage of convenience" isn't much of an answer either.
Crowley wants to ask more and he wonders why he gives a shit. He bites his tongue though. He doesn't want that doleful expression to be on Aziraphale's face any longer.
"Do you think I'll see you again?" He says playfully. He drags a blunt nail down Aziraphale's torso and watches the skin quiver beneath his touch. "Before married life sinks its teeth into you."
The mood turns back to the light-heartedness of before. Good, Crowley can flirt, he can tease, this is safe territory.
"Oh, I do hope so." The other man grins. He leans in to brush their noses together and his hand comes to stroke Crowley's thigh. "I'll have to tell Gabriel that I need some extra practice before the honeymoon."