Work Text:
It was a nice day. All the days had been nice since they'd moved to the South Downs, even the ones with absolutely horrendous weather.
Crowley was beginning to suspect retirement was making him soppy, but he couldn't bring himself to mind. As he walked up the path that led to the front door of the cottage he was even tempted to whistle. He couldn't remember ever having whistled in all his years of existence. He wasn't even sure he knew how to whistle. But he was tempted just the same.
He shoved the door open with his hip, his arms being full of groceries. Bought the human way, so Aziraphale could turn them into food the human way, so Crowley could watch him eat the food in a distinctly demonic and near-predatory way if he had anything to say about it. He licked his lips in anticipation. "I'm home, angel."
There was no answer. Aziraphale was probably lost in a book again. Crowley waved a hand and all the groceries magically found themselves shelved where they should be (there were limits to how human he was willing to be), leaving him free to find his wayward angel. Which meant the library, obviously.
The library door was open. That was hardly unusual, but Crowley felt his heart sink inexplicably at the sight, and any urge to whistle immediately fled. He tried to ignore the sudden feeling of dread. "Aziraphale?" Crowley called, before stopping in the doorway.
The shelves were empty. All of them. Meticulously clean, cleaner than they'd been even on the day they'd moved in. Not a speck of dust or a single tome left behind. Aziraphale's desk had been cleared too, the inkwell and quill and pencils and knickknacks all gone. Barren.
In the centre of the desk was a pristine white envelope, labeled with a single word written in Aziraphale's immaculate copperplate handwriting: Crowley.
"No." It was a whisper. He knew at once what this meant, what it had to mean. If it were just a case of a missing angel he could blame Heaven or Hell, mount a dashing rescue, save the day. But for the books to be gone, for Aziraphale to have left a note for him, for everything to be so carefully and deliberately removed could only mean Aziraphale had left of his own volition.
Left him.
"No!"
He dashed forward towards the desk, then turned mid-step to run back out the door, get in the Bentley to drive to wherever his angel was and bring him home, say anything, apologise for anything, whatever it took, but somehow that mid-step turned into a tumble and then a fall--another fall, he was always falling, failing, this couldn't happen, they'd finally gotten everything they wanted, it'd all turned out all right the way he'd thought it would, how could this be happening, Aziraphale!, and he was still falling and tried to catch himself with arms and legs but they were all constricted by something and he couldn't move them properly…
And that's when he woke up.
Not day. Not the empty library. Night, and he was in their bed in their cottage, and it'd been a dream. Just a dream.
Fuck, let it just have been a dream.
Crowley worked himself free from his prison of sheets and duvet (how the Heaven had he gotten so tangled up?) and half-leapt out of the bed, out of the bedroom and down the stairs. His black silk pyjamas did almost nothing to keep him warm but this was no time to stop for a dressing gown, he had to check, had to be sure…
The library door was open. But there was a warm light shining into the hallway. It comforted him as soon as he saw it.
He stopped again in the doorway, swaying a little.
Aziraphale sat in his usual armchair by his desk, wearing those ridiculous little glasses that he didn't need but thought were nifty. He had a faint smile on his face and one finger was absent-mindedly stroking the cover of the book he read, with easy proprietary affection. He looked comfortable and content, exactly as he should. Right where he should be.
Crowley leaned against the doorframe, sagging with relief.
He must have made some sort of noise, some sigh or whisper, because Aziraphale looked up and frowned in concern. "Crowley?” he asked, removing his reading glasses and setting his book aside. “Is something wrong?"
Crowley swallowed hard, his throat dry and parched. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Aziraphale's brows furrowed, and he turned to put the book down on the desk. Crowley padded across the carpet and was climbing into his lap before the angel had a chance to stand. The chair had just enough space for him to straddle Aziraphale's thighs, and the back was low enough that he could drape his arms loosely around Aziraphale's head, bury his face in angel neck and breathe in angel scent. Ozone, parchment, wood and musk and a hint of vanilla. A musty, 'this really needs a good wash' note from his cashmere vest. Crowley closed his eyes, letting the smell and warmth and closeness soothe him.
Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him, holding him firmly and stroking his upper back with the same easy proprietory affection he'd touched the book. "What was it this time?" he said quietly.
Hellfire, Holy water, Falling, or… Crowley swallowed. “You’d left.” Aziraphale’s arms tightened around him, and the hold pressed a laugh out of Crowley’s hollowed-out chest. “There was a Dear John letter and everything. You’d cleaned the bookshelves, even.”
“Well, you should have known from that alone it was a dream,” Aziraphale murmured, stroking Crowley’s back. Crowley laughed again, a bit less brokenly, and kissed the skin near his mouth.
“Yeah, I know. Ridiculous, you are. There’s no need to protect your books with mouldy smells and dust anymore.”
“Old habits.” Aziraphale turned his face and laid a kiss gently somewhere near Crowley’s ear. “Besides, you’d miss being able to complain about it if I stopped.”
He would. He really, really, really would. Crowley shifted enough to let him capture his angel’s mouth, wanting the taste of him. Aziraphale’s lips opened easily for him, willingly. Generous to a fault, where his books weren’t concerned. Crowley let himself be greedy, drank it all in. All that softness and warmth and goodness. If he had enough, maybe it’d fill the part of his belly that still felt hollow and shaken in the aftermath of his nightmare…
“My dear boy,” Aziraphale murmured, stroking his back. Crowley shivered, arching into the touch. "What do you need? What can I give you?"
"You."
“Flattering, but unspecific.” Lightly calloused hands cupped his face as Aziraphale bent their heads together. Fingers made to hold a sword, but which chose instead to hold paper and ink, sweater vests, and one rather pathetic excuse for a demon. Crowley wouldn’t change them for the world. He covered those beloved hands with his own, took another slow kiss.
“Surround me,”he said finally. “So I know you’re here. Want to feel you everywhere around me.”
“I daresay we can manage that.”
Crowley unfolded himself from Aziraphale’s lap, keeping their hands linked and pulling Aziraphale up after him.
Their bedroom was dark as pitch; usually Crowley preferred it that way, particularly in winter, but now he threw open the curtains before turning back to Aziraphale. “Want to see you,” he said, not adding: I want to make sure this is real, I have to make sure you’re here.
Aziraphale smiled as though he’d heard the unspoken words. “And I always enjoy looking at you, my wily serpent.” He stepped forward and placed his hands on Crowley’s hips. Crowley shuddered a little and rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder again; Aziraphale raised a hand and stroked his hair. “You can do as you wish with me, darling. I’m not going anywhere.”
Promise?
Another thing he didn’t say, but Aziraphale knew, he always knew. It was there in the way he turned his head and kissed Crowley’s cheek.
Always.
They undressed each other slowly and deliberately, accompanying the act with endless kisses. Crowley stroked every inch of pale skin that was revealed, wanting to cover all of it with his touch, making sure everything was accounted for, nothing missing. All of his angel here, unharmed and whole and wanting him. Aziraphale murmured quiet encouragement, directing Crowley towards this button here, or this place on his shoulder that had been neglected and would benefit from a kiss or caress, until finally Crowley lost patience and pulled all his own clothes off and dragged Aziraphale towards the bed.
It was a warm tangle of limbs and love and moonlight, Aziraphale shining in the silvery glow, more beautiful than he’d ever been in the light of Heaven. He bent his head and kissed Crowley’s throat, and Crowley groaned his name, running pointed fingertips down the length of his spine, curving his hands around a body that fit perfectly under his palms, every touch a connection and confirmation.
“Angel. Angel, I need–”
“I know. I’m here.”
They rolled together on the bed as Crowley grew more urgent, tasting at Aziraphale’s skin more hungrily than he ever did at any feasting table. Aziraphale was generous and selfish at once, taking all the love Crowley bestowed on him and giving it back in caresses and clutches and soft cries that echoed through the room.
“Crowley. Crowley, I want–”
“I know. I will.”
Joined and entwined, skin sliding on skin, muscles clenching and loosening in rhythm. Crowley’s hands on Aziraphale’s hips and Aziraphale’s hands cradling his face as they breathed each other’s breath, moving together.
“More.”
Which of them had said it? Either, both. It didn’t matter, their desire was the same. More, always more, they had an eternity of time and an infinity of space and even if both were filled with only this it would still not be enough. They could never have enough of one another, they’d always want more. He knew that, but sometimes he still doubted. Especially in dreams.
“Please–”
“Yes.”
Crowley’s head fell forward as he gasped, trying to make it last. He wanted to stay in this moment forever, this piece of time where there was nothing separating them. It was always over too soon, a bright bit of perfection he couldn’t quite hang onto. Tension roiled through him, demanding release, but he held it back. It wasn’t enough yet, not enough to make him sure, he had to be sure…
“Beloved–”
Silver-white, shining like moonlight but tangible, soft. Encircling. His body bracketed, supported by feathers, even as he thrust and chased and held. Aziraphale’s wings, wrapped around him. Crowley stopped for a moment, staring wonder-struck.
Surround me.
Aziraphale’s skin was flushed with pleasure, his smile beatific. “I have you,” he whispered, between his own gasps for breath, touching his face. “Let go for me.”
Crowley smiled like a snake. “You first.”
He struck, latching onto Aziraphale’s neck and sucking a hard kiss onto the skin, letting it bruise. Aziraphale cried out and shook around him, legs and wings folding in tight, tighter as he clenched and trembled. Crowley closed his eyes, the constrictor constricted, pinioned. Enclosed. Surrounded.
It caught him then, and he let it, let the wave of it overwhelm him, until he was senseless and limp in his angel’s arms.
The last of the dream ebbed along with the blood rush, and Crowley finally, finally felt himself relax. Hard not to with his body blissful from release and Aziraphale’s heartbeat resounding in his ear, with Aziraphale’s fingers toying through his hair. He reached out and touched Aziraphale’s wings, now splayed to either side on the mattress. Soft, so soft, but containing so much strength. “Stay with me,” he asked quietly.
Angel lips touched his head. “I promised you that long ago, dearest. It would take much more than a few nightmares to drive me off. In fact I don’t think anything at all could.”
Crowley chuckled. “I meant, for the rest of the night. Want to stay curled up with you ‘til dawn.” He leaned up on one elbow. “See what your wings look like in the sunrise.”
“Oh…I suppose I could manage that.” Aziraphale sighed in mock-reluctance which quickly turned into a smile as Crowley bent down to kiss him. “I daresay my books can do without me for that long.” Another kiss, and another, and winding arms around one another’s shoulders and back. “Perhaps we might go for a walk, once the sun’s up. Go out for breakfast for once.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Crowley smiled and took one more kiss. “Something tells me it’s going to be a nice day.”