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It’s not exactly Crowley’s fault, if he can get away with being a shitty demon, because everyone around him just assumes the worst about him. He just never corrects them. Humanity came up with concepts so fucked up, he wouldn’t even have dared suggesting them. All he had to do was stand around next to them and earn the praise and reward for it. No one in Hell ever checked up on him, really. They called him diabolical, an evil mastermind and made him their representative on earth, when his biggest sin had been to ask a few questions. Well, that and lying. Crowley’s gotten really good at lying. He can lie to anyone between Heaven and Hell, without even the faintest of tells on his face. Crowley lies to everyone, including himself.
But just because Crowley doesn’t have the practical experience in certain things, he likes to think he has a pretty good understanding of them in theory, at least. So when Aziraphale asks him about what he can do for him to make up for saving his precious books in 1941, Crowley can hear the undertone. He just convinces himself that it was a mistake, that it was all in his head. And moreover, he doesn’t care either way. Not at all. It’s just not something he ever really thought about. Half the time, he doesn’t even make an effort to have all the parts. This, of course, was also a lie, as for the past couple hundred years, Crowley has made the effort rather consistently.
So Crowley lets the comments pass and they drive on. He lets Aziraphale offer to do the magic show. This way the angel will be happy. What’s the worst that could happen, he thinks. This of course changes, the moment Crowley sees the turnip miracle fail. He tries to intervene, tries to miracle up something, anything. Crowley realises he’s shaking, as he makes his way up the stage. In his mind, his thoughts are racing. He needs to find a way to shut this down. Why isn’t Aziraphale ending this?
But the angel still proceeds to hand him the shot gun. The tremors in Crowley’s hand must be visible to the audience. Or at the very least to Aziraphale. Aziraphale, who looks at him worried, but still with complete trust. Aziraphale, who knows that Crowley has never fired a weapon in his life. Crowley barely hears Aziraphale, as he tells him to aim for his mouth, but shoot past his ear. The way he says it, as if it’s that easy. Crowley is seconds away from blowing the whole thing off, just admitting that this is all a bad trick. Better be booed off stage, embarrassed, but alive. Or rather, not discorporated. How long would it take, the paperwork, before the angel would be back? Would they even let him come back? Crowley doesn’t fancy finding out.
So he shoots, his fingers shaking. The bullet hits the wall, narrowly missing Misses H. If Crowley is honest, he didn’t focus so much on where he shot, just that he missed Aziraphale in front of him.
They don’t talk about it afterwards. At least not until they are safely back inside the bookshop.
“It went rather well, don’t you think?” Aziraphale says. His lips are stained a faint purple from the wine. The wine, Crowley insisted on having to calm himself down.
“Rather well?” Crowley asks, incredulous. He is sat on the large armchair. Even now, there is a slight undercurrent of electricity running through his body. The feeling that something is about to happen any moment. Something bad. It’s probably not something Crowley should be feeling. He doesn’t think demons should be feeling anything really.
“Angel, did we have the same evening? I almost shot you. And that was before the whole demon business. Do you realise the trouble we’d be in?” Crowley shakes his head.
“Well I think it was a great evening.” Aziraphale shrugs. “Nothing bad did happen.” He grabs his glass of wine from the coffee table in front of the sofa. Aziraphale always preferred to drink out of a proper wine glass. He was a civilised angel after all. “Although I must say, I’m surprised to have found out that you have never fired a gun before. I assumed it was standard demonic practice” He says after having a sip.
Crowley on the other hand always cared more about the wine itself, than the vessel that was used to get the wine into him. He reaches for the bottle instead.
“Yeah, well, there are loads of things everyone assumes I have done.” He shrugs. “I just never correct them.”
“But firearms? Really?” Aziraphale continues. “I assumed weapons were one of the basic concepts of being a demon. That and seducing people.”
Crowley snorts. “Ah, that, yeah.”
“What?”
“Another thing I haven’t done, I’m afraid.”
The angel looks at him for a moment, not saying a thing.
“Oh.” Aziraphale says, his lips forming a perfect circle. “I have to say, I’m surprised. You never …. At all?”
“No, I can’t say I ever had any opportunity, really.”
Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to laugh.
“I find that hard to believe, looking the way …” he stops for a moment. “Well, the way you do.”
Did Aziraphale just call him … what? Attractive?
“You know everyone in Heaven hates me. And I hate everyone in Hell. So that leaves humans. And I don’t think it would be right to condemn them to an eternity in Hell just to cure my curiosity.”
Crowley goes to take another sip of wine, only to find the bottle to be empty.
“So you admit, you are curious about it?” Aziraphale smiles.
“Sure. Yeah, I guess I am. Not that you would understand, of course.”
“And why wouldn’t I?”
“You’re…” Crowley gestures vaguely towards the angel in front of him. “You’re an angel.
“I suppose, not many angels would be curious about it. True.” He looks at the glass in his hand for a moment and takes a sip before continuing. “But then again, I don’t think any of them had had a taste of human wine either, don’t you think?” Aziraphale lifts his glass slightly, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
It takes Crowley a moment to pick up on what Aziraphale is saying.
“Do you mean to tell me you are … what? Curious about these sorts of things?”
“Oh no, not at all.” Aziraphale says and Crowley lets go of the tension in his body that had been building up in the last few moments.
“No,” He says, “My curiosity has been satisfied a long time ago already. I’m saying I enjoy it.”
It had been the wrong time for Crowley to take a sip of wine. He sputters, spilling wine down the front of his shirt.
“What?”
There is that feeling again, the electricity in his veins.
“I’m saying there are many aspects of human sexuality that I find quite enjoyable. I wouldn’t have thought so.” Aziraphale turns thoughtful for a moment. “But I guess, since I loved the food and the drink, I shouldn’t be surprised that there are more earthly pleasures that I enjoy.”
The complete calm with which the words leave the angel’s mouth is a stark contrast to the feeling the words inspire in Crowley. In the span of a few moments, he has gone from pleasantly buzzed and relaxed, to sitting on the edge of his seat.
“Oh dear,” Aziraphale says, “I seem to have shocked you. I thought I’ve always made my position on the topic clear. I’ve made all those … those innuendos. Did I not do it right?” Aziraphale scrunches up his eyebrows, seemingly bummed out by the thought of not getting it right.
The way Aziraphale keeps on casually sipping his glass of wine is driving Crowley mad. It’s as if he has no idea that Crowley’s whole world just shifted. At least that’s what it feels like. And underneath the static in his mind, there is also a new physical sensation going on in his body. A sort of tingling, but heavier. Crowley doesn’t know what to do with himself. There is an energy in him, an urge to do … something. Anything. He just doesn’t know what.
“No,” Crowley says. “I think I got them.” He swallows. “Like tonight, earlier in the car, when you said you’d like to do something for me, to make up for the books…? Or the whole ‘aim for my mouth’ business.”
“Yes, exactly.” Aziraphale shouts excitedly.
There has to be more wine, right? It feels like he should be more drunk for this conversation, Crowley thinks, as he wordlessly gets up to rummage round the back of the shop.
“Do you ever mean them?” Crowley asks, quietly. He’s found another bottle of the vintage red wine he likes so much. The tiniest miracle makes the cork disappear while he’s sinking back down in his chair.
There is a part of Crowley that is still lying to himself in that moment. The part that is telling him, he is only interested in the answer because he is a demon and that’s what demons do, they tempt people. The same part of him, that tells him that the heaviness in his stomach, the heat that spreads downwards and into his thighs, is just some leftover adrenaline from the magic trick.
“Mean them how?” Aziraphale asks.
“Are they always jokes?”
“As opposed to?”
The angel is really going to make him spell it out, isn’t he?
“Propositions.” He says.
“Oh. Oh!”
Crowley can’t be sure because of the light, but he could swear he sees a faint blush spread across the angel’s cheeks. It makes the whole situation feel a little bit more normal. Crowley is once again glad that his form doesn’t have to breathe. He’s sure he’d be blue in the face by now otherwise.
“Well … yes.” Aziraphale says and Crowley can breathe out again. All the air in his lungs was starting to get uncomfortable.
“It was never my intention, of course.” Aziraphale explains. “But that’s because I didn’t think it was ever an interest of yours.”
“It’s … It. Ahem.” Crowley forces out a cough to clear his throat of an imaginary blockage. “It’ not something I haven’t thought about.” He admits finally.
A silence settles over them. Aziraphale is still slightly pink in the face, sipping on his glass while Crowley busies himself by picking lint of his outfit. The material of the carpet also suddenly becomes the most fascinating thing in the vicinity and definitely deserves some closer inspection. He is so focused on it, that he doesn’t realise at first that Aziraphale has gotten up and is now standing in front of him, his hands clasped at his front.
“Crowley,” he says softly. “Would you please look at me?”
Crowley obeys.
“Would you like to try something?”
Before he can think too much about it, Crowley nods. He’s not quite sure what exactly Aziraphale has in mind.
The angel on the other hand jumps, a smile spreading across his face.
“Wonderful!” he calls out.
Crowley wants to laugh, about the ridiculousness of the situation, about the excitement in Aziraphale’s voice. How he sounded, as if Crowley had agreed to go out to dinner with him.
The laugh gets stuck in his throat, the moment Aziraphale drops to his knees in front of Crowley.
“We better sober up for this, now. Don’t you think?”
Some of the airiness has left his voice, the voice pitched slightly lower than what Crowley came to know of him. But Crowley agrees with him and starts purging the alcohol in his system.
“There, that’s better.” Aziraphale smiles, still on his knees. His gaze is focused on Crowley’s face. “Did that make you change your mind?”
Crowley finds his voice again.
“No.” he says, surprising even himself with the roughness.
No, sobering up did not make him change his mind. It made him even more tuned into the situation, set his skin on fire. The heat spreads through his whole body, but pools between his legs. It’s something he’s never felt before. But he knows enough about lust and the human body, to know that what he is feeling right now is arousal. Even if he didn’t, he’d have known by how tight his trousers had become in the last few moments.
“Well then, I’d better begin then?”
Aziraphale doesn’t give him time to reply before placing his angelic hands on Crowley’s thighs and softly running them up and down. Without thinking about it, Crowley spreads his legs farther apart, giving more room to kneel between them for Aziraphale. The angel rewards him by letting the palms of hands slowly drag over Crowley’s erection, earning him a soft hiss.
“Oh my, you are eager for this, aren't you?” Aziraphale says, now back to massaging the thighs.
Crowley would love to say something clever, something snarky now, but it’s as if there is only static in his brain. Static and this need. One of his hands moves almost on its own accord, lifting up from the armrest, wanting to grab onto something, to hold. But Aziraphale is faster than him. He stops his stroking and presses both hands firmly back to the armrest.
“Why don’t you keep you hands there and just enjoy, Crowley?”
It might be phrased like a suggestion, but there is an unspoken command that almost compels Crowley to obey. He can just barely stop the low moan from forcing its way out of his mouth. If his mind was working properly, he’d be embarrassed about how fast Aziraphale got him to obey. A demon of Hell, famously hating following orders, reduced to downright waiting for orders in mere seconds. He’ll never hear the end of this.
“Now, where was I?” The angel says. “Ah yes, I was commenting on how eager you are for this.” Again he lets a palm drag over Crowley’s erection, this time with more pressure. “And I’ve barely even touched you, too.” He sounds delighted.
“Would you mind opening up your shirt for me? Let me see a bit more of your body?”
Aziraphale’s hands keep up their work of mostly massaging his thighs and occasionally letting them wander further up, but he also doesn’t break eye contact for a second while Crowley slowly loosens his tie and starts to open the buttons of his shirt. He can’t believe it. Aziraphale is right, he has barely touched him and Crowley is already so turned on.
“Very nice, thank you.” Aziraphale says while once again pushing down on Crowley’s crotch. This time, he can’t suppress the moan. Something about being thanked for completing a task just does it for him.
“I love that sound, Crowley. Don’t hold back.”
“Get on with it, angel. Please.” Crowley says, but instead of it sound snarky like he had intended it, the ‘Please’ had the airiness of a soft plea to it.
“I’ll go as fast as I please. You will have to make do with what I give you.”
Who had taught the angel to talk like this? There is a commanding force to his voice that Crowley had never heard before. And he was starting to like it.
“But I agree,” Aziraphale says, “I think it’s time to get some more of the fabric out of the way.”
Crowley’s hands move to open the zipper, but Aziraphale stops him.
“Hands on the armrest.” He says. He doesn’t have to repeat himself.
Crowley groans, letting his eyes fall shut. He expects Aziraphale’s hands on his zipper. What he doesn’t expect is a ‘woosh’ and then being naked form the waist down. His eyes fly open as the cool air hits his skin. Aziraphale had miracled his trousers off in an instant. Crowley can’t tell if the tingling he is feeling all over his body is some left over energy from the miracle or is he is just this turned on by seeing Aziraphale use even the slightest bit of celestial power.
“Fuuu…” Crowley says. “You could have warned me.”
Aziraphale doesn’t answer, his gaze focused on Crowley’s now freed erection right in front of him. He slowly licks his lips, wetting them in preparation for what is about to happen.
Crowley sees stars the moment Aziraphale’s hands touch him for the first time without anything in the way. Aziraphale lets his hand glide over Crowley’s erection, getting a feel for it, before closing his fist around it. He gives it a few slow pumps before checking back in with Crowley.
“Is this alright, dear?” he asks.
“More than alright, I’d say.” Crowley breathes out.
“Okay, I’ll continue then.” Aziraphale says. “Just let me know if you want me to stop, okay?”
Crowley doesn’t respond and immediately feels a pinch on the inside of his left thigh.
“If I ask you a question, I need you to respond.” Before Crowley can answer Aziraphale adds, “with words.”
“Y– Yes.”
“Very good.” Aziraphale nods, then turns his gaze towards Crowley’s erection again.
Crowley doesn’t get a warning and it shocks him to his core when the angel closes his mouth around the head of his cock and sucks on it lightly. The tight wet heat is a lot to process and unlike anything he has ever felt before. He lets out a moan that seems to encourage Aziraphale to take him deeper into his mouth to suck harder, to let his tongue stroke the sensitive underside of the head. Crowley’s breaths are coming out in harsh bursts already. Every thought in his head is replaced with this need. He needs more. More of Aziraphale, more of the wicked mouth on him. Crowley’s fingers dig hard into the armrests, he’s trying his best to be good, to keep them there like the angel had asked of him.
Aziraphale is taking him deeper, bobbing his head up and down, going faster now. He’s really making the best out of the fact that as a celestial being he doesn’t need to breathe. Crowley opens his eyes right as Aziraphale’s nose touch his pubic hair. The sight in front of him is almost too much. Aziraphale kneeling on the floor in front of him, tears in his eyes. Eyes that are focused on Crowley the whole time. It’s so much, Crowley jerks his hips upwards without thinking. It’s a reflex. It makes Aziraphale sputter and pull off completely.
Crowley whines at the loss and goes to apologise immediately as hands push is hips firmly back down into the seat.
“Can you keep still for just a bit longer?” He asks. “You’re doing so well, dear.”
Crowley knows, he’ll never forget how Aziraphale looks right now. From the pinkness of his cheek to the dark red lips, spit-slick and puffy; his pupils blown wide, making the eyes appear almost black. A thought crosses Crowley’s mind. He wants to ruin Aziraphale.
“I’m … I’m sorry.” Crowley forces out, but the angels is already back to work on him.
He is less unhurried about it now, going faster and taking him all the way to the back of his throat, swallowing around him. Crowley is starting to tingle all over. His hips are shaking from trying to keep them still, every breath is coming out faster and he can’t contain his moans. There is something building inside of him, building higher and higher. He would voice this to Aziraphale, but no words are coming out of his mouth.
But he doesn’t need to say anything, because Aziraphale seems to be able to read him pretty well. He takes one of Crowley’s hands and moves it to the top of his head, keeping up the fast pace he set earlier with his mouth. And Crowley gets it immediately. Either that, or he has no control of himself left, because he immediately buries his hands in the blonde curls, pushing Aziraphale down on himself even faster. His hips are move of their own accord now, fucking up into the angel’s mouth. And Aziraphale lets him. Even in his far-gone state, Crowley recognises how much trusts it takes to let him do this. For Aziraphale, an angel, to let a demon take his mouth like this, to use him for his own pleasure. It’s that knowledge that sends him over the edge, crying out. He holds Aziraphale down, shooting down his throat, only vaguely aware what’s going on around him.
It takes a few moments for Crowley’s mind to come back to him. He notices his own breathing first. Slowly he opens his eyes. Aziraphale is kneeling in front of him, his mouth hanging slightly open, staring at something just behind Crowley. He notices then. The feeling on his back, between his shoulder blades. A heaviness.
“Your wings.” Aziraphale breathes out.
All around them, black feathers are drifting down. The remainder of Crowley’s shirt is hanging down him, his wings having shred through the rest. It’s been a while since Crowley had them out. And never quite like this. He’d never lost control of himself quite like that.
From outside the shop, sounds of commotion are drifting in. The only light inside the shop left is coming from the candles on the table.
Aziraphale looks around for a moment.
“I think,” he says with a smile, “I think you took out the power in a three-mile radius.”
They look at each other, stunned, before both breaking out in laughter.
“That was quite something.” Crowley says after they’ve calmed down.
Aziraphale is still on the floor. Only now Crowley can see that he has miracled himself a cushion to kneel on. It makes him realise that the whole time he had been so focused on himself, he had forgotten about the angel and his needs completely.
“Angel?” he asks.
“Yes dear?”
“Do you …” Crowley isn’t sure how to phrase it. “I mean that was… I don’t have words really.” He takes a deep breath he shouldn’t really be needing. “Do you want me to …?” Crowley gestures towards the angel.
A blush spreads through Aziraphale, even in the low light to the candles Crowley can tell.
“No need to. Actually, I’ve already … finished.” He sounds almost embarrassed about it. “Seeing you. Hearing you was enough.”
“Oh.” Crowley can’t keep the disappointment out of his voice.
“But we can try other things later?”
“Yeah?”
“Definitely.” Aziraphale says, beaming back at Crowley.
They stay like this for a while longer before the floor gets too uncomfortable even for an angel. Aziraphale miracles Crowley’s clothes back after he had gotten enough control back to hide his wings again. About half an hour later, the power comes back on, making both of them giggle. They then spend some time on getting the shop back in order, as Crowley had done more than take the power out. Whether it was his wings or a blast of power, books had been knocked off of shelves, bottles broken and seemingly behind every corner, more feathers could be found. Crowley caught Aziraphale pocketing one of them, but he didn’t say anything, pretending not to have seen.
“Well,” Aziraphale starts a while later. “I think we both learned a lot about each other tonight.”
They are back at the table again, both of them having a glass of wine. Crowley had gone out for a moment and come back with a small box of the little chocolates Aziraphale likes so much. Where he found them, he won’t tell, but Aziraphale is happily eating them. Crowley’s eyes rarely leave his.
“I guess we did.” Crowley agrees.
It safe to say that Crowley did learn a lot about himself that night. Some things more surprising than others.
“I hope you don’t think bad of me now.” Aziraphale admits. “It’s not exactly heavenly, is it?”
Crowley snorts.
“If anything, this makes me think even more highly of you. I knew there was something about you.”
Aziraphale huffs.
“Don’t worry too much, angel. This isn’t the stuff you fall for.” Crowley says. More quietly he adds, “I should know.”
So they finish their evening like nothing happened. The have some more wine, Aziraphale finishes all of his chocolates. But they don’t talk. Not about what deep down both of them know. That things like this don’t really happen, not between angels and demons. Not like this. Not without demonic temptations going on. Crowley even manages to convince himself that the only reason it did happen was his professional curiosity. To become a better demon. Even if he has no plans of ever using that newly gained knowledge to help his temptations.
But like already established, Crowley is good at lying and even better at lying to himself.